When The Monkey Throws Its Feces... Duck!

There’s a reason I am not looking for a relationship.  They are messy. They involve other people.  Other people come with baggage. Baggage means drama.  I do not care for other people’s drama.  It’s not that I am not sympathetic or unable to be compassionate, but so much of what others present as drama is self-induced; made up shit that they throw at you like a monkey throwing feces. 

Case in point…

It’s a Saturday night and I am on Adam4Adam, a site I have come to avoid for a number of reasons.  The usual complaints, of course: guys play too many games, looking to hook-up (but not really), tend to be snobbish, same faces, lack of a sense of humor (about themselves), etc.   But also because the whole barebacking thing.  People on there used to get very upset about it.  Now, I have noticed a shift.  A lot more guys are listing “Anything Goes” in their profile, which I guess speaks to the growing acceptance of barebacking on the part of our community.  I don’t have a defined opinion about this current shift.  However, I’ve noticed a shift in mainstream porn, as well, or at least the porn I am exposed to via Hamster, Xtube, and the like.  That may have more to do with the preference of the moderators of those sites, but I sure am seeing more of it – and the actors aren’t just guys next door anymore, but real porno pros who definitely know better, but have made a choice.  

As far as Adam4Adam is concerned, it would seem the scales are evening up re: raw sex, although people continue to be just as absolute as ever regarding just about everything else: not into Asians, under 25 only, if you’re  over 30 do not contact me,  blah, blah, blah.  You’re on-line, on a hook-up site!  Get over yourself.

Eventually I settle into this conversation with a dude I have never talked to before.  He is 5’10”, furry, with a beard, and a handsome mug – very masculine looking, wearing a trucker’s hat.  His body is in relatively good shape for his age (51) and he has a couple of tattoos on his upper shoulders.  We are firing on all cylinders, meaning we seem to have a lot in common.  The banter back and forth is pretty entertaining and more than a tad sexual.  At one point he asks me if I am looking for a relationship, to which I give my standard reply (absolutely not).  I ask if he would be cool with being fuckbuds… he says he would be cool that and I take him at his word.  Turns out he’s home all the time and our schedules might actually match up.  He’s a vers top and his dick is the same size as mine – 7.5 cut.  He’s way into making out and kissing and exploring different things.  I am thinking – this is too good to be true.   Clue: always trust your instincts! 

Okay, so there are a few red flags on the play.  First, he is unemployed.  Second, he is renting the top floor of a house.  When you are 51 years old I really feel that neither should be the case.  You should be employed and own real estate, but I withhold judgment.  The dialogue also seems kind of florid, with too much information being offered too soon.  It feels odd.  I tell him straight out that I do not PNP, for it has now become my standard line any time my spidey-senses tell me that the person I am conversing with may be under the influence of something.  He tells me he doesn’t do drugs.  Cool.  We make plans to meet the next day.

Sunday morning I text and email him telling him I look forward to getting together.  I know the general area where he lives, but don’t have his address (another red flag) and ask that he send the address.  I’d explained the previous evening that I had to sing at church that morning and then would be having breakfast with my folks.  While at church, he texts me that his parents have dropped in unannounced and they are going to church and brunch.  That’s cool (odd coincidence, but cool), and since we aren’t to meet until later that afternoon, I figure, oh, well. So when the time comes I hit him up via text and A4A.  He doesn’t respond.  So basically, he’s stands me up.

The previous evening, I mentioned that I would be going to the Eagle on a rare Sunday afternoon with friends.  He had asked if it would be okay to join me there, as well.  I say sure, thinking we will have already met face to face, and since I anticipated that going well, my friends might be amused.  So, late Sunday afternoon, I get an email telling me that he will be there and that he will have a nose ring in and will be wearing leather shorts.  No mention of the fact that he basically stood me up that morning and hasn’t responded to my texts and emails via A4A, but I shrug this off.   His outfit of choice, however, I find a little odd - it’s not leather night, but to each their own, right? There is some sort of leather contest at The Saloon that night, so maybe he is part of that scene.   His pics strike me as hyper-masculine and I remain intrigued. 

Of course he never shows.  And I get no explanation.  Nothing. 

Sitting in my car the following Wednesday, at a park I frequent, less for cruising these days and more just for the solitude, he hits me up via text.  I am surprised.  Again, no explanation for the no-show and I let it go.  He’s chatty and the banter is what it was previously – witty and a tad sexual.  At this point I had not been fucked since the first of February nor had any sexual contact for three weeks.  My dick is developing a mind of its own and want some attention.  I suggest I come over to his place so he can do all the things he said he would do to me the previous Sunday.   He knows about my self-imposed limits on sexual activity.  He keeps begging off.  Even though he’s not doing anything but laundry.  He tells me he wants his place to look its best before he has me over.  Red flag.  Is he a total slob?  

Then he CALLS me. 

Okay, I hate talking on the phone, especially to dudes I meet on-line who I have not met in the flesh.  The voices never match the pictures.  Discussion usually devolve into some type of phone sex – which I hate.  But more than anything else – I hate talking on the phone.  I have a phobia, maybe.  Or perhaps I really just hate doing it.  I keep necessary conversations brief and succinct.  What do you want?  I can/cannot do that/get that/be there for you. Period.  I don’t want you to chat on and on about your cat, or that woman at work who says stupid shit.  And I especially do not want you asking me ANY FUCKING QUESTIONS about who I am, what I like, blah, blah.  It’s is simply not me.

But he calls.

He can’t have me over.  Cool, I tell him.  I already accepted that as fact via text, so why is he calling?  He wants to know where I am.  I tell him.  He wants to know why.  I tell him.  He doesn’t seem to buy it.  He’s new to the cities and can’t possibly know the reputation of the park that I am sitting in, nor have I told him the exact park, but he jumps to that conclusion anyway.  I want to terminate the conversation, but he just goes on and on.  Seems he once had a partner who cheated on him.  Seems the last dude he played with gave him a case of Gonorrhea.  This last bit of info intrigues me – I have not had gonorrhea and want to know what it’s like, how they treat it, etc.  After I get this info, again, I try to terminate the conversation, but he chats on.  Finally, I decide to just end it.  I tell him I have to go take a piss.  He wants to know if the restrooms are open.  I tell him no, they are always locked at this park and that I will just go behind a tree.  He makes some comment about how I have learned to mark my territory like my dogs, so men will follow me and have sex with me.

Huh?

That’s it.  If his voice wasn’t annoying enough (and it so was – whiney, queeny, smokers rasp), and the fact that I suspect he was under the influence of alcohol, this last bit of conjecture on his part is enough to kill this whole thing for me.  I tell him I have to go and end the call.

That should be the end of it, right?

Oh, no.

The next day, the emails start coming via my Hotmail account. Initially, I had sent him pics of myself.  He never returned the favor.  But what he does do, now, is write me for the next three days about how I am not the man he thought I was, how I mislead him, how he could never be IN A RELATIONSHIP (??!!??)with someone like me (gee, I thought I covered that upfront) with someone like me.  He has trust issues.  He’s been hurt.  He’s… he’s a nut bag.

I respond once.

He ends one missive with the words: And I really wanted to like you!  I responded: “And I really wanted to like you.  Oh, well, guess it is not meant to be.  That’s life.”

But he keeps emailing.  I read them, I delete them, and keep thanking my lucky stars that I dodged this bullet!

I don’t need crazy in my life.  I don’t do crazy well.   That’s why I have protective barriers all around me, with signs posted to keep the crazies out.  

I’m not saying this dude is a loser.  I am not saying this dude is an alcoholic. I never met this dude, so I can’t make those calls. I am simply sharing my experience that I had with him and coming to the conclusion that he is not someone I would enjoy spending any time with – naked or otherwise. 

That said, I think he is also a small part of a much larger problem… people on hook-up sites really need to dial back their expectations of others.  They are meeting people on A HOOK-UP SITE!  I don’t care what your profile may say about how you are there only to chat and do not hook-up.  I read that and I block your ass, because that indicates to me that you have a tenuous grasp on reality.  If you only want to chat and do not hook-up and will throw a shit fit if someone dares tell you are attractive or send you a picture of their naughty parts after establishing some type of sexual dialogue with you – THEN YOU SHOULD NOT BE ON A HOOK-UP SITE.

Get a grip.  Grow the fuck up.  Read the tea leaves, Helen, your destiny awaits.

Next week: Part II of this rant, as I take on the no-minds on Grndr, Scruff, Growlr, and Jack’d.

30 Days and 30 Nights (Assess to Asses, Butts to Butts)

The season of Lent is upon us.  Like a good Catholic, I went in and had ashes applied to my forehead.  I find weird comfort in this ancient, symbolic gesture.  Ashes to ashes…

 

Ash Wednesday marks an end of Carnival, the celebration enjoyed by all the heathens in the world (tongue-in-cheek; for I certainly more than qualify as one).  My own personal Carnival has been going on for quite some time, so I am using this as an opportunity to attempt something a little different.  For the season of Lent, traditionally, folks are supposed to give up something  that they enjoy in order to more closely relate to the suffering endured by Jesus during his forty days and forty nights of fasting in the desert.  

Now… what exactly do I enjoy more than (almost) anything else in the entire world?  Let me think… hmmmm.

I managed to get some at the tail end of Fat Tuesday, so with that in mind, I have decided to go on a sex fast!   I would attempt forty days and forty nights, but I kind of missed the very start of the season (by three days) and the season is actually only 36 days long.  So, instead, it will be thirty days and thirty nights of ‘just say no’ to sexual acts that involve another human being (or any other sort of being).   Hey, I’m a realist.  And if I make it for the full thirty… I will be fucking amazed!  But I gotta try.

Ground rules: Masturbation is allowed, but not with the aid of pornography – simply whatever sexy I can conjure up with my mind.  I will also be refraining from going on the internet in search of porn or to ‘chat’ with people.  Scruff, Grndr, and Jack’d are also off limits. So is Recon, Adam4Adam, and Manhunt.  Craigslist?  Somebody else will have to flag those inappropriate sex ads!  I will be allowed to gather a suitable photo each week for this blog, but that is the limit on viewing naked man parts.  Now, there happens to be a loophole written into the whole” giving up something for lent” thing: Sundays are actually free days, a time where anything goes.  However, I will not be observing that practice, and will attempt a full thirty days and thirty nights.  Yep, I’m serious about this!

It will mean changing a ton of habits that I have developed.  I will need a new place to hang out at after work.  In order to avoid tricks I have known and loved as well as any potential temptation, I will not be able frequent the same hiking trails that I have been frequenting.  My home laptop will feel unloved and lonely.  It will gather cobwebs, as I have very little use for it that is not sexual in nature – well, writing, yes, but that IS usually sexual in nature, so...  hmmmm.  My cell phone will become this thing I drag around with me for no reason, as I never actually talk on it, using it primarily to text, Scruff, etc.  I will also have to deal with the ennui of my work place and find something to do with all my extra time.

One nice thing?  No anxiety about STDs!  I am seeing my doc today for an unrelated matter, but will request a complete STD screen – just to make sure I am starting my fast with a clean slate.

Oh, yeah.  This is fool-proof.  Nothing could possibly go wrong with this plan.  Right? (Roll eyes here.)

So, part of Fat Tuesday was spent with that lovely black gentlemen I met on Grndr.  I wrote about him a couple of weeks ago – check it out.  Since our first tryst, we’d been playing phone tag and I was beginning to think that I’d never get to see him again.  Especially after having once made a date for fun, with me showing up, ready to go, and having his ‘roommate’ answer the door!  In my defense:  I did not know about his ‘roommate’.  In his defense, he did tell me to call before I arrived (I texted).  In both our defenses, I should point out that it is a two bedroom condo and both bedrooms appear to be in use.  It would explain the rather bare-essentials living room.  I have not seen the kitchen.  Bottom line: I don’t care if he’s partnered or not (and I am thinking he’s not).

Anyway, two days later, we’re good to go, and we end up having a great time.  My memory is usually pretty accurate when it comes to dick size, and if anything I tend to remember dude’s dicks as larger than they actually are, but in his case, I underestimated.  Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised (and royally fucked!).   

 The kisses were fewer this time, but fine.  I’d also forgotten how much he loves to eat ass.  We fucked on the bed, again.  It was great.  For the final round, I was on all fours, facing the headboard, with him on my back.  My fuck-back went into overdrive, with my ass basically pummeling the cum out of his dick.  I sort of took his breath away.  We played safe, which is now my game of choice.   This time we lingered less, for time seemed to be of concern as the roommate could return at any moment.  All told, we were both kind of giddy in the afterglow and left one another’s company pretty impressed with one another.

He reminds me of Blair Underwood, just a bit.  Yes, he’s taller than Blair, and his body is more rocking, but yeah, he has that Blair Underwood thing going on, for sure.

And that should have been the end to my sexual exploits, but for some reason I found myself the next night, sitting in my car after choir practice, scanning my neighborhood on Scruff and Grndr.  I guess I wasn’t quite ready to start my thirty day and nights.  After chatting with a few – one dude was 515 feet away, another in Plymouth - I get hit on by this guy that is kind of a legend in my mind.  He’s been on-line as long as I have and I know he knows who I am, for I have sent him numerous photos, but we’d never met.   He always had the same sepia –toned body shot / no face pic in his profile, that is up until two weeks ago, when he replaced it with a close-up of his pecs.  Surprisingly, he is interested in playing.  Turns out he had a trick lined up and got stood up; that trick’s loss / my gain. 

I head on over to his house (he’s two blocks away).  He ushers me inside.  He’s already communicated that this needs to be quick, and I am cool with that.  Looks-wise, he’s not what I expected.  The images on-line don’t exactly match up, but nothing that’s a deal breaker.   I could list all the things that were not as expected, but the thing is – it was all perfectly fine.  I liked the mustache, the furry little (very little) belly, etc.  He was taller than I expected – always a good thing.  His dick was smaller than advertised and, to be fair to me, I have to point this out – if you are going to advertise your dick size in your on-line handle then you had better be accurate!  That said – his dick was perfectly pleasant and more than adequate.

 After the fact, I find out the reason he has never played with me is because he has a partner and was fearful that I would not be discrete.  No problem, I tell him.  I am discrete and I do not care – just fuck me.

We go down to his basement where he has a sling set up.  All in all, a very nice time was had by both of us.  I could nitpick (and I fear, already have), but then so could he (and he sort of did).  He sucked my dick, I sucked his, I ate his ass, and he put me in the sling.  I thought he would eat my ass, but I think he didn’t like the looks of my pucker, as he made a comment about how my hole appeared to “like to be used”.  I could have been insulted, but I’m on my back, in a fucking sling, in his basement – who am I to have an opinion about anything.  After slipping on a condom, he fucks me.  It is a fun fuck.  He likes his nipples played with, as do I.  I’m not allowed to touch my dick, and it turns out, he’s not that into kissing.  Oh, well.   After ten minutes in the sling he tells me to get on all fours in front of a full length mirror.  Well, to be honest, I am more than happy to get out of that sling.  The last time I was in one, I wretched my back.  This time turns out to be less traumatic, but the next morning, I’m feeling it in my shoulders and lower back all the same.  

In front of the mirror, with me on all fours, he kind of squats behind me, riding high up on my ass.  It makes a nice picture, and actually feels much better than the sling.  He blows his load this way rather quickly, which surprises me, but I’m glad he got his cookies.  I get on my knees and work my cock up to a nice hard on.  Standing over me, he watches.  I ask him to kiss me just before I blow my load and he obliges.  All in all, not bad.  We clean up the scene and I am out the door pronto, promising not to acknowledge his existence should I see him in public.

In a way, the encounter was everything I could ever hope for: convenient, fast, nice set-up, nice scene.  We did lots of fun stuff, everybody got their cookies, and we played safe.  Yay!

The fact that I am less than enthused about last night’s encounter is what lies at the heart of why I need to take on the challenge of abstaining from sex for thirty days and nights.   Because this was a perfectly great encounter and should have left me feeling very happy.   There was nothing inadequate about what we did and, in fact, it was pretty great.  But I come away feeling it was merely adequate.  Because I was merely adequate.  I was merely adequate because there is a part of me that was just not that into it.  My bad.  You bring your ‘A’ game every time, or you stay the fuck home!

My encounter with ‘Blair Underwood’ really should have been enough.  That should’ve been the end point of casual sex and the start of my thirty days.  The reason that I was firing on all fours (interesting pun) with ‘Blair’ was due to the fact that I had not been fucked since the first of the month and had practically been climbing the walls. At one point I was actually begging a dude via text to fuck me (and I’m so glad that did not happen – story for next week).  So, where ‘Blair was concerned, I did bring my ‘A’ game.  Not so with Bachelor #2.   

So I’m glad I’m taking a break.  It’s time.

How successful will I be?  Time will tell. 

Thirty days and thirty nights begins…

…now.

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!

Shit. 

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. 

My Sexual Circuit Breaker Has Been Tripped!

I feel like a switch in my sexual circuit breaker has been tripped.  My sudden disinterest in hooking-up with others kind of astounds me.  I’m still spending significant amounts of time on-line, mostly on Grndr and Scruff, but I am chatting and not necessarily about things sexual in nature. 

Since I made a conscience decision a few months ago to curtail the number of sexual encounters I partake in each month, with a desire to put the emphasis on quality – not quantity, it has really given me an opportunity to look more closely at my choices.  This breathing room has actually allowed me time to consider the possible ramifications of my actions and weigh the value of a given scenario.  I find, more often than not, that ‘I just don’t wanna.’  And these are quality guys we’re talking about.  Some I have actually played with in the past, but I just can’t bring myself to say ‘yes’.  So I make up excuses.

There is this really hot Asian dude that has been very persistent.  We hit it about two months ago.  He is handsome and has a dancer’s body, very compact and muscular.  He’s ten years my junior, a good foot shorter than me, and rather sexy. There was no kissing involved – and that may be at the root of my reluctance to see him again – but he throws a hell of a fuck.  I actually enjoyed sucking his dick and when it went anal, he had me on all fours, on the floor, in front of this mirror as he was pile-driving my hole.  He tapped me with such force that he literally fucked the cum right out of me.  We came at the same time, which also made it super hot. 

So why do I keep putting him off?  He’s hit on my numerous times since and a few of those times I had nothing going on and could have met him.  Instead, I chose to sit in my car,  at this I frequent, flagging ads on Craigslist (an odd hobby of mine, of late). 

Maybe it has something to do with the way he talks to me via his texts.  He’s very demanding, very assuming.  Perhaps that’s a cultural thing, but I find it a tad off-putting.  Don’t get me wrong – I like a good dom and like it when my top takes control, but, that said, disrespect is not sexy and I do feel devalued when I read his texts. 

Then there is the matter of kissing, or rather, not kissing in this case.  Lately, I yearn for some real intimacy, not just scenes of the “spread-‘em-and-fuck-‘em” variety.  This desire began after an exceptional encounter with a very nice, quiet, handsome black man who lives in the northern suburbs.  He hit on me out of the blue on Grndr – one of those profiles with a scenic pic that tells you nothing about the dude.  My shot is just my torso, so I’m always amazed when someone chats me up.  Anyway, he cut right to the chase, asking me if I wanted to get fucked.  I was actually all prepared for just that and said yes.  He sent me a face picture (handsome) and a dick pic (sizable).  I sent him my pics and we were a go. 

I get to his place and find myself feeling really nervous.  He’s younger than me (who isn’t), and very handsome.  Handsome people make me nervous – the possibility of rejection is always very real when dealing with someone out of your league, and based on this dude’s pic, I’m pretty sure he’s way out of mine.  But he wants to fuck me and who am I to refuse?  He opens the door.  He’s taller than I am (always a turn on) and, yep, handsome as hell (way out of my league).  He’s wearing sweats and a t-shirt and I can also tell he has a great body – wide shoulders, great pecs, small waist, long legs.  In light of all this, my nervousness level skyrockets.  His demeanor is cool and distant – which causes me to believe that there is a very real possibility that he’s not okay with what he sees.  That turns out to not be the case.  He’s simply a very reserved, masculine man.  In other words, hella sexy.

We go to his bedroom (always a good sign when hooking up – if they want to fuck you on their bed or even a guest bedroom bed, it indicates a desire for intimacy).  I strip for him and he lowers the waist band of his sweats.  Nine, hard, thick inches present themselves and I am about to drop to my knees in order to get busy, when his hand reaches around me, pushing on the small of my back, and pulling me toward him.  We kiss.  And I… melt. 

We spend the first ten minutes just exploring each other.  He has a full head of close cropped hair.  His eyes are penetrating.  He’s a great fucking kisser.  Soon the t-shirt is off.  The sweats fall to his ankles.  My hands are on his neck, his shoulders, the back of his head.  I want to consume this dude – commit all of him to permanent memory.  Our dicks are pressed against one another.  We cup each other’s asses and do some bumping and grinding. 

Finally, I can’t help myself anymore.  I drop to my knees and miraculously manage to swallow all nine inches in one fell swoop.  He’s kind of amazed too, and tells me as much.  Due to his length and thickness, something tells me he has not been with many dudes who can manage this without scraping him with their teeth.  I work his dick for a good ten minutes, paying attention to his beautiful ball sac in the process.  The dude’s hygiene is impeccable, but given that, there is a wonderful musk around his scrotum that I find to be better than poppers.  It’s definitely a black thing and a super sexy one at that.  There is something spicy, exotic, and deep to the aroma.  I just love it.

The dude then orders me onto the bed.  We begin with me on all fours in the center of the bed and him kneeling on the bed behind me.  He enters slowly – real slowly, and that has me absolutely melting inside.  There is something really sweet about his fucking.  We kiss a lot.  After a bit he moves me onto my back and things continue to pick up steam.  He teases my hole a lot, pulling all the way out and guiding it back in.  Eventually we establish some kind of synergy, with me fucking up on his dick as he’s pushing forward.  He likes it.  There is a lot more kissing.  Eventually he delivers the money shot and then encourages me to shoot my load.  Romantic?  Maybe.  We linger. 

Afterwards, he invites me to use his shower.  He has a really nice place, very clean.  I use his soap.  Now I smell like his body.  I walk back into the bedroom to get dressed and he is lying across the bottom of the bed, still naked, his legs spread.  He beckons me over to him.  I lay on top of him and we kiss some more.  This is the way a hook-up should go down.  It should always be this touching, this bittersweet.

We talk as I dress.  He puts back on his sweats and walks me to the door.  We kiss one last time and I wonder if I will ever see him again.  I get a sense that he is not exactly a rainbow flag waver, but I am cool with discretion. 

I make him a favorite on Grndr (my only one) and wait for him to contact me.  He says hello a few times and then two weeks later we set up a second play date.  He cancels at the last minute and it bums me out to the point where I delete my Grnder profile and don’t go back on for two weeks.  But I do eventually go back on.  A week after my return, he hits on me.  Asks me how I have been and if I would be interested in playing again.  Well, you know the answer to that one.  Fingers crossed. 

Oh – and did I mention that both these encounters involved condoms?  Yeah, for some reason safe sex has become something that really appeals to me again.  Barebacking?  Not at all.  In fact, I cleared my BBRTS profile.  That whole scene really started to rub me the wrong way.  The guys on there are not healthy thinkers.  Most don’t take care of their bodies – which is a real turn off to me of late.  Even my regulars – five dudes that are hot as hell, good-looking, and hung – started to make me feel rather devalued.  They would make plans and cancel at the last minute, or play games.  Which are things that dudes who practice safe sex do, too, but when I weigh the risks involved (STDs) and the quality of the actual sex (brutal, driven, and skanky), and their overall attitude, it simply lost its appeal.  Same goes for the warehouse party scene.

Don’t get me wrong – I still fantasize about being gang banged.  BB porn still turns me on.  I even like the whole language of the scene: breeding, seeding, etc.  But I don’t have the stomach for it.  It is a fantasy that best remains such.  The reality of it (the risks and overall demeanor) doesn’t seem all that sexy to me.  That probably has a lot to do with ‘been there, done that’.  But I can live with that.

So now what?  What does a former-wannabe-slut do for entertainment?

Most nights, after work, I sit in my car in this cruising park I used to suck a lot of dick at and chat on-line, on my phone.  At this park, dudes hit on me all the time, but I just wave hello once and then ignore them.  Even when I am in the mood for a little something, I don’t find myself interested in the ones interested in me.  And if I am interested, it isn’t in delivering the usual front-seat blow job.  The other day, this really nice dude in a green pick-up– an exhibitionist who likes to drive around naked on the highways, pulling up beside big-rig truckers and jerking it for them – pulled up next to me.  I was feeling frisky, so I stripped off all my clothes and showed off for him, going so far as to stick my bare ass out the passenger window of my car in order to display my hard dick for him.  But that is as far as it went. 

Maybe it’s because we are in the middle of winter.  Maybe when summer arrives I’ll be all raring to go again.  Will my resolve melt with the snow?   I doubt it.  I’m in no hurry to flip that breaker switch back to the on position.  The quality bar (along with the safety bar) has been raised.  And, for whatever reason, I now have the patience and desire to wait for something worthwhile to come along before bending over and spreading ‘em.