Current status on weekend plans:
- Cold not quite eradicated.
- Duncan and Rick moderately entertainied.
- Bottles not updated.
- Sex not had. No volunteers either.
One out of four ain’t bad, I guess…
My faith in Thursday nights is now renewed, thanks to a boy named Steve and another boy named Alex. I haven’t picked up two boys at once and brought them home in a very long time. I’d forgotten how much fun it is.
It was, perhaps, the perfect three-way. There was no “odd man out”; we all seemed pretty equally into each other. We didn’t try to get too creative with the acrobatics. My only complaint was that it was over a little too fast. And that I have a very difficult time sleeping curled up with two other guys in the sack.
The whole thing only cost me two beers. I worry that I’ll expect it to be that easy again sometime this weekend. I fear that it probably won’t be.
Updates:
- I plan to start answering email again soon. Really.
- Duncan and Rick are still visting, but are in Yosemite right now. They get back tonight and return to North Carolina tomorrow.
- I don’t have a new job yet. I’m working on it.
- I’m going back to bed now.
Duncan and Rick make a cute couple, dontcha think? They’re welcome to my living room couch any time, even though it’s considerably less hospitable than their guest room. I want to live someplace where I can have a guest room, dang it…
I didn’t much care about the American version of Queer as Folk before it aired. I saw a little of it Sunday night at the corner bar, and I now realize that I seriously underestimated just how MUCH I didn’t care.
What a pile of crap.
I’ll say it again: stories which are about nothing other than “being gay” are boring. Period. To be interesting, a story must have good characters, which means they should do something other than look pretty and “be gay”. Just as in real life, a sexual orientation is not a substitute for a personality.
And frankness is no substitute for substance either. While it might be great that they said “buttplug” on the air, it might have been nice if they’d said something else too. ANYTHING else, as long as it might have made me care whether these people lived or died. The sermons and the dialogue were worthy of an ABC Afterschool Special, at best.
QAF makes Sex in the City look positively entertaining by comparison, which is no small accomplishment. I found that a half hour of this tripe was quite enough, thanks. There are enough personality-deficient professional homosexuals on the streets of San Francisco; I don’t need more of them on TV.
Give me Tales of the City any day…
Went on one of those long drives in Mark‘s new car today. It’s rare that I hit Sacramento and Stockton in one day, especially with a side trip to Isleton for crawdad melts. It was fun. I may show pictures sometime. But not tonight…
At the cheap cigarette store in Sacramento, I started chatting with the woman behind the counter about matches (long story). Eventually, the subject turned to the fact that she has eight children and one grandchild. I was shocked, since she looked about 30.
As it turns out, she’s actually 34. Two years younger than me, and she has eight kids and a grandchild. That’s horrifying. I left feeling very relieved not to be heterosexual. There’s nothing wrong, mind you, with being heterosexual, but, given my occasionally slutty nature, it’s almost certain that I’d have a huge collection of devil spawn running around some double-wide in North Carolina.
I’m going to bed now and have a nice wank fantasizing about pregnancy-free sex…
I just had phone sex following a light two-hour email flirtation. I haven’t done that since about 1987. It was sort of nice, actually, and I got to meet an interesting guy I’d so far only known in ASCII format.
The miracle here, I guess, is that I actually answered somebody’s email in a timely fashion. Imagine what might happen if I did so more often. I might even have a boyfriend. Or a job. Or a life…
There are few things more pleasant than waking up on Sunday morning to find Willie Wonka on TV.
Sex is definitely more about psychology than about a series of physical sensations for me. I’ve always known this, but I never really thought about it much until I started writing one-handed fiction.
What I mean is this: some people fantasize about doing specific physical things, like having the tongue hit just a certain spot during oral sex or whatever. But when I’m fantasizing, it’s usually more about the situation which led to the sex rather than the actual mechanics. Or sometimes about the psychology associated with a specific act like shooting a load in someone’s mouth, etc.
That’s why, for example, one of my big turn-ons is when a guy does something that seems totally out of character. Like when some tight-assed little clean-cut preppy guy decides he wants to get pissed on by three punks, or when a decidely swishy sort turns out to be a really nasty aggressive “top”, or when a cute trendy young’un chases after older guys.
I don’t think my outlook is all that uncommon, really. It definitely looms large among many tearoom afficiandos, whether they get off on the potential for getting caught, or (as I did) because you meet some surprisingly interesting types there. It also comes into play every time a couple decides to have a three-way. And, of course, it’s a big part of most fetishes.
I don’t think this heavy-duty psychological approach to sex is necessarily superior, either. It makes the hunt difficult when you’re always trying to create a “story” with your potential victims. In fact, it even may have its drawbacks when push comes to shove (so to speak) as well. That’s why most fetish videos are so boring once you get past the boot-licking or armpit-sniffing.
But when it comes to writing stories, it means that I create (I think) really great and sexy situations. As might be expected, though, I’m weak on the bump and grind. I have occasionally had the same problem in the sack.
I’m babbling. This made much more sense when I was thinking about it than it did when I started typing. I’ll try to be better tomorrow…