Ridiculously Compatible and I have been having our scheduling difficulties. Normally I'm very sympathetic about that sort of thing, but when a guy who works for the federal government tells me that he can't play because he's just too exhausted by a day of meetings when I'm working 65+ hours/week, well, I have to wonder whether that guy has the stamina it takes to be more than an occasional fuck buddy of mine. I mean, I get how annoying meetings are, but the best cure for that sort of annoyance is to take it out on a well-lubed ass. Maybe bottoms are different, but the whole too-tired-for-sex thing just completely contradicts my world view. I'm just not a too-tired-for-sex kind of guy. I'm more a dude-I-only-got-three-hours-of-sleep-last-night-so-I'm-only-up-for-forty-five-minutes-of-foreplay-and-half-an-hour-of-fucking-sorry-but-I'll-make-it-up-to-you-when-I'm-rested kind of guy.
Anyway, I'm not prepared to say "Next!" just yet because RC's a pretty cool guy when he's available and awake, and given my determination to remain single, it's just as well that a guy isn't too available, so when RC told me he wouldn't be available this past Friday night (dinner with his sponsor, sigh) I took the opportunity to see M. for a late date. M. claims that he's been after me for some time on multiple web sites, and that I had ignored him because he hadn't posted a picture. This really doesn't sound like my M.O.: I try to respond to all reasonable inquiries (i.e., all people who are attractive and/or live within fifty miles: I have given myself permission to delete without response messages from uninteresting men from different time zones), but he may have contacted me on one of those sites where I have a profile but never visit (there are so many), or maybe I just forgot. I dunno. Regardless, he contacted me on a site recently, and I replied, even though I figured it was a waste of time because his ad said he was a top. He gave me his number, and we talked on the phone a few times, and he sounded very attractive, but also very much like a top, and it occurred to me that he had looked at my pictures but perhaps not read all the particulars, especially the particular particular wherein I say that I'm a top, so naturally, I took the bull by the horns and ... texted him.
So after some preliminary exchange of data revealing that we are both, indeed, don't-even-think-about-sticking-that-in-there tops (I am not going to rehash how that makes me a less virtuous/interesting person: I'm over it) he said that he had contacted me because he found me handsome and that I must be something of a slut if I assumed that he was only interested in sex with me and I said so? and he said we should get together for a glass of wine and I said that I would be disappointed if that glass of wine didn't at least lead to some making out and he said that even if there was no making out I would surely not be disappointed and I said that he obviously didn't know how much I liked to kiss. And he laughed (via text, that is), so I suggested getting together a couple of Fridays back, and he didn't reply, and I figured he'd come to his senses. But then I got an email early last week, and when I replied, he asked when we were hanging out, and I replied Friday? and that worked for him.
Of course, I wasn't free until 10 pm, so I really, really hoped I wasn't going all the way to Northeast for a glass of wine and some conversation. And for a while I wasn't sure I was getting even that: when I went to get off 295, the exit on my instructions was closed for construction, and the next/detour exit was a ways down the road, and I really wasn't sure I'd find my way back, but at not much later than 10:15 -- having sent an illegal text message while stuck in a back-up due to entirely different construction -- I got to his place. And it's what you might call a marginal neighborhood. His street looks fine, but you have to drive through some dicey areas to get there, but on the whole it's probably not as bad as where, say, a certain well-known DC blogger lives, so I wasn't concerned.
M. let me into his place, and, well, M. M., as they say, is a puzzlement. First of all, he's gorgeous. He's about 35, Black, tall and skinny (but, as it happens, very defined: he looks like one of those posters of male muscular anatomy; his obliques are especially impressive), and he talks like he's straight from the hood, but he's obviously very intelligent, and his apartment, well, it looks like what you'd get as the winning entry if you took all of the Design Star contestants and set them loose in Ikea with a thousand dollars. It's a seriously gorgeous apartment, and, seriously, almost everything is from Ikea. Except probably the television and the corner unit from a sectional that a friend gave him. And I suppose the giant collage that he made himself out of CD art. (When he was telling me about it, I didn't hear him correctly at first, and when I asked him to repeat himself, he said, "CDs. That's how people used to get their music before there were iPods." And I was all, "Dude. I'm old enough to have had lots of vinyl.") Anyway, it was a very cool place, but obviously the place of someone I have not much in common with: In one room, there was a whole bookshelf of accessories, including perhaps thirty pairs of sunglasses and a lot of bling. In one of his closets, he had perhaps eighty pairs of neatly folded jeans. In another, he had a similar number of shirts hanging up. I stuck my hand into his shirts about eight deep and said, "I have this many shirts, and eighty percent of them are blue."
I was very much out of my element, not least because he wasn't touching me, and he seemed to be avoiding letting me touch him. I think he was making a point, but in any case, we returned to the living room, where we listened to loud music of a sort that I never listen to (I should really know who this Alicia Keys person is, though, right?) and I bummed a hit off his joint and listened to him. It was really very pleasant, and I thought to myself that this was one of those rare (for me) situations where you really have to bide your time wait for the sexual tension to build and build before you get that first kiss and whatever follows it, so I might as well relish it.
M. rolled another joint (In what appeared to be some sort of natural leaf wrapper: I should also know what that is, right? I am really very naive for my age. At least about some things.) and we passed it back and forth, and talked some more about music. He mentioned Gladys Knight, and I said that "Midnight Train to Georgia" is one of the few songs that can cure any sort of bad mood, and he dialed it up on his iPhone, and I reclined on the very roomy sectional and sang along and he laughed at me when I sighed and said, "I should have been a Pip." He got up to refill his drink (Chardonnay mixed with ruby red grapefruit juice. Dude.) and I slid over to the edge of the very room sectional, and when he came back, he sat next to me, and that was certainly one of the best first kisses ever. Great lips, great technique, total desire.
After a while I was lying back and he was lying on top of me, undressing me, and then he was pulling me into the bedroom with my jeans around my ankles and then we were naked in bed, and forty-five minutes of tussling later, he laughed and said, "Battle of the tops!" And it sort of was, but it was very friendly warfare. I'd let him take charge for a while, and then he'd let me take charge for a while. And that was a little bit hard for me to do when he decided he needed me to lie on my stomach so he could play with his ass, but I was very glad I did because after a few minutes of that, I had a number of thoughts which were mainly inchoate but which upon later reflection boiled down to a) this is fun, b) this guy may love ass even more than I do, and c) this guy may be more skilled at ass play than I am. And I really hate that (meaning c), but I also loved that.
We were at it for several hours, and I sort of lost track of the sequence events, but I think he might have come the first time before he played with my ass, and I know that when I went to play with his ass, he jumped up, and I said, "Hey, fair is fair! My turn!" And he said, "Yeah, fair is fair, but clean is clean," and he went to the bathroom and came back and was soaping his ass and bending over the bed and we were kissing and then he returned to the bathroom to rinse and dry and then he came back and let me push him down on his stomach and kiss and lick and eat his ass. Later discussion reveals that he doesn't think much of his ass because, in his words, he's a skinny black man, but really it is a very nice and very well-formed ass. There is, in fact, not one inch of that guy that is not beautiful. And I really checked.
After he came a second time, he told me that he was going to make me take the sheets home with me and wash them, and I laughed, and he went down on me, and he was really good at that too, but it was after 2am, and we were both running out of steam, so he lay next to me, turned on his side, pulled my arm over him, and we spooned for a while. And we nodded off and then it was 3am and we woke up, and we got out of bed and he handed me some mouthwash, and I gargled, and he jumped in the shower and then brushed his teeth and then started stripping the bed. He got a bed-in-a-bag from the closet, and we remade the bed together, which was kind of cool, but I was getting from his demeanor that this was, after all, just a one-off hook-up, and I did my best not to feel disappointed about that. He got a call from a friend and told her he'd call her back in a couple of minutes, and we kissed a couple of times, and he walked me to the door, and then he handed me a pillowcase stuffed with the linens we'd used, and I took them, and I figured that meant that he'd offered me a second date, and I'd accepted.
We flirted a lot via email and text message this week, and we're getting together tonight. It should be great. And tomorrow night I'm having dinner with RC, and I'm sure that'll be great, too. Maybe I'm on my way to having two guys to date. At least until RC decides that he's too tired and/or OA comes to his senses and finds a guy who's willing (or even eager: it just can't be that hard; in addition to everything else, he's hung) to take it up the ass. But it'll be fun until then.