August 28, 2007
I ♥ Kaysar
That’s supposed to be a heart in the title. If you’re on Firefox on a Mac it doesn’t render correctly. Fuckers.
I’m listening to “Let's Go” from The Good Earth by The Feelies.
August 27, 2007
I went to the ear, nose and neck doctor today for a biopsy of the lump in my neck. He decided not to do the biopsy after all! I saw the MRI images and the size of the thing was shocking, 3 cm, which seems huge to me. (That's me in the picture, zonked out on Xanax, in the MRI tube.) It has gotten a lot smaller, though, and is even hard for me to find by touch. We’re going to wait a few weeks. If it goes away, it was probably just a consequence of my sinus infection. If it stays the same or gets bigger, we’ll do the biopsy. So, good news!!
Thanks to everyone who wrote to me.
I’m listening to “Towers Of London” from Black Sea by XTC.
A (very long) Christmas Story
I’ve known Peggy for nearly 20 years now. We met because we worked at the same place for a year or so. Then when I had the chance to recommend her at another place I worked, we got to work together for another couple of years. We are very close friends.
Her best friends are some women she knows from Bennington College in Vermont, a few of whom are pretty rich. One of them, Debbie, is a lot of fun. (Not that the others aren’t!) We have a similar sensibility and we both love True Crime. She’s really great.
As long as I’d known Debbie she’d been with the same man, Rafe. He’s a great guy, an infectious disease specialist who’s been very helpful to me. Four years ago she suddenly left him for a woman named Rae. (Yes, that’s Rafe without the “f.”) Rae has a personality disorder or two which I don’t have the knowledge—or the interest at this point—to diagnose and of which Debbie was apparently unaware when they moved in together. They live in a great house in Connecticut with two dogs and two cats, surrounded by woods. The neighbor’s houses aren’t visible and you can’t see the road during the day, only at night when car headlights pass. One wall of the living room is all glass doors and the other side of the room has a balcony/hallway that leads to the bedrooms and bathroom. The place is great. Fucking Mia Farrow lives up the road, for god’s sake.
They’ve had some bad luck with dogsitters, housesittters and kennels. They visit their respective families in Maine and Cambridge MA a couple of times a year and can’t really travel with the animals. Peggy suggested me for the job and I was thrilled to accept. I would stay there for about a week over Thanksgiving and three weeks at Christmas when they’d be going to Cambridge and then to Eluthera for a vacation. They’d pay for all my food, let me use the car, and pay me $50 a day. What a deal! For Thanksgiving I’d drive up and back with Peggy because she always goes with Debbie to hang out with her family over the holidays. It sounded perfect.
Peggy and I arrived in Bridgewater latish on the Monday before Thanksgiving. Debbie was in the living room watching TV and Rae was asleep but she came down to say hello because we had never met. She was really brash and smart and funny and I liked her a lot. I met the dogs and the cats and we all went to our respective bedrooms.
The next day we all got up early because the animals get fed at 7am and 4pm. The dogs get a mixture of dry and canned food twice a day with vitamins and the cats get canned food twice a day with vitamins only once. The dogs could pretty much come and go from the house as they please since they had an electric fence and perimeter collars. I'd go out a couple of times a day and play with them. It was pretty simple except that one of the dogs has allergies and needs to be watched pretty closely. If he shows symptoms I would have to give him some medication. I remembered everything well enough to do feed them in the afternoon without even taking notes.
Rae has a huge problem preparing to leave the house and got progressively more anxious as the day went on. She and I went to the supermarket to get me some food for the weekend and that was relatively calm but still had some frantic moments. Peggy and I tried to stay out of her way but it was nearly impossible. I was given insanely over-written instructions—laser printed with hand-written notes—later that evening and Debbie (apologetically) or Rae (neurotically) went over the protocol with me three times that night. Rae would turn every little thing into a crisis and took every opportunity to berate Debbie, reducing her to tears several times. I felt terrible for Debbie as well as being really uncomfortable myself. I’ve never witnessed such abnormal behavior in someone I knew before. My ex-lover Cecilio was a nut case but this was clearly much worse. Peggy and I finally went to sleep. I’m not sure what Debbie and Rae did. I suspect they didn’t get much rest.
In the morning things were still the same. The atmosphere in the house was thick with tension which got worse until it was time for them to leave, and worse still in the four hours until they actually did leave. I fed the dogs and cats and we all took a long nap.
Needless to say, things went swimmingly while they were gone. It was sure fun having that great house to myself in the middle of nowhere, real perfection for me.
I forget whether they returned on Saturday or Sunday but the return trip so bad that Peggy insisted that we leave immediately for Philly. Fine with me. Debbie paid me and we were on our way.
Then Christmas. I knew things were going to be bad even before we left Philly on the 23rd because we got the word to do my three weeks worth of food shopping before we got there. It was sure fun having an unlimited budget at Trader Joe’s!! Also, since I was going to be gone for nearly a month, I put my entire desktop computer set-up in the car. I didn’t think at the time that Peggy would be returning a few weeks before me and I made no provisions for getting it back home.
Anyway, we got there and the chaos was already in progress. (I swear, the dogs come running to the door when visitors arrive because they want to be rescued, not because they’re being friendly or just want to go out for a while.) My animal-feeding instructions were already printed. They were at least twice as long as the original draft and they still had hand-written notes. In addition, Rae had gone label maker happy. As an example, there was an unopened can of dog food labeled “SAMPLE CAN - DO NOT OPEN” which was utterly pointless since they only had one kind of dog food! The shelves of the pet supply closet were labeled very specifically as if there could have been any kind of confusion. It was ridiculous. Again, I was instructed in person three times with the written directions in hand and I was encouraged to take notes. Debbie cried a lot.
They left for Cambridge on the 24th. Peace. I set up my computer on the dining room table. I spent Christmas exactly the way I like to: alone. By the way, they left me presents to open which were GREAT! (Mmmmm! Bridgewater Chocolates!) Also I had the keys to the car and $300 cash for whatever I needed. Life was good. For three days. I took the computer set-up down and put it in the basement before they returned, even though they’d only be there for 12 hours. I knew it would upset Rae.
They came back late on the afternoon of the 27th. Rae immediately stomped upstairs and slammed the bedroom door. Uh-oh. In the craziness, Rae let the dogs out and one of them came back without her collar. Peggy apologized to me and left within an hour.
Debbie and Rae were to be picked up by a car at 6am and taken to JFK airport for their flight to Eluthera. That left them about 12 hours to pack one bag each and get some rest. Of course, Rae said it was impossible for her to do that because there wasn’t enough time. She hounded Debbie to change their flight to a day later. It would cost them $1000 each. EACH!! She spent over an hour on the phone with the airline and finally was able to shave a bit off by canceling the original tickets to use at another time and buying brand new tickets for a day later. There was a lot of screaming back and forth. Before she left, Peggy had encouraged me to go to the movies or something just to get out of there. Stupidly, I stayed. I went to bed early.
The next day Rae went completely off the chain. She obsessively unpacked and repacked the refrigerator and the kitchen cabinets. She managed to fit all of my food into them but the cabinets were packed like Chinese puzzle boxes. Besides needing x-ray vision to see what was in them and I had to be careful that everything didn’t come tumbling out if I removed an item. Supposedly this was because the cleaning lady gets cranky if there's anything on the surfaces she has to clean. She left me five huge bags of clothes and a couple of fake fur blankets to take to the dry cleaners in town. (Bringing them was a seriously weird scene. I tried laughing along with the woman behind the counter but I was incredibly embarrassed at the amount of stuff I was dragging in from the car which , by the way, was parked behind the building.)
She did every scrap of laundry, seriously, every one. She put the downstairs shower head back together and cleaned up the shower and bathroom so it could be used. She scrubbed the kitchen and ran the dishwasher several times with nearly nothing in it. At one point I had to go into their room and saw that she was sitting on the floor chattering away with all of her shoes, about 30 pairs, arranged in a perfect grid around her. She wrote some more feeding instructions. Whenever we’d be alone together she’d say things like “You think I have a little OCD problem?” You think??
Worst of all, Rae endlessly berated and demeaned Debbie, blaming her for things that she herself had caused or things that were totally meaningless. There were lots of tears. Debbie and I tried to get away from her lunacy and catch up since we hadn’t really had a chance to talk, even at Thanksgiving. Rae would not let that happen. Paranoid that we were talking about her, she constantly interrupted us.
Rae also said “No sexual hijinks” while they were gone. Damn, but OK. I could travel since I had the car.
Later that night Debbie came downstairs to give me my final instructions about the animals. She tried not to cry as she said she thought it was best that we go through them again, knowing that Rae was listening. Eventually she started sobbing and said that this would be the worst vacation she’d ever have. I told her it wasn’t too late to back out and that I would help her in any way that I could. I knew that wasn’t going to happen but I had to say something. She just kept apologizing and apologizing that I had to experience this insanity and she promised me a huge bonus. As uncomfortable as I was—and I can’t remember ever being more uncomfortable—I said she should worry about herself, that I’d be fine. (I didn’t say it but I was going to be fine as soon as they left. Debbie was the one who’d be spending three weeks in a beach house with a lunatic, not me.) I hope it made her feel a little better but I doubt it.
I went to bed. They got no sleep. In all, it took Rae 36 hours to pack one bag. One bag. Finally they were gone.
I had a great time for a couple of weeks. I cruised the internet and met a couple of very hot men nearby. I went to a fisting party in New London, shopped at Trader Joe’s, bought a Razr, went to the movies, drove around investigating the town but mostly did nothing. It was heaven.
I made sure everything was in order and my computer equipment was taken apart and packed up before they arrived.
When they got back, things weirdly seemed fine. We spoke on the phone while they were away and agreed that I would drive one of their cars home because I had so much stuff and return it the next day, then take the train home. The original car I was using, though, developed brake problems so they arranged for their limo driver to take me back to Philly in the morning instead. Nice!
Debbie paid me before I left and, since things were going so well between them, forgot the “huge bonus” she had promised me. Maybe she thought the comfortable ride home was good enough. If so, that’s great. If not, I don’t know what to say. I would have done the housesitting for free because Debbie’s a friend but still.
It was after I got home that things got really strange.
A few days later I get a call from Peggy. She said, “We have to talk and it’s not something that can be done over the phone.” Naturally, we couldn’t meet for a couple of days so I was completely on edge the entire time because she sounded so serious. I didn't think it had anything to do with Connecticut so I was totally in the dark.
As it turns out, the day I left Bridgewater, Rae was cleaning the dining room table and she found an black, oily substance that was difficult to remove, even after numerous scrubbings. They went out to dinner that night with some friends, a gay male couple. The guys told them that the stuff on the table was probably a special black fisting grease that they’d heard of. What?!?!?! THERE IS NO SUCH THING! And I would know. They are now convinced that I was fisting on their dining room table! Oh great.
The next day, Debbie found a dog collar tied to a tree with a rope. At first I thought they were accusing me of some sexual game involving animal role-playing or of being a “furry” but they weren’t. (I'm terrible at role-play, too; I always snicker. I’m not an actor.) No, they assumed I tied up at least one of the dogs. Why would I? they have perimeter collars and they come back home faithfully. Maybe they think I tied them up outside so they wouldn’t disturb my non-stop fist-a-thon in their dining room with the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Perhaps I was trying to entice Mia Farrow to come over for some sexagenarian hole play. Please.
Later that night a pizza delivery guy arrived with two pies in my name! Yes, two pizzas for Frank Carroll. Sure, I ordered pizza while they were gone but I never gave Dominos my last name, nor did I give it to anyone I had sex with while I was in Connecticut. In fact, I used their phone to order. I have no idea what happened here except probably several kinds of miscommunication but they seemed to think I was up to something dastardly. I don’t fucking know what it could have been.
I assured Peggy that none of this had anything to do with me and that I had not had sex in the house. A fuck-buddy from Provincetown who lives close by came to visit but we didn’t have sex. I promised them I wouldn’t so I didn’t. The dog collar incident is a complete mystery. The pizzas must have been some kind of mix up and whoever answered the door misheard my name and that is that.
Peggy believed me, thank god, but Debbie and Rae had told her they knew I’d deny everything. They’re convinced I somehow took advantage and fucked them over. Wonderful. She said it would be better if I didn’t talk to them directly and it seems to me they didn’t even want her to speak to me about it in the first place. Needless to say, I was floored by the whole thing. I laughed even though I was kind of furious and I still am. What else could I do? That’s the way it stands. They think I’m a selfish prick.
A couple of weeks later, it came to me what the black stuff on the dining room table was. My Virgin de Guadeloupe mouse pad is really old and is kind of melting where my wrist hits it. It leaves black goo on the surface of the desk or table or whatever’s under it. There’s a picture of it on the left. It’s old and crappy but I love it. I want to send the pic to Debbie but Peggy thinks it’s not a good idea. I don’t see what difference it could possibly make. I mean, she’s already not speaking to me because she thinks I’m a complete asshole. How could it be any worse?
I’m listening to “Release the Stars” from Release the Stars by Rufus Wainwright.
August 23, 2007
At the beginning of last week in Atlanta I noticed that the right side of my neck was warm and swollen and there seemed to be a soft lump in it. It was a little sore when I pressed on it. The next two days I woke up with crud in my ears, fever, chills and a terrible sinus headache. The lump was solidifying, too. I couldn’t tell what the ambient temperature was but I was sweating a lot with very little exertion. I called my Doctor in Philly, the wonderful Mark Watkins, and asked him what I should do. He advised me to go to an emergency room and get it looked at immediately.
The folks in the management office of the apartment building said we should go to a “good” hospital a bit of a drive away but still in “the perimeter.” There was no hurry so we took their advice. The emergency room clerk was very cute and the department was HUGE. It must have had 50 rooms. I didn’t have to wait very long to be seen and Keith stayed in the waiting room with his computer.
I sat in a comfortable dentist-type chair and nodded off. A few doctors came in, examined me and asked me a few questions. They were cute too! they told me that, given my other symptoms, the lump was just a swollen lymph node, gave me a week to live a prescription for Keflex and sent me on my way, telling me to make sure I saw my Dr. as soon as I got home. They assured me that, since it was painful to the touch and came on suddenly that it wasn’t cancer. Whew. We filled the prescription at Wal*Mart (sorry) and had a terrible meal at an awful chain restaurant with lousy service (Izzy & Irma’s??).
Over the next few days my fever and chills went away but the lump seemed to get worse. Now I could actually see it when before I couldn't tell it was even there without feeling for it. I’m sure no one else could see it but to me it looked like I had grown a second head. I was developing Lump Dismorphic Disorder.
I got back to Philly Monday afternoon and saw my Dr. on Tuesday afternoon. I gave him my aftercare papers and the blood work they had done in Atlanta. He looked at them and just shook his head and brought in his PA, John, to look at me also. They both agreed, nodding their heads sagely and saying nothing. I finally had to scream "WHAT THE HELL IS IT???"
He said I’d have to get an MRI on Wednesday (today) and a needle biopsy on Monday. “To be blunt, I think it’s lymphoma.” Oh great. Poverty, broken computer and now cancer. Thanks! I remained calm, as I always do in situations like this. (When I got my HIV diagnosis I took care of the stuff I had to do at the medical office and then bicycled home in the rain screaming "I DON’T WANT TO DIE!!!" with tears streaming sown my face. At least I keep the drama to myself!) I started freaking out a little later in the day while I was doing errands that weren’t going particularly well. For instance, Bank of America wouldn’t cash a check that they had written to me because I didn’t have more than one form of ID. (Fuckers.)
Before I left the office Mark and John assured me that this type of cancer was quite common and wasn’t going to kill me. (Sorry, folks!) One chemotherapy treatment should do the trick. Christ, I hope so. If not, this is going to turn into a “Plucky Cancer Guy” blog (“I‘m gonna beat this thing!”) and no one wants that to happen. Really. I know I’m not the only person who can’t stand that annoying Lance Armstrong.
I’m listening to “My Old Man’s a Fatso” from Back From Samoa by the brilliant Angry Samoans.
August 22, 2007
I returned to Philly yesterday.
I have a seven year-old PowerBook G3 that is fine for hooking up and chat but I can’t do any real work on it. When I am going to be away for any length of time I actually pack my desktop machine and monitor in a couple of suitcases, padded by clothes. They’re heavy and a pain in the ass to lug around but, until I get a new laptop, it’s what I have to do. My bags are always inspected by TSA because, between the two pieces of equipment and the mass of cables and stuff, they must look like god-knows-what to baggage screeners. Also, the airlines have lowered their weight limits and it now costs an extra $50-$100. This might have been the last trip these guys make, though.
When I got to the ticket counter in Atlanta, the Delta clerk asked me where I was going. She said they have no direct flights to Philadelphia and that I must be flying United. OK. I walked over to United with my smaller carry-on and my backpack. Of course, it was in the opposite corner of the terminal. I looked at their scheduled departures and they had no non-stop flights to Philly until later that afternoon. I took out my laptop and checked my confirmation email. It said Delta. When I returned to the Delta line I saw a small sign saying my flight was operated by USAir so I got in line there, only half way back through the terminal. When I got to check-in the attendant said my bags were $100 overweight and that I had a reservation but no indication that the ticket was actually paid for! I pulled out the PowerBook again and showed him the confirmation and he tried again. Nothing. We walked over to the Delta counter and they confirmed that there was actually a purchase. Back at his station he had to cancel my ticket and make a new one. It took three people to get this done. For the trouble he said he’d waive the overweight charge. That was good since I had exactly $100 in my pocket. I would have been walking home from the Philly airport.
Security was chaos. Everyone is ushered into a holding area. It’s just a huge crowd of people that somehow snakes into about a dozen lines for screening. It moved more quickly than I thought it would. I had to take off my shoes. I forgot to take my phone out of my pocket and the alarm went off. I put the phone in a basket and the alarm sounded again. They asked me to removed my belt. That did the trick. Since I set the alarm off twice, TSA flagged me and I had to wait in a weird free-standing box made of bullet-proof glass with a locked door. I felt like I was in the sound-proof booth on a game show. We mimed back and forth, them asking and me answering questions about which items belonged to me. It was absurd. I got really claustrophobic. They finally let me out and patted me down by hand and with a wand and did their bomb-detecting thing on my carry-ons. Naturally, they didn’t find anything interesting and they let me go. Then I stood at a metal table, repacked my stuff and put my shoes and belt back on.
Believe it or not, I had some time to spare. I bought Scott Smith’s The Ruins (great so far) and maybe the worst sandwich I’ve ever eaten at Chili’s2Go. I went to a news stand to get a Coke zero. The woman in front of me was foreign and she was buying three phone cards for $12.84 each. She kept asking the Jamaican clerk what the total was and the clerk kept replying “Three at $12.84.” Yes, even with a modern digital cash register she had no idea how to find the total! She didn’t even seem to know the meaning of total. It was maddening. Oddly, I didn’t lose my temper. I calmly told the clerk what her customer wanted. She finally understood but she still acted like we were asking her to explain the theory of relativity to an infant.
I sat and ate the disgusting sandwich in the boarding area. When I tried to board the plane, the attendant said that TSA had neglected to stamp my ticket and I couldn’t board. She looked at me as if I was supposed to solve this problem. I actually had to ask her what to do next. I think she would have been perfectly willing to have me just stand there and miss my flight. With a dramatic sigh she called a TSA person and I continued waiting. And waiting. And waiting. They began giving stand-by people their seats and said they were ready to close the door when TSA finally arrived.
Again my bags were emptied and swabbed, shoes and belt removed. I actually had to undo my pants to show them nothing was inside the closure. All of this again in front of a large gawking crowd. It was humiliating. I finally lost my temper when the TSA officer began positioning me with his hands and not saying anything. I told him to stop pushing me around and tell me how he wanted me to stand. He actually apologized. (He said he doesn’t bother apologizing anymore because it usually doesn’t matter! Great.) Finally I was cleared to board and they said to take any seat since they might have given mine away! I was the last one to board the plane and my seat, which hadn’t been given away, was in the last row. I had to walk past every person on the plane, all of them glaring at me and blaming me for the delay. I was in the window seat next to two really large people.
We departed a half hour late because the plane was overweight and out of balance and we arrived one and a half hours late because we were in a holding pattern in Philly for over an hour. Luckily, the guy next to me was watching the extras on the 300 DVD so at least I was entertained by some beefcake. His child was crying in the seat in front of me almost the entire way. This is possibly my least favorite sound in the world, worse than Patti LaBelle. (Why couldn’t I have sat next to the woman who bought a seat for her cat????) When we landed the kid stood up and kept smiling and waving at me. Maybe he thought I was Santa. I have to admit he was adorable, especially considering his parents.
The walk to baggage claim was so long I felt like I walked all the way back to Atlanta. My bags were the last on the belt. One of my them arrived severely damaged. It looks like some of it melted and other parts are ripped or broken off and the broken pieces put back inside the bag.
Outside it was raining but luckily I only had to wait a few minutes for the Lady Liberty van and I was the first stop. What luck!
As I was unpacking I saw that my $30 Canon battery charger was literally smashed to bits. Also, my desktop computer won’t start up if the monitor is connected. It will sometimes start up without the monitor but shuts off as soon as I connect it. I’m now using it as a very large external FireWire drive! The monitor was in the broken bag so I don’t know if there was any damage to it since I can’t connect it to anything. It looks OK but who knows.
I will deal with fixing broken stuff and seeing what I can mange to get out of USAir for them tomorrow. I would have don’t it today but I was too busy with other stuff--like finding out that I probably have cancer. (I’m not kidding. Details tomorrow, I can’t think about it now.)
I’m listening to “All This Paradise” from Fraser & Debolt with Ian Guenther by Fraser & Debolt.
August 12, 2007
This is a photo I took at the 2001 Folsom Street Fair. You can click on it to see more of them. (NSW, btw!!!)
I’m listening to “Lonely Woman” from Naked City by John Zorn/Naked City.
Profile pic of the week
I’m listening to “Farewell and The Tower” from the Vertigo soundtrack by Bernard Herrmann.
August 11, 2007
They found it!
I’m listening to “Dylan Rhymes feat. Katherine E” from Community service II by The Crystal Method.
August 9, 2007
My experience in Atlanta is that people are unfailingly polite. Being who I am and a northeasterner, though, I love to complain and focus on the negative. It seems youngsters online—and by that I mean gay men under 30—are just as rude here as they are in Philly. Also, question marks seem to have gone the way of the Dodo Bird.
This came out of nowhere on Manhunt:
bigdickcountryboy (photo left): u want some
bigdickcountryboy: why not u said u did last week
HighStrungLoner: i don't think so
bigdickcountryboy: oh i know so u smartass old fuck
Likewise on gay.com:
snoguyatl26: what u doing on here
HighStrungLoner: nothing really
snoguyatl26: arent' u supposed to be sleeping at your age
I’m listening to “Too Many People” from Alternative by Pet Shop Boys.
August 8, 2007
Hard, long, joyous and super
A sample of today’s spam.
I’m listening to “A Beautiful Song” from Nazz Nazz by The Nazz.
August 7, 2007
I’ve been visiting Atlanta for over a week and, as I said before, have been concentrating on posting many years’ worth of my photos on flickr. I’ve also been having lots of sex. Between the fact that I’m still considered “new meat” here and that there are more gay men here per capita than in San Francisco, my head is spinning. I’ve been taking full advantage, believe me. Last night was one of the best, not just of the week, but ever.
As everyone probably knows by now, I really like guys with hairy chests and faces. I’ll do without the body hair in a pinch as long as it’s not shaved, though. Consequently I’m rarely attracted to Asian or black guys. (Before anyone starts name-calling, I said “rarely” not “never.” I’ve had lots of fun with all kinds of men. In fact, just before I left Philly I got together with a nicely hairy, fun and very cute guy of mixed-asian descent. I’m hesitant to write about it for a couple of reasons and certainly not because we didn’t enjoy ourselves.) Anyway, there’s an “Ethnicity: Mixed,” sort of Asian-looking guy on Manhunt who was being very persistent. His pictures are OK, a little hair on the chin of a nice face and very smooth. He isn’t what I normally go for so I kept putting him off because, being new in town, something more like my “type” would eventually show up. (Wow. Did that sound arrogant or what? Trust me, I know that if I lived here, the honeymoon would be over pretty quickly but it’s sure fun being popular while it lasts!) Late last night/early this morning I found myself sitting at the computer with an unusually persuasive erection and he messaged me again. “I want to serve you with both of my holes.” Sure thing! He was parking his car outside and dialing my number within ten minutes!
I went out to meet him. First of all, his face was stunning. I could tell that from 20 feet away as he walked toward me from the parking lot. As soon as we got inside his mouth was on mine and his fingers were playing with my nipples. I don’t know how but I think he took his shirt off without removing his tongue from my mouth or his hands from my chest. Holy Mother of God! What a body. His upper body (He hadn’t taken his pants off yet) was just about perfect and his dark skin showed it off so very nicely. Broad shoulders, sexy traps, punchable pecs, all in a perfect v-shape. I recovered my thought processes enough to stutter “Let’s go upstairs.” On our way to the bedroom I made sure he noticed the sling in the living room.
I removed my shirt but I didn't have time to take off my pants or adjust the light in the bedroom before he was naked, kissing me and grabbing my crotch. I didn't even have time to see what the rest of him looked like, not that it mattered. With no help from me my pants were unzipped and my dick was in his hand, then in his mouth. He held the head in his throat, even with the PA in, without missing a beat. All I could do was moan.
I managed to get my pants and shoes off as he moved to lie on the bed, hanging his head over the edge. He grabbed my hips and pulled me to him and I bent my knees a little so my dick would go right into his mouth. I fucked his throat while he ran his hands over my already sweaty chest and belly. Then he’d reach around the small of my back and pull me towards him, keeping the head of my dick in his throat for a long time. The PA didn’t seem to bother him at all.
He flipped over onto his stomach with my dick still in his mouth! That’s when I saw the ass. The picture in his profile was nice but it could easily have been someone else. His butt was beautiful, not very big but perfect for its size with the slightest bit of dark hair. I almost forgot he was sucking my dick! Almost.
He changed position again, on his back with his head on a pillow, and he motioned for me to lie on top of him. Umm…no problem! We kissed in a way I can only describe as violent as he ran his hands over every part of my torso. I spit into his mouth. My hard dick was pressing against his hole. Then he used his knuckles to press deep into the muscles of my back, moving his hands slowly up and down with each press. He was massaging me! It felt so good I collapsed on top of him. He continued. We could have stopped here and it still would have been worth writing about. But we didn’t.
He suggested we move to the living room. Actually, he said, “Let me get in the sling and you can put that cock in my hole.” There was nothing I wanted to do more ever in my life. We got up and I finally got to see the whole package, naked and in motion, from the front and the back. He was sheer beauty. I’m not exaggerating. He hopped into the sling and was, of course, perfectly positioned without having to adjust himself. (Maybe he’s a former member of some Pacific Rim gymnastics team or something. Or a robot.)
I wanted to make sure I felt everything so I didn’t use much lube. He was tight so I entered him really slowly with the PA on the side of the head so he’d feel the bumps. (Usually I try to put it in first.) He felt them and moaned—just the reaction I was hoping for. I slid all the way in and held it there for a minute. Then I started slowly pulling all the way out and pushing all the way in. I did my usual thing of pausing to feel the hair on his hole to scratch the head of my cock and then plunging in hard. He looked me straight in the eyes the entire time. He adjusted himself and used his legs to pull me close and pushing his ass into my groin. I was about ready to shoot but I didn't want to let go yet. This felt too good.
When he let go I pulled out for a second. He was dripping. I put my dick back into his hole and started pounding hard, making sure I pulled out enough for his hole to stimulate the head of my cock. I slammed his hole hard until I was ready to shoot. It took a while and it was really torturing me but i finally shot what felt like a giant load. He squeezed the last drops out of me and pulled me close again with his legs. As he ground his ass against me I bent over to kiss him and he began massaging me again! His knuckles felt amazing in my knotted muscle.
I pulled out and began some serious ass play. I managed four fingers of both hands at once but he resisted one whole hand. I wasn’t sure how far to push him and he didn't ask me to stop but I did. We kept at it for a long time and I got him nice and stretched, though. When I was massaging his prostate with four fingers he moaned and said “Daddy, I have to piss.” I told him to let it go and I aimed the stream from his uncut dick to cover his muscular stomach and chest. I scooped some up to refresh the lube, too.
Then he stood up from the sling and pushed me back towards the sofa. I sat, he kneeled. I was already half hard and he got me almost painfully stiff in a couple of strokes. He looked straight into my eyes while he licked my balls and I stroked the hair on his chin. He worked hard on my dick, again, getting me really stiff and really wet. Once more he held the head with the PA in his throat with no effort.
He hopped up on the sofa, facing me, and sat on my cock, again grinding into me, getting me as far inside him as we could. I grabbed him by his lats and started thrusting as we kissed some more. I shot again into his ass and he squeezed his hole really tight as he lifted himself from me. He licked me clean and we were done.
I’m listening to “A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More Touch Me” from From Under the Cork Tree by Fall Out Boy.
August 1, 2007
From an M4M World profile in Atlanta:
Hey Guys I am a nice down to earth kind guy who prides himself on having as little drama in his life as possible. Most people would conside (sic) me attractive I think but I will leave that up to you as I would never self validate and find guys that do really a turnoff.
I’m listening to “Go Wild In The Country” from See Jungle! See Jungle! Go Join Your Gang, Yeah. City All Over! Go Ape Crazy. by Bow Wow Wow.