Last night (Saturday) I went to see Take Me Out at the Plays and Players Theater. It's the Tony award winning play about an all-star baseball player who comes out of the closet at a press conference and the resulting effects it has on the rest of the team. It's an incredible play with a great cast of characters. It's funny, intense, dramatic...
...Awwww what the hell am I talking about?.... THERE'S FULL FRONTAL NUDITY!!!!!!!!
Nah...all that aside, it was a great play and I look forward to seeing it aga----
THERE'S FULL FRONTAL NUDITY!!!!!!!!
Sunday, May 29, 2005
Thursday, May 26, 2005
A Trip Towards the Dark Side...
Kinky Quizzo at the Post is really beginning to live up to it's name.
First off, let me just say that, in the first time in several weeks, I took home some prizes! And, believe it or not, the leather DVD I won is actually pretty good. I came in 2nd place and a recent newcomer who sat next to me (love those forearms) came in 3rd. A group of brand new attendees, four cute youngins took home the grand prize, a John Holmes blow up doll and companion video (instructional?). My friends, M&O, bowed out for the first time since Quizzo started and opted to stay home.
But it was after all the prizes were handed out that Kinky Quizzo started living up to its name and it seems that the Post has contributed in transforming a once Irish Catholic schoolgirl into a true Dominatrix (or at least a woman who is starting to break out into a whole new world). Mistress Jen was wowing me with stories of her trip to London and the dark seedy underworld of S&M and B&D on the other side of the Pond, and her recent meetings with some old friends who, to her astonishment, are into some of the things that have been intriguing her as of late. The bartender at the Post has been into the world of Bondage and Discipline probably since he had learned to tie up his own shoelaces and some of the stories he's told me in the past are enough to make your nuts seek shelter somewhere up around your liver and never come out. I have a feeling that somewhere down the road we'll be shocked and awed by some of the costumes the Mistress will be hosting Kinky Quizzo in.
We had talked briefly about some of my recent posts here and it was good to hear someone who's gone through much of what I have and can seriously relate to some of the things I talk about here. Thanks, Jen, for that.
Another strange occurrence last night was a first for me. I've often talked about mistress Jen and how she is becoming more and more comfortable controlling the bar during the game, but there was actually a true bonified Dominatrix in the bar also. I never caught her name, but as Jen & I were talking she came up and said something on her way to the bathroom. I turned to Jen after she was gone and asked: "Who is Xena?" This girl really looked like the Warrior Princess, right down to the straight, jet black haircut with the severe bangs. Jen started laughing as she proceeded to tell me the story of the time this girl was complaining about a stiff shoulder. I'm not going into great detail, but let me just say that it had something to do with $200.00 an hour, a fist and a man's butt. It seems that Xena and her husband are true American swingers and have their own business (that I've only seen in HBO specials).
Between the bartender, the Mistress and now Xena, could Kinky Quizzo someday lead itself down the path to B&D demonstrations? HAHAHAHA!!!! I know I'd be curiously nervous, but as I write this, I can't help think about some of the reactions of other, more bitter (yes even more bitter than me) patrons of the bar.
If, someday, a demonstration should occur, may I suggest not advertising it. Just walk in on a night when some of the regulars who complain that nothing new goes on there, yet leave when Kinky Quizzo begins, lock the doors and begin the show. The looks on their faces would be well worth a paddling.
That's it for now.
Have a good day!
First off, let me just say that, in the first time in several weeks, I took home some prizes! And, believe it or not, the leather DVD I won is actually pretty good. I came in 2nd place and a recent newcomer who sat next to me (love those forearms) came in 3rd. A group of brand new attendees, four cute youngins took home the grand prize, a John Holmes blow up doll and companion video (instructional?). My friends, M&O, bowed out for the first time since Quizzo started and opted to stay home.
But it was after all the prizes were handed out that Kinky Quizzo started living up to its name and it seems that the Post has contributed in transforming a once Irish Catholic schoolgirl into a true Dominatrix (or at least a woman who is starting to break out into a whole new world). Mistress Jen was wowing me with stories of her trip to London and the dark seedy underworld of S&M and B&D on the other side of the Pond, and her recent meetings with some old friends who, to her astonishment, are into some of the things that have been intriguing her as of late. The bartender at the Post has been into the world of Bondage and Discipline probably since he had learned to tie up his own shoelaces and some of the stories he's told me in the past are enough to make your nuts seek shelter somewhere up around your liver and never come out. I have a feeling that somewhere down the road we'll be shocked and awed by some of the costumes the Mistress will be hosting Kinky Quizzo in.
We had talked briefly about some of my recent posts here and it was good to hear someone who's gone through much of what I have and can seriously relate to some of the things I talk about here. Thanks, Jen, for that.
Another strange occurrence last night was a first for me. I've often talked about mistress Jen and how she is becoming more and more comfortable controlling the bar during the game, but there was actually a true bonified Dominatrix in the bar also. I never caught her name, but as Jen & I were talking she came up and said something on her way to the bathroom. I turned to Jen after she was gone and asked: "Who is Xena?" This girl really looked like the Warrior Princess, right down to the straight, jet black haircut with the severe bangs. Jen started laughing as she proceeded to tell me the story of the time this girl was complaining about a stiff shoulder. I'm not going into great detail, but let me just say that it had something to do with $200.00 an hour, a fist and a man's butt. It seems that Xena and her husband are true American swingers and have their own business (that I've only seen in HBO specials).
Between the bartender, the Mistress and now Xena, could Kinky Quizzo someday lead itself down the path to B&D demonstrations? HAHAHAHA!!!! I know I'd be curiously nervous, but as I write this, I can't help think about some of the reactions of other, more bitter (yes even more bitter than me) patrons of the bar.
If, someday, a demonstration should occur, may I suggest not advertising it. Just walk in on a night when some of the regulars who complain that nothing new goes on there, yet leave when Kinky Quizzo begins, lock the doors and begin the show. The looks on their faces would be well worth a paddling.
That's it for now.
Have a good day!
Monday, May 23, 2005
A Sunday Evening Hookup (aka: Maybe This is Why It's Been 2 1/2 Years) ...
Let me just say that I'm already kicking myself and kicked myself all the way home last night.
Sunday Night.
The Post.
Desperate Housewives season finale (and by the way, I don't think Brea's husband really died, but we shall see).
After watching the twists and turns of the various conflicts of 4 suburban women, I decided to twist and turn my ass over to Woody's for a few beers. I haven't been there on a Sunday night in several years and I remember it always being alot of fun without the hassle of attitude you'd find there on a drugged up Friday or Saturday night. Early on in the evening they have country western dancing that, about 9 o'clock or so, starts to merge into disco which eventually turns to techo house music around midnight or so.
I arrived there shortly after 10 o'clock, paid my $2.00 cover charge (a small fee to keep the 13th street riff-raff from coming into the place), walked around the first floor to see if there was a small chance I would know anyone and then headed up to the disco on the 2nd floor. I purchased a beer and walked around the perimeter of the dance floor seeking a familiar face. Alas, the only person I recognized was my ex's (you know..."Bob") friend. I always had a problem with how this friend always stuck his nose into matters that didn't concern him, but I guess that's an easy way for "Bob" to get the scoop on people before he makes his own move (that's only my assumption). Anyway, we exchanged a few cordial words and I was on my way (to any location other than standing next to this guy and trying to fake niceties).
I found an empty cocktail table on the opposite side of the dance floor and took a seat. The music was great (old 80's dance mixes) and I soon found myself dancing in my seat as my mind flashed back to those times when these songs were at the top of the dance charts and I would be out there on the floor hamming it up under the strobe lights and lasers.
I finished my beer and headed up to the bar for a fresh one. It was then that I noticed a very attractive man standing next to me, beer in hand, watching me order. He looked to be about my hight, with a slightly stocky, but muscular build, thinning dark blond hair, mustache and goatee, and a really cute butt. I gave him a quick smile as I paid the bartender and was going to head back to my stool, but he quickly spoke up.
"So, is this the most exciting place to go on a Sunday night?"
"Actually, I haven't been out here on a Sunday in a number of years, but it still draws the biggest crowd."
We continued making small talk, commenting on the music, the weather, jobs, etc. He mentioned he was up from Atlanta on a conference until Tuesday and Staying at the Park Hyatt-Bellvue Stratford. There really wasn't any sexual talk going on. The conversation was quite enjoyable and light and, when I told him that it was time for me to go, I gave him my email address and there was a light kiss good-night. That was about it.
I downed the rest of my beer, and headed downstairs. I did one final walk-through on the first floor and headed towards the front door. That was when I saw The Man From Atlanta walking towards the exit also. He gave me a quick wave and I smiled, then he disappeared out the door. I reached the door a few seconds later and, when I exited the building, found him standing outside waiting.
"So do you want to see my room?"
I chuckled, thinking back to our earlier conversation when he was describing how fancy the hotel was and, if it were up to him, he'd be staying at the Holiday Inn Express.
"I've got to get home. I have to work tomorrow."
"But you have to see this room to believe it."
"If I go up to your room, then one thing will lead to another and next thing I know, I'll be late for work."
"I won't keep you. I promise..."
The conversation went on like this the whole short walk up Walnut Street to Broad Street. I must admit, I was intrigued by what the inside of the hotel looked like. In it's hayday, it definately was a classy destination spot in the city, rivaling some of the world's most exclusive hotels like The Waldorf Astoria or Plaza hotels in New York City. Crystal chandeliers, bronze staircases, ornately carved ceiling moldings. It was an opportunity that probably wouldn't come my way again any time soon. In fact, I've been living in the city for nearly eight years and coming into the city for an additional eight and this was the first time I've ever been invited into the building, outside of the food court in the basement.
"Okay," I agreed. "I'm only coming in to see the room. Then I gotta get home."
"Sure." He answered with a crooked smile.
"I mean it."
"I know you do."
As we walked towards the entrance to the hotel, little did I know that the next 20 minutes or so would be one strange occurance after another. The first was the comment made by the bellhop as we made our way through the revolving door:
"Have fun, guys..."
I was taken back by the oppulance that surrounded me. Dark paneled walls, richly colored carpeting, fine furnishings, incredible artwork, dazzling chandeliers, a curving grand staircase heading up to the 2nd floor, hand painted murals across the ceiling. It was like stepping back in time to the Victorian Era, a time when people actually dressed for dinner and the elite walked these very rooms.
"Wow..." It was all I could manage to say.
"I know." my partner chuckled. And then, as if reading my mind, he added: "I feel a bit under dressed."
We got into the elevator and he pushed the button for the 15th floor. As the car rose, I continued my silent mantra: I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...I'm just seeing the room and--"
Ding.
The doors opened and we stepped out into an elaborately wallpapered hallway. Blue walls with a floral pattern vined their way down the length of the hall towards his room. Crystal chandeliers hung above at intervals of about 15 feet and I wondered if these were the fixtures that had been designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. We turned a corner and continued commenting on everything around me. All he could do was laugh, knowing that he had done that exact same thing a few days before during his first trip down the hall.
He unlocked the door and we stepped into his suite. I was immediately taken back yet again. For starters, the room was huge to say the least. From where I stood (on a raised entry hall) the room looked to be at least 40 feet to the window and about half that length in width. A brass railing separated the entry from the rest of the room and you had to step down three stairs to enter the actual suite. A king-size bed stood directly infront of me, with a high headboard and luxurious white-on-white bedding. (I even took notice of the wrapped pair of white tericloth slippers sitting on the bedspread). To my right was a large kitchenette with a long bar (not stocked, that I can see) and a small fridge and sink. The walls, like the hallway, were adorned with a subtle, yet bold floral wallpaper and heavy blue draperies covered the large window in the seating area towards the front of the room. The sofa and wing back chairs all were covered in unique fabrics that still matched the rest of the color scheme in the room.
Again, my extended vocabulary came into play: "Wow..."
He chuckled and then leaned in to kiss me. A sweet and playful tongue made it's way into my mouth as I felt a pair of strong arms wrap around my waist. I remembered my mantra:
I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...
And then a second mantra intertwined itself with the first.
I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...
What the fuck's wrong with me?...
I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...
What the fuck's wrong with me?...
I pulled from his embrace.
"So what's the view like from the window."
"It's not much of a view. Let me show you the balcony."
Balcony? I have walked past and looked up at this building countless times and never once saw a balcony.
We walked through the livingroom and there, to the left of the window (the drapes were drawn), was a door. He opened the door and lo and behold there was indeed a balcony. What surprised me most was the view. What you could never suspect from down on the street was that up here, in the hotel, was a 15 story atrium. All interior rooms had their own balconies that looked down into what could only be described as an open area that greatly resembled an outdoor French cafe scene. Blue and white striped awnings covered each balcony matching the blue and white striped umbrellas in all of the tables located a few stories below. I never would've guessed that such an incredible setting could be found in such an old building, and I told this to him. He agreed as we made our way back into the suite.
Once inside, he wrapped his arms around me again and started kissing me. I didn't exactly fight him off, but I did mention (through muffled kisses) that I had to work in the morning and I needed to get home.
"What's an hour gonna change?" He asked.
I laughed (I always tend to laugh if I get nervous around someone).
We kissed some more and I pleaded my case some more.
"Thirty minutes?" He suggested.
Through a soft chuckle I told him that, although I am very tempted, I just simply cannot stay. I was attracted to this guy and I knew from my work schedule over the next few days that I would most likely never see him again. The two mantras battled it out in my mind as we continued an awkward dance of kissing and groping and pulling back, kissing and groping and pulling back. The whole time I slowly made our--rather my way towards the door. I finally broke free from his grip and, with quite the finality in my voice, I took the three steps to the raised landing and announced that I was heading home.
"Are you sure?" He asked, resting his arms on the railing which, from where he stood still in the main suite, was at his chin level.
I turned and looked down at him and it suddenly dawned on me that, from where we both were currently standing, me up on the landing and him looking up at me from the other side of the railing, we were perfectly stationed for what could be some incredible oral sex.
He seemed to have the same thought, as he smiled mischieviously and stuck out his tongue.
I chuckled again and fought the tightening in my jeans.
"I don't think you're so sure." He said, not moving, but looking down at my crotch.
I bent down and took his tongue into my mouth. It was warm, wet and wild and I grabbed the back of his head and kissed deeper. But, unfortunately, I was sure. I pulled back and stood up. "I have to go."
"Fifteen minutes."
"I caaaaan't." I laughed, reaching for the doorknob. I leaned back over and kissed him again. And stood up. Leaned and kissed, stood, grabbed the doorknob, released it, leaned and kissed again.
Finally, I grabbed the doorknob and turned, opening the door. It was then that I noticed the really cute sad puppydog eyes this guy had and I could feel myself being drawn back into the room. But my first mantra seemed to be winning the battle and I said my good night and me, my mantra and my stiff dick all stepped out into the hallway. I reached the elevator and pressed the down button. I heard a door open from behind me and he leaned out and tried waving me back into the room. I smiled, but the elevator doors opened and I stepped inside, a mixture of sadness and relief coursing through my body. And a hard dick to boot.
Once the elevator doors closed, I realized something strange. This wasn't the same elevator I was in a mere 10 minutes before making my way up in the building. I had automatically pushed the bottom most button without looking. Now I looked. It read "Garden".
Holy crap! I'm in the wrong elevator.
The doors opened and I stepped out into an unfamiliar hallway. I walked down and, to my amazement, stepped into the ground level of the atrium I had just been looking down upon a few minutes before. I looked up the rows of balconies above me and wondered which was his. Should I call up to him? I had already had all sorts of thoughts running through my head from the second he rested his arms on the railing and looked up at me and rolled out his tongue--"Are you sure?..." Without going into any great details, let me just say that more dirty images of all sorts started surfacing in my mind again and what little time my hard-on had to try and simma-down, it suddenly sprang back to life and my jeans seemed to grow three sizes too small.
I made my trek back down the hallway and turned left when I spotted other elevators. I pushed the down button and, while waiting for the elevator to arrive, developed the sudden need for reajustment. I shoved my hand down the front of my pants and moved everything around. As I did this, I slowly turned and there, standing in the hallway with me, was a man of about 30 years, shaved head, goatee, tight fitting t-shirt. Like a deer caught in a set of headlights, there I am, standing in the middle of a hallway, in a ritzy downtown hotel, my arm shoved down the front of my pants, my hand wrapped around my cock, staring at this hot bald guy looking back at me.
Ding...
The elevator doors opened and, in one swift (albeit definately not smooth) motion, I pulled my hand out of my pants, spun around and stepped silently into the elevator, all the while thinking that, in a perfect world, this would've been a hot little porn movie scenerio. But the hot guy in the tight fitting tee changed all that when, not only did he not step into the elevator, but he continuously pressed the button in the hall to call another elevator like he had just seen a lifesize ebola virus cell step into the elevator before him.
After getting past my initial embarassing shock, I started to chuckle as the elevator descended to the lobby. And then I suddenly remembered the bellhop: "Have fun, guys..."
He knew exactly what was going on and, although the scene probably wasn't anything knew to him, I'm not someone who goes to hotels with guests on a weekly basis.... (okay, okay...so it happened once 2 weeks ago).
The doors opened and I stepped out into the lobby and headed for the revolving doors, readying myself for whatever this guy had to say. But luckily, he was busy writing out a slip for a car that had pulled up a few minutes before. I was going to sneak right on past him.
But then, in trying to get out of the building and get my ass home, I walked smack dab into a guy on his way into the hotel. Mid-thirties, tall, lean, dark hair, clean shaven, and a nice smile as he looked at me and said: "How're you doing tonight?"
"Good." I replied quickly.
"Why the rush? Heading out for a drink?"
What the fuck? Did I spray some sort of scent on me tonight before heading out? And if so, why the fuck can't I remember what it was?????
"Heading home." I answered nervously.
"Oooooooooooh." He said knowingly. I could even swear he winked at me, but what happened next was what clinched the night for me.
"Son, Can you grab my bag out of the trunk?" The voice came from an older well dressed woman stepping out from the Town Car.
"Sure thing, Mom." He turned to me and smiled again. "Duty calls. Have a good night."
I walked away from the hotel shaking my head in disbelief, wondering where, during the course of my life, had hooking up become such a fucking chore?
I needed a beer and I headed back to the Post Bar.
After all, what's an hour gonna change?
Sunday Night.
The Post.
Desperate Housewives season finale (and by the way, I don't think Brea's husband really died, but we shall see).
After watching the twists and turns of the various conflicts of 4 suburban women, I decided to twist and turn my ass over to Woody's for a few beers. I haven't been there on a Sunday night in several years and I remember it always being alot of fun without the hassle of attitude you'd find there on a drugged up Friday or Saturday night. Early on in the evening they have country western dancing that, about 9 o'clock or so, starts to merge into disco which eventually turns to techo house music around midnight or so.
I arrived there shortly after 10 o'clock, paid my $2.00 cover charge (a small fee to keep the 13th street riff-raff from coming into the place), walked around the first floor to see if there was a small chance I would know anyone and then headed up to the disco on the 2nd floor. I purchased a beer and walked around the perimeter of the dance floor seeking a familiar face. Alas, the only person I recognized was my ex's (you know..."Bob") friend. I always had a problem with how this friend always stuck his nose into matters that didn't concern him, but I guess that's an easy way for "Bob" to get the scoop on people before he makes his own move (that's only my assumption). Anyway, we exchanged a few cordial words and I was on my way (to any location other than standing next to this guy and trying to fake niceties).
I found an empty cocktail table on the opposite side of the dance floor and took a seat. The music was great (old 80's dance mixes) and I soon found myself dancing in my seat as my mind flashed back to those times when these songs were at the top of the dance charts and I would be out there on the floor hamming it up under the strobe lights and lasers.
I finished my beer and headed up to the bar for a fresh one. It was then that I noticed a very attractive man standing next to me, beer in hand, watching me order. He looked to be about my hight, with a slightly stocky, but muscular build, thinning dark blond hair, mustache and goatee, and a really cute butt. I gave him a quick smile as I paid the bartender and was going to head back to my stool, but he quickly spoke up.
"So, is this the most exciting place to go on a Sunday night?"
"Actually, I haven't been out here on a Sunday in a number of years, but it still draws the biggest crowd."
We continued making small talk, commenting on the music, the weather, jobs, etc. He mentioned he was up from Atlanta on a conference until Tuesday and Staying at the Park Hyatt-Bellvue Stratford. There really wasn't any sexual talk going on. The conversation was quite enjoyable and light and, when I told him that it was time for me to go, I gave him my email address and there was a light kiss good-night. That was about it.
I downed the rest of my beer, and headed downstairs. I did one final walk-through on the first floor and headed towards the front door. That was when I saw The Man From Atlanta walking towards the exit also. He gave me a quick wave and I smiled, then he disappeared out the door. I reached the door a few seconds later and, when I exited the building, found him standing outside waiting.
"So do you want to see my room?"
I chuckled, thinking back to our earlier conversation when he was describing how fancy the hotel was and, if it were up to him, he'd be staying at the Holiday Inn Express.
"I've got to get home. I have to work tomorrow."
"But you have to see this room to believe it."
"If I go up to your room, then one thing will lead to another and next thing I know, I'll be late for work."
"I won't keep you. I promise..."
The conversation went on like this the whole short walk up Walnut Street to Broad Street. I must admit, I was intrigued by what the inside of the hotel looked like. In it's hayday, it definately was a classy destination spot in the city, rivaling some of the world's most exclusive hotels like The Waldorf Astoria or Plaza hotels in New York City. Crystal chandeliers, bronze staircases, ornately carved ceiling moldings. It was an opportunity that probably wouldn't come my way again any time soon. In fact, I've been living in the city for nearly eight years and coming into the city for an additional eight and this was the first time I've ever been invited into the building, outside of the food court in the basement.
"Okay," I agreed. "I'm only coming in to see the room. Then I gotta get home."
"Sure." He answered with a crooked smile.
"I mean it."
"I know you do."
As we walked towards the entrance to the hotel, little did I know that the next 20 minutes or so would be one strange occurance after another. The first was the comment made by the bellhop as we made our way through the revolving door:
"Have fun, guys..."
I was taken back by the oppulance that surrounded me. Dark paneled walls, richly colored carpeting, fine furnishings, incredible artwork, dazzling chandeliers, a curving grand staircase heading up to the 2nd floor, hand painted murals across the ceiling. It was like stepping back in time to the Victorian Era, a time when people actually dressed for dinner and the elite walked these very rooms.
"Wow..." It was all I could manage to say.
"I know." my partner chuckled. And then, as if reading my mind, he added: "I feel a bit under dressed."
We got into the elevator and he pushed the button for the 15th floor. As the car rose, I continued my silent mantra: I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...I'm just seeing the room and--"
Ding.
The doors opened and we stepped out into an elaborately wallpapered hallway. Blue walls with a floral pattern vined their way down the length of the hall towards his room. Crystal chandeliers hung above at intervals of about 15 feet and I wondered if these were the fixtures that had been designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. We turned a corner and continued commenting on everything around me. All he could do was laugh, knowing that he had done that exact same thing a few days before during his first trip down the hall.
He unlocked the door and we stepped into his suite. I was immediately taken back yet again. For starters, the room was huge to say the least. From where I stood (on a raised entry hall) the room looked to be at least 40 feet to the window and about half that length in width. A brass railing separated the entry from the rest of the room and you had to step down three stairs to enter the actual suite. A king-size bed stood directly infront of me, with a high headboard and luxurious white-on-white bedding. (I even took notice of the wrapped pair of white tericloth slippers sitting on the bedspread). To my right was a large kitchenette with a long bar (not stocked, that I can see) and a small fridge and sink. The walls, like the hallway, were adorned with a subtle, yet bold floral wallpaper and heavy blue draperies covered the large window in the seating area towards the front of the room. The sofa and wing back chairs all were covered in unique fabrics that still matched the rest of the color scheme in the room.
Again, my extended vocabulary came into play: "Wow..."
He chuckled and then leaned in to kiss me. A sweet and playful tongue made it's way into my mouth as I felt a pair of strong arms wrap around my waist. I remembered my mantra:
I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...
And then a second mantra intertwined itself with the first.
I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...
What the fuck's wrong with me?...
I'm just seeing the room and I'm outta there...
What the fuck's wrong with me?...
I pulled from his embrace.
"So what's the view like from the window."
"It's not much of a view. Let me show you the balcony."
Balcony? I have walked past and looked up at this building countless times and never once saw a balcony.
We walked through the livingroom and there, to the left of the window (the drapes were drawn), was a door. He opened the door and lo and behold there was indeed a balcony. What surprised me most was the view. What you could never suspect from down on the street was that up here, in the hotel, was a 15 story atrium. All interior rooms had their own balconies that looked down into what could only be described as an open area that greatly resembled an outdoor French cafe scene. Blue and white striped awnings covered each balcony matching the blue and white striped umbrellas in all of the tables located a few stories below. I never would've guessed that such an incredible setting could be found in such an old building, and I told this to him. He agreed as we made our way back into the suite.
Once inside, he wrapped his arms around me again and started kissing me. I didn't exactly fight him off, but I did mention (through muffled kisses) that I had to work in the morning and I needed to get home.
"What's an hour gonna change?" He asked.
I laughed (I always tend to laugh if I get nervous around someone).
We kissed some more and I pleaded my case some more.
"Thirty minutes?" He suggested.
Through a soft chuckle I told him that, although I am very tempted, I just simply cannot stay. I was attracted to this guy and I knew from my work schedule over the next few days that I would most likely never see him again. The two mantras battled it out in my mind as we continued an awkward dance of kissing and groping and pulling back, kissing and groping and pulling back. The whole time I slowly made our--rather my way towards the door. I finally broke free from his grip and, with quite the finality in my voice, I took the three steps to the raised landing and announced that I was heading home.
"Are you sure?" He asked, resting his arms on the railing which, from where he stood still in the main suite, was at his chin level.
I turned and looked down at him and it suddenly dawned on me that, from where we both were currently standing, me up on the landing and him looking up at me from the other side of the railing, we were perfectly stationed for what could be some incredible oral sex.
He seemed to have the same thought, as he smiled mischieviously and stuck out his tongue.
I chuckled again and fought the tightening in my jeans.
"I don't think you're so sure." He said, not moving, but looking down at my crotch.
I bent down and took his tongue into my mouth. It was warm, wet and wild and I grabbed the back of his head and kissed deeper. But, unfortunately, I was sure. I pulled back and stood up. "I have to go."
"Fifteen minutes."
"I caaaaan't." I laughed, reaching for the doorknob. I leaned back over and kissed him again. And stood up. Leaned and kissed, stood, grabbed the doorknob, released it, leaned and kissed again.
Finally, I grabbed the doorknob and turned, opening the door. It was then that I noticed the really cute sad puppydog eyes this guy had and I could feel myself being drawn back into the room. But my first mantra seemed to be winning the battle and I said my good night and me, my mantra and my stiff dick all stepped out into the hallway. I reached the elevator and pressed the down button. I heard a door open from behind me and he leaned out and tried waving me back into the room. I smiled, but the elevator doors opened and I stepped inside, a mixture of sadness and relief coursing through my body. And a hard dick to boot.
Once the elevator doors closed, I realized something strange. This wasn't the same elevator I was in a mere 10 minutes before making my way up in the building. I had automatically pushed the bottom most button without looking. Now I looked. It read "Garden".
Holy crap! I'm in the wrong elevator.
The doors opened and I stepped out into an unfamiliar hallway. I walked down and, to my amazement, stepped into the ground level of the atrium I had just been looking down upon a few minutes before. I looked up the rows of balconies above me and wondered which was his. Should I call up to him? I had already had all sorts of thoughts running through my head from the second he rested his arms on the railing and looked up at me and rolled out his tongue--"Are you sure?..." Without going into any great details, let me just say that more dirty images of all sorts started surfacing in my mind again and what little time my hard-on had to try and simma-down, it suddenly sprang back to life and my jeans seemed to grow three sizes too small.
I made my trek back down the hallway and turned left when I spotted other elevators. I pushed the down button and, while waiting for the elevator to arrive, developed the sudden need for reajustment. I shoved my hand down the front of my pants and moved everything around. As I did this, I slowly turned and there, standing in the hallway with me, was a man of about 30 years, shaved head, goatee, tight fitting t-shirt. Like a deer caught in a set of headlights, there I am, standing in the middle of a hallway, in a ritzy downtown hotel, my arm shoved down the front of my pants, my hand wrapped around my cock, staring at this hot bald guy looking back at me.
Ding...
The elevator doors opened and, in one swift (albeit definately not smooth) motion, I pulled my hand out of my pants, spun around and stepped silently into the elevator, all the while thinking that, in a perfect world, this would've been a hot little porn movie scenerio. But the hot guy in the tight fitting tee changed all that when, not only did he not step into the elevator, but he continuously pressed the button in the hall to call another elevator like he had just seen a lifesize ebola virus cell step into the elevator before him.
After getting past my initial embarassing shock, I started to chuckle as the elevator descended to the lobby. And then I suddenly remembered the bellhop: "Have fun, guys..."
He knew exactly what was going on and, although the scene probably wasn't anything knew to him, I'm not someone who goes to hotels with guests on a weekly basis.... (okay, okay...so it happened once 2 weeks ago).
The doors opened and I stepped out into the lobby and headed for the revolving doors, readying myself for whatever this guy had to say. But luckily, he was busy writing out a slip for a car that had pulled up a few minutes before. I was going to sneak right on past him.
But then, in trying to get out of the building and get my ass home, I walked smack dab into a guy on his way into the hotel. Mid-thirties, tall, lean, dark hair, clean shaven, and a nice smile as he looked at me and said: "How're you doing tonight?"
"Good." I replied quickly.
"Why the rush? Heading out for a drink?"
What the fuck? Did I spray some sort of scent on me tonight before heading out? And if so, why the fuck can't I remember what it was?????
"Heading home." I answered nervously.
"Oooooooooooh." He said knowingly. I could even swear he winked at me, but what happened next was what clinched the night for me.
"Son, Can you grab my bag out of the trunk?" The voice came from an older well dressed woman stepping out from the Town Car.
"Sure thing, Mom." He turned to me and smiled again. "Duty calls. Have a good night."
I walked away from the hotel shaking my head in disbelief, wondering where, during the course of my life, had hooking up become such a fucking chore?
I needed a beer and I headed back to the Post Bar.
After all, what's an hour gonna change?
Friday, May 20, 2005
A Not So Typical Thursday in Center City (part 2) ...
Let me first say that, since this website posts the latest writings first, please scroll down and read part 1 below before going on to this posting. Thanks.
So, where was I?
Oh yeah...
The homeless guy beating off in broad daylight.
I had decided that I needed to get a cop to at least go down there and make this guy stop. It was obvious that someone who had that dazed look in their eyes as they spanked their monkey either had quite a visual going on in their head or didn't really care one way or the other. Either way, I knew that he wasn't all there and I wasn't going to be the one (unarmed) to tell this guy to stop Chokin' the Bishop.
So I walked up 20th Street towards my original destination, Wawa, for cigarettes, all the while glancing up and down the cross streets hoping to find a police car. Of course, as luck would have it and as the old saying goes, there's never a cop around when you need one. Even in the Wawa, where you can find a policeman filling up a mug of coffee any hour of the day or night, there was none to be found.
I bought my smokes and stepped back out into the street. I looked up and down 20th Street again and then Locust Street, trying to spot a familiar blue and white. Then I noticed the flower fair going on over in Rittenhouse Square. There were white tents lining the sidewalks and selling houseplants and garden plants and all the accessories that go along with the green thumb. There were hundreds of people too, which meant that there would be police-o-plenty.
...or so you'd think...
I crossed the street and stepped into the park, my senses on overload with the aroma and smell of endless rows of blooms, the sounds of screaming children climbing the goat statue, the sights of all the sunbathers taking in the warm weather. I knew, since the pounding the pork incident was several blocks behind me, finding a cop now would be next to completely useless. Either the bum shot his wad all across the sidewalk or someone had already stopped him in mid-stroke. Anyway you look at it, it was five or six blocks behind me now. I doubt a cop (if I could even find one) would head all the way back down to 20th & Lombard Streets, but at least maybe they can radio in to see if anyone was in that area to drive by and take a look.
Needless to say, between my house and the Wawa, between the Wawa and Rittenhouse Square, between Rittenhouse Square and the ATM and between the ATM and my first beer at The Post, there wasn't a cop to be found. If you weren't looking for them, you'd be able to spot a dozen of them seemingly bored out of their holsters, hanging out on street corners chatting with one another like street thugs. But not today. Today, a street bum was able to get his rocks off with no interference.
So on I went, entering into the deep shadows of Chancellor Street and into the little Post Bar for a beer.
It was almost 3 o'clock when I ordered my first beer. The bar wasn't crowded at all, which was fine by me. I wasn't really in the mood to be all that social. It was me, the bartender and one other patron, a man who I've known a few years from the bar. I sat in a stool and sipped on the beer and watched Ellen's talk show. After about a half hour a few more people came in, some carrying hanging baskets of blooming flowers purchased in the Square. Overall, the bar remained quiet, and I was quite content, until the topic of discussion across the bar started in the direction of health issues. And I figured enough was enough when rectal exams started to overpower the entire conversation. I mean, there's only so much I can take of talk about sticking fingers, tubes and cameras up your ass.
I decided to move on...
I didn't feel like going home, so instead, I headed across town to Woody's, Philly's most popular gay club. The place is huge to say the least. With 2 floors, 5 bars, a restaurant and a large dance floor, the space takes up almost an entire block. But this early in the afternoon, only the first floor was open and it would primarily consist of older gentlemen who have already retired and people who have gotten off of work early. I haven't really been there in quite some time and I didn't expect to see anyone that I really knew there, but as it turned out, I was wrong.
The main room is pretty much occupied by a large rectangular bar in the center. I walked up the service area and ordered a beer. Immediately across the bar, I saw a group of three guys, 2 of whom were at the Post the previous evening and one of them being the guy I mentioned in an earlier post; the guy who wanted me to take him home and cook him dinner.
I walked over and said my hellos and, through a bunch of small talk, I noticed that Mr. Make Me Dinner was eyeing me up again. Now, not that he is an unattractive guy, but I just wasn't into him. I was flattered by the attention he was giving me, but I paid no mind to it to give him the wrong impression. The strange part of the whole thing was that this third guy, who was introduced to me and I learned was French Canadian down here for a week visiting a friend, was also flirting with me. Again, not my type, but I liked the attention. But Mr. Make Me Dinner was flirting with him too. So much so that when Mr. French Canadian went into the bathroom, Mr. Make Me Dinner followed along. While they were gone, my friend told me that at first it was just him and Mr. Make Me Dinner at the bar. A few minutes later, Mr. French Canadian sat down next to them and Mr. Make Me Dinner was immediately smitten by the guy's French accent.
A few minutes later, the two came back to the bar, sat down and Mr. Make Me Dinner said to my friend that he wanted to talk to him, so they announced that they were going to another bar, Bump, down the street. I hadn't planned on going any further but, after a brief and pleasant conversation with Mr. French Canadian, we decided to head down to Bump for a martini (something I rarely drink).
Now, Bump was having a kick-ass happy hour, with $3.00 martini specials and about a dozen different varieties to choose from. We walked in and the other two guys were at the bar sipping their drinks. I ordered myself a Butterfinger Martini (sidebar: daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayum that was gooooood). The afternoon progressed and the flirting got worse. Mr. Make Me Dinner flirting with Mr. French Canadian, Mr. French Canadian flirting with me. I didn't know what to make of it all. But it wasn't until the moment when Mr. French Canadian asked me what I did for a living and I told him and the discussion turned to art and he asked if I was an artist. I told him I haven't lifted a paintbrush in years and that I've now grown an interest in photography. He asked if I would be willing to photograph him; erotic photography. At one point, he had asked if I was hairy and he lifted up my shirt and rubbed my belly (which is quite hairy) and smiled.
Well, I think this was all Mr. Make Me dinner had to hear before he just set down his drink and out the door he went, without saying a word to anyone. I can't swear by it because this is something that has never happened to me. And I'm not gonna lie and say that it didn't feel kinda fun to be the center of attention like this. I know that Mr. Make Me Dinner and Mr. French Canadian have a tentative (and very relaxed) date this Saturday night, just drinks and such at Woody's.
I said a few posts back that it was "No More Mr. Nice Guy". I wonder what it feels like to be a manipulative prick.
Hmmmmmmm....
Maybe I'll pay Woody's a visit this Saturday and find out...
So, where was I?
Oh yeah...
The homeless guy beating off in broad daylight.
I had decided that I needed to get a cop to at least go down there and make this guy stop. It was obvious that someone who had that dazed look in their eyes as they spanked their monkey either had quite a visual going on in their head or didn't really care one way or the other. Either way, I knew that he wasn't all there and I wasn't going to be the one (unarmed) to tell this guy to stop Chokin' the Bishop.
So I walked up 20th Street towards my original destination, Wawa, for cigarettes, all the while glancing up and down the cross streets hoping to find a police car. Of course, as luck would have it and as the old saying goes, there's never a cop around when you need one. Even in the Wawa, where you can find a policeman filling up a mug of coffee any hour of the day or night, there was none to be found.
I bought my smokes and stepped back out into the street. I looked up and down 20th Street again and then Locust Street, trying to spot a familiar blue and white. Then I noticed the flower fair going on over in Rittenhouse Square. There were white tents lining the sidewalks and selling houseplants and garden plants and all the accessories that go along with the green thumb. There were hundreds of people too, which meant that there would be police-o-plenty.
...or so you'd think...
I crossed the street and stepped into the park, my senses on overload with the aroma and smell of endless rows of blooms, the sounds of screaming children climbing the goat statue, the sights of all the sunbathers taking in the warm weather. I knew, since the pounding the pork incident was several blocks behind me, finding a cop now would be next to completely useless. Either the bum shot his wad all across the sidewalk or someone had already stopped him in mid-stroke. Anyway you look at it, it was five or six blocks behind me now. I doubt a cop (if I could even find one) would head all the way back down to 20th & Lombard Streets, but at least maybe they can radio in to see if anyone was in that area to drive by and take a look.
Needless to say, between my house and the Wawa, between the Wawa and Rittenhouse Square, between Rittenhouse Square and the ATM and between the ATM and my first beer at The Post, there wasn't a cop to be found. If you weren't looking for them, you'd be able to spot a dozen of them seemingly bored out of their holsters, hanging out on street corners chatting with one another like street thugs. But not today. Today, a street bum was able to get his rocks off with no interference.
So on I went, entering into the deep shadows of Chancellor Street and into the little Post Bar for a beer.
It was almost 3 o'clock when I ordered my first beer. The bar wasn't crowded at all, which was fine by me. I wasn't really in the mood to be all that social. It was me, the bartender and one other patron, a man who I've known a few years from the bar. I sat in a stool and sipped on the beer and watched Ellen's talk show. After about a half hour a few more people came in, some carrying hanging baskets of blooming flowers purchased in the Square. Overall, the bar remained quiet, and I was quite content, until the topic of discussion across the bar started in the direction of health issues. And I figured enough was enough when rectal exams started to overpower the entire conversation. I mean, there's only so much I can take of talk about sticking fingers, tubes and cameras up your ass.
I decided to move on...
I didn't feel like going home, so instead, I headed across town to Woody's, Philly's most popular gay club. The place is huge to say the least. With 2 floors, 5 bars, a restaurant and a large dance floor, the space takes up almost an entire block. But this early in the afternoon, only the first floor was open and it would primarily consist of older gentlemen who have already retired and people who have gotten off of work early. I haven't really been there in quite some time and I didn't expect to see anyone that I really knew there, but as it turned out, I was wrong.
The main room is pretty much occupied by a large rectangular bar in the center. I walked up the service area and ordered a beer. Immediately across the bar, I saw a group of three guys, 2 of whom were at the Post the previous evening and one of them being the guy I mentioned in an earlier post; the guy who wanted me to take him home and cook him dinner.
I walked over and said my hellos and, through a bunch of small talk, I noticed that Mr. Make Me Dinner was eyeing me up again. Now, not that he is an unattractive guy, but I just wasn't into him. I was flattered by the attention he was giving me, but I paid no mind to it to give him the wrong impression. The strange part of the whole thing was that this third guy, who was introduced to me and I learned was French Canadian down here for a week visiting a friend, was also flirting with me. Again, not my type, but I liked the attention. But Mr. Make Me Dinner was flirting with him too. So much so that when Mr. French Canadian went into the bathroom, Mr. Make Me Dinner followed along. While they were gone, my friend told me that at first it was just him and Mr. Make Me Dinner at the bar. A few minutes later, Mr. French Canadian sat down next to them and Mr. Make Me Dinner was immediately smitten by the guy's French accent.
A few minutes later, the two came back to the bar, sat down and Mr. Make Me Dinner said to my friend that he wanted to talk to him, so they announced that they were going to another bar, Bump, down the street. I hadn't planned on going any further but, after a brief and pleasant conversation with Mr. French Canadian, we decided to head down to Bump for a martini (something I rarely drink).
Now, Bump was having a kick-ass happy hour, with $3.00 martini specials and about a dozen different varieties to choose from. We walked in and the other two guys were at the bar sipping their drinks. I ordered myself a Butterfinger Martini (sidebar: daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayum that was gooooood). The afternoon progressed and the flirting got worse. Mr. Make Me Dinner flirting with Mr. French Canadian, Mr. French Canadian flirting with me. I didn't know what to make of it all. But it wasn't until the moment when Mr. French Canadian asked me what I did for a living and I told him and the discussion turned to art and he asked if I was an artist. I told him I haven't lifted a paintbrush in years and that I've now grown an interest in photography. He asked if I would be willing to photograph him; erotic photography. At one point, he had asked if I was hairy and he lifted up my shirt and rubbed my belly (which is quite hairy) and smiled.
Well, I think this was all Mr. Make Me dinner had to hear before he just set down his drink and out the door he went, without saying a word to anyone. I can't swear by it because this is something that has never happened to me. And I'm not gonna lie and say that it didn't feel kinda fun to be the center of attention like this. I know that Mr. Make Me Dinner and Mr. French Canadian have a tentative (and very relaxed) date this Saturday night, just drinks and such at Woody's.
I said a few posts back that it was "No More Mr. Nice Guy". I wonder what it feels like to be a manipulative prick.
Hmmmmmmm....
Maybe I'll pay Woody's a visit this Saturday and find out...
A Not So Typical Thursday in Center City (part 1) ...
For some reason, I awoke around 5am and was up for the day. I hate getting up that early but, as I lay there allowing my eyes to slowly adjust to the dim morning light drifting in through the window, I begin to think of all the things I can accomplish today: laundry, cleaning, planting some more flowers, going to the gym. Then, as I pull myself out of bed and painfully slip into my bathrobe, I realize that my first day back to the gym two days ago is still reminding me that I can't overdo it after a year and a half's absence. I sigh, knowing that the gym (and probably cleaning and planting) are not going to happen. But I am committing myself to getting back into shape. (sigh).... It's just gonna take longer than I thought.
Anyway, I start my day as I always do. Coffee brewing, news on the tv and my hairy butt draped in a bathrobe and plopped down on the sofa and telling myself that I'm gonna do this or I'm gonna do that during the course of the day. But alas, the morning chugged forward and, aside from getting up to pee or refill my coffee cup, my ass didn't leave the sofa.
As the hours drift by, I get more and more pissed off at myself for just spending my free time sitting on the couch. I could've at least showered by this time, but I instead wallowed in my own laziness, hating every moment of it, but too tormented to do anything about it, except sit there and watch reruns of The Golden Girls and The Nanny over and over and over again.
So there I am, unshaven, unshowered, undressed (basically), when all of a sudden there comes a loud knock at the door. I get up to peer out the window, when I hear keys being inserted into the lock.
FUCK!
It's my ex-roommate, boyfriend, friend...whatever the hell you wanna call him. I've mentioned him before. I forgot that he still had a set of my keys. He still has some things in my house that he's waiting to move down to his new place, but I haven't spoken to or seen him in a couple of months. Now, all of a sudden, he's coming into my house unannounced to pick up a clock stored in a closet to be fixed. I was already pissed at myself for lying around wasting the entire morning and now I'm even more pissed because I have an unexpected house guest who is too fucking rude to even call before showing up. I mean, it's a long shot, but who knows...I could be having sex right there in my livingroom for all anybody knew!
Well, I didn't feel like talking to him, so I kept any answers to questions or comments limited to one or two words, until he left a few minutes later. And when he did leave, I was so pissed off at everything that I couldn't just lay around anymore. It was a beautiful spring day and I needed to get out into it....
...and have a drink...
So I jumped in the shower, got dressed and was suprised to see that it was after 2 o'clock by the time I walked out the door into the bright afternoon sunlight.
Had I known the strange series of events that were to welcome me that afternoon, I would've stayed home.
My first stop was the Wawa on Rittenhouse Square for cigarettes. As I walked up 20th Street, I came upon Chaucer's, a corner restaurant bar that had an outdoor cafe. The bar was closed at this hour and the plastic patio table and chairs were stacked neatly against the side of the building, chained to a rainspout. When I first glanced the dark figure in the shadows of the canopies hanging above the windows of the bar, I just suspected it was someone waiting for the bus, but as I got closer, I noticed something more.
The man was homeless. There was no doubt about that. Dressed in dirty black pants and dingy boots and a grimy beige-colored raincoat, he seemed to be looking off in the opposite direction from where I was walking. As I neared him, I started to notice a strange, yet familiar movement, and I thought to myself: Oh no he isn't.
Oh yes he is...
His eyes were half closed and he was oblivious to me, the traffic and the other pedestrians strolling the afternoon streets as he looked off towards some unknown object while he sat at one of the tables and beat off. Yes, in the middle the afternoon, in broad daylight, out in open for all the world to see, this homeless man has this big ol' black shlonger out and was whackin' away like a teenager locked in the bathroom.
I didn't know whether to laugh, scream or just watch in horrid fascination. Beating off is natural. Hell, I had just done it not thirty minutes before (did I just say that?), but at least it was in the privacy of my own bedroom. But this guy...out in the open...ignorant to the world...
...And then I spotted the old lady heading in this direction...
Actually, all that I had just witnessed happened in the matter of a few brief seconds. I quickly walked past the guy (stealing one final glance to make sure I wasn't dreaming the whole thing---nope...it's really happening) and headed towards the old lady to warn her to cross the street or turn the corner or something. Luckily, she did turn the corner without seeing a thing. I looked back over my shoulder to see if the guy was still there and, seeing that shadowed movement of his right hand, I decided that the next thing to do was to look for a cop. This was just too disgusting to have happen.
I've just noticed that I have written quite a bit and I've only just begun to talk about the day, so I'm going to break it up into a couple of parts. Besides, I'm hungry now and need to eat...
Anyway, I start my day as I always do. Coffee brewing, news on the tv and my hairy butt draped in a bathrobe and plopped down on the sofa and telling myself that I'm gonna do this or I'm gonna do that during the course of the day. But alas, the morning chugged forward and, aside from getting up to pee or refill my coffee cup, my ass didn't leave the sofa.
As the hours drift by, I get more and more pissed off at myself for just spending my free time sitting on the couch. I could've at least showered by this time, but I instead wallowed in my own laziness, hating every moment of it, but too tormented to do anything about it, except sit there and watch reruns of The Golden Girls and The Nanny over and over and over again.
So there I am, unshaven, unshowered, undressed (basically), when all of a sudden there comes a loud knock at the door. I get up to peer out the window, when I hear keys being inserted into the lock.
FUCK!
It's my ex-roommate, boyfriend, friend...whatever the hell you wanna call him. I've mentioned him before. I forgot that he still had a set of my keys. He still has some things in my house that he's waiting to move down to his new place, but I haven't spoken to or seen him in a couple of months. Now, all of a sudden, he's coming into my house unannounced to pick up a clock stored in a closet to be fixed. I was already pissed at myself for lying around wasting the entire morning and now I'm even more pissed because I have an unexpected house guest who is too fucking rude to even call before showing up. I mean, it's a long shot, but who knows...I could be having sex right there in my livingroom for all anybody knew!
Well, I didn't feel like talking to him, so I kept any answers to questions or comments limited to one or two words, until he left a few minutes later. And when he did leave, I was so pissed off at everything that I couldn't just lay around anymore. It was a beautiful spring day and I needed to get out into it....
...and have a drink...
So I jumped in the shower, got dressed and was suprised to see that it was after 2 o'clock by the time I walked out the door into the bright afternoon sunlight.
Had I known the strange series of events that were to welcome me that afternoon, I would've stayed home.
My first stop was the Wawa on Rittenhouse Square for cigarettes. As I walked up 20th Street, I came upon Chaucer's, a corner restaurant bar that had an outdoor cafe. The bar was closed at this hour and the plastic patio table and chairs were stacked neatly against the side of the building, chained to a rainspout. When I first glanced the dark figure in the shadows of the canopies hanging above the windows of the bar, I just suspected it was someone waiting for the bus, but as I got closer, I noticed something more.
The man was homeless. There was no doubt about that. Dressed in dirty black pants and dingy boots and a grimy beige-colored raincoat, he seemed to be looking off in the opposite direction from where I was walking. As I neared him, I started to notice a strange, yet familiar movement, and I thought to myself: Oh no he isn't.
Oh yes he is...
His eyes were half closed and he was oblivious to me, the traffic and the other pedestrians strolling the afternoon streets as he looked off towards some unknown object while he sat at one of the tables and beat off. Yes, in the middle the afternoon, in broad daylight, out in open for all the world to see, this homeless man has this big ol' black shlonger out and was whackin' away like a teenager locked in the bathroom.
I didn't know whether to laugh, scream or just watch in horrid fascination. Beating off is natural. Hell, I had just done it not thirty minutes before (did I just say that?), but at least it was in the privacy of my own bedroom. But this guy...out in the open...ignorant to the world...
...And then I spotted the old lady heading in this direction...
Actually, all that I had just witnessed happened in the matter of a few brief seconds. I quickly walked past the guy (stealing one final glance to make sure I wasn't dreaming the whole thing---nope...it's really happening) and headed towards the old lady to warn her to cross the street or turn the corner or something. Luckily, she did turn the corner without seeing a thing. I looked back over my shoulder to see if the guy was still there and, seeing that shadowed movement of his right hand, I decided that the next thing to do was to look for a cop. This was just too disgusting to have happen.
I've just noticed that I have written quite a bit and I've only just begun to talk about the day, so I'm going to break it up into a couple of parts. Besides, I'm hungry now and need to eat...
Welcome Home, Mistress (and your 2 friends)...
Well, Wednesday night was Kinky Quzzo night. There was a pretty good turnout to welcome home Mistress Jen back from her trip to London. And who knew that the folks in the Post Bar would have such an influence on her. We've given her the title of Mistress and she's playing the role to the hilt, appearing at this past Wednesday's game in a very tight and very revealing rubber dress, laced up the front and back. I hope she isn't offended when I say here that I could not take my eyes off of her chest (which is why my game name for the evening was "Lost in Jen's Cleavage". If the Mistress gives me permission, I'll go further into the stories she told me of her trip across The Pond.
In the meantime, welcome home and I'll see you soon!
As for Kinky Quizzo, as I said, this past week had a pretty good turn out and all seemed to have a good time (with the possible exception of a bitter man at the end of the bar who shall remain nameless). The prizes were well received and, once again, I didn't win a damn mutha-fuckin' thing, but Michael....oh Michael walked away with yet another addition for his basement version of Dungeon Disney, and Slaveboy (whom I've mentioned in previous posts) won first place.
A few strange sidebars of the evening: I finally, finally, started back at the gym this past week (after a year and a half). My arms were so sore that it was difficult to straighten them out, so I barely moved from the bar. But it was good to hear some positive and unexpected feedback from--of all people--Jen, when she told me she liked when I wore short sleeves. LOL Go figure! Thank you!!
Second strange thing of the evening concerned the guy sitting next to me. He's been a regular at the bar for years, but I never really spoke with him and don't even know his name. When I first walked in, he asked if I had been at the bathhouse the night before. I told him know, but he insisted he saw me there. Anyway, by the end of the game, he turned to me and asked if he could go home with me and would I please make him some dinner.
What the fuck?
But that was only the first part of the story. The second part takes place the next day, which I'll continue in my next post.
In the meantime, welcome home and I'll see you soon!
As for Kinky Quizzo, as I said, this past week had a pretty good turn out and all seemed to have a good time (with the possible exception of a bitter man at the end of the bar who shall remain nameless). The prizes were well received and, once again, I didn't win a damn mutha-fuckin' thing, but Michael....oh Michael walked away with yet another addition for his basement version of Dungeon Disney, and Slaveboy (whom I've mentioned in previous posts) won first place.
A few strange sidebars of the evening: I finally, finally, started back at the gym this past week (after a year and a half). My arms were so sore that it was difficult to straighten them out, so I barely moved from the bar. But it was good to hear some positive and unexpected feedback from--of all people--Jen, when she told me she liked when I wore short sleeves. LOL Go figure! Thank you!!
Second strange thing of the evening concerned the guy sitting next to me. He's been a regular at the bar for years, but I never really spoke with him and don't even know his name. When I first walked in, he asked if I had been at the bathhouse the night before. I told him know, but he insisted he saw me there. Anyway, by the end of the game, he turned to me and asked if he could go home with me and would I please make him some dinner.
What the fuck?
But that was only the first part of the story. The second part takes place the next day, which I'll continue in my next post.
Friday, May 13, 2005
You Think YOU Have it Bad?...
Check out this site. I'm still pissing myself over it!!!
My Trailer Park
...and here's something even funnier!!!!!
Fred the Cat
My Trailer Park
...and here's something even funnier!!!!!
Fred the Cat
"Clique" Your Heels 3 Times...
Ever since childhood, cliques have been a part of growing up. Being last chosen for the kickball team or having your name being made fun of is all a part of an inability to "fit in" with the other children. So you look for your own kind.
In junior and senior high, the cliques became more apparent. Geeks, Jocks, AV Crew, Braniacs, Sluts. A world divided within the cinderblock walls of a school building. To associate with someone from another group outside the realm of namecalls meant immediate banishment, forever considered a traitor...on of "them".
Think back... What group were you in? Were you one of those who got through school with your looks and charming personality? Were you the one in the taped together glasses and pocket protector, racing from class to class, trying to blend in with the rows of lockers like a mouse running against a kitchen baseboard trying not to be noticed? Were you the stoner who cut class and hung out in the woods behind the school with a joint and a boombox endlessly playing Led Zeppelin tunes?
It doesn't matter now though, does it? I mean...once you graduate and move on with your life, setting goal after goal that's just out of reach, are cliques that important? Or have we grown up not realizing that the groups we've tried desperately to be part of (or get away from) have been programmed in our minds? Have we become as desensatized of those around us as we have of violence on television? For those of us in our twenties, thirties, forties and beyond, is it still important to be accepted by those types that had gotten you through your high school years?
Cliques are and always will be a part of most of our lives, whether we want them or not. Just look around you. Especially in a world as vane as the gay community. Muscles hang with muscles, bears with bears, queens with queens and yes, jocks are still hanging with jocks. Oh sure, people are alittle more polite in their adulthood. You wouldn't hear a musclebear walk up to a bar for a drink and say to the transvestite "get outta my way girly-man." But how often do you see two guys out on a date...one having the looks of a model off the pages of a work-out magazine and the other an overweight balding man with a band-aid taped over his nose where he'd recently had a mole removed. And if you do see this couple, ask the older guy how much the muscle hunk is charging.
When cruisin the chatrooms on the net, check out some of the screen names and read their profiles. How many have the word "hot" or "muscle" or "hung" somewhere in their screen name and how many are "looking for the same" when it comes to their quest? Hell, some even are so bold as to put something along the lines of "don't even bother contacting if you're not incredibly hot and muscled". What the fuck is that all about??? Sure, we all have fantasy men, but that's what they are. A fantasy. If they're "looking for the same", wouldn't it be easier to just stare into a mirror and beat off admiring your self-centered perfect self? These people watch too much porn. (I watch too much for other reasons).
As I grow older, I've come to realize many things like: don't drink and drive, there is a reason they call it underwear, pass the deutch upon da left hand side, there's no such thing as a free drink and "job satisfaction" is the biggest bullshit line ever created. But one of the biggest things I've come to realize is that a friendship is one of the biggest and most important things anyone can give you. People come in all shapes, sizes and personalities. Sure, some you feel you can just continuously hit over the head with a hammer, but most can teach you something, whether it's a useless little tidbit of information or a mind-altering, life changing view of yourself. You never know who will walk up to you one day and guide you down a new path. And it's your judgment that needs to decide if it's worth the trek, but get this...
...the biggest influence in your life you may have yet to meet, and it just might not be the guy you've been drooling over at the other end of the bar or in a magazine.
Now, I know some of my friends and readers are asking the question, so let me just answer it now. No, nothing happened recently to make me go on this rant. In fact, this posting was supposed to be about something else altogether, but I just got started down this path.
(damn...this is the second time I'm writing this post because I didn't save the last half of my writing before the admistrator cut in and shut down the site for maintenance....I'm VERY pissed!)
Anyway, I don't really care what the general public says or thinks of me. I'm not out to impress the world. Those days are LONG behind me. I know what kind of a person I am and my friends know what kind of a person I am (and they still put up with me). I'm shy, but like meeting new people. With my true friends, I would bend over backwards to do anything I can to help them.
You can learn something from anyone and realize that anyone might just become a lifelong friend if you could just see beyond the here and now.
Wouldn't it be sad to realize that the little slice of time that could take you down a new and rewarding path in life was completely ignored because the person who might have started you down that path just didn't fit into your "clique"?
In junior and senior high, the cliques became more apparent. Geeks, Jocks, AV Crew, Braniacs, Sluts. A world divided within the cinderblock walls of a school building. To associate with someone from another group outside the realm of namecalls meant immediate banishment, forever considered a traitor...on of "them".
Think back... What group were you in? Were you one of those who got through school with your looks and charming personality? Were you the one in the taped together glasses and pocket protector, racing from class to class, trying to blend in with the rows of lockers like a mouse running against a kitchen baseboard trying not to be noticed? Were you the stoner who cut class and hung out in the woods behind the school with a joint and a boombox endlessly playing Led Zeppelin tunes?
It doesn't matter now though, does it? I mean...once you graduate and move on with your life, setting goal after goal that's just out of reach, are cliques that important? Or have we grown up not realizing that the groups we've tried desperately to be part of (or get away from) have been programmed in our minds? Have we become as desensatized of those around us as we have of violence on television? For those of us in our twenties, thirties, forties and beyond, is it still important to be accepted by those types that had gotten you through your high school years?
Cliques are and always will be a part of most of our lives, whether we want them or not. Just look around you. Especially in a world as vane as the gay community. Muscles hang with muscles, bears with bears, queens with queens and yes, jocks are still hanging with jocks. Oh sure, people are alittle more polite in their adulthood. You wouldn't hear a musclebear walk up to a bar for a drink and say to the transvestite "get outta my way girly-man." But how often do you see two guys out on a date...one having the looks of a model off the pages of a work-out magazine and the other an overweight balding man with a band-aid taped over his nose where he'd recently had a mole removed. And if you do see this couple, ask the older guy how much the muscle hunk is charging.
When cruisin the chatrooms on the net, check out some of the screen names and read their profiles. How many have the word "hot" or "muscle" or "hung" somewhere in their screen name and how many are "looking for the same" when it comes to their quest? Hell, some even are so bold as to put something along the lines of "don't even bother contacting if you're not incredibly hot and muscled". What the fuck is that all about??? Sure, we all have fantasy men, but that's what they are. A fantasy. If they're "looking for the same", wouldn't it be easier to just stare into a mirror and beat off admiring your self-centered perfect self? These people watch too much porn. (I watch too much for other reasons).
As I grow older, I've come to realize many things like: don't drink and drive, there is a reason they call it underwear, pass the deutch upon da left hand side, there's no such thing as a free drink and "job satisfaction" is the biggest bullshit line ever created. But one of the biggest things I've come to realize is that a friendship is one of the biggest and most important things anyone can give you. People come in all shapes, sizes and personalities. Sure, some you feel you can just continuously hit over the head with a hammer, but most can teach you something, whether it's a useless little tidbit of information or a mind-altering, life changing view of yourself. You never know who will walk up to you one day and guide you down a new path. And it's your judgment that needs to decide if it's worth the trek, but get this...
...the biggest influence in your life you may have yet to meet, and it just might not be the guy you've been drooling over at the other end of the bar or in a magazine.
Now, I know some of my friends and readers are asking the question, so let me just answer it now. No, nothing happened recently to make me go on this rant. In fact, this posting was supposed to be about something else altogether, but I just got started down this path.
(damn...this is the second time I'm writing this post because I didn't save the last half of my writing before the admistrator cut in and shut down the site for maintenance....I'm VERY pissed!)
Anyway, I don't really care what the general public says or thinks of me. I'm not out to impress the world. Those days are LONG behind me. I know what kind of a person I am and my friends know what kind of a person I am (and they still put up with me). I'm shy, but like meeting new people. With my true friends, I would bend over backwards to do anything I can to help them.
You can learn something from anyone and realize that anyone might just become a lifelong friend if you could just see beyond the here and now.
Wouldn't it be sad to realize that the little slice of time that could take you down a new and rewarding path in life was completely ignored because the person who might have started you down that path just didn't fit into your "clique"?
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Bon Voyage, MJ...
Just wanted to give a quick shout out to Mistress Jen, who will be leaving later this week for a very special little vacation. No Kinky Quizzo this week, but I hear the Mistress will be back next Wednesday to tease our minds with some nassy nassy trivia.
In the meantime, have a GREAT TRIP and hope everything works out for ya! At least you'll have some fun times in that rubber dress you were talking about...
Thanks for all the comments!
In the meantime, have a GREAT TRIP and hope everything works out for ya! At least you'll have some fun times in that rubber dress you were talking about
Thanks for all the comments!
Friday, May 06, 2005
No More Mr. Niceguy...
I repeatedly get asked the same two questions:
* Why aren't you dating anyone?
* Why are you so bitter?
Well, here's a brief history that may answer both questions.
I met my first lover at a fairly early age. I was 21 and Don was 24. We were together for five torturous years. In those five years, I had given up all of my friends with whom I've grown into adulthood and was forced into a lifestyle to which I had no desire. It wasn't a lifestyle that was evil or law-breaking, but it was a lifestyle of heavy-metal concerts and alot of drug use. I had to learn to like his friends as well as gradually allow my own to fade away. I can only assume that his background in dating was a nightmare in of itself because he always warned me that, if i ever cheated, he would find out. I come from a family who's values of commitment still mean something and, in any serious relationship I've been in, I have never cheated, no matter how bad a time I was having.
In any event, for five years I was kept on a very short rope and little did I know (it would all come out for several years after our ugly break-up) that he was going out after I would drop him off at his house. He would cruise the strip and pick up hitchhikers. For five years I was naive, but faithful, and for about three years after our breakup, I was still coming across people who've slept with him during the time we were together.
I didn't date for sometime after that, but I decided that, since I missed out in my early years, I was going to have some fun. I avoided all the bars my ex went to and started hanging at the 247 bar (unfortunately no longer in existence). And fun I had. But then I started to get lonely again.
One night, while being dragged to a club to which I had no desire of going, I met a man who looked to be right out of a magazine. Older, handsome, built, shaved head, deep voice... I was already self-conscious of myself. Don made sure of shattering my ego and self-esteem, making me question everything about myself. So, although I was enthralled by this guy, I kept my distance and just stood against a far wall, sipping my beer and staring. Then he came up to me. I found out (let's call him 'Bob') was on vacation from Florida and was up here for a few weeks. What I thought would only be a one-night stand had turned into a long distance relationship for more than a year. Again, even from 1,000 miles away, I was faithful. He claimed to be too, and stupid me, I believed him. But at least we departed good friends.
About eight months after things fizzled with "Bob", I met Mark on-line and we dated for a few months. He was a great guy, very caring and affectionate. Very handsome with salt-n-pepper hair, warm smile and beautiful eyes. He was too good to be true. He was interested in what I had to say or do and was always looking out for my best intersests. But five years of agony with Don and a year with someone with whom phone sex was the majority of the relationship, had already set itself deep within me. I was suspicious.
Why was this guy so into me?
What does he see in me?
What is the hidden agenda?
I dumped him.
Mark has sinced moved to North Carolina and, as far as I know, is still happily married to the guy he met a few months after I broke up with him. That was about 5 years ago.
Another guy I dated a few times I became really good friends with. Although dating was out of the question, I still opened my heart to him as a friend and, when he lost his job and was being evicted from his apartment, when all of his bank accounts and credit cards were cancelled and closed, when he was on the verge of becoming another statistic living on the street, I took him in and gave him a place to live--rent free--for as long as he wanted. I tried getting him a job with my old company, I bought the food, paid the utilities and everything else that went into taking care of someone. He had helped me out also, by rewriting my resume and cooking and sometimes cleaning. For five months he lived rent free while he searched for a job. I felt our friendship was strong and we spent alot of time together and laughed and played and just really enjoyed each other's company.
Then he found a job...a good paying job.
And for the next year, while he rebuilt his credit, he slowly eased me out of his life. The things we used to do together, he now did with new friends (he now had money, so he could afford to go out to the bars again).
Things for me, however, grew worse. I had a new commission based sales job and in that year where he was getting his life together, mine was getting worse. Sales were down and I wasn't bringing in nearly as much money as I was a year before. And then, in December of '02, he dropped the bomb on me and announced that he found a place and was moving out at the end of the month. Knowing full-well that money had become extremely tight for me, he gave me absolutely no warning that he was even looking for a place, let alone found one and was moving in 3 weeks. I was making a little more than 1/2 of what I had made the previous year and now, all of a sudden, all my utilities would be doubling on me without the help of my friend.
Again...call me stupid... Little did I know that I would soon learn from others that this guy had always used people in such a way...
By January of '03 I was at my wits end. Depression had set in. I had quickly and heavily gotten into drugs again. My job sucked. I was alone and I was lonely. I put on a smile whenever I went out to The Post and pound back the beers. But I would come home alone and several times, lie awake in my bedroom and think the deepest, darkest thoughts imaginable. I wanted to take the coward's way out, but was too much a coward to do anything.
But then something happened...
One day, while cruising the net, I got an instant message from someone I haven't spoken to in about 4 years. The guy from Floriday. My long distance boyfriend. Little did I know that he had moved back up to Philly the year before and wanted to reconnect. I didn't think much of it (I wasn't thinking much of anything at the time), but I agreed to swing by the bar he was working in some night soon. When I finally did, just like the first time I saw him several years before, his eyes lit up the second he saw me. I knew I looked like shit from the drugs and not eating, but that didn't matter at that moment. It was the strangest thing. It was as if the four year gap had never occurred. Instantly, the friendship started to grow. He had moved back north to be close to his current boyfriend (who had dumped him soon after moving) and to be closer to his family (9/11 had done that to alot of people). We spent alot of time together and, when the blizzard of '03 hit on his birthday, we spent the day walking the city and taking in the sites and having an incredible dinner in a small restaurant where it was only us and the owners who were able to make it out.
For about a year, he lived with his best straight friend in New Jersey, but things were getting alittle strained in that household and 'Bob' was (although asked kindly) being kicked out. He had been searching for a house to buy in Center City, but couldn't really make any purchases until his house in Florida was sold. Things for me, financially, were still crap, so I decided to let him move in while he sold his house in Florida and searched for something up here. Besides, things seemed to be getting alittle more serious between us. Even one of 'Bob's' friends said repeatedly that he wanted an invitation to the wedding.
At one point, he went back down to Florida under the direction of his realtor to do some renovations. Before leaving, he finally told me that he loved me. Let me tell you, I was surprised by that, but even more surprised when, a few days later, I called him in Florida and some strange guy answered the phone. 'Bob' tried to tell me it was 'just a friend helping him paint' and I tried to believe him, but immediately upon his return, things were different. He became more distant. The invitations to meet him after work suddenly stopped. The closed bedroom door while he was on the computer episodes started happening. Whenever I confronted him about these things he would get defensive and tell me there's nothing going on.
I stepped back and let him have his way. A few times, after a couple drinks, his old self would resurface and he'd get all affectionate and say the things he used to say. But then, the next day, it was cold shoulder. Over the next year (between the time he made the trip to Florida, sold that house and purchased a house up here in Philly) I had caught him in one lie after another after another, but kept my mouth shut about most of them.
Again...call me stupid. I shoulda kicked him out a long time ago, but there was always a small part of me that hoped things would be different...
But things were quite the same actually. At least the same as any other relationship in my life. You can't even really call this last year and a half a relationship but, since I had these wishful dreams in my head, I was completely celebate, waiting and hoping this would turn into something more serious. Although, whenever the subject would come up, he'd call me a liar to my face when I would tell him I haven't 'hooked up' with anyone since the two of us had reconnected a year and a half earlier. I knew more than assumed it was only another defense mechanism for him. I knew that he was dating/trying to date/or at least sleeping with his realtor (for one).
Bottom line of this whole story of 'Bob's' return: once again, I've opened my heart and house to someone I cared for only to be shit upon when things start turning around for them. 'Bob' has tried on a few occasions to remain friends, but he's so caught up in his web of lies, trying to keep his "other life" private, even after I've told him repeatedly that I'm no longer interested in him romatically. I'm too tired to have to fight my way through the bullshit stories of his. It's gotten to the point where I can't even tell when he's telling the truth or not.
It's just one more bitter nail to bite down on...
So, 'Bob's' moving out of my house was nearly a year ago. He came back into my life in January of '03. It is now May of '05. That means, up until last month, it had been more than 2 years of celebacy (outside of a few bj's--very few). Talk about lonely...
And then it happened... I actually hooked up! I'm not going into any great detail about this guy. It's not worth it at this point. He's already spoken for. We were drunk. We had a good time. I thought we could remain friends, but for some reason he's avoiding me like the plague. He's blown me off a few times and doesn't answer his phone whenever I call. At some times, it almost feels like I'm calling too much but then, when I look back at my cell phone records, I realize that I'm not really. Besides, on those few times when I've called him repeatedly, it was to try and get an answer about plans that he tried making with me.
It's just so fucking frustrating!!!!!
I'm over it. I'm just going to sit at the bar and drink, become one of the many bitter old men who sit in that dark hole filled with stale cigarette smoke. I've had it with the whole relationship/dating thing.
No more Mr. Niceguy!!!!!
(at least until the next one comes along...)
* Why aren't you dating anyone?
* Why are you so bitter?
Well, here's a brief history that may answer both questions.
I met my first lover at a fairly early age. I was 21 and Don was 24. We were together for five torturous years. In those five years, I had given up all of my friends with whom I've grown into adulthood and was forced into a lifestyle to which I had no desire. It wasn't a lifestyle that was evil or law-breaking, but it was a lifestyle of heavy-metal concerts and alot of drug use. I had to learn to like his friends as well as gradually allow my own to fade away. I can only assume that his background in dating was a nightmare in of itself because he always warned me that, if i ever cheated, he would find out. I come from a family who's values of commitment still mean something and, in any serious relationship I've been in, I have never cheated, no matter how bad a time I was having.
In any event, for five years I was kept on a very short rope and little did I know (it would all come out for several years after our ugly break-up) that he was going out after I would drop him off at his house. He would cruise the strip and pick up hitchhikers. For five years I was naive, but faithful, and for about three years after our breakup, I was still coming across people who've slept with him during the time we were together.
I didn't date for sometime after that, but I decided that, since I missed out in my early years, I was going to have some fun. I avoided all the bars my ex went to and started hanging at the 247 bar (unfortunately no longer in existence). And fun I had. But then I started to get lonely again.
One night, while being dragged to a club to which I had no desire of going, I met a man who looked to be right out of a magazine. Older, handsome, built, shaved head, deep voice... I was already self-conscious of myself. Don made sure of shattering my ego and self-esteem, making me question everything about myself. So, although I was enthralled by this guy, I kept my distance and just stood against a far wall, sipping my beer and staring. Then he came up to me. I found out (let's call him 'Bob') was on vacation from Florida and was up here for a few weeks. What I thought would only be a one-night stand had turned into a long distance relationship for more than a year. Again, even from 1,000 miles away, I was faithful. He claimed to be too, and stupid me, I believed him. But at least we departed good friends.
About eight months after things fizzled with "Bob", I met Mark on-line and we dated for a few months. He was a great guy, very caring and affectionate. Very handsome with salt-n-pepper hair, warm smile and beautiful eyes. He was too good to be true. He was interested in what I had to say or do and was always looking out for my best intersests. But five years of agony with Don and a year with someone with whom phone sex was the majority of the relationship, had already set itself deep within me. I was suspicious.
Why was this guy so into me?
What does he see in me?
What is the hidden agenda?
I dumped him.
Mark has sinced moved to North Carolina and, as far as I know, is still happily married to the guy he met a few months after I broke up with him. That was about 5 years ago.
Another guy I dated a few times I became really good friends with. Although dating was out of the question, I still opened my heart to him as a friend and, when he lost his job and was being evicted from his apartment, when all of his bank accounts and credit cards were cancelled and closed, when he was on the verge of becoming another statistic living on the street, I took him in and gave him a place to live--rent free--for as long as he wanted. I tried getting him a job with my old company, I bought the food, paid the utilities and everything else that went into taking care of someone. He had helped me out also, by rewriting my resume and cooking and sometimes cleaning. For five months he lived rent free while he searched for a job. I felt our friendship was strong and we spent alot of time together and laughed and played and just really enjoyed each other's company.
Then he found a job...a good paying job.
And for the next year, while he rebuilt his credit, he slowly eased me out of his life. The things we used to do together, he now did with new friends (he now had money, so he could afford to go out to the bars again).
Things for me, however, grew worse. I had a new commission based sales job and in that year where he was getting his life together, mine was getting worse. Sales were down and I wasn't bringing in nearly as much money as I was a year before. And then, in December of '02, he dropped the bomb on me and announced that he found a place and was moving out at the end of the month. Knowing full-well that money had become extremely tight for me, he gave me absolutely no warning that he was even looking for a place, let alone found one and was moving in 3 weeks. I was making a little more than 1/2 of what I had made the previous year and now, all of a sudden, all my utilities would be doubling on me without the help of my friend.
Again...call me stupid... Little did I know that I would soon learn from others that this guy had always used people in such a way...
By January of '03 I was at my wits end. Depression had set in. I had quickly and heavily gotten into drugs again. My job sucked. I was alone and I was lonely. I put on a smile whenever I went out to The Post and pound back the beers. But I would come home alone and several times, lie awake in my bedroom and think the deepest, darkest thoughts imaginable. I wanted to take the coward's way out, but was too much a coward to do anything.
But then something happened...
One day, while cruising the net, I got an instant message from someone I haven't spoken to in about 4 years. The guy from Floriday. My long distance boyfriend. Little did I know that he had moved back up to Philly the year before and wanted to reconnect. I didn't think much of it (I wasn't thinking much of anything at the time), but I agreed to swing by the bar he was working in some night soon. When I finally did, just like the first time I saw him several years before, his eyes lit up the second he saw me. I knew I looked like shit from the drugs and not eating, but that didn't matter at that moment. It was the strangest thing. It was as if the four year gap had never occurred. Instantly, the friendship started to grow. He had moved back north to be close to his current boyfriend (who had dumped him soon after moving) and to be closer to his family (9/11 had done that to alot of people). We spent alot of time together and, when the blizzard of '03 hit on his birthday, we spent the day walking the city and taking in the sites and having an incredible dinner in a small restaurant where it was only us and the owners who were able to make it out.
For about a year, he lived with his best straight friend in New Jersey, but things were getting alittle strained in that household and 'Bob' was (although asked kindly) being kicked out. He had been searching for a house to buy in Center City, but couldn't really make any purchases until his house in Florida was sold. Things for me, financially, were still crap, so I decided to let him move in while he sold his house in Florida and searched for something up here. Besides, things seemed to be getting alittle more serious between us. Even one of 'Bob's' friends said repeatedly that he wanted an invitation to the wedding.
At one point, he went back down to Florida under the direction of his realtor to do some renovations. Before leaving, he finally told me that he loved me. Let me tell you, I was surprised by that, but even more surprised when, a few days later, I called him in Florida and some strange guy answered the phone. 'Bob' tried to tell me it was 'just a friend helping him paint' and I tried to believe him, but immediately upon his return, things were different. He became more distant. The invitations to meet him after work suddenly stopped. The closed bedroom door while he was on the computer episodes started happening. Whenever I confronted him about these things he would get defensive and tell me there's nothing going on.
I stepped back and let him have his way. A few times, after a couple drinks, his old self would resurface and he'd get all affectionate and say the things he used to say. But then, the next day, it was cold shoulder. Over the next year (between the time he made the trip to Florida, sold that house and purchased a house up here in Philly) I had caught him in one lie after another after another, but kept my mouth shut about most of them.
Again...call me stupid. I shoulda kicked him out a long time ago, but there was always a small part of me that hoped things would be different...
But things were quite the same actually. At least the same as any other relationship in my life. You can't even really call this last year and a half a relationship but, since I had these wishful dreams in my head, I was completely celebate, waiting and hoping this would turn into something more serious. Although, whenever the subject would come up, he'd call me a liar to my face when I would tell him I haven't 'hooked up' with anyone since the two of us had reconnected a year and a half earlier. I knew more than assumed it was only another defense mechanism for him. I knew that he was dating/trying to date/or at least sleeping with his realtor (for one).
Bottom line of this whole story of 'Bob's' return: once again, I've opened my heart and house to someone I cared for only to be shit upon when things start turning around for them. 'Bob' has tried on a few occasions to remain friends, but he's so caught up in his web of lies, trying to keep his "other life" private, even after I've told him repeatedly that I'm no longer interested in him romatically. I'm too tired to have to fight my way through the bullshit stories of his. It's gotten to the point where I can't even tell when he's telling the truth or not.
It's just one more bitter nail to bite down on...
So, 'Bob's' moving out of my house was nearly a year ago. He came back into my life in January of '03. It is now May of '05. That means, up until last month, it had been more than 2 years of celebacy (outside of a few bj's--very few). Talk about lonely...
And then it happened... I actually hooked up! I'm not going into any great detail about this guy. It's not worth it at this point. He's already spoken for. We were drunk. We had a good time. I thought we could remain friends, but for some reason he's avoiding me like the plague. He's blown me off a few times and doesn't answer his phone whenever I call. At some times, it almost feels like I'm calling too much but then, when I look back at my cell phone records, I realize that I'm not really. Besides, on those few times when I've called him repeatedly, it was to try and get an answer about plans that he tried making with me.
It's just so fucking frustrating!!!!!
I'm over it. I'm just going to sit at the bar and drink, become one of the many bitter old men who sit in that dark hole filled with stale cigarette smoke. I've had it with the whole relationship/dating thing.
No more Mr. Niceguy!!!!!
(at least until the next one comes along...)
Monday, May 02, 2005
Writer's Block...
It's been four days since I've written anything in here and I don't know what to write now. I was told that one way of keeping the mind flexible is to spend an hour or so each morning when you wake up just writing crap down in a notebook. It doesn't matter what you're saying, so long as you're continuously putting words down on to paper. That's something I have yet to try. I've been thinking of things to write about in here. There are some people who are now expecting it from me. It was easy at first, but now I don't go to the Post as often as I did and...and...
Me muse is gone!!...
Someone (actually a few) owe me some pictures to include in here.
That's all I have to say on that topic...
Me muse is gone!!...
Someone (actually a few) owe me some pictures to include in here.
That's all I have to say on that topic...
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