Many many additional details have surfaced about the murder of George Weber. You've probably already seen them, and if not, just Google the name. Although it's now clear that this was a hook-up gone fatally awry, my conclusions haven't changed. The dangerous behavior in this case wasn't inviting a stranger into Mr. Weber's home: the dangerous behavior was inviting a drugged-out sixteen-year-old weapons freak who responded to an ad asking for violent sex into his home and then encouraging the guy to bind him with duct tape. It's not clear how much Mr. Weber knew about his murderer, but given the propensity of the young and brash to share information, it's not at all unlikely that he'd seen all of the very disturbing My Space profile and pictures that are now all over the Internet. To say that there were warning signs is an understatement of indescribable proportions.
It's also clearer than ever that the hook-up that led to Mr. Weber's death is highly distinguishable from the more common suburban hook-up that many people (like me) typically engage in. To draw a conclusion that the two are similarly risky is to abandon reason and logic.
My ex-wife is an epidemiologist, and she used to talk about how if you want to make a problem appear either bigger or smaller, you just expand or contract your sample. For example, if there's a cluster of ten cases of brain cancer in a small community, it's relatively obvious that there's a problem. But if you expand your circle of study to include the entire county, say, then the ratio of adverse events becomes much closer to the norm because the denominator is larger. Conversely, you can create apparent problems where none may exist by cherry picking a smaller sample where a larger sample would be more appropriate.
The anonymous hook-up situation seems similar to me. If you look at all of the anonymous hook-ups that happen everywhere, it's unlikely that you'll find the activity to be as risky as skydiving, hang gliding, whatever. If you look at the people who die, well, then you have a 100% chance of a bad outcome. If you look at the people who don't take sensible precautions and/or the people who are specifically asking for risky behavior, then you're almost certain to get a highly elevated risk.
Sex carries a lot of risks outside of violence, most notably health risks. Men who go to sex clubs (which, again, I have no problem with in theory: I'm just not comfortable with them, and there aren't any near me) are probably not at a greatly elevated risk of disease if they play safely. If they don't use condoms or take other precautions, then their risk has to skyrocket, but that doesn't mean that nobody should go to sex clubs or that everyone who goes to sex clubs has an equal risk of infection as the guys who engage in unprotected sex at sex clubs.
In other updates, I'm feeling like a bad host today. Judd was over again last night, and my particular combination of fatigue, horniness, and pique resulted in a quickie: seventy-five minutes from first kiss to squirt. I know that for some people that's a lengthy session, but for Judd and I, not so much. We pretty much went right to sleep after that, and he kissed me goodbye at five this morning without a second fuck.
My pique was self-inflicted (and had nothing to do with Judd, who is always gracious and horny, if occasionally a bit toothy with the oral). Rafael had contacted me over the weekend (a text message in the middle of the night, which I neither heard nor responded to) and then again on Monday. Raf is so unreliable that I never expect him to follow through, but he practically begged me to let him join Judd and I last night. I didn't want to agree, mostly because I'd rather play with each of them on a one-on-one basis, but I knew that each of them would enjoy playing with the other, so I had to say yes, even though Raf was all over the place with the flurry of text messages.
For example, at 7:15, "U and ur buddy. Does he have a big dick like yours? Please tell me yes, I really want to be the middle car on the train. Please please please..????? Yes???"
Then at 7:19, "Do u think u can get him to fuck my mouth hard while u treat my ass the way I want?"
At 7:21, "You know Ted, I want to b a whore. I am inside. I want to b trained right. Give it up and work my ass right."
And then at 7:22, "I want to make love to you and then cuddle w/ u all night long!" (By the way, sic throughout. I even counted to make sure I got the number of question marks right. I have no idea what "I am inside" means, though.)
The last two messages made me tell him that he really needed to make up his mind. Not that whores don't need cuddling, too, of course. Anyway, there were more text messages, mostly meant to appeal to my vanity, but I really just said yes a) to shut him up, and b) because he does have an amazing ass.
And then yesterday afternoon around 5, the texts started arriving again. This time saying that he was having trouble getting a ride home from Frederick. There were many more, but at 7:30, he still appeared to be in Frederick, so I went home and got ready for Judd. I tried to find someone else to make up a threesome, but I didn't have time, and the only person who seemed interested was someone who seemed a bit sketchy to me (more in an I-don't-kiss way than an axe-murderer way, but, really, not kissing is bad enough), so I dropped it.
My allowing myself to think that Raf might follow through had left me in a relatively bad mood, but in addition to channeling the bad mood into a shorter-than-usual session, I channeled it into a particularly hard fuck, and Judd is all about that. In the end, we were both on our backs, and his head was on my left hip. We were both jerking off pretty hard, and I shot a particularly voluminous load. He came soon afterward, then turned his head and started cleaning off my cock. Then we chatted for a while, I gave him a few biscotti, and we fell asleep.
As is my habit whenever b&c's away, I put on a DVD to fall asleep to. In this case, I chose a Spanish movie that I had purchased for a reason that I cannot remember. But it doesn't take much to get me to buy Spanish movies, even though watching them means that I have to wear my glasses to bed in case I wake up and want to read the subtitles. I liked the movie a lot. It has the combination of darkness and optimism that I have come to associate (perhaps without reason) with southern European cinema.
I'm sure I'll be hearing from Raf again soon, but I think my answer from now on will be, "Sure, c'mon over." He doesn't drive, so that'll be the end of that, unless he's staying at his brother's house (about half a mile away), and then he can come over. I typically burn my bridges when someone's flakiness continues to upset me, but if I can get to the point where I just don't care, then I might as well leave the bridge there in case we're both free some night when he's in the neighborhood. It probably won't come to that, though. He'll probably text me this weekend after b&c returns home from Jordan, and I'll tell him no more text messages. If he wants to talk to me, he can man up enough to make an actual phone call. He's not young enough to be that addicted to the text message, anyway.