| The tick. |
[Apr. 14th, 2007|01:00 am] |
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Sometimes an ex gets under your skin, like a tick. You can get rid of the tick easily enough, but not the toxin... it's harder to eliminate from your system; it takes longer to cleanse yourself. I have an ex like that, someone I dated for a few months during a rough period. I loved him. He didn't love me. He was jealous, though. And later I learned (via his blog of course) he was still looking for dick while we were dating. He was always demanding to know who this friend was, or that one, and whether I had ever slept with them... yeah. Good times. He's in my past now, although I sometimes check in to see what he's up to. We're probably never going to be friends again. I think he's an asshole and he thinks I'm... something bad, no doubt. Maybe if he hadn't been so good in bed, I'd have had an easier time detoxing. Part of the issue was just the time when we met. I was all torn up and rebounding. But part of it... damn, I just couldn't get enough of his cock and his ass. |
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| I keep forgetting. |
[Mar. 5th, 2007|10:47 pm] |
Why do I neglect this blog? I keep thinking about it, thinking I ought to post about this experience or that one, and then... I don't get around to it. I should remind myself not to let another three months (gulp!) slip away again.
I like getting fucked. It's taken me a long time to make peace with this reality. Done right, it's pleasurable, intense, intimate. Anal sex is not the sine qua non of gay male sexuality, despite what many people think, but let me not get macro. This is about me, and my ass.
I'm mostly a top. On the other hand, I've always valued the versatile ideal. Like, if I'm dating a guy and we've got the same equipment, we ought to be able to do all the same things together. Always having the same kind of sex? It doesn't defeat the purpose of being gay, because there is no purpose to it, but... what a let-down! The putative egalitarianism of a same-sex relationship appeals to me very much. Ergo, we should both give it and take it and love it.
Should.
Ideally.
The real world isn't so tidy. I've battled digestive trouble most of my life. IBS, food allergies, and buttfucking aren't the greatest combination. There's no end to the potential bad outcomes.
In the last few years, I've been watching my diet carefully. I exercise. I drink less. I take certain vitamins and supplements that keep my system calm and controlled. Intestinal instability is rare nowadays. And I've done more bottoming in the last year and a half than in all my previous life, put together.
Ouch.
The problem with anal is that so few guys really know what they're doing. The porny masculity so many gay men try to adopt in bed turns me off as quickly as does swishy effeminacy. You want to stick it in and pound? Fuck somebody else. My ass is as tight as a nun's -- painfully so, a guy with a rather small cock told me three weeks ago -- and agony is no aphrodisiac. When I'm a top (which is most of the time, and I'm good at it), I proceed slowly. Some rimming. Some fingering. I'll knock on the door with my dick but I won't go inside without latex. It usually hurts a little, at first, but I make the guy breathe like he's having a baby. Breathe in. With your abdomen. NOW. Breathe out. It's okay. Breathe in. Out. I move a little deeper in, in sync with the breathing, and... it usually works. It mitigates the pain. I'm not hung like a horse but I'm big enough that I take a little getting-used-to, and I've done this enough to have figured a few things out.
It's because I pay attention.
Why is it that so few others do the same? Really pay attention to how I respond in bed, when you touch me here or there?
I don't think I'll ever convert fully to bottom status. I'm a bottom with one of my fuck-buddies, a black Army guy I met online, and he pays attention. He eats my ass like he's starved for it, and by the time he's done with me I'm more than keen to sit on his beautiful dick. But he knows what he's doing. So few don't.
As much as we celebrate anal sex, why aren't we generally better at it? |
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| Timepasses. |
[Dec. 7th, 2006|02:04 am] |
A lot of time has passed. I forgot to post in this blog. I was at the gym recently, and it was a good night for eye candy. You could measure it by the yard. I work out at a gym where most of the regulars are men: young ones, very goodlooking.
Yummm, I thought. Meat snacks.
If I'm not careful with stream of water the shower from the shower, I'll get a semi. I have to stop before it gets to that point. Like, I don't want to pop a boner in there, not in a gang shower where everyone can see. After a workout, the blood's still pumping in my muscles. The walk from the locker area to the shower is a walk of shame. Once I'm under the hot water, things go back to normal. But I've gotta maintain that balance. Enough, but not too much.
Thinking about meatsnacks doesn't help. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 25th, 2006|01:14 am] |
Dicks are great. They are trouble, too. It's an axiom.
I spent the time in LA in T's bed. How's that for dumb. In spite of all the craziness, I couldn't say no. He picked me up at the airport. I was going to drive changed my mind at the last minute. Couldn't face I-5: Bay Area traffic, the passes, more traffic, no cell phone coverage, LA traffic. Couldn't do it. So he picked me up at the airport. It was dinnertime so he called this take-out Thai place near his home and ordered food. Stopped there on the way to pick it up. He already had a bottle of white wine in the fridge. I knew what he was doing. I fell for it anyway. When someone looks that good, it's an axiom.
I know he's over me. Over that crush we had on each other. Now we're like friends who are horny for each other. We care for each other. It's nice. There's something kinda therapeutic about it. But after we ate our food and drank our wine, and the clothes came off, he went blank. Like, he was having sex but he wasn't in his body. He runs, so he's got this lean sleek greyhound build. It's nice. He's tight everywhere. Almost everywhere. I was buzzed and turned on. We were safe, no concern about that, I don't take risks. It's like he's this wreck of a guy. He's done this so many times he just leaves. Even if he's authentic, really into me, or whoever, he's not there. I think he used to be an escort. I know he's done porn. There are many levels to prostitution, and you can be at the periphery without descending all the way to placing ads in the gay rags and carrying a clients-only cell phone.
When I was inside him I was like this is so hot and what the fuck am I doing? at the same time. When I came, I felt awful. You're not supposed to feel awful when you're snuggling after you wipe off the cum. I have a couple of fuck buddies in SF. There's no sense of guilt. We have fun, we can hang out afterward, we can touch each other, it's nice. This, though: it's like he's this war veteran. He's fragile under the hard armor of scars. Was I taking advantage of him? When he planned it all in advance?
Maybe I'm making a bigger deal out of it than it needs to be. Consenting adults etc.
Last night my friend J called. His partner got drunk and blew some guy in a bar. They're on the rocks now. J isn't going to retaliate. He's not going to get hammered and spend the night at a bathhouse. He said he thought about it. Who could blame him? But his partner... they've been together 5 years. Nothing like this has happened before. The bf drinks too much. Sometimes does other substances. They've made it this far. Do I think they'll make it? Dunno. It's been 5 years and no cheating. Now? A line has been crossed. I don't know if I believe it's a line you only cross once. Like, once you've got that visa in your passport, you want to revisit the country. It's an axiom.
Dicks are axioms. That's my lesson from all this. |
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| Oh what the hell. |
[Sep. 21st, 2006|12:44 am] |
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I have to go down to LA again. I hate LA. My friend T is wigging out again. He's bipolar and he's stopped taking his meds. He shaved his head. Eyebrows too. I worry about him. We had a thing, you know, just a thing, for a couple of months. Met online, got intense, grew attached, and then I learned how messed up he is. Addicted to sleeping pills, for fuck's sake. Expensive prescription ones. He's got other issues also: poz, pills, etc. It's scary to think I was so infatuated for a few minutes I was almost ready to get a transfer to LA to be with him. Good thing I came to my senses. I like the shaved head look. It's sexy on him. He's kinda gaunt, but it's not unattractive on him. And now he's going through a manic phase, off the meds he should be taking, still taking the ones he shouldn't. Should I stand back and let him implode? He's lasted 30 years without me or anyone else holding him together. I need to be there for him, maybe just the weekend, but I'll need a couple of weeks recovery time afterward. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 4th, 2006|12:01 pm] |
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Not much to say. I'm new to LJ, joined for the communities. Most posts will be friends only. Thanks for checking me out. |
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