Boo!

Happy Halloween, readers. You see, in the picture above, the pumpkins that YFU and I carved Wednesday night. I did the cat, and she did the much more challenging spider. I also carved a bat on the back of each so that the candles would get enough air to burn. I forgot to put the carved pumpkins in the garage Wednesday night, so they were already somewhat wilted last night when I took the picture, but they'll be fine for long enough to survive the trick-or-treating tonight, I reckon. I've been munching on roasted pumpkin seeds all morning.


As a pagan wannabe, I am tempted to bemoan the fact that the holiday of Samhain has devolved into an evening where children are encouraged to accept candy from strangers. My rudimentary research, however, indicates that Samhain was originally a Celtic harvest holiday. Harvest holidays are generally marked by feasting as a means of celebrating bounty, so handing out treats seems an entirely appropriate way to celebrate the holiday. Besides, the little kids are so cute. The older ones who come around later and ask for all the candy you have left, not so much, but I suppose that we were all obnoxious adolescents at some point in the past.


I almost never wear a costume on Halloween, and I won't be dressing up this year. I was tempted to wear a pig mask and put some lipstick on it, but I don't own either a pig mask or any lipstick. I suppose I could have procured those items easily enough yesterday, but I had choir practice last night, and the rest of my time disappeared when TJ announced that it was Power Bottom Appreciation Day. It's easy for him, of course: he just has to sit there and let the presents pour in. For me, it's a lot harder: so many people to thank, so little time.


I am, however, a firm believer in the concept of trick and treat ("Or?" Are you kidding me? Why choose when you can have both? Let this be the guiding principle of your lives, readers. Except when it comes to your carbon footprint.), so I will be handing out candy to adorable youngsters being closely watched by their anxious parents in the earlier part of the evening, and around 9 or so Logan will be showing up for some appropriate pagan rituals. He says that he'll be dressed as a gypsy. I was, at first, a bit worried to read that -- in case he shows up in a long skirt and wants to read my palm -- but then I got all excited. After all, tonight's supposed to be the night when the veil between the flesh and spirit worlds is thinnest, and the only thing better than otherworldly sex is otherworldly sex with members of an oppressed nomadic European minority.


Anyway, I don't reckon the rest of you will be having as much fun as I, but enjoy your parties or secret chocolate binging or whatever. If you're stumped for a costume, you have two basic choices: naughty or scary. Naughty is easy: wear a pair of horns and nothing else. And if you want to be truly scary, get a Dubya mask and a button that says "Four More Years!" Just don't expect anyone to love you for it. Even the Washington Post is disgusted. About time.

To His Craigslist Bottoms*

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, buttboys, were no crime.
We'd sit here each at his own screen
And grow increasingly obscene
In long descriptions of our need
And where I most want to spill seed.
For your details I'd happ'ly swap
A hundred pictures of my cock.
You'd send me IMs full of lust
And surely build both wood and trust.
My hard cucumber love should grow
Vaster than empires, though not so slow.
'Til randy fires would brightly burn,
And I would fuck you each, in turn.


But at my back I always hear
My partner's return flight hurrying near.
Demanding schedules are the ways
For all of us in modern days.
So while you send another mail
I'll find more forward boys to nail.
The virtues that you might submit
Don't matter if you can't commit.
You'll soon realize your greatest fears --
Unanswered emails, bitter tears --
Then, finally learning you've been banned,
Take matters into your own hand
(Hand's singular, for, sure, it's true
With that small dick, you won't need two.)
While other asses feel my tongue
And sit upon my cock, which, I must say, in all due modesty, is more than adequately well hung.


Now, therefore, while it's still today
Let's get this hook-up underway.
Anon thy willing ass I'll eat
Then introduce it to my meat.
You'll writhe as I ram hard your bum
Then show'r you, head to foot, with cum.
I will not rest until my goo
Sits on thy skin like morning dew.
So don't delay, but send to me
Your stats, your kinks, and when you're free.
And -- pull your head from your ass for once --
A picture in your first response.



*If the reference here isn't utterly obvious to you, I will become even more depressed about the state of public education in America. This statement doesn't, naturally, apply to my non-American readers, all of whom I adore. I adore all my American readers too, of course; I'm just not always so happy with our public education system. A lot of canonical poetry is no longer taught, and you just know that there are school districts in Oklahoma that have banned Marvell for being too bawdy. As my favorite high school English teacher was given to mutter when confronted with willful ignorance: philistines!

Rise and Shine

I made the mistake of leaving the office at a reasonable hour last night. This is always a good idea in theory, but then theory always butts up against the reality of traffic. Traffic is one of the few travails of modern life that I have not yet learned to face with total equanimity. In saner times, I can cope by turning on NPR, but these days, all of the news I'm likely to hear is about either a) the election, b) the financial crisis, or c) the impact of the financial crisis on the election. The financial crisis is pretty much unrelentingly depressing, and as for the election, well, there are few things more terrifying than hope.


Anyway, a while after I got home, I made the mistake of logging onto gay.com, which, it would appear, has recently undergone some sort of face lift that went badly awry. Torless was on there and said hello to me, but I couldn't get the IM function to work. We eventually ended up chatting via Yahoo, where he told me that he was home and horny but too exhausted to play. I was too tired to go back out, anyway, so it was a bit of a relief: I'd have felt compelled to go over and pound him if he'd invited me over. Then we had a long discussion wherein Torless revealed that he's extremely insecure about a great many things, including whether he's any good in bed. He actually said, "I always feel like I'm the one getting all the pleasure, and I want to give you what you want." WTF? I wrote back, "I always take what I want from you, Torless. And I always have a good time." And then I had to end the conversation because my drama sensors were going off. Is this sort of behavior typical for the youthful bottom? I mean, do most of them figure that if they make you rock hard and you plow them like a jackhammer and chow down on their nipples until you cum volcanically, then you're still not really having a good time unless you also pursue them almost to the point of stalking? I'm going to keep fucking him on those occasions when he asks and I'm available because he's awesome in the sack, and there's never any drama in person. And maybe I'll do some googling: it's inconceivable that anyone that young and that insecure doesn't have a blog.


Anyway, I got offline, intent on an early bedtime. I finally finished reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being a few days ago, so I was searching for the copy of the Homeric Hymns that had recently arrived from Amazon when my cell rang. It was some local guy who'd answered one of my craigslist ads a while back but whose schedule had never meshed with mine. I had my doubts about him, but he had a very nice voice, so I said he could come over, and, well, let's just say that he's not going to earn a spot in the rotation. Sometimes even guys who suck cock well and SCREAM REAL LOUD when you fuck them aren't worth having twice. Yeah, I know: there was a time when I wouldn't have believed that last sentence, either.

Anyway, I was post-coitally hungry, so I whipped up a surprisingly tasty concoction of Boca Burgers and marinated artichoke hearts (don't ask) and watched some TV, and before I knew it, it was almost midnight. I had to be up around 5 the next (i.e., this) morning, so I got into bed. When I'm alone and really need to sleep, I always put on a DVD, so last night I put on Hedwig and the Angry Inch and skipped through a few scenes. I fell asleep just after that song based on Plato's Symposium.


At around 5:10, my phone rang. It was Schulyer, calling to say that he was about ten minutes away. Schuyler had answered one of my recent ads, and I didn't know much about him except that he was twenty-seven and "average." He also said that he loved to kiss and suck cock and that he was versatile but that he preferred to bottom. And he may have mentioned that he loved being rimmed, but I can't be sure: that's the sort of detail that I would never fixate on since rimming is something that I so rarely think about or do.

Anyway, I hopped in the shower and was just trying to find some clothes when the doorbell rang. I threw on a t-shirt and some pants and went to answer the door, where I learned that, apparently, the average twenty-seven-year-old gay man is very cute indeed. He's short and fit, with buzzed light-brown hair. He came in, and we started kissing, and I slid my hands up under his white t-shirt and through his fur to grab his small but very perky nipples. He slid his jacket off, and I slid my hands down the back of his sweatpants and squeezed. Then we headed upstairs.


Since I didn't even have to stop long enough to remove my glasses or set my cellphone aside, I managed to toss Schuyler on the bed before he had a chance to remove anything. I climbed atop him, wrapped my arms around him and squeezed him tightly as we began kissing again. He seemed to like that, and his kisses became more avid, but also softer and deeper. Nice lips. I pushed his t-shirt up so I could suck on his nipples a little, and I reached down to feel his cock through his sweatpants. Not very big, but very pert indeed. I slid my hand inside the waistband and cupped his small nuts, then slid the pants down. I left off sucking on his nipple so we could kiss some more. It was about 5:20, and he'd said he needed to leave by about 6:45, so I knew we had plenty of time.

We made out for a while, switching between my being on top of him and his being on top of me. I played with his nipples, licked his pits, and lightly slapped his ass. He played with my cock a little through my pants and then he unbuttoned the slacks so that he could play with it direction. We'd probably been kissing, etc. for nearly a half hour before we were both naked and he finally decided that he wanted to suck my cock. Awesome technique: boy must have retractable teeth.


We went back to kissing, and then I went down on him for a minute or two. He seemed very appreciative, and when he started to head for my cock again, I pulled his legs around so that they were on either side of my torso, and I was staring straight at his asshole. It had a tuft of light brown hair around the opening, and it was very, very clean. He had just taken my cockhead in my mouth when I spread his cheeks and shoved my tongue against his hole. So good. Now that I think of it, I'm more certain that he really must have mentioned that he loved being rimmed: he loved being rimmed. We stayed in that position for a while. I backed away and sucked on his nuts a few times, always returning to his hole and shoving my tongue in deeper. After a while, I switched to a finger, and boy was he tight. I was wondering whether fucking was going to work, but I was having too much fun to care.

I pulled him off me, and we made out some more, then I rolled him onto his stomach and spread his cheeks again. His mouth wasn't full this time, and he made a lot more noise when I licked his ass. Then I licked my way slowly up his spine until my cock was wedged into his asscrack. He sighed when I licked his shoulders, then turned his head so that I could kiss him from behind. It was one of those times where I'm glad that I have a long torso and short legs. I was just the right length to kiss him while my cock ran over his crack.

I grabbed a condom and kept kissing him while I rolled it onto my cock. Then I pushed my cockhead up to his hole, kissed him again, and began to push in. Very tight, but also very stretchy, apparently. He opened up enough to let me in and sighed as my cock slid into him. I went very slowly for a bit, and then I started fucking harder and harder. We were kissing the whole time. Eventually, I broke the kiss to chew very lightly on his shoulders and run my tongue hard along his jawline, and he began to get more verbal.


Eventually, I rolled him onto his back and pushed his knees forward so that I could fuck him from a more prostate-pounding-friendly position. He smiled, and I smiled back, and when I had his knees up towards his face, he told me that I was hitting the exact right spot. So I hit it for a while longer, but then I pulled out and rolled on my back so that he could sit on my cock. He did, and he bounced up and down as I played with his nipples. Later, I unbent his legs and lowered him into X position. Awesome. Then I pulled him off me, and we stroked each other's cock as we kissed again. A few minutes later, he got louder, and then I felt a load of semen shoot into my hand. I continued to stroke him for a while, and he turned to me kissed me as I began stroking myself. I came not long after, and then we lay side by side for a bit, and he thanked me. I thanked him, too. Then it was into the shower. It wasn't until he was out and drying and beginning to get dressed that I realized that he hadn't had to stop to take his shoes off because he was wearing Crocs. But nobody's perfect, right? I saw him to the door just before 6:45: another deadline met.

He'd said in emails that he wanted to find someone regular and discreet. (He has a partner.) And he asked me, as he was leaving, to keep in touch with him, so we'll see. Whether we play again or not, though, it was great sex and a great start to my day. I was buzzing around for a couple of hours afterwards, and I didn't even much mind all the traffic on the way into work. Now I'm crashing, of course, but I'm sure that by the time 8 pm rolls around -- and Judd comes over to roll around in my bed -- I'll be ready to go again.

And Now for Something Completely Different

It's predictable, isn't it, readers? No sooner have I noted that I haven't played with any new guys in over a month than the opportunity arises.

I decided to take off half of Thursday and all of Friday. I really needed some time off after the recent tax deadline, and, more to the point, Logan was coming over Thursday after choir practice and spending the night, so I knew that I'd be in no shape to get to the office by nine on Friday. Anyway, since I was taking the time off, I figured I'd send Kevin a message and see whether he could play. Kevin's a local married guy that I played with back in the beginning of September but didn't, apparently, write about. He's a very solid, compact, bearish man who's a great kisser but who doesn't bottom much. He couldn't take my cock the first time we played. But he'd said that he was game to try again, and he was so much fun that I figured he'd be worth another go even if I didn't manage to fuck him.


And I didn't, but he was. He came directly from work, still in a starched business shirt, which I wasted little time relieving him of. I left him otherwise dressed when I threw him on the bed (You know, every time I think of throwing a guy on the bed now, I can't help thinking of that one guy who complained that I treated him like he was Scarlett O'Hara. But I still throw guys on the bed, and every other guy seems to appreciate it.), and we resumed kissing, rather frenetically. He's a very hairy guy, and the hair includes a goatee. The outside of my mouth was getting a kind of scratched up, but I didn't mind, and, in any case, I soon worked my way down to the nipples, where the fur was softer, if no less pervasive.

After he went down on me (very eager, but slightly toothy), I started to play with his ass with some lube and a finger, and then with two fingers. And he really got into that, but I couldn't help noticing that he was still really tight, and I doubted that I'd be able to get my cock into him. We tried, though: we really, really tried. I put him in numerous positions, and I'd get most of my head in and then he'd ask me to stop, and I'd wait for him to relax, but he couldn't. And I figured that I'd be fucking Logan six ways to Friday later in the evening, so it really wasn't a big deal. Anyway, I gave up, and when he asked me how far I'd gotten into him, it seemed like a good idea to prevaricate slightly, so I said, "Farther than you think," and, hey, I suppose that might have been true, even though I'm pretty sure it wasn't. Anyway, we went back to the frenetic making out, and I started stroking him, and we kept doing that for a while, until he shot all over himself. I wiped him up, and he said, "Man, you really know what you're doing," to which I smiled, modestly. He says he wants to keep trying to loosen up, so I guess I'll have to break out the entire range of anal toys and do my best. It promises to be something of a project, but, well, y'all know me: if the kissing is great, the sex is great, and I'm willing to do a lot to break in a willing guy who loves to kiss. I just wish he was a little more available. I know he's married, but his kids are both off to college, so you'd think he'd be able to sneak out, especially since I'm in the same town. But it's not exactly like I'm starving for companionship, so it's probably just as well that he's not available all the time.


(And speaking of anal toys, sometime that day, Nike texted me to ask whether I had a big dildo he could borrow so that he could work on opening his ass for me. I didn't reply, but I guess I should. I'm not sure about lending out my dildos, though, so maybe I'll just buy him one as a gift. There are so many options, though. Decisions, decisions.)

So far, Logan has always been available when I've suggested a session, and he even showed up a few minutes early Thursday evening. After an extended hello kiss, I offered him a glass of wine. He noted that it was a larger glass than usual and that it might take him a while to finish it, and I noted that we had all night. He smiled, and we actually chatted for a while, but then I got a little bit aggressive kissing his neck, and he gulped down the rest of his wine. I took my glass with me, which left only one hand free to grope his ass as we climbed the stairs, but life is a series of compromises, is it not?


Logan removed his jacket while I set my cellphone and glasses aside, and then I tossed him down on the bed, and he laughed. I said, "What?" and he replied, "Nothing, I'm just happy. I'm comfortable here." Later, when I had some time to think about it, I decided that "comfortable" was an odd choice of words from someone who always looks about as happy as Charlie Brown would look if he ever managed to actually kick that football. I'm guessing that in part it's the fact that English is likely his second or third language, but then maybe it's that he spends a lot of time in very uncomfortable circumstances. As far as I know, he's still living with his wife, even though they've decided to separate and/or divorce. I haven't really asked the details because a) it's not really my business unless he decides to share them, and b) the few times I've asked anything about his marriage, asking has seemed like the quickest way to eliminate his smile. I really like making Logan smile, and it's really easy to do.

He seems to smile most broadly when I'm fucking him, and I lost track of the number of times that we went from making out (which also makes him smile) to my pounding him in full-on fuck machine mode. He never says that it's too much; on the other hand, he did, for the first time ever, ask me to "go slow" when I was beginning to penetrate him the second time that evening. So I went slow for half a minute, and then I pounded. I had him on his stomach that time, and he grinned more widely still when I bit into the back of his shoulder. But Logan is long, lean, and limber, so we mostly fuck face to face: I can kiss him while I'm plowing him in that position, so it's truly the best of all possible worlds. Candide never had it half so good.


Nothing really turns me on as much as a guy who loves what I'm doing to him, so I was in paradise throughout our little slumber party. My cock is usually more than adequate for what I want it to do. And by that I mean that it rises to the occasion and stays hard while I want to fuck. It might go down to semi-hard during an extended make-out interlude (I'm not twenty any more), but a small amount of oral or manual attention will bring it back to fuck-ready hardness. With Logan, though, it just got hard and stayed there. And never really got close to ejaculation no matter how long or hard I fucked him. I wasn't really anxious to cum, especially towards the beginning of the evening. After two hours, though, when Logan had already straddled me and jerked himself near to ejaculation and then had let me grab him hard and pull the trigger, it would have been nice to maybe blow a load before sleeping. But the cock wasn't cooperating with that plan, so I drifted off with a hard-on and woke a few times with a hard-on, each time pounding Logan in one position or another. Then I'd withdraw, and we'd kiss for a while, and he'd smile at me, and we'd fall asleep again, always entangled. So you can see how it would be easy to lose count.

I pounded him a couple more times in the morning, and at one point, I had him on his back so that he was pretzled with his knees up near his ears, and I angled myself to get the maximum effect from repeatedly entering him and banging his prostate, and then, without warning, cum was pouring out of his cock and onto his stomach. It's rare for me to make a guy cum without even touching his cock, and it was very gratifying.


It was about 9 am by then, and I pulled him up and dragged him in the shower. I thought maybe that, having just ejaculated, he'd be tired of having my cock up his ass, but after kissing him and washing his back a bit, I bent him forward in the shower and fucked him from behind, and he was as eager as ever. But we only fucked that way for a couple of minutes, then we finished showering, dried each other off, and I tossed him back on the bed and lay myself and the comforter on top of him to stop his shivering. It worked, but then we spent the next two hours lazily kissing and groping and holding each other. He spent the last hour of that telling me, every twenty minutes, that he should probably get going. But I wasn't exactly kicking him out, and he seemed to lack much will to leave. He told me again how comfortable he was. He did finally leave around 11.


I went downstairs to check my e-mail, and there was a message from this young guy who'd been ambivalently pursuing me for a while. He'd say he wanted to come over, and then he'd cancel at the last minute, always citing something he had to do with his girlfriend. I'd eventually told him that I didn't want to bother with him, but then I'd seen him online a couple of days earlier, when I wasn't sure I'd have other options going on, and I'd said that I could play with him Friday around noon if he wanted. I figured that I'd already be home, so if he didn't show up, I could just get another hour or two of very badly needed sleep. And on Friday, he said he still wanted to come over but wondered whether 12:30 would work instead of noon. I didn't have a problem with that, so I gave him general directions and told him to let me know when he was heading out and call for the house number when he got close.

He did all that, and his car pulled into the driveway about 12:25. We'd agreed to what could and couldn't happen. He'd never been fucked, so he wanted to work up to that, but not actually get fucked in the first meeting. He wanted to be dominated and suck cock but not kiss. That should have made the alarms ring, but whatever. Anyway, he came in, and I told him to take off his shirt, then I twisted his nipples a little bit and pointed him upstairs. I smacked his ass a few times on the way up, then when we got upstairs, I told him to take off his shoes and pants. I kicked out of my jeans, told him to bend over the bed, slapped his ass a few times by way of punishment for earlier cancellations, and then told him to get on his knees. I fed him my cock for a minute, but he'd said he didn't have much time, and I really wanted to eat his ass while he went down on me, so I lay on the bed and pointed toward my cock. He looked very nervous, but he bent down and started sucking on me. It was okay, and after a half-minute or so, I grabbed his head and pushed it down. He took it for a few seconds then coughed and backed off, looking terrified. I just said, "Relax, boy." And then he said, "I'm sorry, I can't do this." And then he started apologizing more profusely. I didn't say anything: I just kept looking at him like, "Huh?" He got dressed, said, "I'm really sorry," and ran down the stairs and out the door.

Not entirely unexpected, you know? And I was both too tired (still, my cock was pointing straight up to heaven; it really does have a mind of its own, and what the hell is it thinking?) and in too good of a mood from playing with Logan to be upset, but it was weird. Upon further reflection, I think that I probably should have been more verbal, more dominant, and more detailed. He probably needed to be led through the encounter step by step, so it was probably a mistake to take him off his knees so soon. And I should probably have told him what to do every step of the way. But geez, so much work. I mean, he was young and sort of cute, and I wanted to be the first guy to eat his ass, but he wasn't anything special.


I considered taking a nap until 5, when it would be time to leave to pick up YFU, and I considered just jerking off, since I still hadn't shot a load, but I figured I'd at least give craigslist a try, so I threw up a quick ad, and the first suitable candidate to confirm was a married Latin guy who wanted to be blindfolded, tied down, and "taken when not in [his] own control," but who also liked to kiss a lot. He was also in the area, working, I think, so I told him to come on over.

I hadn't (and still haven't) tied anyone to the bed since we got the king-sized bed, and I really didn't want to take the time to get the ropes out and make sure everything fit properly, so I just got out the blindfold and a pair of handcuffs and left them on the bed. When he showed up at the door, we started making out, and he was obviously one of those married guys who melts when he's told what to do. He told me that he had forty-five minutes and asked whether that was okay, and, well, not a problem. I pushed him upstairs, began undressing him (another starched shirt), tossed him on the bed and went straight for the nipples, which, I gathered, were not used to that sort of attention. We made out for a while, then I fetched the blindfold and put it on him. I fed him my cock for a while, we kissed, for a while longer, then I pushed him towards my cock again while I went after his bubbly brown ass. I don't think he was used to that, either, but he was an instant convert. I shoved him down on his stomach, opened the condom package as loudly as I could, gloved up, and got behind him. He reached back, ostensibly to guide me in, but probably to feel my cock to make sure it was sheathed. And who can blame him? Anyway, I added some lube and began to make my way into his very tight ass. He was giving me the "no, no" but not the "stop" so I kept working until I was in. Then I started to fuck him slowly. It seemed to be a little too much for him, but I kept at it for a couple of minutes. Then I pulled out, flipped him onto his back, and re-entered him from that position. He was easier to get into that way, and I started talking dirty to him. He kept calling me "Daddy" and saying, "You're really fucking me!" As opposed to virtually fucking him, I suppose, but I was too occupied to give it much thought.

It was clear to me that I wasn't going to cum, at least not within the available time parameter, so I pulled out and we kept kissing, and I worked his nipples, then jerked him off. When he came, I continued to stroke him, making him jump and twitch. Then I wiped him off and pulled off the blindfold. After a few moments of recovery, he glanced at his watch, and I said, "I always meet my deadlines." He smiled, thanked me profusely, kissed me again, and left.


When I checked my email again, there was a response from a local twenty-one-year-old guy who wanted to be used hard. We swapped a few emails and established limits (he was open to anything except shaving and CBT), and he asked me to come to a local park to pick him up. He didn't have a car. I was a little bit skeptical, but I told him what my car looked like, and he told me what he'd be wearing (we'd exchanged pictures earlier). I got to the park when I said I would, and I thought I might have seen someone who matched his description hanging around the playground. But there were also kids playing there, and I really didn't want to get out of the car. The guy I saw never seemed to look towards my car. And there were several other cars parked there, apparently without agenda, which made the whole thing seem very weird to me. Perhaps that's the local cruising grounds. Who knew? Anyway, I stayed for a few minutes before leaving. When I got home, the guy emailed me to say that he hadn't seen me and asked whether we could try again, but I didn't have enough time to comfortably work through all of the stuff he wanted done to him. Besides, I was really beat from not much sleep and a lot of very energetic sex. I was also really hungry, and he just didn't seem as interesting as a cheeseburger at that moment in time. I told him to email me next week if he's serious about being tied down and getting spanked and having wax dripped on him and having his nipples used hard and getting fucked from both ends.

Then I retired to my bed with a DVD and the last few stories of Frat Sex 2 and proceeded to have a nice wank. I'd been hard an awful lot and hadn't come in a couple of days, so I was expecting a big load, and I was prepared for that, but I wasn't prepared for ejaculation arriving before the orgasm. Usually I control my masturbatorial ejaculations pretty well, but in this case, I knew I was still a few seconds from the orgasm, but my cock started spurting a great deal of very watery cum. I was about to be all WTF, penis? but then the orgasm arrived a moment or two later, and it was very intense, so I kind of lost track of my interior monologue. Well, nobody's perfect, right?

The Use of the Guttural G in Moby Dick

Yet again this morning, I was struggling with the eternal question: what the fuck should I call one of my catch-all posts? And then I remembered that when I was in college, I took a course in American novels that my advisor was teaching. I was a senior, so by then the actual writing of the papers was easy, or at least I knew that a decent idea and a few hours of effort would generate a good paper. But I had written my first paper (about, if memory serves, "Rappaccini's Daughter," which was not -- and still is not, I presume -- a novel), and I thought of my poor advisor reading twenty-five papers, most of which would likely not be very good, and I thought that I should at least try to make him smile with a decent title, so I used the one that I've used here. Titular relevance is way overrated, no? Anyway, my advisor retaliated by putting a large, red, circled D- on my paper, along with the comment, "Just my impish sense of humor. The actual grade is A." After that, the titles got weirder. The grades were always the same, however.


It is not as easy as one would hope to find pictures of attractive naked men wearing glasses. Perhaps this makes sense: usually when I'm getting naked, my glasses come off before anything else. My eyesight isn't all that horrible, though. Every once in a while I'll play with a guy whose vision is so bad that he resists removing his glasses. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be the sort of person who can have sex in such a way that keeping my glasses on would be appropriate or at least workable. Of course, sometimes I also wonder what it would be like to win a really big lottery payoff, which is about as likely as my having sex with my glasses on. Mostly because I never buy lottery tickets. I've never had anyone lose a contact lens during sex, but I suppose it must happen to some people. I've never worn contact lenses, and I doubt I ever will. They're too high maintenance, and I like my glasses.


People who provide limited information and then complain that you've judged them based on that information should either provide more information or not complain. Speculation is always fun, of course, but if I have to choose between formulating an opinion based on the data at hand and formulating an opinion based on data that I have to imagine, I'm usually going to go with the data at hand. This concept applies especially to reality TV contestants, but it applies in many other contexts, too.


My daughter has decided that her Halloween costume will be the evening sky. This involves one of her old ballet costumes -- a deep blue leotard with a gauzy skirt -- and some silver bling. Because her mother thinks the costume is too sheer, YFU handed me a piece of plain dark blue fabric and asked me to make her a skirt out of it. Um, what? And more to the point, how? Anyway, I did (hooray for applied geometry), but I found the result horrific (which might be appropriate for some Halloween costumes, I admit, but not so much for the evening sky) even though YFU quite sensibly said, "It's going under the costume. Nobody will see it, Dad." She left the "duh" off, but I could feel it. Still, I made and played around with some miniature paper cutouts, went to the fabric store, found a dark blue remnant in what I hoped was a more skirt-friendly fabric, and made a second skirt. YFU shrugged, but she admitted it was a much better effort. Which, still, no one would see. This was all so much more difficult than it looks on Project Runway.


Yesterday morning, I was half an hour late to work because I spent a similar amount of time trying to find my wallet. I eventually found it in the pants I'd been wearing the day before. The pants, alas, were in the dryer. I guess that explains why the dryer was making that thumping noise the night before. It's amazing how little of what I have in my wallet was significantly damaged by a trip through the washer and dryer. I know from past experience that cellphones are not similarly resilient. The wallet is still a bit moist, as is the paper money, but the snack machine at the office accepts damp currency, so I'm good.


I was ordering some pre-release discounted DVDs a week or so ago, and I ordered something called Frat Sex 2 without realizing that it was actually a written porn anthology. Well, you can never have too many of those, either, right? Some of the stories are so badly written that you can't help laughing at them, but for the most part they get the job done. I was jerking off to a few of them last night, and it never ceases to amuse me to see how the quality of the writing seems to increase as I stroke. I generally shoot my load in the middle of the third or fourth story, then, after I wipe up, I return to it to see how it ends, and suddenly it is, once again, poorly written and entirely uncompelling. It was pretty late when I started last night, so there was considerable tension between wanting to play with myself for as long as possible and wanting to get to sleep, and I lasted less than half an hour. The night before, I didn't cum the second time I fucked Judd, and then after he left, I jerked off (again to Frat Sex 2) and came so hard that I made a big mess on the pillows and wall behind my bed, so last night I eased up a bit and came into the towel instead. I don't know whether choosing ease of housekeeping over the spectacular fountain-of-semen approach says that I'm mature or just boring. I should probably conduct additional research to find out.

SSDD

I was going to start this post off by saying that I couldn't remember the last time I shagged a guy I hadn't shagged before, but while that was technically true, I also knew that I could figure out when my last new-to-me guy was by going into the archives. And I'd gone back a disturbing distance (all the way to mid-September) when something I'd read made me remember a couple of very fun one-offs that I had back around then. Still, for me, going more than a month without fucking a new guy is, well, unusual.


There are a few guys from a couple of web sites who've been after me to fuck them for a while, but otherwise, there aren't many new prospects, probably because I haven't been looking for any. B&c was home for a few weeks, and before and since, it's been a steady diet of Judd, Logan, and Nike, with the occasional Torless thrown in. (Torless is on the verge of getting on my bad side. He texts me to tell me how much he misses my cock and how much he wants to get together, but then he doesn't follow through. It's hard to be mad at him, though, so I'm sure that I'll fuck him again, assuming that I'm available at some time when he really wants it.)


After fucking Logan on Sunday afternoon, I had Nike over Monday evening. I almost didn't because he was being a little bit coy with his text messages. He was giving me that whole I-don't-know-if-I-can-take-your-cock-because-I'm-a-virgin thing, but when I texted him to say that it was cool and that we could play sometime when he was ready to give up his ass, he came back with a please-let-me-suck-your-cock and with an offer to get in the shower with me and "see where it goes." It went where I wanted and expected it to go, but, for now at least, Nike really isn't as good at anal bottoming as he is at many other things, so I'm not sure that I'm going to continue to push him in that direction. He was, however, very affectionate, and he has great lips, so it was a fun time.


Last night Judd was over, and that was great, of course. He was in bed with me for almost three hours, but a significant portion of that was spent in between-fucks dozing. Still, it was dozing when we were tangled up in each other, so that was nice. It had been a while since I'd seen him, so I did my best to fuck him harder than ever, and it would appear, from the volume of his shouts, that I succeeded. Judd also does other things better than he fucks, but that's just because he's so skilled at the other things. He's a terrific bottom. He's also added even more work to his extremely busy schedule, and I have YFU this coming weekend, so I won't be able to pound him again as soon as he'd like, but I've put him on the calendar for next Tuesday.


I'm really not sure how I feel about this lack of new playmates. I suspect that I have mixed feelings. I could probably determine exactly what those mixed feelings are, but that would require more introspection than I can stomach at the moment, and all I'd end up with would be a more detailed but not substantially different version of, "I'm happy about it, but it'd be cool to fuck somebody new, too."


Anyway, the situation's not likely to change anytime soon unless I take a day off and pound one of the married guys who've been after me. I might take off early tomorrow, but if I do, I'd just be pounding a married guy I've already played with, and while I've played with him much less than with any of my regulars, he'd still be a repeat. Tonight YFU will be over. I suppose that I could have looked for fresh meat after choir practice tomorrow night, but I've already asked Logan if he'd like to spend the night, and, no surprise, he would.


Stability, however, in addition for robbing me of blog copy, is always an illusion. Something always happens to rock the boat and/or tip the boat over. It's only a matter of when, not whether.

The Uses of Morality

I had just left my office last Thursday evening when my cellphone rang. "Private Call," it said on the display. Tex. My phone stalker. I hadn't taken one of his calls in a month or two, so I picked up.

TED: Hello.
Tex: Hey, Daddy. How you doin', sir?
TED: Good. You?
Tex: Good, sir. Where are you?
TED: Driving.
Tex: Oh, Daddy. I wish I was there, sucking your cock.
TED: What makes you think I'd let you, boy?
Tex: Oh please, Daddy? Please?

And then I hung up. I was already hard, but I still had a few errands to run and plenty of time before choir practice started, so I figured I could let the scene with Tex play out slowly. He called back immediately, twice, but I didn't pick up. I knew that he'd keep trying, and I knew that I'd have a chance to take one of his calls when I could most enjoy it.

Tex has been my phone stalker for quite some time now. Apparently, we first encountered each other on gay.com (I say "apparently" because I really don't remember our first encounter, but it's documented in the first post I wrote about him, so that must be how it happened. I can't tell you how useful it is to have my personal sexual history online in a searchable format, especially since my memory, it seems, can no longer be bothered with finding additional storage space for the personal details of the guys I hook up with.), and the relationship (a term I use very loosely) has progressed in interesting ways over the last eighteen or so months.


Initially, Tex was very reticent with personal information and approached me as an arrogant fellow top. I enjoyed some initial phone sex, but then I grew bored of him, so I stopped answering his calls, and they tapered off somewhat. But he never fully stopped, and I started answering the phone on a very occasional basis when he called. He became more desperate and more submissive as time went by. He began calling me "Daddy" and stopped talking about how he liked to fuck ass. He revealed that he was married, and as I began to talk about being rougher and more abusive, he got more and more turned on.

Unless someone tells you (and perhaps not always even then), it's difficult to know what demons any man is struggling with, and it's most difficult to know with a guy you talk to on the phone every few weeks or months, but I'd guess that Tex experiences tremendous shame over his fantasies about being used by me. I'd also guess that he fights the urge to call me as long as he can. When I answer one of his calls for the first time in a while, he's cocky again, but then I either talk about having him tied to the bed or I hang up on him, and he's soon whimpering subserviently. On Thursday, before I hung up for the last time, I told him that if he lived nearby, I'd keep him tied to the bed all night long. I'd have him on his stomach, spread eagle, and I'd fuck him long an hard until I was just on the verge of giving him my load, but then I'd stop and bring in another boy. I'd bend the other boy over so that his cock was close to but not touching Tex, and I'd fuck the other boy until he came all over Tex, then I'd shoot all over Tex without letting him touch my cock, and then the other boy and I would go in the next room and watch TV, leaving Tex tied to the bed with our cum drying on him. Tex was just starting a whimpering sentence about how turned on he was when I flipped the phone shut. Then I waited for the erection to go down and went into Linens and Things to buy a candy thermometer. The markings on my old one were warn out. I'd had it forever.


The finer points of my sexual moral code are endlessly complicated, but the basics are simple. The basic hurdle I have to clear is not to harm anyone and not to do anything to them they don't want done to them. Once that hurdle's cleared, the prime consideration is to increase my own pleasure, and a lesser, but still important consideration is to increase the pleasure of others.

So on a fundamental moral level, the interaction with Tex is all good. He always calls me, so I'm clearly not doing anything he doesn't want to have done to him. I get a significant amount of pleasure from talking to him, and as soon as it's not fun, I hang up. And the worse I treat him, the more he seems to enjoy it, so it's all good.


But I wonder a lot about the finer points. (Or at least I did while I was doing my thermometer shopping: it didn't really require the use of a very large portion of my mind.) Let us suppose, for the sake of this discussion, that I have a giant moral-o-meter that tracks how I'm doing on my personal sexual morality scale. Over to the left is the red zone, where I'm violating my moral code. Then there's the green zone to the right, and then somewhere over at the end is the end of the scale, where I'm morally ideal. With Tex, I'm safely in the green zone, but I wonder how various aspects of my behavior nudge the needle deeper into the green or slightly towards the red. (I apologize to those of you who prefer a quantitative or digital approach, but this is clearly an analog process.)


And then I wonder about Tex' own moral code. His moral code isn't functionally important to me, i.e., it's not likely to affect my own behavior, but I am curious about it. On some level or other, he's almost certainly contravening his own moral code by waiting until his wife's not home so that he can call me while he's got his briefs around his ankles. I reckon that it would be a greater violation if we were actually doing any of the things that we talk about doing, but I'm not sure, and I'm not sure why. If Tex is to be believed (and I can't decide whether he is), he plays with guys occasionally, but he usually tops them. So if I were to tie him to the bed and spank his ass red and then fuck his brains out, would it be worse for him that he was cheating on his wife or worse that he was submitting to a man? I suspect the latter.


I feel like I'm often playing with guys who have to wrestle with their demons. This seems to be the case most often with the younger guys I play with. Sometimes I feel like I'm an addiction they can't beat. I don't, generally speaking, enjoy feeling that way, but I don't really think that much about it, either. I would prefer a world where everyone realizes what he wants sexually and just goes and does it and doesn't beat himself up about it, but that's not going to happen for a couple of reasons. The obvious reasons are that we live in a sexually repressive society and that most guys just aren't mature enough to not be bothered by that repression.


The other reason for all this shame and demon wrestling became clear to me, once again, last Thursday when I said to Tex, "You're a very bad boy, aren't you?" He whimpered more plaintively and excitedly than ever as he said, "Yes, Daddy." People misbehave despite their moral codes, but they also misbehave because of their moral codes. Doing something that you're not supposed to do makes doing it more exciting. I don't know what it is about our psyches that makes this true, and perhaps it ought not be true, but I think its truth is evident.

The allure of the immoral presents some difficulties for me because there's really not that much that I'm not supposed to be doing. I often tell my friends that the downside of an open relationship is that it's impossible to cheat. I can finesse the situation a bit with Tex by talking abusively to him. Abusive talk carries the appearance of a violation of my moral code, and it excites me, but it doesn't, ultimately, violate my code because Tex is willing and because it greatly excites him when I talk to him that way. So it's still fun, but it's maybe not as fun as it would be if I were truly misbehaving. The same dynamic plays itself out with my real-life sexual interactions, especially with submissives. Of course, being truly abusive would violate the fundamental precept of my moral code, so I wouldn't do it; I am, thus, in some sense stuck on the horns of a dilemma. Of course, I so enjoy what I do within my moral parameters that I can't legitimately ask for sympathy just because I'm unable to misbehave and possibly crank the enjoyment up to eleven at the expense of my soul.


But I can't help wonder whether all those guys who don't care so much about the costs to their soul (e.g., Republican politicians) don't to some extent remain in the closet because the secret, forbidden sexual relations are more potent for them. Don't get me wrong: I'm sure that the main reason that GOP Congressmen (and other so-called upstanding conservatives) are so frequently on their knees in men's rooms is that they can't beat their addiction to cock. And I'm sure that on many levels they'd be happier and better adjusted (and less likely to push homophobic legislation) if they could admit who they are and live openly. But I also think that it just isn't their families and reputations they don't want to give up. They don't want to give up the excitement associated with being dirty, dirty boys.

I suppose it's an addiction that I'll never truly be able to enjoy. I suppose that I'll have to console myself with the knowledge that my friends and family love the real me. And with a an exuberant amount of what would be considered dirty, dirty sex by those less enlightened than I.