A Little Less Action, But A Lot More Conversation

It’s pretty rare that a first rate fuck turns into that totally unexpected thing - a great conversation.  But that’s just what happened to me last Saturday afternoon. 

I hooked up with this guy I’d been flirting with on A4A a few weeks before.  We’d been texting back and forth.  He struck me as not only cute, but clever as well, and I find that such wit serves as a great aphrodisiac.  I was intrigued.  He kept inviting me over, but due to other commitments nothing seemed to work out. 

Saturday morning I was in my bathroom doing my weekly maintenance routine, when I get a text from him.  He’s available.  I had planned on going shopping and thought, well, why not stop over at his place for a little something and then hit the racks?  I completed my regimen and we made a date.  Getting to his apartment was a breeze and things seemed to be flowing quite easily; none of the usual drama associated with finding someone’s home for the first time.  Even my GPS system seemed to approve.

We met in the lobby of his building.  He’s shorter and much cuter than I imagined.  There’s something very quietly masculine about him and I’m a tad intimidated, but resist the urge to ask him if he’s ‘okay’ with me.  I followed him up to his place, making small talk, taking in the view of his exquisite calves and ass the entire way.   

His place is nice – a little generic, but definitely well-appointed, maintained, and lived in.  He introduces his pets and we head off to the bedroom where we waste no time getting down to business.  He’s a bit furry, with a carpet of it on his chest, and a body type, skin tone, and coloring that practically screams “I’m Irish”.  His hair has a natural reddish tint to it and I fall in love with his nose instantly, though it’s his eyes that really get to me.  The way he looks at me, as if really seeing me.  

 

Right off the bat he makes it’s clear he’s primarily interested in my ass and I realize that this is not going to be an ordinary fuck and go.  The man takes his time.  Teasing my hole, entering and pulling out slowly, changing positions, changing tempos – it’s all languid while remaining intense.  He’s fairly quiet as he goes about his business, leaving me to pretty much say whatever the fuck I want.  It’s not until the very end, during the last great crescendo that I come to the realization that I need to shut my pie hole and stow the usual porno dialogue; this dude really digs silence.  And, in the end, I come to remember its power as well.

 

His dick is about seven inches, reasonably thick with a slight curve.  I tell him early on that it’s clear to me that he knows how to fuck, as he uses what he’s got for maximum pleasure.  There’s no poppers, so I really remain in the moment with him, feeling every inch as it ebbs and flows inside me.  Our eyes rarely leave one another’s and, even though I purposely switch over to doggy-style at one point, it is very clear that he prefers me on my back so he can gaze intensely into my eyes. 

He let me know right away that his nipples were hardwired to his dick, but if that gives you the impression that I was going to get to crank on those puppies for all they were worth, tugging and pulling to maximize his pleasure, you’re wrong.  He’s a sensitive one.  So I have a great time pressing firmly or fluttering the tips of my fingers over his nips, experimenting with the gentlest ways I can think of to keep him aroused.  His dick, as it turns out, is quite sensitive as well.  This perhaps helps to explain why his movements are so incredibly and deliciously deliberate.  And if that makes you think that he comes like a pop tart, well, again, you’d be wrong.  What I assume is going to be the usual 20 minute cum and go, proliferates quite naturally into a languid 60 minute fuck.  We only take one break and that’s because he wants to keep his balls in play for as long as possible. 

I must say, I walk away from the experience totally impressed by this man’s stamina and discipline.  This one was something I’d never experienced before, and in writing this, I remain haunted by the look in his eyes while easing his dick in and out of my ass.   It’s an experience I wouldn’t mind repeating.

I did get to do a bit of sucking, but he seemed to tolerate me doing so, as if he only saw its value as a means of increasing my pleasure.  He did suck on me briefly as well, but I could tell his heart really wasn’t into it.  And the kissing… not the deep face-sucking I kept expecting.  He kept it very, well, almost chaste, if you will.  Lots of lips pressed on lips, but very little tongue, and yet, I have to say that he’s an excellent kisser; not a dramatic one by any means, but then, maybe less is more in this case.  The whole experience has left me wanting.  The lack of frantic grappling, the power of delayed gratification, the discipline and quiet strength – left me feeling incredibly invigorated rather than depleted; as if I’d gained more than I’d given. 

Then the most surprising thing of all took place.  Rather than hurry off to the bathroom or any of the usual maneuvers in order to guarantee a hasty exit on my part, we simply lay side by side, entwined and… gasp! – talked.

Topics covered: sexual preferences, travel history, impressions of the men in Minnesota, group sex, sex parties, sex in the age of the internet, bareback sex, frequency of sex; to name a few.  Turns out he has sex about five times a week.  I am currently maintaining a surprising 2/3 encounters per week (something I’m quite proud of, as I am seeking quality now, not quantity).  We talk about living in L.A. and he asks during what time period I was in L.A., for he grew up there.  I tell him the time span and comment that I suppose he was in high school at the time.  No, he tells me and my heart kind of gets a little excited, thinking – oh, he’s older than I thought and maybe we will have something in common.  But no, turns out he was in grade school at the time!  He’s 26 years old – an amazing 26 years old, for he’s incredibly disciplined about his life, very intelligent, well-traveled and… a very good lover.  But, still; he’s 26 years old.

The conversation then took a rather odd turn.  We talked about HIV and AIDS and its effect on the heterosexual population’s view of homosexuals.  The jumping off point for this had something to do with the upcoming marriage amendment vote, but the conversation became more about whether the HIV and AIDS crisis has hurt us or helped us, as a people, find equality.  He argued that it had hurt us.  He has spoken to a number of hetero friends and it seems that when they think about gay men, they view them as disease carriers and something to be avoided.  Therefore, my Irish rogue felt that such a view bathes gay folk in a negative light and has hurt our quest for equality. 

And that’s the crisis as viewed through 26 year old eyes.

I totally disagreed with him.  I explained that in a very sad, costly way, HIV and the AIDs Crisis actually helped galvanize our community and the world.  I remind him that Ronald Regan spent 8 years in office and never said the word AIDs until 1985 (once - at a press conference.  He also wrote about it in his "Message to the Congress on America's Agenda for the Future" in 1986), even though we were at the height of the crisis and thousands of people were dying. That said, he didn’t do nearly enough to help stem the tide.  But that rather neatly sums up just how uncomfortable people were with the notion of gay people.  The world, up until that time, really preferred that gay people be not seen or heard - and were never, ever to be talked about, except in whispers of innuendo.  But AIDs changed that.  And so did the activists that made sure it got the attention it deserved.  As much as many of their actions pained me at the time, groups like ACT UP were important not only in the drive to bring attention to the AIDs crisis, but also in our drive to be treated as equal citizens of the world.  As non-mainstream as their actions were, such groups actually served to bring gay people into the mainstream consciousness of the world. 

My new friend’s ignorance is one due to perspective.  He doesn’t know about a time when gay bars were dark places with no windows that did everything they could not to call attention to themselves.  I illustrate just how far we have come by explaining how relatively new the notion of being in a gay bar with giant windows is – where, not only can we see out onto the street, but those on the street can see us!  I tell him about my own coming out process, how – even in the relatively homo-happy confines of the theatre world – coming out, being gay was discouraged, frowned upon and warned against.  And yet, it is that same world that would bring the world “Angels in America”, “As Is”, and “The Normal Heart” which helped put human voices and faces to the AIDs crisis, and therefore raised the profile of gay folk in the process.

The cost was high.  People paid with their lives and we mourn those losses to this day.  But because of that tragedy, I am now able to go to mass on Sunday and hear the phrase gender-identification and sexual orientation being talked about in terms of inclusion, rather than revulsion.  And for every bigot like Archbishop Nienstedt , there is a priest or brother in the field demanding that we follow the true teachings of Christ and learn to love one another. 

And while the inclusion and identification of the gay population was probably an eventuality – a historical inevitability - it would not have come about as quickly if it were not for the AIDs crisis. 

He conceded that he was without my perspective.  And that made me feel incredibly old, but that was okay.  I’d rather have that perspective.  I’d rather have that experience.  Our conversation made me realize just how little I have in common with someone his age.  No wonder the young think old people are weird; old people are working with information the young are not privy to.

We talked a bit more.  Generic things.  He offered, so, I showered.  There was something about his bathroom that made me feel like I was using one in a hotel room – it was that clean, that carefully appointed. 

I text him once more to thank him.  He texts me three days later telling me that he never got my last name.  Turns out, he, too, keeps a sex diary – only he uses last names.  I text him back and tell him to make one up.  I doubt I will ever see him again, but then, there’s a part of me that desperately hopes that I will.  He’s intelligent.  And thoughtful.  And a great – intriguing – fuck.  I know there is no way in hell that he’s interested in having a relationship with me and I rarely kid myself into thinking for a moment that I am relationship material.  Still, I like the notion of falling in love with someone without all the logistics of actually being together or joining lives or even trying to see each other on a regular basis.  I like the idea of falling in love.  And in a way, I guess I have… I mean there is a lot there to admire. 

But I don’t kid myself.  I’m too old for him and he can do soooooo much better. 

So, it’s bittersweet. 

Just like so many moments in gay history.