Thwarted

So. I haven't been posting much lately for the most obvious of reasons: I haven't been fucking around very much. B&c has been home since the beginning of April or so, and he isn't going anywhere until the second half of June. I have sex with him, of course, but it's mostly unremarkable sex (except maybe for yesterday, but just because something is worth remarking on doesn't mean that I'm going to). In part that's because he has no interest in being rimmed and because his nipples just can't take the sort of hard work that they used to take, but in part it's just that I require variety. If I hook up with a guy who's really awesome in the sack, I can pretty much count on his awesomeness declining asymptotically over time, beginning with the third session -- or sometimes the second. And then I only stay sexually interested if the guy is intelligent and has a kind and interesting personality. And let's face it, guys who are great in the sack and have those attributes are usually only temporarily single. Or they're partnered, so their availability is highly limited because they can't or won't tell their wives or boyfriends that they want to fuck around on the side.


So that pretty much leaves the casual hook-up, and that's just not easy to pull off when your partner's always around. I realize this whole lament sounds callous, but if you add to the mix the fact that I'm usually out of the house from before 8am until after 7pm and that b&c uses that time to chase other cock (which, of course, he is entirely free to do, and which I encourage), then I end up feeling pretty bummed. Approximately one-tenth of the bummedness is envy because my partner gets more extracurricular sex than I do (and he's a bottom, for crying out loud), but ninety percent of it is simply the petulance of a child who's had his candy taken away from him. Yes, dammit, I like my meat and vegetables, but that doesn't mean that I don't still want dessert. Two desserts, please.

Anyway, it's gotten so bad that I've gone to unusual lengths. For example, two nights ago, the uberhot former gymnast whom I pounded a couple of weeks ago texted me and asked if I wanted to fuck, and I turned to b&c and said, "Do you mind if this guy comes over and I pound him in the other bedroom? I'd ask you to join, but you're really not his type, and he doesn't suck cock." And b&c said, "Go ahead," but he seemed to think about it for a while before he said that. And now that I'm thinking about it, he might have delayed simply because it was 1:30 am and he was half asleep, but I still felt bad about asking. I felt worse when it turned out that former gymnast guy -- despite having told me, two weeks earlier, that his truck would be out of the shop the next day -- wanted me to come pick him up. There are limits, people. I told him I couldn't and then went back to sleep.


I emailed former gymnast guy yesterday morning and told him that b&c was okay with me plowing him in one of the other bedrooms, and that I very much wanted to eat and fuck his ass, and he called me yesterday evening, but something happened. I'm not exactly sure what, but I was a little uncomfortable with the call because I don't much like talking on the phone, generally, and talking explicitly about sex on the phone when b&c is nearby, particularly, and fgg asked me whether something was wrong and why I was giggling, and, trust me, my voice is at least 1.5 octaves too low to ever be described as giggling. Anyway, I pulled myself together and asked if he wanted to get together, and, when he'd said yes, when he was available, and then his voice quickened, and he said, "Shit! I have to go. I'll call you back in a minute," and then I didn't hear from him again. And, dude, I don't giggle. Also: your partner knows that you fuck around. You've got really recognizable ads on several sites, and a couple of weeks ago, you were out for almost two hours in the middle of the night, so why don't you just have the conversation already? I had that conversation -- not that conversation, but a conversation about that conversation and the failure of so many other couples to have that conversation -- with b&c at dinner last night, when he was telling me about a guy who fucks him when he goes to Jordan but who can't tell his own partner about it because both he and his partner get jealous when the other so much as looks admiringly at another guy. Seriously, people, what are you supposed to do when you go on a tropical vacation together if you're not allowed to say, "Wow. Nice ass on that one"? Discuss the local flora?

Anyway, I had mixed feelings about the interrupted conversation with fgg. On the one hand, b&c and I had just had really great sex (he's given up smoking again) and then a large dinner, so I probably wasn't ready to pound him just then. On the other hand, I was really hoping to pound him sometime, like maybe ninety minutes later, when I'd had a little more time to digest. But he's not worth worrying about, and he's especially not worth following up with, so, despite the abundant edibility and fuckability of his very fine ass, I'll just forget about him, and if he calls at a time when I can actually do him, I'll think it a nice surprise.


The other unusual lengths that I've gone to have involved arranging threeways. This is always a touchy subject with b&c because he always says that he's willing, but then he's never into it, or he bails at the last minute and then sort of joins in half-heartedly maybe half an hour after I've started with the other guy. These last two times, however, it's been the other (married) guys who have bailed, which was both annoying (75%) and frustrating (25%). One of them had a legitimate excuse and called me a few days after he'd canceled to ask if he could come over (but YFU was over, so nuh uh) and to suggest that we try again another time. And he's twenty-nine and cute, so I think b&c will really like him. But when?

The other guy is not so young and not so cute, but he's a very good lay. Sadly, he canceled at the last minute, probably because I insisted that he not be drunk when he came over. He emailed me later with an extremely lame excuse, and I told him to fuck off. There's always a silver lining though: after I told him to fuck off, he emailed me again and told me not to "be a dickweed." I haven't been called a dickweed since I was in middle school. It made me feel young again. Verily, there was much laughter. Dickweed. I can't even type it without chuckling. But not giggling.

Anyway, I'm going to keep looking until I find just the right vers/bttm horndog to be the meat in our sandwich. I'm sure he's out there.

It's Easier To Stay Awake When You're Active

I was having truly horrible luck with my craigslist posting this past Friday night: lots of married submissives and wannabes who flaked after they said they would come over. I posted the ad early in the day. That's usually a bad idea, but it keeps me from having to upload pictures of my cock when I'm at the office, which is also a bad idea. Anyway, I had mentioned to Hans, the NoVa fifty-something sub who'd come over a week earlier, that I'd be available Friday evening, and he'd emailed back to see whether Saturday would work instead. I'd told him Saturday afternoon was a possibility, but I was in the middle of blanching some almonds (that is not a euphemism) Friday evening when he called and said he was on his way home (Sterling, or some place equally remote) from dinner and was wondering what I was up to. I told him he should come over, but he said that he had to go home first and that he'd call me "in twenty minutes." He wondered whether we'd be alone, and I replied that it was always very difficult to predict who'd wind up stopping by my place on a Friday evening. He told me to stay out of trouble and rang off. I sighed (There is a lot of sighing over men from NoVA, but it's always an eye-rolling sigh rather than a sigh of desire: even when they're desirable, they incite eye rolling.) and went back to my almonds. I fielded another couple of emails from men who clearly hadn't read the ad (it isn't that long), started the preliminary almond grinding (they need to go through the food processor and then through the coffee grinder) and read a little over the next hour and a half before Hans called back to say that he had showered and "cleaned out the plumbing" (dude) and wanted to come over. He said it would take ninety minutes. I think he must have been counting on rush hour traffic because just under an hour later, he called to say that he was less than a mile from my house. Then he told me again to stay out of trouble. I asked him how much trouble I could possibly get into in ninety seconds, but either he didn't have a good answer for that, or he thought the answer was obvious.


Hans is a little bit dorky, but he's cute. He's very tan, he has very perky nipples, and he was wearing white shorts and a sweater that was a) in a shade of blue that really looked good on him and b) tight enough to show off the perky nipples. Really, it was a great sweater: pretty enough to make me leave it on him even though I wanted immediate and unfettered access to all that perkiness. But I settled for kissing him.

I had the sweater off him soon enough, anyway. We spent the next two hours having a really great time, what with all the making out and my taking his nipples right to their limit, and you know what? I never ever ever get tired of telling a submissive or semi-submissive guy, "Yeah, I know I'm working them hard. Tomorrow they'll be sore and when your shirt rubs against them, you'll remember how it felt when I was fucking you." Which kind of doesn't make sense, even though it's true, and it's gotten to be a cliche, so I should probably retire it, but it's too much fun, so I just keep using it. Of course, Hans took the whole thing literally and began discussing what I'd said, so I had to bite down and then kiss him to get his mind back to my happy place.


Anyway, Hans is a good example of why older guys who are only finally coming to terms with their sexuality are so much fun. He was going down on me and I started rimming him, and he stopped to say, "No one's ever done that before," and his voice had so much awe in it. On the other hand, it was a bit disconcerting because I was pretty sure that I must have eaten his ass a week earlier. If only because if there's a clean, naked ass somewhere near my face, how would I not be eating it?

But I guess I eat a lot of asses. In fact, several hours later, at about 2:30 am, I had my face buried in the very hot ass of a very hot young'un who had hit me up on a site a bit earlier. He was in his late twenties and very small: when we were done and he'd had his cigarette and his shower and was getting dressed, I asked him what his waist size was, and he told me it was a 27. The mind boggles. He also told me that he'd been a gymnast for twelve years, which explained his flexibility and near total lack of body fat.

He also had a fair number of tattoos, which, I guessed came from his time spent in what he called "the scene." This came up when I was giving him a ride home (his truck was in the shop, and he didn't want to take his partner's Land Rover because that would have involved opening the garage door, which would have awakened his partner, who, he said, would likely be awake anyway when he returned, but, he went on, "It is what it is," whatever that may be) and he joked that I didn't have to worry about him showing up on my doorstep because he'd never be able to find where I lived, and I said that the only person I ever worried about finding on my doorstep was Raph, and he was in jail, and then I told him about Raph, and with every datum I gave him, he was more and more certain that Raph is a tweaker, and of course I had to ask, "Which one is that" because I don't really have any experience with crystal meth unless you count that one guy who was smoking it while I was shoving the entirety of an eighteen-inch, two-headed dildo up his ass. But it was good to get an explanation of Raph's behavior. Though it was a lot better to fuck the gymnast. I had him bent double and I was pounding him so hard that he said it felt like I was pushing his prostate through his stomach. He looked up at me and said, "You could do this for hours, couldn't you?" I said, "Maybe not hours, but for a long time, yeah. I'm not going to cum no matter how long I fuck you like this." He began leaking cum while I was fucking him that way, but he said, "It's not so much cumming as it is having the cum pushed out of me" and so later, after I'd finally brought myself very close to the edge and he'd finished me off, he rode me and had a final, or perhaps a first, orgasm, then collapsed and began joking that he was going to start a blog telling everyone what a lousy lay I was so that I'd have to keep coming back to him. I said, "You have a blog?" and he said he didn't, but I didn't believe him.

Anyway, most people would probably consider him hotter than Hans, but I maybe had more fun with Hans just because he's so inexperienced. The last time we'd played, I found Hans a little annoying, but on Friday I was mostly finding him endearing, maybe because I was so entranced by his nipples, but maybe it was just some sympathy. He's so religious that he feels very guilty about the mansex, and I mostly laugh at that sort of guilt, but I still remember it some, even though I got past the religious guilt long before I started in with the mansex. After two hours, he kept telling me that he had to leave, and I kept playing with his nipples and kissing him, and I was doing a pretty good job of distracting him, probably because he'd cum and I hadn't, even though I'd pretended to. When you haven't cum, you can keep playing forever. At one point he got up off the bed to get dressed, and I pulled him back down on top of me and kissed him until he got distracted, but he did make his escape eventually, though not before telling me that he'd like to be a regular guest in my bed. I suspect the guilt has already kicked in, though, so we'll see how that goes. In any event, he seemed much more interesting than he had before, but that's often true when you don't go through the post-coital deflation while a guy's still around. He had some bizarre condition that sounded a little bit like he might be a werewolf but that really just meant he had to spend a lot of time in tanning beds. I don't know why I mention that. Probably because I'm tired and rambling. I like rambling.


The gymnast was also a great kisser, and I hadn't expected that, even though I'd verified, before asking him over, that he liked to kiss. And he had great nipples, which is always a plus. I'm not usually all that into the ripped abs, but he managed to make those work, too. Maybe it was the tininess. But I probably mostly liked that he stroked my ego by telling me what a great fuck I'd been. He had some trouble walking afterwards, but he said that he really needed a cigarette, so he managed to make his way down the stairs and out onto the patio. He was walking more or less normally when he came back up and stripped down to shower. Then we had the conversation about his waist size. Apparently, he has difficulty finding clothes that fit. He showed me how loose his jeans were. They were twenty-eights. By the time I'd driven him home and returned, it was nearly 4 am, but I still read for a while before I went to sleep, even though I had to be up at 8 to go to the office. I don't really get myself sometimes, but I'd be lying if I said I regretted any part of Friday night. Fatigue is a small price to pay for good sex.

It's unlikely that I'll be playing more before I head out on vacation on Thursday. YFU's over tonight, and the very local married guy really wants to come over for a threeway Wednesday night (he wanted to come over last night, but he was already drunk, and I want to wait until he's sober before I fuck him again; I imagine him telling himself that he was so submissive because of the alcohol, and that kind of pisses me off), but I doubt b&c will agree to it. It makes me sad that I can't get him more interested in threesomes or larger groups, but I'll keep working on it.

Annals of Technology

I left my cell phone in the car last night. It wasn't a big deal since I'm not likely to get calls after 10 on a school night when b&c is at home. Nike used to text me then, but he no longer has my number. The last time I texted him, I hadn't heard from him in over a week, and he didn't know who I was. A few days ago, I got an email from him saying that he'd lost my number, which means that he'd decided to delete it to resist the temptation of texting me. I didn't answer the email. Resisting the temptation to text me was a good move on his part, and this is one case where I'm happy, or at least relieved, to help him out.

Anyway, when I got in the car this morning, the phone was cold, and I had a text message:

Hey if your interested i changed my # to [phone number] by the way if you didn't know this is [very common name]

So immediately I'm wondering who the hell [very common name] is. I'm pretty sure that it's not the very local married submissive who drinks too much, and I know it's not any of the other guys I hooked up with this past weekend, but the only time anyone texts me it's about sex, so I know that it's someone I've hooked up with, hopefully not too long ago, but I'm really tired after another 4.5 hours of sleep, and I just can't remember, and I know it sounds terrible, but I punt:

Thanks. Remind me who you are. I can't remember names very well.

And of course then I'm thinking that whoever it is is someone who's going to be annoyed and not want to hook up with me again, because they all think they're memorable and special and then I'm thinking, oh shit, it's that cute young local ex-military married guy who's getting a master's degree, and he really is going to be annoyed because it hasn't been that long since we hooked up, and it was a pretty awesome hook-up, and we've exchanged a few emails since, and I'm driving, but I'm thinking that if I get stuck at a long light, I can text him and say, "Hey, sorry. You're the cute married guy who lives over by the hospital. I know who you are, of course, but there are three [very common names] in my choir alone. How are your classes going?" and then I think that maybe I'll just wait until I'm at the office and email that to him because if I text all that, I'll be at the office by the time I finish, and then I hear my cell phone give it's little message received bleep, and I flip it open:

It is your brother-in-law

And suddenly I understand why people memorize area codes.

Dark Nights of the Soul

Lack of sleep is the overarching problem these days, and it feeds upon itself. Fatigue hinders judgment, and poor judgment means that when you slouch home at 11 pm, instead of burrowing under the covers and passing quietly into oblivion, you might get on line and find yourself burrowing into something entirely different until 1 am, and that, naturally, leaves you even more tired the next day, which leads to more of the same behavior.

Anyway, when I got home Thursday night, I got online and got a message from the very local married guy I'd fucked last weekend. He said he could be over around eleven. I asked him to call me when he was on his way, then I took a shower, unlocked the front door, and got in bed with a not-too-challenging book. Eleven came and went, and there was no call, but then I heard the door open, and "Hey. I forgot your number. Sorry." "No problem. C'mon up. Lock the door." This guy, who's name I still can't remember, likes undressing at the front door so that he's naked by the time he gets to the bedroom. I closed my book, took off my glasses, turned off the bedside light (there was still illumination from the hallway and from my lava lamp), and waited. He was there a few seconds later, and I pulled him down on the bed and started to kiss him. I could tell that he'd had a fair amount to drink and had tried to cover that up with some sort of breath treatment, but the treatment had been fairly successful, and he loves to kiss, so while I might at another time (like now, for instance) wonder what it is that requires a guy to get loaded before he goes to get fucked, right then we just kept making out.

Married Guy (really a horribly non-specific appellation among the men I fuck) also loves to have his nipples worked hard, so I bit down and worked them. It's pretty clear that MG likes the punishment aspects of sex, and that's cool, except that he wants me to call him "faggot bitch" a lot, and boy does that get tedious fairly quickly. Sometimes I wish that I had a lot of money so that I could hire someone -- let's say Leonard Nimoy or Timothy Geithner -- to narrate an instructional video for submissives. It would begin by explaining to them that by sneaking out of their house in the middle of the night so that they could cheat on their wives by sucking the cock of and then getting pounded hard by another man is a sufficiently submissive and degrading activity -- hence all the drinking -- that additional humiliation in the form of name calling is entirely superfluous and even counterproductive. But it's not clear that they'd believe Spock any more than they'd believe me.


The weird thing about MG is that he also likes to be held and to be told that he's a good boy, and it was extremely tough for him to get up after we were done because he wanted to fall asleep in my arms. "It's fine with me if you stay," I told him, "but I suspect it would cause you some trouble at home."

Anyway, the sex in between all that was pretty good. He had brought some poppers, and the combination of that and the drinking was not entirely beneficial to his stamina. At some point after I'd stopped fucking him and let him go to the bathroom for a piss (Spock would also explain to the submissives that the feeling that urination is imminent when you're on your back being pounded hard by the top is really predictive of an entirely different fluid. I tried to explain that to him, but I reckon it's something you have to experience to believe, and, apparently, it's a frightening prospect until you do experience it. Or so the bottoms tell me.) he came back and said, "I'm sorry. I think I'm done." I laughed at him and told him he wasn't done until I was done, and then I chewed on his nipples a bit. Then we made out while I stroked myself, while he said he wanted me to shoot all over him. Fun, yes, but not what he really wanted, I was sure, so I told him that I would decide where I was going to cum. And when I got close, I shoved his mouth down on my cock, and he went at it greedily as I shot into his mouth. Frankly, shooting in a guy's mouth doesn't do that much for me, and it makes my cockhead sensitive in a way that's not entirely pleasant, and I'd rather spray a big load all over a hairy bottom, but I felt like I should give him what he really wanted. And he really liked it.


Friday night, I had a few guys lined up as probables, so I told Judd he could come over, which might not have been the best idea. I think the other guys reacted well to being in a threesome, but Judd was beginning to get on my nerves a little bit. I guess it's my fault, but he always presumes that he's spending the night now, and I really would have slept longer and better if he'd taken off after the first threeway and left the second guy for me to fuck solo. But, whatever: I know I'm partly just cranky because of work and the fatigue, so I make allowances. Still, when he tells the other guys who show up for a group that they should come back again sometime, it seems a little presumptuous, given that he doesn't live there. Part of it's just that when a guy's no longer fresh meat, I start to notice all of the non-sexual aspects of his character, and guys who are great in the sack are often disappointing in other contexts.

Take, for example, the first guy who showed up Friday night. I was ambivalent about having him over. On the one hand, from his pictures and our conversations, I guessed that I'd have a lot of fun with his nipples and ass, but I was tired, and he seemed a little, I don't know, Northern Virginian. You know, a civil service drone with a security clearance and not much of a sense of humor. But I'd said we could play, and I really hate guys who flake out on hook-ups, so I followed through. And when he arrived, he was significantly tastier looking than his picture. He'd called on the way over to ask whether there was somewhere he could stop to pick up a bottle of wine. I'd stifled a laugh and told him it wasn't necessary, and then when he arrived, I grabbed him and began kissing him and squeezing his nipples immediately, and when, half a minute later, I let him breathe, he said, "Wow, what a welcome." I followed him up the stairs, squeezing his ass and explaining to him why I preferred post-coital to pre-coital conversation, but I didn't get very far into it because, after all, there are only thirteen steps, and then I had to throw him down on the bed, straddle him, and get into it.

So, good kisser, very nice nipples, decent cocksucker, great ass. I had my tongue buried in his ass with my cock down his throat when Judd showed up and joined in. He was something of a distraction, really, but Mr. NoVA had never been in a threeway, so he was fascinated. He'd also never tried poppers and had asked me earlier where he could buy some, and I'd told him not to bother because Judd would certainly be bringing some (a similar inquiry about another substance revealed a) that Mr. NoVA didn't know what 420 means, and b) the whole security clearance thing; oh well) and when, a few minutes later, I mentioned poppers, Judd offered him a hit, and he went to the next level.


Anyway, he had a really tight ass, so tight that after about five minutes into plowing it, I told myself that I'd better be careful, but then I wasn't, so I'd shot my load in less than ten minutes of fucking, while Judd and Mr. NoVA were making out. I stayed hard for a while and kept fucking, more slowly, but then I was tired. I think Judd got Mr. NoVA off, and then he trotted off to the bathroom. He kept coming back to bed and lying down, then getting up again, saying that his cock was still leaking and that he didn't want to get any semen on the sheets. Dude, I have a washing machine. A nice one, even. Anyway, he eventually recovered from cumming and from the poppers, and then, alas, we started chatting, at which point it was revealed that his favorite genres of music include contemporary Christian. Oh my god. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Northern Virginia.

Anyway, he left and I was about to drift off when Boris called. He was supposed to call or email me earlier in the day, so I figured he wasn't going to make it, and he was still way the hell over in Towson, but I told him, "Sure," and at that point it began to dawn on me that Judd wasn't planning to go anywhere until the next morning, very early, probably waking before 6. Whatever.

It was maybe 12:15 when Boris showed up. I never know how quickly I'm going to recover after a hard fuck, but a little bit of making out and working on B's very fine nipples brought me around. But I knew that Judd hadn't cum yet, so I concentrated on increasingly passionate kissing and nipple play while Judd fucked B. Then when he gave up (I don't think he ever did get off), he instead started playing with and then sucking B's cock until B shot his load. B and I were kissing the whole time, except for when I was chewing on his nipples, of course, and we were making out when he shot, and that's always hot. Then Judd and I switched positions, and they played with each other. A lot of guys don't like being fucked right after they've cum, but Boris couldn't get enough. I fucked him for as long as I could, but that wasn't all that long. It was something like 1:15, and I was beat. I lay on my back and let Judd ride me for a while, and then there was more chat, and thankfully none of it involved contemporary Christian anything. Boris likes karaoke, but nobody's perfect, and at least he lives in Maryland. I reckon I'll see him again.

After he left, Judd and I chatted some more. He still hadn't cum, so he was in a somewhat agitated mood, but I was beat, and he and I really don't have that much to talk about outside of sex. Plus, I didn't want to smoke a bowl at that point, and I think he was annoyed about that, not that he'd say. Anyway, he fell asleep, but, tired as I was, I couldn't, so I grabbed my book and read for a bit, then I watched Alton Brown talk about pan frying chicken, then I went back to bed and slept until 5:30 or so, when Judd's alarm woke me up. I went back to sleep, managing to stay asleep until almost 9, then I went to the office, where, since it was Saturday, I only worked twelve hours.

My interaction with Judd is starting to feel a little bit like dating someone I'm really not all that interested in. The problem with fucking your friends isn't that it's hard on the friendship. The problem is that it's so much easier to find a good fuck than it is to find someone you really enjoy hanging out with when they've stopped moaning and screaming and started talking. I'm not sure quite how I'm going to extricate myself from this situation, but I'm sure it will happen somehow and that I'll feel badly about it and then that I'll be over it. Life is so predictable: it always ends the same way.

Wow II

A few minutes ago, I mused, in a comment replying to a comment from Will, that I wished there were a way to check to see whether a person was actually incarcerated.

It turns out that there is, and it turns out that Raph (not his real name, obviously) is currently in custody at the Central Detention Facility.

It also turns out that he's thirty-eight, and I'm almost sure he said he was thirty-nine. The bastard. I shouldn't make a joke about it. Actually, I'm a little troubled by the whole thing. In fact, I'm so troubled by the whole thing that I'm NOT going to make a joke about sending him a cake with a giant container of lube baked into it.

I don't really know what else to say about it, so I think I had better just put up a picture of something I find reassuring.


And, you know, I do feel better. It's amazing how well that works.

Wow

B&c's daughter-in-law recently gave birth to b&c's first grandchild, so he's off to Atlanta for a visit for a couple of days. I'm so tired I can barely see straight (not really either an exaggeration or a metaphor: in my moments of most extreme fatigue, my eyes have been blurring lately, and I haven't had time to jerk off, so it's not like I'm going blind from that), and I don't have time, but it still occurred to me to try to hook up. Judd's working tomorrow night, and the other guys who've expressed interest are iffy (New policy: if we've played before, especially if you're married, and you're not sure you can make it, I'm just going to go ahead and invite other people. If more than one guy shows up, well, everyone wins, right?), so I figured I'd see whether Raphael might be free.

Raph is so flaky that I figured something weird was going on, but I could never tell what it was. I was pretty sure that he wasn't lying about not being able to drive, and that's really enough to make it hard to play when you live in the exurbs. But I knew there must be more to it. Anyway, I sent him a quick text earlier today: "Free tomorrow night?" And I got this somewhat surprising response. "Ted- [Hey! It's TED] this is Raph's girlfriend. He's in jail for the next 90 days. Sorry."


And, of course, I'm all, "Bitch, please, if you don't want to play, just say so." But I didn't say that, I just texted back, "Nice try." And then I got another message, "I'm dead serious. If u don't believe me - call his phone[.]" And then I was just a little bit peeved because I was sure it was just some ruse on his part. Which is kind of silly since all he has to do is say that he's not interested. And stop calling and texting me in the middle of the night to say that he's horny. So I text back, "So suddenly he's straight? The jail part I could believe."

And then the phone rings. I don't answer it, of course, but pretty soon there's a voicemail, and when I listen to it, there's a woman's voice saying that she doesn't want to get in the middle of anything but that Raph really is in the DC jail for 90 days, and she doesn't have any details, but if I want to find out more details, I should call her.

Hmmm. Well, I give Raph credit. The woman he had call me (probably his sister-in-law) did sound like the sort of woman who'd be desperate enough to date him. (There'd be no sex because I don't think his dick gets hard. But, I suppose if she wore a strap-on they could go at it. He really loves having his ass pounded. But this woman didn't sound like the dominatrix sort.) Or maybe he really does have a girlfriend, and I've just outed him. Or not outed him: she didn't sound either angry or surprised.


Anyway, I was feeling a little bit bad about the whole thing, though mostly just because he seems like a lost soul, and I was feeling sorry for him. (I should know better, but I tend to look more kindly on men after I've fucked them, even when they've done nothing to deserve it.) But then I realized: he's in jail. In DC. And, you know, I don't want to do any stereotyping, but I think we can reasonably conclude that he's surrounded by men who are a) well hung and b) eager to make him their bitch. He's going to have more fun than b&c has in Jordan. I don't reckon this will do much to help his ailing self-image, and it'll probably reinforce his personal feelings of worthlessness, but from a purely sexual point of view, he's in for 90 days of hard pounding without lube. That's his idea of heaven.

Of course, when he comes out, he'll be radioactive. But I think criminals is pretty much where I draw the line, anyway, so I would never have been able to take advantage of all the ways he learned to please a man while he was on the inside. Besides, he'll have gotten used to rougher treatment and bigger cock than I can provide, so I probably won't be nearly aggressive enough for him once he's released. Not that I'll ever find out. I suppose I should be grateful that I didn't hook up with him more than I did.

It all makes me reflect on what a sheltered life I led until relatively recently. As of ten years ago, I'd had sex with one guy (best friend in middle/high school) and one woman (the ex-wife). And now, well, I've still only ever had sex with one woman. Plenty of bi men have tried to get me to agree to a threesome with them and their girlfriends, but ewwwww. Even after I began the coming out process, my sexual tastes were initially very narrow. Now: not so much.


I have to say that I have remarkably few regrets about the way my sex life has gone. I know a lot of gay men would give anything to be straight, but I would give nothing. I'm sure it's possible for heterosexuals to have the same level of sexual freedom that I have, but I think it's very hard. Maybe it's the particulars of their situations, but the married gay/bi guys I interact with are all so tortured. It's very sad.

In a similar vein, there was this guy I met a couple of times maybe five or six years ago, either shortly before I met b&c, or while we were in the early stages of interaction (you couldn't really call it dating). He was a semi-cute Asian guy, a civil servant and a physician, and he was very shy. We'd meet for coffee or dim sum or whatever, and then we'd go our separate ways, and on a couple of occasions, I'd see him online afterwards, and he'd tell me how when we were saying goodbye, he was wishing that I'd haul him into the men's room and take him right there. But he was a terrible tease and never followed through.

This guy's been posting on craigslist and hanging out on gay.com for years saying that he's looking for friends and hinting mildly at wanting some NSA play to accompany the friendship. I got tired of seeing the ads, so I emailed him and told him that what he really wanted was to be dominated and fucked hard. He emailed me back to suggest that we have dim sum together. I told him that I'd be happy to hang out with him but that I'd come by his place, fuck him hard, and then we could go have dim sum. He didn't reply for a couple of days, and then he emailed back to say that I'd mistaken what he wanted and that he hoped I'd reconsider something more friendly and less sexual. Nuh uh. He's a nice enough guy, but he's not really all that interesting or bold. As a submissive wannabe who's afraid to take the plunge, he's very sexy. But if he just wants to be friends. Well, I have friends already, and they're more interesting than he (It sounds a little bit rude, but guys have to be very interesting to be my friend if I don't get to fuck them. This is not a philosophical statement: it's a recognition that my time is a scarce resource. When I'm retired, or maybe when YFU goes to college, I'll have boring friends whom I don't fuck.), and I don't have time to see them at this time of year. I'm not going to take several hours out of my packed schedule to hang out with someone I barely know unless he's going to let me treat him the way I know he wants to be treated. Either he'll come around or he won't, and it's no loss either way. There's always "Next!"

A Twitch upon the Thread

Greetings, readers. I hope the day finds you well.

I suspect that most of you will be surprised, some of you greatly, by what I'm about to say. Others of you may have trouble "believing," or at least accepting, it, but I know that a few of you will have had some inkling of how I've been "struggling" right up until this very day.

The long and short of it is this: I have decided to abandon most of my former professional and personal pursuits in favor of a "simpler" and more abstemious life.

The Neighbors Will Hear has been a fairly accurate -- sometimes too accurate -- portrayal of my embrace of hedonism. I have taken great joy in describing the actions and sensations associated with the feel of a full pair of lips upon my own. I have reveled in describing the way a man's flesh yields to me and the way he is driven into the realm of ecstasis when my teeth close upon his nipples. I have, sometimes breathlessly, described spreading the ripe ass cheeks of a heavenly bottom and then penetrating it with my eager tongue and my equally eager cock.

But I'm afraid all of this has been "empty." I have increasingly, most especially over the last few months, come to see that my sexual pursuits, as well as my gradual accumulation of "modest" (by American standards) wealth have been little more than a way to mask the growing spiritual void in my "soul."

I was driving home last night, after a long long day at the office, and I happened, apparently (but, not, I think, truly!) by chance, to touch the seek button on my car stereo. And, as if by a miracle, the stereo alit on a "gospel" station that was playing a song that I knew well from my youth:

Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling—
Calling for you and for me;
Patiently Jesus is waiting and watching—
Watching for you and for me!

And my first inclination was to smile and sing along, but for some reason that I cannot name, I began to weep. Softly at first, but then with great force and resonance as if all the sorrow in the world were pouring out of me. And just then the music stopped, and the station went dead. I came to a stop light, and there were no other cars around, and I said, aloud, "I need a sign." And just then, the stereo started again:

Come home! come home!
Ye who are weary, come home!
Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling,
Calling, O sinner, come home!

Okay, so it wasn't exactly the parting of the Red Sea, but it was enough.

I turned the car around, came back to the office, packed up my photographs and other personal belongings, wiped the "smutty" pictures off my hard drive, and sent an email of resignation to the managing partner. I imagine the partners will not be happy about the timing, but when Saul was on the road to Damascus, I'm sure he didn't give two weeks' notice.

Then I came home and I had a rather difficult conversation with b&c, who, after some time, finally acknowledged that he had felt like my "heart" wasn't in the relationship recently.

My exact path from here is not clear. I have long since abandoned the faith of my upbringing, and I can't exactly go all the way back to being a Southern Baptist. I do not, in fact, have a very strong or specific faith, but I have to believe that "God will provide." By that I mean that if I set out on an unknown road, He (She, It) will lead me to where I ought to be. It seems most sensible for me to explore some aspects of Christianity since that is what I am most familiar with.

I have, of course, "responsibilities" with respect to my children, most notably YFU, who is still only thirteen. I will have to work out the details with her mother, but she is very self-sufficient, and if the twitch upon the thread that appears to be bringing me back to theism pulls me away from the immediate area, I expect that she will understand, provided that I maintain contact. I have amassed enough savings to give EFU the support that I promised her during her college years and to support me for a time. I can live very cheaply otherwise, and b&c seems amenable to having me around for a few weeks or a month while I figure out the next steps. He will be traveling a good deal in the coming months, so I may stay around as a house sitter until late spring or early summer. After that, I'm not sure, but I believe that the best path is the one that most exercises my "faith," so I intend to seek out monastic and semi-monastic communities until I find one that suits and will accept me. I hope that my "faith" will continue to grow through interaction with holy men of greater belief than I presently have.

I have to say that there's a certain amount of euphoria carrying me right now, but I suspect that the full realization of giving up a career and the pleasures of the flesh will hit me soon enough. But I have my books, and my poetry to protect me. I am shielded in my armor.

Clearly, there is nothing to be gained and a great deal to be lost by continuing to "write" The Neighbors Will Hear. It remains only for me to thank you for your attention, your e-mails, and your comments. The path I am choosing is for me alone, and I imply no judgment about the path you have chosen or will choose. I am not sure that it is worth much, but for what it is worth, you will all remain in my prayers.

Finally, I have left you a few more images that I have found "inspiring," with the profound hope that by studying them intently, you will find equal and similar inspiration. Peace be unto you.