Al Fresco

Oh, the weekend, it comes and goes so quickly when one has to work a full day on Saturday. After a while it seems like it didn't happen at all, but I'm pretty sure that on Friday night, I fell asleep after fucking Judd, and he fell asleep, too, and then he woke up, and I sort of woke up, but only enough so that every time he said he should go, I could pull him close to me and hold him and maybe kiss him so that he'd give up any idea of leaving, but then I fell asleep again, and when I woke up
he was dressed and I was objecting, but he'd spent three-and-a-half hours naked in bed with me, and I was too exhausted to fuck him again anyway, not exhausted from too much fucking -- no such thing -- but from too much working and too little sleeping. Saturday evening wasn't much better, and after taking YFU shopping with me at Ikea and Costco, we came home and I spent much of the evening cleaning the house so that when b&c got home, he wouldn't be in a bad mood. He'd called me to tell me that his flight out of Miami was delayed by almost two hours, so I wasn't expecting him until after midnight, but it was a little bit shy of midnight when I heard the door open and heard him talking to the driver, but I was tired, so I just sat in the easy chair in the den until he got in, and we chatted for a bit, and then I went upstairs and fell asleep, and then it was Sunday morning, and I had to be up early for choir, and church left me in a good mood, and I'd had almost seven hours of sleep the night before, so when YFU and I got home, I was both happy and well-rested, and after YFU started playing Sims downstairs, I went upstairs and sat behind b&c at the computer and kissed his neck and ears for a bit, and then he followed me to the bedroom, and we did all the usual things, and after I fucked him,
I spooned him, and we both fell asleep in that position, and we spent a couple of extremely pleasant hours in bed, lying together, then he got up to start making dinner, and I read for a while before nodding off yet again. Then it was evening again, and when YFU went off to bed, I turned on the Oscars just to see what was happening, and what was happening was some sort of god-awful tribute to musicals where Amanda Seyfried got to sing about eight notes, and I was sucked into the broadcast because it was like a train wreck that you can't look away from, even though you know you a) shouldn't be watching it and b) have somewhere else you need to be, and then -- poof! -- the weekend was over, and I'm back at the office, and I have no ability to sustain concentration, and the only thing I keep thinking is that the worst part about living in the suburbs is how hard it is to have a great picnic: if you live in the country, you can just go outside and eat somewhere on your own grounds, and if you live in the city, you can just go over to the boulangerie and the charcuterie and then walk over to the park and eat your bread and your cheese and maybe your rillettes with some wine that you bought on the sidewalk, and, okay, maybe this particular scenario works best if you live in Paris, but why would you want to live in any other city? Why? And I've been thinking about all that in part because I have a long-standing, continual interest in picnics, and in part because when I was in Ikea, I got to the check-out area, and I saw this totally awesome plastic picnic ware, and I picked up a set of six oblong plates, a set of six small bowls, a set of six tumblers, and an eighteen-piece set
of plastic utensil, and each set was only $1.99, and each set has one piece (or three utensils) in each of the six rainbow colors, so now I can have a totally gay picnic, but I can't have it until summer, and I still have to find the right place to have it, but right now I have to get back to doing other people's taxes, and all I can do is dream of Paris. And ass. And picnics. And of lying on a blanket in the late afternoon somewhere in the Bois de Boulogne sharing wine and crusty bread and pâté de campagnes and laughter with an attractive man as the sun sets and then watching him roll over onto his stomach and put his head on his folded arms as if to fall asleep but also spreading his legs into an invitation that I accept by climbing between his legs and eating his fine, full ass until the stars are bright.