Total Pageviews


Revealing Skank-Dumb: His... Or Mine?

 I’m mad at myself.

Not only did I give into my own prurient interests, but I also fell victim to another dude’s skankdom.

It was Saturday night.  I rarely go out to bars, but was in a mood, probably the result of a combination of cabin fever and the fact that I hadn’t had any real sexual contact in over two weeks.  I really wanted to get some.   My plan was simple.  I get to have one drink (a gin and tonic: which turned out to be 75% ice and contain so little gin that I never felt it for a moment) and then drink water the rest of the night.  I go in, fool around, and then get to go home to sleep, hopefully, one load lighter.

 It was leather night at the Eagle.  I’d never been, and was really curious to see what it was all about.  Granted, the only leather wear I own are a pair of really sweet lace-up boots and a nice belt from Greece, but I was betting they would let me in.   I had on a pair of skinny jeans and a tight, Rolling Stones t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up just enough so they cut my triceps right.  With my black cap on, I thought I was hitting the mark.  Apparently the doorman guarding the entrance to the basement agreed.  He gave the dude in front of me a hard time and refused him entry, but when I stepped forward, he simply waved me in.  It was a very VIP-feeling moment. 

I wish the rest of my night would have followed suit.

This I will say – the place was pretty sparsely populated.   There were only about 50 leather-diehards in the basement, 30 dudes in the dance bar and – seriously, at one point in the evening – 4 people in the front part of the bar!  So, in my defense it was a slow night. 

I got hit on twice.  Once, upstairs, by this black dude with an Alexander O’Neal thing going on.  He said he lived close by and based on the way he was dressed I got the impression that he was there to pick up a little something to-go.  We talked.  The conversation felt a bit stilted.  His lack of direct eye contact bothered me right away.  Something about him told me he would not be a good lay.  Then a Whitney Houston video came on.  We talked briefly about her death and when, in relation to her music, we had come out of the closet.  Then ‘I Want to Dance With Somebody’ came on, and he started to dance.  This confirmed my impression about him probably not being all that in the sack.  I leaned, told him I was going to check out the basement, and left him dancing by himself. 

Descending into darkness, I was all prepped for some horny happenings.  I’d been chatting on Grndr and Scruff all week with a bunch of dudes who kept asking me when I would be going out to the Eagle.   I’d made plans to meet up with six of them.  Some were being highly cautious/selective.  Others were partnered ( in open relationships), so this seemed a great way to meet.  I was cool with whatever.  There were promises of illicit fucks and blow jobs in dark corners.  So there I was… and there they weren’t.  Well, most of them. 

Two of the dudes did show up. 

One of them came over and we made out. He was dressed in black leather from head to toe.  With the exception of his face, every inch of him was encased – like a plump German sausage.  He was: shorter than me by at least six inches, rather sturdy and stout looking,  with a handsome, manly mug, topped off with a snow-white buzz cut.  He is sort of the Phys Ed coach of my wet dreams.  I was seated on this L-shaped couch in the corner, far from the main action near the bar.  I took up this post after making several passes through the crowd to little effect.   I spotted Mr. Leather right away.  He was very coy about it, and I decided to respect the distance.  We had agreed before we met that he would approach me.   I told him I wouldn’t want to assume any attraction or interest on his part.  He eventually came over to find me.  We kissed.   I manhandled all his business, running my hands over that leather clad bod of his.  I kissed his boots and he made me suck his thumb a couple of times.  It was hot, but… a little not-quite-right.  He told me that I had passed the test and that he would like to see me some time.  I was cool with that.  Apparently he had had his fill of the scene, consumed a sufficient amount of alcohol, and was now going to go get a cab.  We said ‘good night’ and that was that.

Kind of kinky.  Kind of fun.  But not jaw-dropping enough to really follow through on.

The other dude?  Well, his situation is a bit dicey, so I get his whole trepidation.  He’s tall… super, super tall, and thin.  He has a certain style about him.   I honestly don’t have a handle on just what it is yet, but he is a bit theatrical, I guess you could say.  Not in manner, but in looks.  Lately he sports this handlebar mustache.  But to each their own.  The main issue: we work at the same company.  I spotted him several years ago and my gaydar told me he was a member of the tribe, but he has never given me the time of day – despite my being introduced by another co-worker and my saying ‘hello’ when we have passed each other in the hall or cafeteria.  So I assumed he was just one of those gays – a fashion elitists who turns their nose up at working class gays. 

Then we started chatting on Grndr and Scruff.  He was really friendly.  I sent him pictures and he as all about doing something to my somethings.  Yay, right?  Only, no.  He totally ignores me.  That night.  At the bar.  I went out of my way to pass by him a couple of times with no response, so I stopped trying to get his attention.  Then, as the crowd got thinner, we started bumping into each other near the dance floor or by the bathroom.  Still no hint of recognition.  Finally, he does this bizarre stretching thing in front of me before hitting the dance floor where he proceeds to bop around like Little (tall) Lord Flaunt-leroy!  Well, despite his promises of a sound fucking in some back corner, that was it for me.  I called it a night.

As I am climbing the stairs, I notice my phone.  Someone has contacted me on Grndr.  Not surprising, as I had been on both Grndr and Scruff throughout the night trying to find the dudes that had failed to show up (one decided to stay in, one was there, but we missed each other, and the other two?  Who knows?).  In this case it was this cute dude who has been on me for several months to come over and take his load.  We actually had made a date at one point – for 5:30 am, before I had to be at work.  But the morning of our tryst, he was nowhere to be found on-line and I went to work instead.  He contacted me later and apologized – he’d fallen asleep. 

Anyway, he’s good to go right then.  I check the time – it is only 1:30 am, so I figure, what the hell.  He’s not far away and I find his house right away.  Thinking this will be a quick cum and go, I’m thinking this is the fuck that will get me through the next week.  I walk into his place – on the second floor of this house – and find him spread eagle, naked, on his platform bed with his hard dick in hand.  I am thinking this is a slam dunk.  He’s cute and younger than I had anticipated.  I strip and climb onto the bed, taking his dick in my mouth.  His cock is a good inch less than I thought it would be, based on the pics he sent, but nice all the same.  He appreciates my efforts and is quite verbal about it, moaning and making suggestions.  Seems his nipples are hardwired to his dick.  So I start to play with them.   Dude has a cute body: fairly hairless, young, good skin – fleshy, not skinny.  His mouth has been open (moaning) almost from the moment I got on the bed, so I take a risk and kiss him.  He responds really well.  He’s a very good kisser, but as play continues, I get a sense that kissing is not high on his list of things to do.  He keeps wanting me to play with his nipples – which are small and not the usual pencil erasers one expects when dealing with someone into nipple-play.  But I go with the flow, thinking eventually he will get around to fucking me.  He does.  For all of two minutes.  He puts me on my back and crawls between my legs.  He’s in, like Flynn, and I’m thinking it’s go time.  But - no.  He doesn’t cum.  He goes soft.  Odd, I think.  He’s young. 

My mind immediately searches for possible causes.  He’s not into me?  No, he has been up to this point and he’s still talking like he’s into me.  He’s on some kind of drug – Tina?  He is a tiny bit sketchy, but I am thinking that is his personality.  His apartment is a mess, but that is because he just moved in.  Also, I told him, that night, before I came over, that I do not play with those who PNP.  He assured me that he doesn’t, so I felt good about meeting him. 

So, long story / short:  I end up fucking him (he has an amazing, ass – the kind that makes me think of fucking women or sofas).  And he never gets off.  I try to help, but after a point realize that it just ain’t gonna be happening and abandon his good-ship lollipop.  I clean up.  As I do, we chat.  He is all apologetic.  This never happens to him, he says.  Claims he stayed hard the entire time the dude was fucking him at 8 am that morning, and he stayed hard the entire time the dudes at noon, 2:00 pm, 6:00 pm, and 8:00 pm fucked him!


Okay.  Bad on me for playing unsafe, even after going through my whole epiphany re: the evils of barebacking.  Fuck me for going to a dude’s house at 1:30 am and thinking nothing is going to be wrong.   And fuck me for ignoring that little tiny voice that said there was something not-so-cool about this whole scene – the state of the apartment, his demeanor, the fact that he can’t keep it up, etc.

But fuck HIM for not disclosing his skankdom up front.  In hindsight, it is very obvious he was probably on Tina and had been fucking dudes all day.  No, he did not look like a Tina-head at all; he looked incredibly healthy and well-fed.  But who else fucks that many dudes in a single day?  And this is obviously his mode of operendi – hence the previous offer of 5:30 in the morning sex. 

I trusted him because we had been conversing for a couple of months.   I trusted him because he was well aware of how I felt about PNP and those who partake.  I trusted him because I was feeling sexually frustrated and wanted a little something-something

So fuck me for trusting him.   Something tells me life just did.  Fuck me.  Big time.

Question: Should a skank reveal his skankdom before luring people to his bed?  I would like to think the answer is yes.  And in a better world that would be the case. But, sadly, no.  Otherwise how does the skank continue to get what it wants – i.e. more sexual partners?

Keep in mind I made all my decision that night not under the influence of any drug and very (very) little alcohol.  I barely did any poppers (which also might have been the reason his dick went south – he huffed on those mothers like they were oxygen).  So – I entered into this situation with all my faculties in operation.  And I still end up with a regrettable experience – one that has me checking the insides of the front of my underwear for any signs of STDs.  This one will haunt me until I either get so upset I go in and get tested for stuff just so I can put it to rest, or until I go in for my three month STD screen and find out if the whore gave me anything.

Flip side?  How many times in the past two years was I the whore in this scenario?  Sure, I have never done Tina and gone on some wild, all-day/all-night sex crusade, but I have had multiple partners during the same 24-hour period many times, and not always disclosed that information.  So here I am calling the kettle beige.  Sort of.

My  desire to curb my sexual excesses and err on the side of safety is fairly recent.  I have felt the pain, if you will, of going without sex, rather than have risky sex, or sex with someone I am less than into.  Sex for the sake of sex is no longer my thing.  This dude harkens back to the tail end of a period when I was still quite the go-getter.  He was unfinished business.  I just hope he hasn’t finished my business.

So, I’m mad.  At the skank.  And myself.  Mostly at myself.  I’m sad that I find myself worrying about STDs yet again.  And disappointed – not just in my lack of judgment, but also in life.  I was being so good… careful, even, about who I had sex with and how.  And still this kind of thing can happen.

I don’t want to be non-sexual.  Sex is so wonderful and it makes me feel so alive. Yet - maybe this was a wake up call – the kind that says – there are always going to be consequences when having casual sex.  You can be as careful as a nun, but it only takes one person to throw your life into jeopardy.  

Do I confront the skank?  No.   He would just lie to me and all his reassurances would ring hollow to my ears.  Instead, I simply blocked him on all my accounts so that I don’t have any future contact with him.   And why not confront the skank?  Because I would never have wanted anyone to confront me with my behavior when I was the one being the skank.  Because all my lies would have rung just as hollow and reassure no one. 

If we lived in a more sex-positive society, one where STDs were no big deal, then, maybe I wouldn’t be feeling the way I am feeling.  Maybe if there was a simple home test we could do to make sure that we are STD free, I wouldn’t be all that up in arms about my behavior.  I should just grow the fuck up and accept the consequences of being a slut, even when I was doing my best to avoid being one. 

And maybe if the sex had been mind-blowingly good I wouldn’t have my panties in such a wad. 

But my panties are in a wad. 

And I… am the one who has wadded them. 

No comments: