Friday, July 11, 2003 :::
Hooray for public libraries and endless internet access.
::: at 1:02 PM
Thursday, July 10, 2003 :::
Phrase of the Day:
"Ready? I'm ninja ready!"
::: at 3:04 PM
Open relationships are best handled by people without possesive streaks.
I had already mentioned, repeatedly I admit, that I had landed myself a prime role in this little production. The first member of this party that I met was, well, *woof*!! Tall, killer body, dark hair, butch through and through. Exactly what I look for in a recreational partner (ed: Note the word "recreational"). Add in the fact that he lised his favourite pastimes as "eating ass, giving head, drinking cum" and...well...excuse me for a moment. Oh sure, said he was more of a "giver than a taker", but after half a bear, I mean beer, that ass was waving like a flag, and I was definitely feeling patriotic. This continued for a few days, until the chaffing got a bit much for me (boo-hoo? fucking hurts, I sez!), I then agreed to meet him at the bar he owns, so I could meet the other half.
Funny thing about the bar. It happens to be a bar close to my place, so I've been there quite a few times. I've also been thrown out of this bar on more than one occassion. Mostly due to the fact that they have a "No Smoking" dance bar in the back, and with my forgetfullness, chain smoking, big mouth, and agrressive bar staff, it made the staff (re)-introductions quite interesting.
Where am I going? Take your fucking Ritalin and sit tight.
Now, one of the concepts of a open relationship is the "sharing" of partners amongst those that they choose. This was fine amongst the three of us, moving gracefully back and forth as we saw fit, with or without the other partner, as this had already been worked out. Fine. They could also move freely amongst a variety of other partners, aside from myself, without any problems. I on the other hand, clearly had a pre-determined place, at least as far as one of them was concerned. He (henceforth known as R) didn't seem to mind anyone touching, sucking, or fucking his partner of 8 years, but his fuck-buddy on 2 weeks? Stay the HELL away!
I was, and still am, just a tad confused.
As an example: one afternoon I stopped in to see if R was available for a quicky in the office up-stairs, all was good, I just had to wait while he finished up something else. While I waited, in popped a guy I had a one-nighter with a while ago. He came right over to say a quick hello, and as we chatted I all of a sudden felt something warm and wet in my ear. I turned to see R's tongue flicking about, but the cheery grin he gave me soon vanished when he turned to my past-fuck.
"Move along, buddy!" he barked,
He then turns back to me, smiling so proud you'd think he'd just slain a dragon.
"Um, what the fuck was that?" I ask,
"You don't need that"
"I can make up my own fucking mind thank you."
"What? You don't need guys like that around. You got me"
*very confused silence*
"Lets go upstairs"
Well, yeah I fucked him anyways. But still! What the hell?
Now, this could have been an isolated incident, except for the fact that just about anytime a guy tries to make conversation, innocent or not, Captain Grabby-Hands is in there quicker than you can say "misguided emotions".
My decision? I'm sleeping with a good friend of his.
Oh shut up!
::: at 1:20 PM
Alright, I'll offer some explanations for the over simplified notations the past couple of weeks. First off, I've joined the darling ranks of the unemployed. I'm not complaining much, but while waiting for my unemployment cheques to arrive, something that probably won't happen till sometime in Aug, I've been making some rather interesting career moves. The first being office temping. A menial and borish task that leaves you surrounded by over-Xanaxed secretaries, who talk condescendingly slow, pin inspirational *ahem* poems to any clear space, and leave you searching through their purses to get some of that goddam Xanax so you can tolerate another 15 min of the re-telling (for the fifth time that day) of their carpal tunnel syndrome operation. I desperately try to fight the urges to do my own re-telling of the guy I fucked the night before, who, as it turned out, wasn't that...ummm...fresh?
I said I try!
That brings us to our second career move. Easily meshed with the first, mainly because you're generally serving the same Rolodex. I'm talking of escorting. Not something I thought I would do again, but sometimes you have to bend over and take it like a man. Unless they ask otherwise. It's not what people make of it, and that goes for both sides. I've lucked out last week with a string of marginally good-looking clients. Trust me, when you see some of what meets you at the door, which in extreme cases can usher in the "Sorry, wrong apartment!" phrase, you really begin to appreciate any man that seen the inside of a gym within the last 4 years. Even if they do still want to play school teacher. What? You think I'm kidding? I had 1/2 hr to come up with a Catholic schoolboy outfit. Not an easy task. Then you're given you're "lesson". Oh, joy! Although it was exactly like what I've heard private school is like in some places, but we won't go there right now.
The only real problem that always seems to bother me is the level of detachtment needed for this kind of undertaking. Of which, there are two options: the more mental-phsycological route, or the chemical. With the mental, you leave it to yourself (your imagination really) to either engross yourself in the moment, allowing the whole to take over, making the details (smell, size, toupee) less apparent, for at least the 2 minutes it usually takes them to finish up. As for chemical, like I said yesterday, "cocaine is far to accessable". So is Viagra, Ecstacy, Percodan, and just about anything else you can dream up. Anything and everything available at anytime, just in case you suddenly remember where you are and what you're doing. These sudden realizations are never that great for business. Mid-(fake)-orgasm breakdowns are quite the faux pas, and a tip killer, so take another hit while he pries of his Docker's, you'll thank me later.
Enough of this. There's much more than sex and money!
Yeah, I'm laughing too!
::: at 12:05 PM
Wednesday, July 09, 2003 :::
Notes from the Underground
(or, Recherche du Temps Perdu)
So here's the update:
-Men with open relationships are boring. So are their boyfriends.
-Cocaine is far to accessable.
-Escorting ain't that bad.
-No, escorting is that bad.
-Office temping, on the other hand, is the most vile of all.
-Gay marriage blows dead dogs!
-There aren't nearly enough nude beaches in this city.
-I spend far to much time unclothed. I'm getting spoiled, really.
-I still owe $150 from last months rent, in addition to the renmt due at the end of this month. I have absolutely no idea where this mysterious cash will come from. Any suggestions? (or customers? Hint!!)
-You are all ordered to read Baal, and Threepenny Opera. Do it or I'll beat the shit out you with The Polish Ho' [sic].
-Despite Jocko saying, "there are no hidden porno pics on my site", the recent banners on his site seem to suggest that this statement will soon be quite false. Not that I'm complaining or anything. *cough*
I'm bored with this and going for a bike ride for a while. If anyone wants me I'll be at Hanlin's Point. Uncut, both nipples pierced, and blaring the Stone's. Join me at my towel if you like (I might charge, depends).
::: at 12:55 PM