Honest Conversation Is Overrated
Actual Human Interactions Witnessed Or Overheard
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
It's not so much a dry spell that I've been in, as a drout. Blind Melon's biggest hit was about my August/early September sex life. Native American tribes have elaborate dances based on preventing my current sex life. That classic rock song by Creedence Clearwater Revival, "Who'll Stop The Rain"? The answer was me. My sex life. No rain.
I recently dumped my ex because, instead of putting out, he just went on and on about what a horrible ex-boyfriend he had. An ex-boyfriend who dumped him because, well, he stopped putting out, and spent all his time talking about his previous ex.
So, sleeping with an ex's ex, specifically the one he would not stop complaining about when he should have been bent over with his face in a pillow, seems like the hottest form of revenge. Plus, my ex's ex has a finished basement with a fully stocked bar, a pool table, an enormous TV, and an impressive collection of porn. And he wanted to pick me up at my house, and drive me over there. Sweet.
Of course, my ex's side of the "why I broke up with the ex I never stop talking about" story, is that his ex was a flake who made false promises, and then belittled him all the time.
Naturally, he flaked out on picking me up. So, I moved on.
A college student who looks alarmingly like a really good friend of mine. Stood me up.
An ex-college jock (still jocky, but no longer collegey). Stood me up.
And, of course, a series of Indecisive Boston Gaysians (I've slept with plenty of non-Boston Gaysians, and they're great, but the Boston Gaysiasaurus Indecisivus is as obnoxious a reptile as The Rapeasaurus Rex. But not as sex-driven. In fact, the opposite of sex-driven. They tend to back out of sex at the last possible moment, claiming that the moon is at the wrong distance, or that your freckles spell out "Kill The Gook" in Chinese (which is further odd, because Gook is a slur against the Vietnamese, so it would make no sense to write it in Chinese, and he's Korean, anyway, what does he care?).
So, tonight, when I got an e-mail from yet another Boston Gaysian, I thought No. No more. Safey, your AIM status is No More Gaysians. It doesn't matter how cute this one is, it's a terrible idea that will only lead to...
God damn cock override.
So, I run down the street to make sure I catch the right bus, because taking a bus to a hook-up is pure class. I get there just in time to catch the bus. Going in the wrong direction. Never having gone to this particular part of town, I do not realize I'm going in the wrong direction until I'm all the way at the wrong end of the bus line. And I only know I'm all the way at the end because I am the last person on the bus, and the driver turns the lights out.
"Ummm, was that the last--"
"Jesus Christopher Columbus!!! Did you fall asleep or something? This bus is out of service."
So I get off (not the way I prefer), and head back to the bus stop. It's only a couple of minutes before the bus shows up, and it's a pretty short route. I go to call my awaiting ass, but my phone is completely drained of batteries. I hope he'll be waiting.
About halfway through the run, our bus slams into another bus. Boston's ever popular Out Of Service line. And now our bus is deemed undrivable, so we have to wait for a replacement bus. And I'm an hour late when I arrive at the end of the line, and I know he's not going to be there, and my phone isn't working. So I wander around, searching for a payphone, which I eventually find.
"Hey, it's Saf--"
"Nice shirt. Turn around."
I turn around. I do not see anyone.
"The other way."
I still do not see anyone.
"I'm on a bike."
I hear him cough, and I sort of focus my head turning on the direction the cough came from. I can barely make out a bike. And a...I think...guy? In a hoodie. Definitely a hoodie.
The fucken hell? I don't know why, instead of doing the logical thing, and walking back toward the bus, I follow the bike.
He rides deliberately slowly, but just far enough ahead that I have no idea what he looks like. Clearly, I'm about to get jumped and robbed. But that's ok, I only have condoms, an mp3 player, a tissue, and enough money for bus fare home in my pocket.
And then he is driving down to an area by a river. Ahhh. A classy outdoor river fuck. Reminds me of high school.
I lose sight of him in the secluded, lightless parking lot. I'd call his name, but he sent me two e-mails, and we had an IM conversation, and there was no common name among them. And I don't mean that his e-mail name was RobinLovesBrucey, and his IM name was OnBatmansCock, I mean that his e-mail signature was Tim Drake, but when he IMed me, he told me his name was Jason Todd. So I'm just sort of wandering in the dark, in the direction I think he's in, when I notice a weird light. A cell phone light. I walk over, ready to drop trou, but he shakes his hand. "Follow me. But not, like, right behind me. Walk in front of me."
O.......k. Follow in front. This involves some guess work on my part, as I have no idea where I'm going. He stays about ten yards behind me, occasionally calling out "Left." or "Right." or "Go go Gadget Fellater." No, not that last one. But the first two were accurate.
We cross a bridge over the river, and into a labyrinth of paths before he he walks over to a rock, and pulls his shirt off. Go, go Gadget erection! (See, I knew it would fit in, eventually). I walk over to him, and his hand is on my zipper, and my pants around my ankle, and I throw my head back a bit, and
"Keep your eyes open. In case, you know."
Done. And he sucks, and he sucks, and he's pretty good and "You have con-dumb?"
Now, this guy must be used to Asianophiles. The kind of fag who finds it so sexy to find a short little guy with black hair, and "exotic features". They love it when the guy has a funny little just-off-the-plane (because no one takes boats anymore) accent.
"What?" I ask, voice thick with disdain.
"Did you remember to bring condoms?" He asks, without any trace of accent.
"Yes." And out comes one, and out comes the lube, and over the knees goes the head, and in the air goes the ass, and in the ass goes the cock, and....in. And out. And in. And
"Did you hear something?"
Is he going to freak out the entire time we do this? Having sex outside by the river was his idea. "No, I don't."
"Would you like to?" And he starts moaning, softly, and...hell yea.
I'm usually a focus on the gorgeous ass kind of guy. I wrap my hand around the guy's cock while I keep my eyes on the prize. But the view outside was just...amazing. Like, I'd go back to this spot even if there was no one there to have sex with. The stars are brilliant, the water is slow and soothing, there's a great breeze, and, oh yea, I'm fucking someone. Right.
We have to keep changing positions because, he's on a fucken rock, which is hot, and all, but must hell on his knees, and then his back, and then his stomach. And then I take one for the team, and sit down on the rock while he backs on to me, and I kiss his neck, and he moans, and I am finally having some really good...are those police sirens?
I don't care.
I fuck and I fuck, and he moans and he moans, and he comes and he oh wow comes, and it shoots him off of me.
Given my pre-drout sexual history, I'm fairly sure sex is over. I haven't come, but what does he care? He's gotten off in a gorgeous wooded area with some guy he'll never have to see again, why shouldn't he just throw on his clothes and leave me here?
But he doesn't. He turns around, pulls off my condom, and resumes earlier blowjob. And after about five minutes, I give him the "I'm coming" warning, and he moves his head out of the way, and I point my cock away from anything stainable, and come. And come. And, oh yea, come.
"Wow." He says. "Damn."
We put our clothes on in blissed out silence. "Want me to walk ahead of you again?" I ask.
I pick up the condom wrapper, wrap it and the condom in a tissue I happened to have in my pocket, and walk back through the labyrinth. I don't cross the bridge back to his bike, because the bus stop can be accessed another way, and this will make him feel more secure, I guess.
The bus stop is completely empty. I take the tissue out of my pocket and throw it in a garbage can. As I walk back to the waiting bench, I see a guy whiz by on a bike. He nearly acknowledges me. Cute. I check the bus schedule, and discover I have about ten minutes before my bus shows up, so I take out my Zune, pop in my headphones and start shuffling through my collection. In the midst of an air drum solo, I whack my leg with my right hand, and...and my shorts are covered in Mr. Hoodie's jizz.
It was an interesting bus ride home. "Sure, I'll meet you in a half hour."