I have six invites to
I have six invites to Gmail that I'm willing to swap if anyone wants to make an offer.
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I have six invites to Gmail that I'm willing to swap if anyone wants to make an offer.
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Comments are back. Play nicely. Management reserves the right to boot you at any time for any reason.
Remember that you're a guest here at my blog, not someone grandstanding. This is not an open forum. There are terms of service at the bottom of the comments section, I suggest you familiarize yourself with them. So that there's no question:
All comments copyright their respective authors. By commenting on this blog you agree to extend a non-exclusive license to the author(s) of this blog to quote or reuse your words with attribution. In plain English - if you post a comment here, you grant me the right to quote you, in whole or in part. Management ("Bad Man") reserves the right to ban any and all users at his whim for any reason at any time. Play nicely, or don't play at all.I will not hesitate to delete comments that I find offensive, annoy me, or fall into the "I feel like deleting it" category, nor will I hesitate to ban repeat offenders.
If you don't like it, I reiterate my position that Blogger is a great place to get your own blog and spout to your heart's content.
Update: Moxie comments. Update within an update: Moxie took her comments down.
More: Eden set up a contact form because as a sex-positive woman who likes it kinky, she got hate mail. Money graf:
I know a few bloggers who have protected themselves behind contact forms and more who are considering it. Others who tried to offer comment sections have had to remove them. You, dear reader, may be a polite, thoughtful, witty, insightful, tolerant human being, but if you are, you're unlike about 10% of the people who write to me. I blog for my own enjoyment and that of others; when it isn't fun anymore, I'll shut down and move on. My contact form is simply a way to keep the troublemakers at bay, so this stays fun a little longer.Indeed.
Still more: I've been asked why I do this. I do this purely for fun. I do this because I enjoy doing it, and I do it for me. Eden said it best when she said that her methodologies are to make sure it stays fun for her. As soon as it stops being fun, and starts either being work, or being taken too seriously, I'm done.
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The comments are temporarily disabled for three reasons:
1) A minor mishap with updating my template. Whoops.
2) A minor update to the Terms of Service of the comments (adding a note that commenters may be banned at my sufferance, as this is a soapbox, not a forum, to paraphrase one commenter).
3) Sympathy and solidarity with Stephen DenBeste of the USS Clueless:
"I've learned something interesting: if you give away ice cream, eventually a lot of people will complain about the flavors, and others will complain that you aren't also giving away syrup and whipped cream and nuts."Indeed.
I reserve the right to delete comments I find offensive or annoying, or for any other reason, and I reserve the right to ban commenters.
I want to make very clear that this blog is mine. I will do with it what I like. I am not here to entertain you, I am not your trained monkey, and if that drives you away, so be it. If you want to rebut what I have to say, feel free to go to Blogger and start your own blog. Or send me email. Note, too, that like Stephen DenBeste, I will be starting a Bozo Bin. This is an email filter which will immediately delete the emails of people who do things like ask for reciprocal links without even reading this site, or who ask for them but then don't put the reciprocal link up once I do, and any other arbitrary reason I feel necessary.
I have notes via email about the comments section and about the tone of the comments lately. For that reason, they are suspended until further notice.
Feel free to email me as per usual, but the comments themselves will be disabled for a bit. I will reenable them (all with the same content left in) when I get to it.
On reflection, I note that Belle has no comments, nor does Eden. Perhaps I should learn from the example of those web luminaries. Nor does Instapundit. I wonder - does the comments section drive readers away? Those three are some of the highest traffic blogs on the net.
Something to ponder.
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I just saw The Liberal. For all of three minutes. I put her stuff to one side in my apartment.
She called every few hours on her way here. To make sure I was at home.
When she finally got here, her eyes got wide. At her stuff.
She looked the same. She looked good. Skinnier, maybe, more tan, for sure, and beautiful as ever. I didn't get a real chance to look at her, she was in and out in about three minutes. Took her stuff down. I helped her. She was gone as quickly as she came, with the kind of hug you give someone you haven't seen in years, but are wary of, and an "I'll call you in a few days when I'm settled in."
I don't believe she will, but if she does, I assure you, you'll hear about it.
[Note: this post has been updated and modified from the original, as the original was written under the influence, and didn't make a ton of sense]
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And in other news (of the good variety) Home Computers Aid Efforts To Develop New Medications, Stanford Researcher Reports
Could your home computer help cure Alzheimer's disease?UPDATE:I run the folding@home client on my Macintosh at home, and I run it both as a screen saver, and as an application. It doesn't slow anything down on my machine. If you have a computer and you want to help, go to the Download page. It costs nothing, is secure (not passing your passwords back and forth) and is (hopefully) speeding up research on lots of different diseases. The more clients, the faster it can process, and the sooner we can get to possible cures, blocks, vaccines, and the like.Vijay Pande, PhD, assistant professor of chemistry and of structural biology at Stanford University, believes the answer may be yes. He's devised a way to identify potential drug compounds by using a network of more than 150,000 home computers and some innovative algorithms. He said the method accurately predicts how well molecules will bind to a given protein. Proteins are the ubiquitous workhorses of living systems and most diseases can be traced to protein malfunctions of one kind or another, so designing a compound that binds to a particular protein is an early step in drug development.
...
To get those results, he tapped into Folding@Home, a global network of more than 150,000 home computers that run computations in the background, pooling their results via the Internet to create a resource with "supercomputing power greater than all the supercomputing centers combined," in Pande's words. He set up the network in 2000 to study protein folding and needed its power for this experiment because accurately predicting bonding energy requires "sampling" multiple conformations of a protein, a computationally demanding process. He also developed algorithms that would enable the processors to work together efficiently to achieve a common goal. Pande said this distributed-computing approach could be used to design new classes of antibiotics. And, as part of a current Folding@Home calculation on a protein critical to Alzheimer's development, he hopes to identify molecules that would bind to the protein, pointing the way toward possible treatments.
In laymans terms - it costs you five minutes to help humanity, and your spare CPU cycles, which you're wasting anyway. What are you waiting for?
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Humanity is such a fragile thing.
An online friend of mine just had an AIDS scare. He spent a week totally believing he had it, doing research, sending scary links to his friends, and making himself miserable until he got tested, and the results came back negative. We've all been there. I made myself insane for months thinking "ok, you've got it, your results were a false negative" until finally I gave up and got tested again.
Big sigh of relief for him, and for me too. Go on with your bad self, buddy. But I'm adopting his viewpoint, I think, which is - no more one night stands, only have sex with women that you've gotten to know.
Of course, seeing a guy I respect and admire have that kind of fear was a sudden reality jolt for me. "Oh shit, that's real, I ummm, forgot."
I always use a condom for sex. Always always always, unless I'm in a long term relationship and both of us have been tested, and these days, considering how many people I know cheat, I'm considering doing it always always always. I love bareback sex, but not enough to endanger my health, you know?
Not always for oral sex, though. I know that HIV is very difficult for a straight man with no risk factors to get, but it's not impossible, and it's not a joke, and it's not just something that happens to people in after school specials.
I've been reading a lot of sex bloggers lately, and I found myself idly musing and wondering if any of them had HIV or any other STD. Of course, I can't post to their comments - hey, got Clap?
I know that I've had canker sores in my mouth for almost my entire life. I get one around every six or so months, and it annoys me for a few days, and then it goes away. No clue where they came from, but apparently they're viral? I had no idea.
This morning when I woke up I did some research into STDs online. I've seen more pictures of cocks and pussies with bumps, lumps, spots, dots, drips and general icks than I ever wanted to.
We're spending billions of dollars on a War on Terrorism (alternately known as a war on Islamofascism) and how much are we spending on basic STD research? It's not just that HIV will shorten your lifespan considerably. Genital Warts cause cervical cancer, and possibly penile cancer, and condoms don't protect you from it.
Did you know that Beethoven's Ode To Joy is assumed to have been composed during a Syphellis remission period? Chlamydia makes women infertile. 50 million people have Herpes, and of those, most don't know it.
The British are having a particularly rough STD patch by going on holiday, acting stupid, and passing things along to one another.
In my pre-Bad-Man life, I was a bit of a nerd. Not just socially awkward, but a real live computer loving, Dungeons and Dragons playing geek. I got my first computer when I was 10 years old, and since then, I've had this abiding thought that all we need to do to cure every disease imagineable is more science, more computers, and more money for the people doing the research. I'm not alone. A project was recently completed at the Los Alamos National Labratory in which they sequenced the genomes of many STDs:
The scope of this project includes both compilation and analysis of molecular sequence information pertaining to sexually transmitted bacteria and viruses. Dynamic graphics and extended analyses are available for all organisms. Annotation is accomplished by a combination of automation and hand review of each record.They haven't found cures for these things yet, or even effective treatments in many cases, but it's a great start. I don't know why I'm such an optimist, but I feel like we're on the verge of major curative breakthroughs.
...
This database and analysis project began in 1998 and was completed in October of 2003. The earliest version focused on recently sequenced genomes of Chlamydia pneumoniae, Chlamydia trachomatis, Mycoplasma genitalium, Treponema pallidum, Ureaplasma urealyticum, as well as Human Papillomavirus. Subsquently three herpesviruses, Human Herpesvirus 1 (HSV-1), Human Herpesvirus 2 (HSV-2), Human Herpesvirus 8 (KSHV), and Neisseria gonorrhoeae were added. In 2003 Streptococcus agalactiae, Haemophilus ducreyi, Human Herpesvirus 5 (HCMV) and Pseudorabies virus (PRV) completed the collection.
If this appears to have me scared and quiet, it's because this has me scared and quiet. Yes, there are many ways to die and get sick, but none have the social stigma attached to things that grow on or drip from your genitalia.
My friend is HIV negative. At last test, so was I. But this whole thing has me very freaked out. It's put me off sex. As much as I love it, one hour's pleasure isn't worth a lifetime of anti-retrovirals.
Update: I've decided that as a balance to this blog, I'm going to start tracking STD research as well. It's not a happy or pretty subject, but it's quite necessary. As you can see, this is freaking me out a lot. I don't have any STDs that I'm aware of, but the more research I do, the more things appear to be able to just lie dormant - HIV, Herpes, and HPV all can just sit dormant with no symptoms. There's no test for Herpes or HPV that I know of if there aren't symptoms. Jesus. I wasn't taught that in health class.
I'm not sure if I'll do that here, or somewhere else, but information is your best defense. Starting with the fact that there are now (and I didn't know this, but it's wicked cool!) vaccine trials in phase III studies for Herpes.
Approximately ONE out of FOUR women in the United States has genital herpes. Symptoms are often subtle, and most people don't know they have herpes, but genital herpes is among the most common infectious diseases. This is why the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases has joined forces with GlaxoSmithKline Biologicals to develop the Herpevac Trial for Women.If you don't already have Herpes (either type I or type II) and you want to get onto the trial, do it! It may save you from pain and heartbreak. If you have girl children of the right age, get them vaccinated too.
Imagine what an amazing world it would be if we could vaccinate against all STDS? We could fuck with impunity! It brings a tear to my eye. Ok, two tears. One that we have to think about this stuff, and one that we could defeat it.
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My best friend from college, who is speaking to me again, used to say that when things got really good in my life, I'd brag. And that would offend the gods. And I'd have an "Hubristic Correction." A time period where everything went utterly wrong, I faced ridicule, and upset. (Examples: in the past week it appears that every mistake I've made since I started to work at my job is bubbling up to the forefront of people's minds; as I was writing this entry, Internet Explorer crashed; I got to the subway station just as the subway arrived and my metrocard was empty...)
After several months of going-is-good-ha-ha-ha living, I'm in one of those hubristic corrections, although this one does have lighthearted moments.
Last night at 10:30, I decided to go grab a drink. Sat down next to a cute phillipina girl who, after I started talking to her, I discovered was not only pure and innocent, but had just gotten to the states and had pretty bad breath. I considered offering her a tic tac until I decided that I wasn't interested.
At one point, I cracked my back, and shrugged at her - "Stress."
She took both of my hands in hers, and started massaging them. "You don't feel very stressed" she told me, looking cross that I'd lied to her. I had her feel my back. Her eyes went wide that it was so tense.
"I store the stress for a few of my friends in my back. It's like a stress bank."
She kept rubbing my hands. It felt good. She went to my shoulders, my ear lobes, my neck, my head. I was in heaven.
A little while later it was midnight, and I had to go, since I've got work today. I told her that I was going to go grab a bite, and it was nice meeting her. She followed along.
After we left the bar, she pulled out a cigarette - something long, thin, and totally white. She offered me one, but I declined. She told me about smoking, and how it doesn't go with her innocent image, but it's just what she does.
We walked all the way to Chickpea, where I was excited to get a Schawafel and eat their light, fluffy, cickpea balls.
As we rounded the corner of 8th and 3rd, and I peered in, the lights were off. There had been an electrical failure. Figures.
So we turned around and went to Cindarella, grabbed a gyro, and left. She walked me home, gave me a hug, and told me she had a "wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wondeful, wondeful" time. I considered, fleetingly, inviting her up, but after the sixth "wonderful" I realized that that would be inviting trouble. I sent her on her way, and trundled up to bed. Where my next door neighbor was blasting his music.
Fortunately, I had a Drum 'n Bass album loaded in my CD player, so I blared it for five minutes, and he got the point, turning his down.
I collapsed, spent, praying that this correction would be over soon.
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I'm not dead. I'm just resting.
Nothing happening, so nothing to report. I've been working on some other writing projects, I haven't gone on any dates, I haven't seen Princess, and for awhile now, my mind has turned to things that aren't sex.
Can you believe it?
Hiatuses happen. Just ask Laura.
I've also been on a 10am to 5am schedule at work which only just listed, developed a minor health issue which has since passed, filed my taxes (I get a $666 refund from NY State. The nerdy teen in me thinks that that's awesome) and have just generally been lying low.
I have four big boxes of paperwork in my apartment going back several years. I plan on dealing with those before anything else.
Oh - and I'm seeing The Liberal on either Sunday or Monday. So she can get her crap from me. After which time I'll finally be able to wipe the slate clean of her, I hope.
For now, I'm just workin' along and doing my thing. You are welcome to leave messages in the comments section of this post, and if you want notification of when I'm writing again (which should be pretty soon, all things considered) just email me.
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After a long hard week last week, I've had a particularly bad day at work today.
No sex blogging for you, because no sex for me. Who has time when the hours are racking up like this?
I don't even have time to go to the gym right now.
You know you're in a bit of trouble when the highlight of your day is buying a new cell phone. Mind you, it's a cell phone that gets TV reception, which is odd, but it's the highlight of my day.
I need a drink. Maybe I'll have more to write after I get one.
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Work comes in ebbs and flows. These last two weeks have been heavy flow days. Once this period is over, I'll be able to go out and have fun again.
For my birthday, The Jewelery Model gave me a T-Shirt that says "Do Unto Others, Then Split" with a picture of an Ostrich on it. I wore it with DDC Lab jeans, and Sketcher sandals today, when I went for a walk with The Freshman. She pointed at me and laughed. "You look like a Hipster." It wasn't a compliment.
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Particularly difficult week at work.
Question: WHAT THE HELL IS IN RED BULL? CRACK?
I've never felt this energized at work, yet coherent at the same time.
So that eliminates crack, I guess.
Open thread: your best drug addled sex experience.
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Sexkitten says:
"I⤁ve spent years watching my girlfriends go nuts over men, putting up with their crap, being used, misused, and abused. Yet not knowing how to let go. They become obsessed, threatening, desperate, foolish and earned names like nutcase.Indeed.They⤁ve spent years watching men go nuts over me. Threatening to kill me, stalking me, harassing me, making up horrible stories about me with the intent to humiliate me because I leave them. I⤁ve earned the brand detached.
I tell my friends that they love too hard. They say I don⤁t love at all. I say they give too much to undeserving men. They say I don⤁t give enough to good men. I tell them that they allow themselves to be used. They tell me that I⤁m the user. I tell them that they wouldn⤁t recognize love if it bit them on the ass. They say I⤁ll never find it if I keep breaking up with men the way I do. The truth is somewhere in the middle."
This weekend was spent mostly with Princess. We saw Harold and Kumar go to White Castle (inexplicably hilarious movie) and ate at the Japanese grill joint on 9th street. We watched Sex and the City episodes, and hung out in my apartment, avoiding the bad weather and fooling around. Drum and Bass night at Rare on Saturday was amazing, and the rest of the weekend was just peaceful and comfortable.
For part of the time, we separated, and I went out socially with my boss, who bought me a "Re-defeat George Bush" button. I've never seen an accessory get more attention. I got thumbs up from deli owners, an evil glare from a pretty blonde Republican from Iowa (whom we gave our spare sticker to, and forced to wear it), and conversations just started themselves. It was like I suddenly had peacock feathers that said "hey, pay attention to me."
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Sitting with FrenchKitty the other night over tea and brownies, talking about relationships and dating, and trying to make eye contact with her while simultaneously checking out every woman who walked by Cafe Pick-Me-Up, a song came on over the sound system.
I stopped the conversation cold to tell her the story of why my face had suddenly contorted into wistful longing and a tinge of sadness, with a wry smile.
"You know how certain smells remind you of certain people? Like, a certain cologne brings up a guy, or perfume brings up a woman? In my case, CKOne brings up a girl I had a crush on in college. Basically, your brain associates certain stimulation with memories." She agreed and reminisced a bit.
"That's a process called 'anchoring' - where you build a sense anchor in to a memory. You can actually learn how to do it, once you know about it, and do it intentionally. So that when the air is a certain way, or you say something in a certain tone, memories and feelings get triggered." She recounted a story about a song she associated with a previous boyfriend, that she now associates differently.
"I learned about this stuff before I dated The Cuban. I wanted, so badly, to have one moment of perfect beauty with her. She was so beautiful. And sweet, and nice, and great, and of course, had a boyfriend that she didn't tell me about, but I digress.
So one night, she was at my house, and I wanted to have a perfect memory of her, and I put on this song, and I was a little tipsy I think, and asked her if I could kiss her. And she said 'of course.' So we did.
It was a movie moment, man. The song was just right, her long hair cascaded through my fingers, it was like the cameras were spinning around us in slow circles, and our kiss, and the fans blowing her hair, was all that mattered in the world.
For the next two years, every time I heard that song, I started to feel pangs of missing her. It wasn't until I dated The Liberal that that faded. Now I just look back on it and smile because I even had the opportunity to live that."
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Another advice email from a friend:
i know it sounds silly, but my boyfriend and i can't see eye to eye on a vacation - which happens to be my first long one in 2 years, and comes after a very tough summer. He wants to go to Cape Cod where - we will sleep on a sofabed staying with family friends I don't know, hang out with his parents, who will also be there, and - if we're really lucky - his high school crush will be in town.I had no advice on this one, so if you do, please share.I, on the other hand, have found a cute cottage off the coast of Savannah that I think would be fun and relaxing. Keep in mind that I've offered to pay, and that on the couple of long weekends we've had, we've always gone to his places of choice. Don't get me wrong, he's very nice and civil about this, but I just can't persuade him. I don't want this to be a wedge issue, so to speak. What should I do? I get nervous in new groups of people, and the idea of crashing with a bunch of them is not my idea of a good time.
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From an old flame I haven't seen in almost a year:
I am thinking about hiring a male escort to pay him to just cuddle with me on those nights that i really want someone there. Yes, hire. I want to make sure they don't try anything more than that all night, so I feel if I pay them, I'll get what I want. Probably won't work, but it's worth a try. :) Have you ever thought about going into that business, you would be good at it.I'd laugh if I didn't think she were serious.
Tonight's opener:
"Hi - can I ask you two questions?" She wasn't sure what I said, so I wiggled two fingers in front of her face and said it again.
"Sure!" she yelled back.
"First question - What's your name?" She answered.
"Second question - Hername - would you watch my stuff?" She nodded yes, and I padded off to the bathroom. When I got back, she had her foot up on my chair, and we started talking.
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Things at work have been stressful, back to the 10-10 days. Lawyering is FUN!
Open thread:
For the ladies - what's the last opening line someone used on you successfully?
For the gents - what's the last opening line you successfully used on someone else?
Last one I used myself was "I insist, you come through the door, and stop holding it for me. Seriously. I insist."
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Twenty nine is a particularly big year for most Americans. It's the last year of your wild twenties, it's the year before you turn thirty (thirty is the new eighteen, in case you were wondering) and it's the year that strange things happen.
Over the last few years, I met a whole lot of twenty nine year olds, most of them seemed crazed by their age. When I'd see them again, months later, they'd be thirty, and relaxed. Maybe it was the Prozac. Maybe there's some sort of secret Rosicrucianesque ceremony that pulls the veils off your eyes that makes you less crazed, I'm not sure.
Yesterday, however, I turned twenty nine.
Many of you knew that this was coming, and wondered what sort of craziness the Bad Man would get up to. Which reminds me of an old adage I heard, back when I considered being a porn star.
"If you fuck from nine to five, how the hell do you get from five to nine?" Which was similar to William Burrough's contention that after he quit Heroin, the hardest thing in the world was everything.
If you're Bad Man twenty four seven, if you go out and do pickup, you drink a lot, you party all the time, what do you do for a special day?
You rest.
My Birthday started the night before, when I decided that rather than face another night of the bar/club scene in New York, where I would inevitably meet new people, talk to them, and repeat everything I'd done innumerable times before, I would sit the night out.
I was asleep by 10.
This was also my bodies way of telling me "yo, punk, if you run me any harder, we're so fighting." So it was sleep and rest.
The next morning, my parents called, with their traditional call of "Happy Birthday Baby Bunny It's Your Birthday Day." My parents, for lack of a better term, rule.
Off to brunch at Agave, where I had prickly pear Margaritas - the only pink drink I will ever have - and then back to my house for a little R&R, and then a rollerblade. Up and down the streets of Manhattan, through Central Park, over to the West Side Highway, and back home again.
In a fit of birthday luck, I discovered, around a hundred blocks from my apartment, that I'd left my wallet at home, and that was going to make abating the cottonmouth sensation that I'd developed into a tricky proposition. Fifty blocks later, on the West Side Highway, two guys, each with a cooler, stood on the side of the pathway, and gave out some coconut based energy drink. I didn't catch the name, I was too in the zone, but it totally did the trick.
Back home to shower and change and rest, while I waited for Princess to show up after a weekend away. She got to my place at 10ish, and we went straight to The Beauty's bar, where The Beauty and Princess spent a little time talking, and we all spent a lot of time drinking. Princess started dancing and a man grabbed her by the hand and started dancing with her. Seconds later, and after a plea for help, I pulled her away and stood her between my body and the bar, where she proceeded to keep dancing, only this time it felt more like a lap dance.
With that, I decided it was time to go.
Back to my house, several shots later, and into bed for a long and languourous fucking. No tying up, no toys, no nothing, just long and hard and soft and fucking. By 3:15, we'd basically exhausted ourselves, and just lay side by side. Princess put her hand on my cock and held it, and we drifted off to sleep. We woke up thirty minutes later, her hand still on my cock, and played around a little more, and then passed out until the alarm clock went off, far far too early, this morning.
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In a cab with The Groupie and The Freshman, having gotten lit at a rooftop party in the West Village and on the way to see friends play in the East Village, we stopped at a light on the corner of fourth and ninth. I looked up at the building.
"Hey! That's the dorm you lived in when we started dating!" I said to the freshman.
"Yeah. And that's Grace Church."
The Freshman started laughing because she knew the Church story. The Groupie started laughing because she knew that all three of us knew the story. I just sat and laughed that they both did, and were laughing about it.
We got back to my house, before the show, for a quick pit stop, a refill, and a rest. I stepped into the bathroom.
When I came out, I heard The Groupie saying "yeah, it was right next to the blender" and The Freshman started rolling with laughter. My brain came to a little bit and remembered the last time The Groupie was over, when I had my Fukuoku 9000 sitting on top of my microwave, right next to the blender. I walked back into the bathroom in mock embarassment, which only made them laugh harder.
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I'm totally swamped at work. Open thread. Talk amongst yourselves. No flaming, please.
Topic: worst sex or date ever.
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Sunday, I had brunch twice.
The first brunch I had was with TaiChi at Cafe Charbon, where we discussed love, how my body was maturing, I was filling out, and how we both, oddly, felt like we had more testosterone than we did when we were in our early twenties. I've heard that women hit their sexual peak in their late 30s, while men hit it around 18 - I'm in my late 20s, and frankly, I've never felt more sexually aggressive.
The second brunch I had was with The Virgin at Miracle Grill. I'd given her some short stories I wrote a few years ago to take a look at. The came back with pages crumpled and obviously weather-worn. She'd read them many times. She'd made comments on them. She'd carefully pored over every page with an eye towards what was good, and what was garbage. I had a margarita, just in case she'd said that it was awful.
After brunch, she walked me home, and asked if she could use my bathroom. When she got out, she made a phone call, asking the person on the other end of the line what their plans were. He offered to see her at 4:30. It was around 3.
Now, I have a full head of very curly and very active hair, which begs to be touched. While she was on the phone with him, she started running her fingers through my hair. I just stood against a wall in my apartment and purred like a kitten. And rolled my head down to give her better access to my whole head.
A few seconds later, she got off the phone, but she kept rubbing. She looked me in the eye and asked me some prevaricating question, and then kissed me. We kissed a bit, and then I grabbed her by the hips, looked her deep in the eyes, and said "man, I bet you're gonna love it when you start fucking."
"Really?"
"Yeah." I grabbed her hips, turned her around, and bent her over at the waist. I ground into her, and told her "oh yeah, you're built for speed."
She laughed. "Do women really bend over at the hip? This seems like I'd fall down."
"Well, if you're afraid of that, you can bend over the bed." I walked her to the bed. "Put your elbows down." I ground into her some more, and slapped her ass. "Yeah, you'd love fucking."
She spun around and sat down, looking up at me. She looked up, and I looked down. "You seem frustrated. Do you need some release?"
"I do. I could really use a blowjob."
She grinned at that. "You just can't get any on me or in me." I agreed, unzipped my jeans, and pointed my cock at her mouth. I was a bit perplexed at why, but happy for the blowjob, which lasted awhile. She told me I was only the second guy she'd ever blown, but that she was learning a lot from how I do it. Very different from her first.
Later, when I asked why I couldn't cum on her or in her mouth, she told me it was because she didn't want to smell like me - she had a date after we were done. Oh, right, of course.
Monday I finally got to see Princess again after two weeks away. The girl is hard to see, which is disappointing, but then, it makes me want her fairly badly by the time I actually see her, which usually works out well.
We met at Tribe, which was easy and convenient. There were two girls talking to a guy in the back, and I wondered, briefly, if that was Lex, but decided not to interrupt, and assumed that they wouldn't be caught dead in Tribe.
After awhile, we went back to my place and got comfortable. It was eleven, and we relaxed, got into bed, and played like comfortable lovers. There was no tying up, there was hardly any spanking. When sex came, it was long and slow and sweet, building to hard and fast and hot from behind, while I choked her a little. After awhile of this, I pulled out and came for her. Afterwards, we cuddled, and talked, and it was nice. That comfortable post-sex we can talk for a little bit and be close and tender moment that's so delightful. We'd actually had a similar moment before sex, where we'd both kind of passed out from exhaustion. Fortunately, I wouldn't let the night go by without fucking her. I say fortunately because god _damn_ did she feel good.
She woke up at 6 the next morning, waking up a very groggy and sated me along with her. By 6:30 she was dressed and out the door, promising to come back soon. Not soon enough, however, as she's gone out of town again, and I'd like to see her way more often than I do. Maybe I'll get to see her on Sunday night, which is my birthday.
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Reader Scarlett, of The Life of a Southern Girl, has a question that she'd like me to pose to you lot.
She was recently in a relationship with a man. She told her fuckbuddy that she'd developed a boyfriend, and so they were done being FBs.
However, unlike many FBs, there was no overt jealousy or complication. In fact, they continued to be friends, they went to movies, dinners, all the stuff you reserve for the not-boyfriend people.
She recently had a breakup with her man. Now, of course, she needs ass and wants her FB back. While I offered to help her, she's in another state, and thus, for regular, long term fucking, someone local makes more sense.
Her question was - how would I (or any man, really) feel about a girl who says "I need to use you again!"
My respose:
Picking your FB up post-boyfriend is an acceptable thing to do, although it can be tricky to manage his expectations. All you need to do, I'd think, is go to dinner and tell him things with the boyfriend fell apart. Nonchalant. Not a crying fit, not an angry moment, just nonchalant. Like - forkful of salad, drink a bit of wine, oh, my boyfriend and I broke up. Maybe not that blase, but you get the picture.I've never gone FB to girlfriend to FB again, but that's because I enjoy new people. I think it could probably be done.
Mind you - if you're hot (which I'll assume you are) there's every likelyhood that that will cause his cock to wake up and say "umm, hey, dude, she's single again, let's hit it!!" and his brain to say "umm, hey, dude, she's single again, let's hit it!!" And if you're not hot, there's every likelihood that that will cause his cock to wake up and say "umm, hey, dude, she's single again, let's hit it!!" and his brain to say "umm, hey, dude, she's single again, let's hit it!!"
Which would be the desired outcome.
Unless he's developed a girlfriend of his own, in which case, the train to New York only takes three hours, and isn't very expensive.
Two thoughts:
1) I'm not a player, although some of you have emailed me decrying my "player" lifestyle. The people in this article, they're players. I'm just a guy who likes girls.
2) This strikes me as a horrendously stupid idea.
The New York Times > Arts > Television > TV Review | 'The Player': A Race to Be First to Break Someone's Heart, but It's Only a Game: "The game-player conceit is given an exhilarating workout tonight on 'The Player' on UPN. The first segment of the show, in which a model (described as a 'V.I.P. at all the Miami hot spots') is given a chance to break the hearts of ladies' men before they break hers, appears to be devoted exclusively to savoring the glories of the words 'player' and 'game.'
Dawn, the club-hopping model, sets the tone: 'If I get one of these players to fall for me, I'm the player. If I fall for them, I could get played.' She dilates: 'I'm a player, and when you're a player you have game. And I'm good at the game.'"
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Two ghosts walked back into my life in the last week.
The Liberal reappeared. She's going to be back in town as of September 1. She emailed to remind me that I had her stuff. Like I could forget? I use that printer all the time!
You know how I said you need to fuck ten other people to get over someone who gets themselves deeply into your heart? Yeah, it doesn't matter. You will still, sporadically, get those pangs of "woah, holy crap, she's still alive." Your logical mind can say "yeah, that one is toxic and evil" but your heart, well, my heart, can skip a beat. I go with my logical mind - it'd never work out, but there's always that beat skipping.
I talked to TaiChi about this the other day, and he was telling me about the love of his life, who he'll never be with. He told me that he's fallen for another woman since, and had a relationship and love with her, but that the one who broke his heart will always have a place there, too. And that should be celebrated in a "god damn I'm lucky to have felt this" way, rather than tamped down in a "why can't I have this anymore" way. He's got a good perspective. One that I've begun to share. The Liberal and I can never be together, but I can always have that part of me which knows what we had, albeit briefly.
The other ghost was my best friend from college. He who disappeared a long time ago, when his girlfriend apparently said "choose between your friends from college and me." He chose her.
Last night, at seven, after about a year or so of not hearing from him, my phone rang with a number I was unfamiliar with. It was him. We made a bit of small talk. He was downstairs from my apartment. I was at work. Just like old times. He asked me to come out and see him, I told him I was going on a date with Princess, and that I just didn't have time to see him.
As soon as I got off the phone with him, I called College Friend, who wavered between calling him and giving him a piece of her mind, and not calling at all because he's been such an asshole. She chose the latter.
I met Princess at Tribe at 10. At 10:30, there was a tap on my shoulder. It was him.
I stumbled through my speech. I had nothing to say, really. What can you say? He said hi, and that I was looking well, and that he'd been walking by and figured he'd check in to see if I was there, which obviously, I was.
After about 30 seconds of small talk, his girlfriend showed up. She grabbed him by the wrist. I introduced her to Princess, and she abruptly twisted his wrist, Aikido style, and announced "we're going to bed now." He had no choice but to follow. She held him like a master martial artist, and pulled him out. He said goodbye on his way.
I looked at Princess, and asked if that was the weirdest and rudest thing she'd seen in awhile. It was. Whether she'd just seen what I'd seen - if he'd literally just had his arm twisted by his girlfriend, and pulled away. She'd seen it too.
I just shook my head, went back to my drink, and back to my date.
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