So I'm still reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being because it's just not a book that's very demanding. That's not quite an accurate statement: it's very intellectually demanding (which I love) while you're reading it, but it's not a very needy book. It doesn't really seem to mind that you're off doing other things. It doesn't cry out, "Read more of me! Find out what happens!" It just sits there and waits, utterly charming when you're in its company, happy by itself when you're not. In that way, it's a lot like Logan, really. If I want to fuck Logan, I just send him an email. He emails back that he'll show up at the time I suggested, and then he shows up, and then we have very engaging and engaged sex for a couple of hours or maybe overnight.
Other FWPs require some maintenance: Judd, for example, regularly sends me text messages, and they're usually messages that require at least a full sentence to reply to, and given that my average sentence length is, well, long, and given further that my cellphone doesn't have a full keyboard on it, and given further still my general abhorrence of text-speak abbreviations and how easy it is to push the number keys one time too many or too few, well, calling receiving a text message from Judd traumatic would be hyperbole, so let me just say that receiving a text message from Judd is traumatic. The sex is phenomenal, though, so I should probably just upgrade my phone or acquire some carrier pigeons. Judd is like the book that you can put down but you need to pick up again before long. Something very well written that provides a significant reward but would not be considered a great work of art. Maybe an Anne Tyler novel.
And then there are the young'uns. Nike sends more text messages, and he always needs to be picked up, but his messages are easier to answer ("No" is usually sufficient.), and he doesn't live very far away, so he's more work to maintain than Judd, but not by too much. Torless is significantly more demanding but on a much less frequent basis. They're both like plot-driven guilty pleasures. Anything by Michael Thomas Ford.
All of that was off topic, by the way. I'm never a disciplined writer, but I'm much less disciplined when I've been working a lot and sleeping not so much. I initially mentioned The Unbearable Lightness of Being as a lead-in to talk about how I ended up not having sex last night. Someone gave me a tax return to review last night around 6, and I fixed it up and gave it to one of the partners at 7, then I quickly left the building before anyone could give me yet another piece of work that should have been handled by someone else. I stopped at the grocery store to pick up some chickpeas and cilantro, and got home around 7. Then I took a nice shower, dried off, put Johan on the TV, picked up The Unbearable Lightness of Being from the bedside table, and began reading, watching, and waiting.
B&c's and my sexual rhythms are very different from those that I have with anyone else. In part, that's because I deal with b&c on many levels whereas I deal with most other men I fuck only on a sexual level. But also, it's because there's nothing submissive about b&c. There's nothing dominant about him either, but he's very clearly not going to put up with or be turned on by being ordered to do anything. In fact, some people might go so far as to call him stubborn, mulish (but lovable!), or even Italian. Similarly, if anyone, especially he, tried to tell me how to behave sexually, I would probably injure myself laughing. So normally, I initiate sex either by reaching over and grabbing him (if it's the morning) or by taking a shower and lying on the bed naked, idly playing with my cock and perhaps reading and/or watching a video, until he comes and lies beside me, and then I grab him.
Usually, this process (the pre-foreplay) doesn't take very long. He usually appears within a couple of minutes, and if he doesn't, and I'm feeling impatient, I call out, "I'm naked in here!" or "Can we fuck now please?" or something similarly refined. But last night, he didn't show up, and, well, I was reading a very good book and watching a very odd and very entertaining movie, and, more to the point, I was feeling somewhat beaten down (though still very tumescent, go figure) by the work day, so I just figured that he'd show up when he showed up, and I'd fuck him then.
As it happened, though, he didn't show up because he wasn't feeling very well. When he did show up, at almost 9:30, he said that he was sore all over, which I would normally attribute to either a virus or a particularly ardent pounding administered by a mystery third party while I was busy stimulating the economy, but in this case, he'd just overdone it, so while he wasn't up for a particularly ardent pounding administered by me, he was good for a half hour of osculation-intensive erotic play. And that was very nice. And I hadn't been all that horny, anyway, so it was all good.
Except that when we stopped and I got up (and he went to sleep), the growling in my stomach reminded me that I hadn't eaten anything for going on eight hours, so I went downstairs and made some sesame-cilantro vinaigrette. Then I mashed my two cans of chickpeas and mixed in the vinaigrette to make some hummus, which I'd been craving for several days. Then I sat in front of the TV and watched the most execrable reality television imaginable (the season finale of The Rachel Zoe Project on Bravo, followed by an episode of that MTV show about Paris Hilton and the competition to be her new lackey) and ate too much hummus. It was extremely tasty hummus, but this morning I was all, "Whoa, fiber."
The inescapable conclusion here is that I've been in a bit of a lull the past week or so. Work, you know? I would worry about it, but it seems more sensible to take action. In this case, taking action means getting some action. B&c is leaving very early Sunday morning, and I have to sing at church later that morning, but Logan is coming over Sunday afternoon, and Judd will be over Tuesday night. And I think that Monday will be a good evening to play with one or both of the young'uns. Who knows? I might even have a cheeseburger.
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