I have not yet read the unabridged version of Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being (I one-clicked it yesterday, so I should have it by Thursday). Many years ago, though, I read the lengthy excerpt which appeared in The New Yorker. The whole excerpt was a pleasure to read, but more than anything else, this passage has stayed with me:
To ensure that erotic friendship never grew into the aggression of love, he would meet each of his long-term mistresses only at intervals. He considered this method flawless and propagated it among his friends: "The important thing is to abide by the rule of threes. Either you see a woman three times in quick succession and then never again, or you maintain relations over the years but make sure that the rendezvous are at least three weeks apart."
The rule of threes enabled Tomas to keep intact his liaisons with some women while continuing to engage in short-term affairs with many others. He was not always understood.
And I think similar principles apply to seeing men while you're in a relationship. There are the one-offs, of course, but if you want to play with a guy more than once, you either play with him frequently for a short while, or you play with him infrequently for a longer period. And sometimes you just become friends and don't play any more.
And you will not always be understood.
The complexities of modern life, the irrationality of human emotion, and the inevitable distance between what is meant and what is said (often a function of the complexities of modern life and/or the irrationality of human emotion, but sometimes merely a function of the limitations of language) cannot help but make even the simplest of people misunderstood on a frequent basis. And I'm not the simplest of people.
I find that there are two main ways to avoid misunderstandings (and drama): a) I'm very direct about who I am and what I want, and b) I say as little as possible. It seems to me that the probability of being misunderstood asymptotically approaches one as the number of communications increases. Keep in mind that this is a model for sexual communication. If you're making friends, or you're dating someone, then the probability of being misunderstood also approaches one fairly rapidly, but you can't make friends or boyfriends without learning how to get through misunderstandings, or without understanding a lot of information about the other guy. When you're trying to hook up with someone, what you need to understand about someone is fairly limited, and minimizing misunderstandings is critical.
And now I have to change gears. I'd been thinking about this a lot, and I wrote a lot more, but none of it went anywhere. This is my problem with introspection: I think and I think, but I always come back to the same place: life has no inherent meaning, so be good to people, be better to the people closest to you, don't forget to be good to yourself, and have as much fun as possible. And eat more chocolate, but avoid white chocolate, because that's just a joke. I do find this sort of discussion entertaining, but only when it's an actual live discussion, preferably with several people, and preferably over a nice glass of red wine.
I did set out to write a post, though, so I reckon I'll just fill you in on the men I played with last night. Yeah, I know. Your disappointment is so bitter that I can taste it from here. Or maybe that's the square of extra bittersweet chocolate I ate while I was writing that last paragraph.
So I was online yesterday, and I went on gay.com, and I saw that a new person had added me to his hot list. He was online, and I had no idea who he was, so I said, "Hi. Do I know you?" And he replied, "Yeah, you fucked me. LOL." And, naturally I was all a) that really doesn't narrow it down much, and b) you don't have a picture, so who the hell are you? I might have phrased it a touch more diplomatically. Anyway, he told me his name, and normally I'm at a loss from people's names (I'm much better at remembering their bodies and sexual skill sets), but this was someone I'd fucked very recently. It was, in fact, Mr. Air Mattress.
And it seemed like I was going to have a repeat go at Mr. Air Mattress, but, after initially saying he wanted me to come over later, he decided that his three-hour edging session was going so well that he really wanted it to be a six-hour edging session, and I didn't want to go that far upcounty that late in the evening, so I tossed an ad up on craigslist.
And I got an immediate response from a local guy who swears up and down that he fooled around with me a year ago and that he's been wanting more ever since, but he lives with his girlfriend, and I really don't remember the guy, but he's very insistent, and he's Latin, and he's got a smooth body and nipples he likes played with, so I figure WTF and tell him he can come over.
And then I hear from a guy in Frederick who's answered my ads before, but who's never followed through, but who seems like he'd be very hot in the sack, so, because I know that the probability of being misunderstood rapidly approaches one as the number of communications increases, I immediately send him my cell number, and he calls. And the guy in Frederick's probably an hour away, so I tell him he can come over because I figure the bi Latin guy can be dealt with fairly quickly. (And, yeah, I told the guy in Frederick that there was another guy, and that I'd probably be done with him fairly quickly.)
And then the bi Latin guy shows up, and I still don't remember him that well, but he's a decent kisser, and I show him upstairs, and I start to chew on his nipples, and I spend the next five minutes chewing harder and harder on his nipples and playing with his small, uncut cock, while he tells me again and again to slow down because he doesn't want to cum yet.
And then he breaks away from me and takes my jeans off and plays with my cock, which is semi, but not fully, hard, and he asks for a condom so that he can go down on me, and I'm thinking, "Dude, how's that gonna work with my cock still not all the way hard," but I just say, "Don't suck it, just play with it," and then I push him back down on the bed and kiss him some more, and he spends the next five minutes trying to convince me not to make him cum too fast, but then I stick my finger inside his very tight foreskin and rub it against his frenulum, and he starts to cum. And then he's all, "Why did you do that?" and because I can't say, "Because you're really not that great in the sack, except for your very high nipple abuse tolerance, and I want to get you out of here so I have time to read a couple of chapters before the next guy shows up," I say, "I just got carried away, which, if not entirely true, is at least a plausible full-on lie. But apparently he believed it because he asked whether he could email me about coming over again.
And then I read a little bit, and, fifteen minutes earlier than expected, the guy from Frederick shows up, and he's a grrrrreat kisser, and he loves the way I flick my tongue fast over his nipples, and he gives terrific head, and when I finally get him on his stomach (which takes about an hour because even though I'm writing about it like it happened quickly, he was really a great kisser and cocksucker, and he was the kind of guy who melts into you and waits for you to push him along, and I was in no hurry), it's entirely possible that I fuck him without lube, but I figure that since he's from Frederick, there's a pretty good chance that he's a Republican and deserves it, and he takes a while to get used to it, but then he begs me to fuck him harder, and I do, and then he begs me to cum, and I do, and then he holds me close and kisses me as I catch my breath from the very hard fuck, and then I keep kissing him as I stroke his cock very firmly, and then I suck on his nipples as he strokes himself very firmly, and then he finally stops and kisses me again and says, "I guess that's what I get for jerking off four times today," and I wonder whether he's a disciple of Cooper, and then he gets dressed and we chat, and I think that he's probably not a Republican after all, but I don't feel bad about the no-lube thing because he seems so happy to have been fucked the way I fucked him, and then he asks if he can come back sometime, and I say sure, and he kisses me goodbye, and he leaves.
I read a little bit more and went to sleep, but not without smiling and thinking about how the lightness of being is very bearable indeed.
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