Tuesday, February 10, 2009


It's hard to say whether the full moon has a real effect, or if I'm just constantly horny, but I was especially aware of my libido yesterday. Despite having hooked up with Balloon Boy, when I'd dropped him off and was in Costco shopping, I couldn't help noticing hot ass everywhere. That happens every time I go to Costco, pretty much, but this time, when I was in the checkout line, the guy behind me was a particularly attractive, fit, forty-something man of Japanese heritage. I somehow managed to convince myself that he was a former Kodo drummer who'd left the community after a personal revelation from the Buddha. It was obvious, from his awesome bod, that he still ran every day, but I could tell that he missed the drums. He hungered for the rhythm. He studiously avoided looking at me, but I'm sure that's just because he realized that if he and I had made eye contact, we would have been instantly swept into an intensely passionate, but ultimately heartbreaking, affair. My loss, I reckon.

Anyway, I'd been corresponding, for a couple of weeks, with this guy who I met on a popular gay dating/hook-up site, and we hadn't been able to find a time when we were both free. (He works in retail and works a lot of hours.) But when it turned out that YFU would be over Saturday night but not Sunday, I told him I'd be available Sunday evening, and he suggested that I stop by his store just before it closed, then afterwards, we'd go have a drink or dinner. He said that way if we found we weren't as attracted to each other as we thought we'd be, either of us could back out. I had to give him points for being honest about what he was doing, but we'd always talked about hooking up, and making someone have a drink with you before sex sounds an awful lot like a date. I always figure I can tell whether a guy's going to be okay in the sack by pictures and (mostly) what he says in email. And, from the data and pictures I'd given this guy, he could have made a very convincing blow-up doll of me.

But he was in his mid fifties and Filipino and very handsome. And the video that he'd posted on the hook-up site had basically panned from his face down to his nipples, then come in close on each nipple, and, well, those were some nipples on some fine brown skin, and his profile said that he loved to kiss, and I really, really wanted to meet him, even though he's 6'1, which might have meant that he was hung. And, yes, I know there are hung Asian men: I just don't know why.

Anyway, I was pretty nervous about meeting this guy. My MO is almost always to agree to sex beforehand, show up, and overwhelm the guy with my skills. It's been a long time since I had to close the deal with anything like a date. And this guy was in retail. Specifically, he managed the menswear section at a fairly upscale retailer. And I dress like, well, let's just say I have no fear of wrinkles. So I was looking at the prospect of driving all the way to Trenton, NJ Arundel Mills to spend an hour in conversation with a guy who was going to hate my outfit. I kept thinking it was a waste of my time and a bad idea, but he did seem genuinely interested, and, well: the nipples. Always, the nipples.

So I headed over to Arundel Mills, and I went and bought a birthday card for EFU, then I showed up at his store and said hi, and he said they were about to close and that I should wait for him outside the store, and it would probably only be a half-hour. And I'm thinking, what? He couldn't have had me show up half an hour later? But, he was cute, and he looked really good in his pinstripe suit, so I figured that I'd go ahead and wait for him. After all, I was already way the fuck over in Trenton, NJ Arundel Mills. It'd probably take me almost forty minutes to get home. So I'm sitting outside the store, and they've closed, so the grate that separates the store from the rest of the mall is down, and I decide to go through my pockets, and I find some old movie tickets, some very old receipts, a pen, and two W-2s, still in their envelopes, from 2001. And now I'm happy because I can take notes. Also, I can throw away the rest of my trash, and my pockets are cleaner. And then this cute young Black man shows up at the store grate and calls through it to a cute young Asian woman who's clearly his girlfriend, and they start to have a bit of an argument, and this cute young Black man has clearly put a great deal of consideration into his outfit, and the cute young Asian woman is giving him a hard time, and it's immediately evident to me that he loves her because a) the sex is great, and b) she gets him a store discount. But love is love, and who's to say that love that's based on mutual respect and common interests is superior to love that's based on discounted clothing and oral sex? Not I. He was obviously very into her, so good for them.

And when the cute young Black man with the extremely fashionable hat had finally walked away with the cute young Asian woman who had finally gotten off work and seemed to have gotten over her annoyance with him, I decided it was a good time to sit and meditate. I find that meditation is most interesting to me when I'm in an environment with a lot of diffuse sound inputs, and I can let them wash over me and become a sort of unified cocoon of sound, and in this case there were a few people walking by, kids talking in the distance, and chamber music playing. And, before I knew it, forty minutes had passed by, and I was in my car following Giancarlo to Friday's for a drink.

I suppose I should mention here that I'd at least made an attempt to put together a passable outfit. I was wearing my bright red t-shirt from the Lesbian and Gay Chorus of Washington (I sang with them years ago, but I never wear the t-shirt, so it looks new) under a long-sleeve, blue button-down shirt that was only slightly wrinkled. Also, I had black jeans over my motorcycle boots. Those are the same boots that failed me so badly the last time I wore them that I ended up spending three hours stoned out of my mind in a Giant parking lot. I figured I should give them a chance to redeem themselves; besides, they look good with black jeans. I finished with my usual black wool overcoat and accessorized (ooooh, look at me, I'm so gay!) with my red watch that I got for fifteen bucks on Overstock. Also, I had gone to the extreme length of bifurcating my unibrow. I mean, we're talking minutes of grooming here. And if all that wasn't enough, I had probably spent an unprecedented forty-five seconds on my hair.

So now we're at Fridays, and I'm having some draught beer which might have been a Blue Moon, but might have been a Blue something else, and I'm thinking that it's almost eight o'clock, and I've been in Jessup for an hour and I'm just getting to talk to this guy, and that it's going to be a real bummer when he kicks me to the curb for not dressing well enough. But on the plus side, he seems like a really nice guy, and the conversation's going pretty well, and he mentions that he spent five years in the seminary in the Philippines, and I'm totally smitten because that means (I ask him, to be sure, and he confirms) that he knows Latin. It's always a huge turn-on for me when a guy knows any foreign language, but nothing's as hot as a dead language. B&c, for example, studied both Latin and Greek in Catholic school, and nowadays he's resumed reading Greek a little bit. He tells other people that he does so out of academic interest, but I know he does it just to drive me wild. But I'm really not thinking about how I pounded b&c on the morning before he left for his two-week consulting trip (to Haiti, the only country where he never gets any action) because I'm talking with a handsome guy who knows Latin and has great nipples (which I can't really see, but I believe they're there, and I hope to see them soon). And then we've been there almost an hour, and he's asking for the check, and I drop some money on the table and head for the men's room, and I'm thinking that this has been a really fun hour, and that if he decides that he's not interested, I've had a good time anyway, but of course I'm thinking that because I'm pretty sure he's interested, and then I'm out of the bathroom, and we're headed for the parking lot, and he asks me where I'm parked and if I'll just follow him to his place. Sweet! (I'm sure that my ability to carry a conversation helped, and I have to think that the occasional well-placed hand moved my cause along, but clearly it was the boots that put me over the top. The curse is broken!)

Giancarlo's place is a room that he's renting in a house, and his landlord is gay and understanding, but two straight men also live there, so he wants us to be quiet. And we park, and then we're walking through the garden, and it's all awash in the moonlight, and it's probably very ordinary by day, but in the moonlight, it's stunning, and then he's letting me into the house, and then we're walking quietly to his bedroom, and then he's putting on music and I'm kissing him, and he's got great lips and great technique, and it's awesome.

And the next two hours are awesome, too. We're both so into the kissing that it takes us a long time to get fully undressed, but I can work under his undershirt and get access to his nipples which are as wonderfully sensitive as they are beautiful. Everything is interrupted with more kissing, and then it's back to the nipples and lightly running my fingers along his smooth, lithe body which is alive to my every touch, whether it's a finger on his jawline or my lips along his waist or my tongue in his ear. Nearly an hour goes by like that, and then he starts to go down on me, and even though it's a little rough, it's great, and then I go down on him, and he turns out to have a cock that's just a little shorter and thinner than average, and it's really nice to suck on for short periods of time. And then, after a couple more rounds of all that plus lots of kissing, he's got my cock in his mouth and I finally get my head between his legs and start to tongue his ass, and he gasps but doesn't stop sucking me, and it's an ass that's a little bit on the thin side, but God it's nice. And then he wants me to fuck him, and I try, but he's really tight ("I don't bottom often," he tells me.) and I can see that it hurts him too much, and I tell him that it's okay, and he goes down on me some more, and I eat his ass some more, and he asks me to try again, and I get my cockhead inside him, but it's still not working, and I tell him, "I'm really totally okay with not fucking you tonight," and he says, yes, I should pull out, and we start making out again, and I'm playing with his nipples, and he's sucking my cock, and -- really, I'm perfectly happy just doing that: I'd be perfectly happy just doing that for the rest of my life -- he wants me to try yet again, and I put him flat on his stomach and enter him very slowly, and it's tough for him, but he really wants to make it work, so he takes it, and I try not to go in too deep, and it's so tight that it feels really great, and I fuck him for just a few minutes because it's so tight and I don't want to hurt him, and he asks me to cum on his back, and I fuck him until I'm very close, then I pull out, whip off the safe, and shoot forcefully on his back. Then I grab the roll of paper towels that he has next to the bed, and I clean him off, then I turn him on the side and kiss him and work on his nipples and start to play with his cock, which -- he's been warning me for almost two hours -- has a tendency to shoot very quickly. But we've been playing for a long time, and I've cum, so that's really not a problem, and I'm still kissing him when he starts to cum. And then I clean him up with another paper towel, and we lie together for ten minutes or so, and he sings along with the Andrea Bocelli recording of "Santa Lucia," and I ask him, because he should know, what Santa Lucia is the patron saint of, and he says "the blind," and that sort of makes sense under the circumstances.

And then we both get dressed and spend a while kissing each other goodbye, and then I'm back out in the moonlight, which might be even a little bit brighter now. Retail's a tough business these days, and Giancarlo had told me while we were having a beer that he's moving in with his cousin to save money later this month, so he won't be able to host any more. Also, he's moving even a little farther away, so I doubt whether he'll feel like driving all the way to my town when I can host. I'll invite him, but I expect that this will be one of those totally awesome evenings that remains very special because it only happened once.

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