Thursday, September 30, 2010


Vertical Personality Disorder is a condition where a man who is fun and perhaps even charming while horizontal turns into a big dick (not in a good way) when vertical. The horizontal charm is largely about the fucking, of course, but it's not just about the fucking. I've frequently experienced five or ten or thirty minutes of very pleasant (albeit often drowsy) post-coital conversation, and then the guy gets up to use the bathroom or get dressed, and the bonhommie evaporates.

This most frequently manifests in a guy who was happy to spend half an hour making out before being made to walk funny is suddenly nonplussed by a front-door goodbye kiss, but it can also show up as bizarre post-encounter behavior. Repeated emails, text messages, and phone calls (unsolicited, mind you) from guys saying they want a repeat but failing to follow through. The weirdest thing is that after acting like jerks, they're resume being charming when they're again horizontal. Go figure.

I still occasionally find this sort of behavior troubling, but mostly I just don't let it bother me. Back in the day I was more sensitive, but these days, if one guy says he wants to put his heels to heaven but then flakes on me, the usual upshot is that I'm happy for the opportunity to have a relaxed free night, and then someone else calls me and comes over instead. I have real trouble saying no to such offers of companionship, though I have developed the skill to move people along so that I don't miss that night's episode of Top Chef Just Desserts. Yeah, I know, but nobody's perfect, and I like fantasizing about ganache and Yigit.


There has been some Major Life Trauma in recent weeks, and it plays out in unpredictable ways in my sex life. There are times when it means that I just can't be bothered, and there are other times when it means that I'm extra horny, and throw that ass on the bed right now, boy. I never know which sort of mood that I'm going to be in, and this past Saturday, I really expected to be in the can't be bothered mood, which would have been really useful since I had a lot to do at the office, but then in the middle of the afternoon, I happened to look on Grindr, and there happened to be a geekily cute guy within reasonable proximity, and he happened to be responsive to my inquiries, so I happened to find myself walking through the door to his condominium a few minutes later. (It was a studio, so I had to help him flatten the futon from sofa to bed, but never let it be said that I'm not willing to work for it.)

When I walked in, I started to kiss him, and he apologized for tasting like coffee, but I told him that I like coffee, and then I kissed him some more, and (after folding the futon out), I started to undress him, and he apologized for being so pale, but I told him that I like pale, and then I got him undressed and remembered that he said that he hated having his nipples played with, so I started to suck on his neck instead, and he moaned and then apologized for not liking his nipples played with, and I said, "You aren't the sort who has to wrestle with your own arrogance, are you?" and he laughed.

And then things pretty much fell into place. I had to slow him down once or twice, when he too quickly wanted to get fucked, and I had to remind myself to stay away from his nipples, and OMG, you know what? After I'd eaten his ass and fucked him for a long time and he'd gone down on me and he'd spent tens of minutes moaning while I very lightly stroked all over his body, I forgot and licked his nipples and it turned out that he just didn't like any sort of pulling or biting or pinching, but licking and stroking was all good, and why did you not tell me that before, boy?

Anyway, it was two hours of awesome because he had a very reactive body and a nice smile and a subtle yet quick wit and that whole geekily cute thing going. More like him, please. I could have run my fingers over his simmering flesh all night long.

I went back to the office afterwards and then home, and again I'd planned to do nothing, but I thought I would at least try to text a guy who'd been in town working and visiting family and had wanted to play earlier in the week but had then had to do something with his family. I'd have just forgotten about it, but I figured it couldn't hurt, and he was really handsome in that short, smooth, big-nippled way that I can't resist, and he extremely submissive, so I sent him a message and he replied back while I was at Home Depot, which is always a good spot from which to flirt, even over the phone, and he said that he was finished with his work and headed back to Miami the next day but free later that evening and would come by in about ninety minutes.

Ninety minutes turned into three hours when he had trouble finding a motel room (he was flying out the next day, and I didn't know him, so I wasn't sure about offering to let him sleep over, especially since I had to sing the next morning and needed some sleep, and he seemed like the type who might make me wake up and molest him a lot), and I was worried that it was going to be too late to get started, but then he showed up and I kissed him, and I lifted his shirt, and I bit down on his nipple about as hard as I've ever bitten on a nipple, and he was mine.

That was three hours of full-on awesome, and I wish I could the exact order, but here are some of the highlights:

Every once in a while he would say that he needed some more energy, and he would take a few swigs of his Red Bull and then we'd make out. He was a great kisser, too.

I'm pretty sure this is the only time I've ever been able to fist someone without lube. Yet he was tight. How did he do that? Also, incredibly clean. He must have a machine of some sort.

He was also kind of a cool guy, and in one of the interludes when we were chatting, he said that this was the first time in the last three years when he'd truly clicked with a hook-up. That was nice to here, but it also made me incredibly horny, so I licked his nipple as if to be tender and then bit down really hard and then pinned his ankles down next to his ears and pounded.

Absolutely no gag reflex. That's supposed to be common, but in my experience, it isn't often the case: guys still gag. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I had his wrists tied to the bed for part of the fucking, and I could pull out and twist him so that his ass was up, and then spank him hard and then go back to fucking him.

His shoulders were knotted from a week of work, and I gave him a massage that relaxed him utterly. Then I started biting the back of his neck and shoulders, and things got less relaxed again.

I still managed to get almost seven hours of sleep, and I sang well the next morning.

More like him, too, please.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

The Post-Coital Book Club

In list format:

1. You do not get any sort of meaningful hits at all, let alone the obvious parody that begins "Sometimes it's hard to be a bottom," if you google "Stand by Your Top." How am I to make sense of a universe that doesn't have this but does have the gay rodeo? Also, I am a little embarrassed to admit that I have never been to a drag show, but are there no C&W drag artists? And if there are, how is "Stand by Your Top" not a standard? Are there intellectual property issues? Cole Porter foresaw similar difficulties and wrote "You're the Top" so that the second meaning was obvious.

2. I have had mixed luck with gay Muslims during Ramadan. Leo was over this past Saturday evening, and he told me that he had been trying to resist me because it's more sinful than usual to take it up the ass during Ramadan. I confessed my lack of knowledge of Islam to him; at the same time, I opined that as long as he wasn't receiving oral and swallowing before sundown, I didn't see how mansex was incompatible with the five pillars. I feel bad that he's so conflicted, but the only way I could think to show my concern was to make him cum twice, so after I pounded him as hard as I could (which is pretty hard, I have to say) and made him cum with my cock still up his ass, I gave him only a brief rest before I started to stroke him while we made out and then went down on him. When he got close, I closed my mouth and jerked him to completion, then fed him my load off my mustache. It was fully dark by then, but I think he's still conflicted. Alas.

My other gay Muslim experience came with a guy who contacted me off one of the hook-up sites and then came over and wanted to be fucked but didn't want to kiss and looked positively repulsed at the notion of oral sex. Then he demanded that I undress first. I explained that I wasn't going to get hard if there was no kissing and no oral and he wouldn't even remove his shirt to let me at his nipples, and then I suggested that he'd be happier elsewhere. He concurred. As time goes by, I find that the innocence and, frequently, youth that accompanies inexperience just doesn't compensate for the erratic behavior and lack of technique. Perhaps I'm jaded.

3. The sweet German guy that I wanted to date turned out to be even less available than I had feared, and when he proved entirely unavailable over the weekend (due to work he said, and he was likely telling the truth), I gave up. He kept sending apologetic text messages about his lack of presence, but the tide had turned, and I texted him to say that there was no point in continuing. I felt something very much like nano-heartache when I did that, and I was glad: perhaps I'm not so jaded, after all.

4. I had posted an ad on craigslist for local tops to join in on group sessions. The initial impetus for the ad had been a request from Leo to be taken from both ends, but lots of the bottoms I play with love groups. Unsurprisingly, almost all of the responses I got were from bottoms. One guy claiming to be a top responded, but I couldn't help noticing that he'd replied several times previously to ads seeking a bottom. I decided to take him for a test drive over the weekend. He came hard while he was sitting on my cock, and he was a good kisser, but if he's versatile, I am Marie of Romania.

5. One of the bottoms who replied to that ad was a very cute and fit older pig whom I'd plowed hard a couple of months ago, and when I didn't immediately recognize his address (which was a meaningless combination of letters and numbers) or recall playing with him, he got a little insulted. I apologized, not least because nearly two years ago, I inadvertently blew him off when I forgot to check my cell phone for messages (I also apologized at the time), and he forgave me, or at least he forgave me enough to come over to my place, walk in, remove his clothes, put on the blindfold, and crawl up the stairs and into my bedroom while I waited. Hoo, boy, that was fun. He may not be the greatest kisser in the world (he gets very excited, and it's a little bit like making out with a shark), but what an attitude and an appetite for cock. After an hour or so of sex, including reasonably lengthy fucks in multiple positions, I stroked his remarkably nicely formed cock to completion.

Prior to his showing up, we'd swapped a number of email messages, and I thought there might be some friend potential, so after he came, we chatted for nearly ninety minutes while lying naked in bed, and that was very nice indeed. Sadly, one of us (not me) thinks that Don Quixote is an absolute masterpiece with two entirely compelling main characters, while the other of us (not him) thinks it's a clever but ultimately pointless exercise in hot air, with no characters worthy of regard. This is the sort of difference of opinion that can be difficult to overcome, but perhaps we can be friends, regardless, or at least it can be a good excuse for me to punish him, which he would probably like.

6. My experience with the articulate pig (AP) made me think that what I really want is a small group of guys who get together once a week or once every two weeks for ninety minutes of hot sex followed by ninety minutes of literary discussion, perhaps with snacks. After our session, I expressed this desire to AP, but he agreed with me that it would be very difficult to find any other potential participants who weren't total bottoms. Still, I can't help thinking that The Post-Coital Book Club would make a great title and idea for an erotic novel. I think I'll write it.