A Bad Man in a Bad Place

I wouldn't call lately a dry spell, but by no means have I been getting wet and wild lately either.

Want to know why I don't date in New York?

This, from The Jaguar:

thanks. it's fun. i am kind of slowing down now. dating seriously as opposed to the thought of a free dinner

I also haven't been dating at all, really. In fact, I've turned down more than I've taken home lately. I'm a little overwhelmed in my life right now, and I haven't been playing much of anything, really.

Saw Lex for his birthday and I couldn't even hang I'm so not in it. Also, it was the day after The New Yorker picked up her stuff. Perhaps now is the grieving time that I skipped when we broke up in April. Or maybe it's only been a week or two since I last hooked up with someone and I should shut up. Yeah, that's probably it.

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"What did you think of the girl I was here with on Friday" I asked the bartender "am I punching below my weight?"
He thought back. "No, thing about her was, she was really engaging. I just met her and she was great and fun and, no. I liked her."
"Really?"
"I've seen you come in to my bars for 8 years now and you've always, always, had beautiful women with you."
"I've had my share of not-so-cute girls."
"I don't remember them."

Which was interesting. I don't have a lot of insight into this one. It's interesting what other people remember vs. what we see about ourselves in our own heads.

Chet's been after me for some time for "punching below my weight" - going for women that are easier because they're less attractive and what have you. I'm not sure he's wrong, per se, but I don't know what my weight class is. I'm not OCD about meeting the "hottest" girl I can find - and actually had a conversation with the girl on Friday night about that. Since beauty is a something that you can't adjust, I prefer a woman who is not ugly but has a fantastic personality over someone prettier with a dull personality. That's just me, though, and in talking to Moxie the other day, she pointed out that I am the exception, not the rule.

Lately I've been so wrapped in my head that I've been all shy and withering flower-y. Ridiculous. I'm in the middle of a strange crisis of confidence these days, having completely changed my life from that of lawyer-guy to student who lawyers in his free time. Where once I had structure and social acceptance and a decent bank account, now I'm in a whole new atmosphere/lifestyle. The change is a bit daunting. Being back in school is throwing me back to my college days in my head, when I was shy. I then remember who I am and get over it, but it's amazing the sort of anchors I have built around being a student.

By the same token, I'm not sure why I'm feeling shy or what this really is. Since The New Yorker, there have been four other women and I really haven't been trying. July4, Surfette, the one night stand at my reunion, and the very persistent neighbor. I've also hooked up with a handful more. And yet, when I go out, I look around and think that all the women in the room want to be with everyone other than me. It's like it's genetic or something.

IF YOU have ever sat alone in a bar, depressed by how good-looking everybody else seems to be, take comfort—it may be evolution playing a trick on you. A study just published in Evolution and Human Behavior by Sarah Hill, a psychologist at the University of Texas, Austin, shows that people of both sexes reckon the sexual competition they face is stronger than it really is. She thinks that is useful: it makes people try harder to attract or keep a mate.

In other news, this post made me like Future a lot. I've been on the periphery of the "community" for awhile now, and I have to give Future a lot of respect. So - as my people say - "props, Future." (Did I bastardize the language enough for you?)

In still other news - with Movable Type and Wordpress each coming out with new versions, I think it's time to update this old rig. Two questions - this is currently an MT 3.35 rig and I've got a Wordpress rig elsewhere for a business that I work with that I like, so I've liked both of them.

My question is - which to use? Pros? Cons? Suggestions? Help?

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As you may have guessed, I'm a nerdboy. I just finished Halo 3. Good game. Fun and engaging.

(Not everything in my life has to do with sex, you know... just most things)

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In chatting with Venus just now, I was reminded of a time in my life when I could get women to show up and blow me before work. Those were good times. I'm not a shy person, I'm just reserved in who I'm willing to talk to. Shy is so the wrong term for it.

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I was talking to Venus today about what I'm looking for. Right now, I'm looking for a good night's sleep. Generally, though, she was dead on in her estimation that:

You want a beautiful sub with substance? Is this fair to say?

My question is - how do I find that? It's been a journey coming to grips with the fact that I'm interested in a submissive woman, particularly coming off of a relationship with a woman who was decidedly not.
We discussed where I could look, and I've had this conversation with other women before. "The usual places" - alt.com and bondage.com strike me as not the sort of place that I'm going to find what I'm looking for.
So - I open this to those of you in relationships that have this aspect to them - how did you meet? Not that I can recreate your experience, but I am certainly curious how others have done it.
I told Venus that my plan was to continue flirting as I've been doing as that's been fairly successful. But by the same token, it hasn't, as I haven't found what I'm looking for. I'm open to suggestions, too.

In addition, she wanted to know why I characterize myself as shy and have had weeks where I've been rotating up to three women through my bedroom. I gave that one some thought too. Learned helplessness? Chet's admonishing me for this pretty regularly. I don't want to navel gaze on this issue other than to say it's not clear what my problem is. People like talking to me so long as I can get my mouth open and don't go all blank-stare.

One thing that's been helping meet new people lately? Sobriety. I stopped drinking completely over a month ago and now I just have club soda until my insides feel like they might burst. However, having the club soda frees me from the lack of mental acuity that comes from boozing. Allows me focus. And gives me one notch faster, speed-wise, than others similarly situated. So, there's that. I've heard of guys in the pickup community who never drink. I think I know why, now.

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A combination of school, work and life have really been beating me up lately. I love school and I need the work, but learning to balance is a bitch. So I haven't had time to run around and meet women or call ones that I already know. So when The Jamaican instant messaged last night that she needed to sleep next to someone, I told her she should jump in a cab and come over. By 10:45 we were in bed, and by 11:15 we were asleep. In the meantime we got comfortable, caught up on things, and relaxed.

I woke up this morning feeling fantastic. Never underestimate the power of skin time on helping you get a good night's sleep and recharging your batteries.

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For all you men out there wondering "should I approach her?" here's one for you. Via Venus's 100 things about herself:

10. If I am giving you “the look” one of three things is happening. One, I think you are an idiot, two, I am mad as hell, or three, I am extremely attracted to you and am frozen.

Good luck, boys.

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The search terms that people use to find this site are pretty funny sometimes. And frankly, more than a little disturbing, too.

very very hot women in bedroom clips: 72 hits. I'm pretty sure that there are no clips here of any sort

elefant tonight lets dance: 1 hit. Great song, but boy did you take a wrong turn at Albuquerque.

i ordered her to strip naked for me to fuck her as a man should: Sounds like me, but I'm pretty sure I never said that.

no way bad man no suck: Huh?

neighbor stalker hit man next door: I don't even want to know.

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With regard to an old post, Kelcey wrote:

Just because someone is attractive doesn't mean they're good in bed, and generally the more times you're with someone the more comfortable you become and the more aware you are of what you both like.

God. If I had a nickel every time I found that. Hence, boredom with a fit model. Hence, ignoring the large breasted blonde that called two hours after leaving my apartment. Hence the trouble with the Jaguar.

Has anyone else seen this? You find that the hottie you take home is terrible in bed, or worse yet, you have no chemistry? Or that by the same token, you take home someone who isn't within your checklist of lookisms and you have a mind blowing time?

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The inner processes of a blog are far less interesting than the stories that we write.

However - for the moment, I'm not going to add a password. Was talked out of it by some friends who read the site, know who knows about it, and suggested that this sites rating is a hard R, or a light NC-17, but not really the XXX that would be an issue.

So - to those of you who know who I am, I ask you to keep it to yourself. I know that horse left the barn a long while ago, but still, a modicum of respect for the fact that this outlet of mine is something of a compulsion and I like the fact that I can write with a nearly unfettered voice...

That settled?

Good.

Was out last night at a bunch of parties - Fall has clearly begun, everyone wants to go out and have fun. The middle party, a house party in Fort Greene, was as good as any party that you've ever heard of. The party was three floors in a gigantic well presented space with all of the booze you could possibly imagine, pretty girls, handsome boys, DJs, and general friendliness. I even managed to talk to strangers, which you know is a strange sticking point. Oddly, the conversation turned to the issue of picking people up and I had a hilarious run with a pretty Indian girl about the terrible lines she's heard on the subway. Guys smelling her hair when she doesn't know them, guys talking about the shape of her smile... I laughed my ass off and wondered if they'd been watching The Pickup Artist on VH1. She had horror stories.

The party was as mixed as you could imagine with a heavy Haitian contingent, lots of Creole and French being spoken. I left without getting anybodies number, I've been sort of preoccupied with school lately, not really interested in taking anyone new home. I gave that girl my card, though. She mentioned something about throwing a party and invited me, but I didn't bother asking for her number.

I'm at a place right now where unless my doors are completely blown off, I'm not interested in making too much effort. I scratched the "make out for the sake of it" itch for the moment. As Viviane pointed out, "Going back to school will be more of an adjustment than you realize." Being a full time student and a lawyer as a hobby (ok, part time lawyer, but I like the ring to "lawyer as hobby") is quite a way to live. It's mentally draining, and the change from the five years worth of routine that I had to the sudden newness of this entirely different field is kind of taxing. So. No one new at the moment. Which could change tonight, of course, but nothing for the last however long.

Yes, incidentally, in a conversation with Dee I did realize the absurdity of the fact that people around the world (I've seen hits from all over the Middle East, China, and Europe...) read about my sex life and sometimes, still, I have trouble talking to girls.

It's not actually the talking I have trouble with. I can entertain, charm, and as you can tell, charm the pants off of women once I get going.

It's that first five seconds.

Chet and I were walking around SoHo on Wednesday night and we passed a bar full of bankers and the shiny women who love them. They were everywhere, on the street, in the bar, in the seats outside. He suggested we go inside and start talking to people and I just froze. I believe my exact words were "No. You can go in if you want, but I'm staying out here." It's those first five seconds. He even gave me a method of addressing that which I've determined to use. Not pickup lines (as we saw above, what's the point of using lines?) but something else. Clearly it worked in Fort Greene, why won't it work everywhere?

After the Fort Greene party it was off to Tribe where one of the bartenders admonished me for being a ghost lately. I told her that I'd quit drinking and she almost pouted and said "you could still stop by and say hi." It was sweet.

By 3:15 I said my goodbyes there and was off in my own head space, figuring out what I need to do next in my life, and meandering to Whiskey Town for a drink. At Whiskey Town the cocktail waitress, late of Tribe, walked from one side of the bar clear around to the other side to tell me that I looked 10 years younger and that I looked great. I told her that last night was exactly a month since I'd gone on the wagon. She told me I looked amazing. I -have- lost 20 lbs and the roundness that was my face until now is back down to the sharpness that I prefer. This is a positive achievement in my life, I think.

A few minutes later, a thought crept into my head, one of those ones that comes, unbidden and shocking, happily sideswiping me. The thought was simple:

I'm ready.

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As some of you may know - my identity has been uncovered a few times in the history of this blog. The last time caused me to take a two year hiatus. It's happened again. I know that several different groups of people have it. This leads me to paranoiac moments as I walk around - does this person know, does that person know? Paranoia isn't pretty. Heart rate goes up, fight or flight response is triggered and on and on. Terrible.

I am also in a massive transition period in my life.

However. Fo4's point, and that of a few others, that this has become a daily read, is well taken and frankly, appreciated.

So - I am going to leave this site up for awhile longer.

Then, I'm going to take a page out of Moxie's playbook and take this blog private. It will be password protected and only those with the password can get in. This should, hopefully, balance my compulsion to write with my need to protect my identity. If you know who I am, I ask that you keep it to yourself. Unless I'm writing about you, of course, then it's fair game.

Unfortunately, since I'm running Movable Type instead of Typepad or Wordpress, I don't know how to password protect a blog. If you're a developer or otherwise good with web technology, can you help me out? I'd like to get this done sooner rather than later. It also gives me the ability to keep writing, which I think serves both of us. Email me if you can help me out.

To get a password will be as easy as asking for one. I have no problem giving it to total strangers or to people that I know. But it gives me the ability to keep the site within something of a walled garden, and that's a good thing, I think.

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Clearly, it's me. Stood up tonight by The New Yorker. She got a flat tire, but was already late due to a thing and blah blah. Girl who cried wolf scenario - third cancellation. Just trying to give the girl back her stuff and get my rope back from her. Hey, it was good rope!

And this after The Cuban cancelled, and I cancelled on Surfette.

Saw Chet today. Good long talk about things. My weekend. My anxiety. How to accept my anxiety. Other things.

Nothing salacious for you today, sorry. Getting my land legs. School started yesterday, this weekend rocked my socks off in ways I can't describe or discuss, and I've cut most of the adult fun out of my life for the moment. Not all of it, mind you, but most of it.

Which clearly means I need to go back out and get some more, right?

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In looking for a blindfold (I used to have a whole bunch, where the heck did they go?) I found my bondage tape. Heh.

Looking for a blindfold to wear on the redeye I'm taking home from California - sometimes a cigar really is just a cigar. But usually it's a cock.

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What a difference an afternoon can make.

Two things happened that have cheered me up.

The first - M.H. left me a link to Puppy Tale, which is fantastic and a pleasure to read. Thanks M.H.

The second was getting together, quite unexpectedly, with Princess. (For background on Princess, see here, here, and here) We caught up on things - her boyfriend, why my last relationship fell apart, our lives generally. I remembered tying her up for the first time, briefly, and smiled that I brought that into her life.

Princess was the first girl who introduced breath play into my life. Her arms were tied behind her, she was straddling me and riding me for all she was worth, and she looked down at me and said something like "choke me." At first I wasn't prepared to do it, but a few seconds later I was. And I liked it. And so did she.

Trouble is, it was addictive. I wanted to do it again, and some of the women I've met have been into it, others, less so. What I've realized lately is that I can't deny my nature. I want to do certain things. When I haven't been able to do them (as with certain exes) it created a hole in me that I filled with things that aren't so good for me - drinking, for example, tamps down the desires that I've got. So. To indulge myself, instead of the alternative of fucking the random women that I find just because they're beautiful and begging for it. It's my life, I'll use myself any way I want to.

Now, I'm not Deity, as I haven't taken these choices to their logical and fullest conclusion. But it is my fervent hope to do so someday.

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I've been stuck in my head for about three days now, I haven't been talking to anyone new, I haven't been doing anything new, I've been boring myself.

I should point out that I recognized that I wasn't trying hard enough because I haven't been rejected in months.

Soundbyte asked:

Seriously - can I have your life for like, a week or two?

Sure you can - you can have it this week when I'm full of insecurity over absolutely nothing. Went out last night to a bar where a friend was bartending, had the usual (Club Soda) and talked to him for awhile. Didn't talk to any of the other people at the bar even though they were all talking amongst themselves.

I have a few ideas about what set this off, but it's strange - I slept with my neighbor, I hooked up with July 4, I had other random experiences, and yet, still, I haven't been going out and doing things.

I was talking to Wing a few weeks ago and I mentioned a mutual friend of ours who has a woman habit. When I told our mutual friend that I wasn't seeing anyone and wasn't really interested in doing so that week, he got all defensive and questioned whether I was truly a man. I questioned whether he was an addict seeking his next fix, instead. Having a few women that are rotating through your life can be fun, if a lot of work. Needing a few women to be rotating through your life is a little weird to me.

I do, for whatever reason, think it's strange that right now I'm not going out and meeting new women, and the ones that I took home this month I've tried to cut off. Is it residual from never properly grieving the end of things with The NewYorker? Or is it that the women I met weren't what I was looking for? Chet keeps telling me that I've been punching below my weight. I agree on my neighbor who is totally not my type (except for her juicy, zaftig, luscious ass) and July 4 who, while extremely hot, is a little too old for me right now.

Last night I went for a meandering and wandering blade around town. Left my apartment at 9ish and got back at 11ish. Up First Avenue to the UN, up Park Avenue to the 80s, down Fifth along the park, through Times Square, and all over downtown. I hoped that it would shake this feeling of - I can't describe it - cotton wool around my life? Instead, I found my "we broke up in the early 90s" mix and played through that.

At 37th and First, I stopped for a few minutes - the light was perfect with the full moon - Brooklyn was there and beautiful, the UN was lit up, and it was just a beautiful moment. I wanted to share it with you, until I realized that there is no you for me right now to share that kind of thing with.

While the music was playing "one of these things first" came on - the Liberal's theme song - and I found myself not thinking of her nor caring. GoldDigger came on and I had pangs of missing The NewYorker. I will note that The NewYorker wasn't a gold digger, it was a running joke between us.

I've got more to say but I'm having a lot of trouble with the words right now. So I'll leave you here. Any suggestions that might cheer me up or help shake this feeling of blah-dom are most welcome.

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Anyone have a suggestion of a place to do lunch or dinner in Monterey California with the woman from my past who sparked this whole damn blog off? In Monterey? So I can see her engagement ring?

Anyone needs me, I'm off in the corner punching myself in the testicles. And not calling Surfette. She knows I'll be in Monterey, she can call if she wants.

In other news, while out with Lex last night, the first thing he said to me was that the bartender, a six two amazon, was reading The Game. Within five minutes of starting a conversation with her, I pointed out that white food isn't good for you - it made sense at the time - and she pointed out to him that semen was white and that was fine stuff. Clearly, she was buying whatever Lex was selling. And from where I was sitting, he wasn't selling anything. Whenever we get together it seems that we have that sort of thing happen. We both go out to talk to each other and things end up going a different direction through no action or fault of our own.

I got up and went two seats down the bar, giving them space to do their thing. She called me the best wing ever. I laughed. I wondered if it was the wedding ring or something else. I have my suspicions.

In still other news, and the final bit this morning, welcome Fleshbot readers!

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Pru over at A London Ebony Escort asks:

I haven't read all his blog entries so the answer to this question could be buried within his blog archives. But I wonder, has he ever paid for sex? (Paying for a woman's meal or buying her a drink at a bar doesn't count as paying for sex). Or is he always so lucky (and not just with his neighbour)? There's a myth that good looking men don't have to pay for sex and I'm wondering if he fits that stereotype. But a lot of my clients are hunks. It's about the right woman in the right place at the right time, including escorts. And escorts make sex as complicated or uncomplicated as you want it, when you want it. Most of the time.

Athena asked me the same question when we first started fucking. And when I told her that I had never paid for it (why pay for what I get for free?) she pointed out that the complication-free sex that I was seeking was best achieved in some sort of bargained-for exchange. Instead of expecting a relationship or love or any of the myriad other things that we look for in a partner, an Escort brings the purity of seeking cash. I respect that a great deal, but it's not for me. So Pru - to answer your question - no, I've never paid. The closest I've come is paying for a woman's cabfare home after I convinced her to come over, broke, in a rainstorm. I don't think that's what you're thinking of.

Part of the fun for me has been the thrill of the chase. The word "Swashbuckling" comes to mind, even though it's not the right word. I like meeting new women, talking to them, the flirting, the back and forth, the escalation, the furtive touches, the grazing each others bodies as we talk, the electricity of a first kiss - either tentative or aggressive - undressing, whatever comes next, the mystery, her body in silhouette against the light when she gets up in the morning. I don't crave the mechanical sex, I crave the mystery, the fun, the story, AND the mechanical.

I was talking to a friend from law school the other day who had recently broken up with his girlfriend. He told me that he had "been with over a hundred women, scratching that itch nicely" and he made a point of saying that some were paid and others weren't. I took that as an interesting data point, although he did spend a lot of time in Russia. As he said "whether I'm paying for dinner, drinks, and the whole evening, or just paying for the sex, I'm always paying."

Longtime readers of this blog know that I believe in the opposite tack. I believe in not paying on a first date - in part because I'm a feminist. Also, in part, because I don't want to bribe a woman to spend time with me.

Incidentally - no one could mistake me for a hunk. I'm not overly muscular, in fact, quite the opposite. For those of you playing the imagine-at-home game, I'm 6' tall and ballpark 155 lbs. I'm not ugly, but I'm not Brad Pitt either. Maybe I'll ask someone else I know, maybe a friend who reads the blog, to describe me for you.

Either way, I don't pay, never have.

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Via Deity of The Lustful Quality of Watching Her Erotic Demise:

That is, i told him that i like to spank and tie up girls and tell them how to behave. He was shocked (as are most folks who know me and i inform them of this or meet me for the first time once they've learned of my kink; i just have that sweet and angelic of a face), but not appalled. In fact, rather excited about assisting me in finding some girl i could torment.

I've been reading Deity's archives (and you should too, he's got a way about him) and it reminded me of when I was 17 years old.

When I was 17 years old, my very first girlfriend, The Singer, played coy and flirty with me for two weeks after I first met her. I mustered up the courage, asked her out, and we went on a few dates. When she discovered I was a virgin, she got a gleam in her eye and decided to "deflower" me. That story is for another day. We stayed together for a few months after that, getting more and more creative in our play, and more and more violent. We were only 17 and we were totally wrapped up in our relationship. Long car rides to nowhere to fuck in tall grass, caught getting a blowjob in my high school, caught fucking on the roof of the town's garage... we were having a blast.

About a month after we started fucking, she brought me a pair of handcuffs. Not the soft silky kind, not the fur-laced kind, but the hard, cold, metal kind.

Since I was a senior in high school and she was a bit of a bad girl, we'd skipped school on a Wednesday and snuck into my parents house for a good fuck. I remember going to my bedroom, telling her to strip, and cuffing her hands tightly behind her. I remember her large soft breasts hanging perfectly down, her nipples starting to harden, the pink shrinking and her giggle. I pushed her onto the bed.

"What are you doing?"
"Tying you up."
"Oh good."
I smiled. Showed her the key and put it in my pants pocket. Took off my belt and lashed her ankles together.
"Hey, wait a minute."

I just smiled a half smile. She grinned with that magnificent grin of hers. I wasn't sure, at 17, what the logistics were going to be of fucking a girl on her back all tied up like that, but that wasn't what I had in mind anyway. I figured I'd untie her before fucking, just thought I'd play with her for awhile and then untie her and let her have her way with me to show her gratitude for being unlocked.

Fate, however, intervened.

The phone rang. I went to the other room and answered it - it was my father. He wanted to borrow my car for the day. I don't remember why, since he had a perfectly good car, but it hardly mattered. Thinking wicked thoughts, I went back to my bedroom and looked at my beautiful naked girlfriend. I pulled off the tie I'd worn to school that day and tied it around her eyes. And from the closet, another one around her mouth. Bound, gagged, blindfolded, and on my bed. Now that, that was a sight.

And then I left. Wordlessly.

Walked downstairs to my car, got in, drove to my father's office, had a chat with him, and exchanged keys. Back to my house in his car. My father's SUV had a very distinct sound - low and rumbling. My car, a sedan, hit a much higher note. I drove up, parked the car, walked into the house, turned off the alarm, and then stomped to the basement, doing the best impression I could of heavier feet than my own.

In the basement, I picked up clothespins - then up the wooden stairs, stomping to the second floor, and into my room.

She was just where I'd left her, although she'd managed to squirm into a fetal position. I didn't say a word as I walked in and roughly grabbed her breasts and put the clips on them. It wasn't until after I'd clipped her that I took off the blindfold and the gag.

She looked at me with wide eyes. First processing, then comprehending, and then her eyes almost sparkled.

"That was amazing, you are a disturbed young man. If that was your dad I was going to completely freak out." I leaned down and kissed her deeply. I untied her legs. "I mean, I think I could have covered myself with the blanket, but jesus." We both smiled. I stripped naked and rolled her over, feeling just how wet the entire experience got her. I grabbed her by the hips, pushed her face into the pillow, and fucked her until we were both a sweaty mess on the sheets. Smiling to myself the entire time.

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It's been a strange day already and it's only 8am.

Been up since 5:15. After going to bed at 1. Thunderstorm. As beautiful as it sounded, I couldn't sleep through it.

Tried to sleep and couldn't. Watched old episodes of Buffy on my Mac to soothe my weary mind. And then, at 6:30, the fire alarm went off. Incredibly loud. In the hall. I felt the door, and it was cool, so I opened it and it wasn't fire, it was water. Flood.

The roof had partially collapsed.

I dressed and left the building, since there's no fire, there's no rush. In front of my building, I saw my next door neighbor, one other couple, and nobody else. Either the rest of the building drowned or my building is full of people who can avoid ear splitting noise. Either way, I called my landlord who sent someone right over. Who says that New York doesn't have good landlords?

I ordered breakfast at the corner bodega and they got my order wrong.

So now, at 8am, I'm already having Worst. Birthday. Ever.

And then, like a bolt from the blue, salvation of the day.

Pru, of A London Ebony Escort blog got my uncouth email asking her to update her links from my old blogspot site to this one, and she said she would update. So. My birthday present? Traffic.

Here's hoping for more presents just like that one.

How's your day going?

Update:
Viviane sent me traffic too! An excellent present, traffic. Other presents have come in through the day, some real, some potential. I am very happy with them, very happy indeed.

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I read an excellent article on 8 things women suck at in bed. Everyone I've been with since the New Yorker has fallen into some of these traps, particularly annoying is the not moving one, and also the "Communicating pleasure" one. Not sure what I mean? Go read the article. I'll wait.

Lately, I've also been facing a 9th one that is driving me fucking crazy. As you know, I like things to be wild and crazy, like two crazed weasels trapped in a backpack, going at it. If we both end up with battle scars, well, that means it was a pretty good night.

Lately, I've been having the following conversation
Her: You can do whatever you want to me.
Me: Excellent. *procedes to indulge himself
Her: Ow! Stop! (You're pulling my hair/You're crushing me/You're in too deep)

So - the 9th one - if you don't want me to tear loose, don't suggest I tear loose.

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Was supposed to give The NewYorker back some of her stuff tonight and she stood me up.

Strangely she called at 8:30. Not to apologize, but because she had a technical question, and a problem with her computer.

Yeah, that made sense. For reference, I haven't seen her in months nor spoken particularly either. In the immortal words of Jon Stewart - Whaaa?

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I've been wondering why I've been sexually unsatisfied lately. Could you tell that I am? Even Surfette wasn't good in bed, I actually liked her personality. July 4 is a model and when I do the sorts of things to her that I like to do, not only am I afraid I'll break her, she seems to feel like she's breaking. It's not a good fit. Ditto the girl from reunion, and ditto others.

I like, in the bedroom, to dominate women. There, I said it. I don't like it in the real world, I'm much too laid back for that. But in the bedroom, I like to be in control, and what I say goes. Surfette was down for that, we just didn't click.

I realize, belatedly, that this is one of those things that causes friction between my lovers and myself. I look back very fondly on Princess and SouthernBelle because they not only indulged my passions, but they liked them, too. Princess, in particular.

So it is with great concern that I go out into the world seeking new lovers. It's been three years since I was in a very dominant spot in the bedroom, most recently with Athena, who was fantastic in bed. It's been so long that my skills are rusty, I'm afraid that women are fragile little flowers who might break. Something, instead, appears to be broken in me.

Finding a woman who shares those passions should be central, not a side benefit. At the end of the day, I am kinky, but they are my kinks. If I'm not going to find someone willing to indulge them, then they won't be indulged. An interesting data point.

The trouble is finding women who want to be topped, to have their hair pulled, to be bitten and spanked and all of those things that I used to love to do. To tie women up on a second date is a lot, and I've been known to do it on a first night together, just after meeting. It turns me on in part because I know that the chemistry of pain and pleasure are overwhelmingly linked, and in part because I know that I would never actually hurt one of the women I take home, at least, not in a way that they wouldn't like. But finding them is an issue for me. Particularly since I swore off of meeting women on the Internet, I feel like it's a much higher bar to cross to pick a woman up in a bar, take her home that night or shortly thereafter, and then tie her up. Maybe I'm just out of practice. That's probably it.

This was prompted by a post by Bitchy Jones, in which she said

I’m not in any kind of scene. I don’t go out a lot. I like to write my blog and think my thinks. I’m not even very active online. I’m not a big participator in forums or anything. I’m no one really. Not part of any gang. Never really found one that did it for me.

I went to a thing last week and there were a whole group of sex! positive! type people all talking about the fetish scene as if it were some kind of social thing. None of them were kinky in the kind of deep down my-vanilla-she-is-broken type way I am, but they all knew more about this ‘fetish scene’ than I did.

I felt kind of crappy and inadequate. Pan laughs about the times we have tried to go out to fetish niteclubs. Always my idea – I get excited if I find one without a dress code. He gets dragged along. I take one step inside and feel immediately how much I don’t belong. He’s there, dancing, drinking, talking to weird looking people. Fitting in.

I've been fishing in the wrong ocean. Not sure how to find the right one.

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On rereading what I wrote this morning before work about the trouble I have when I actually like someone, it was actually very nice to be surfing and to find out that women get that way too. I know this, I know, because I think July 4 has been getting that way, emotionally leaning in, etc etc. But nice to have it crystalized, and nicely written.

Money grafs:

When I meet someone special, someone I can conceive of being with not just next month, but far, far beyond, the initial euphoria invariably begins to mingle with a morbid fear of capsizing the boat. “Please don’t let me fuck this up” becomes my mantra.

It’s a vicious, vicious circle, because this terror breeds a pathetic neediness. And neediness is the biggest turn off; the thing most likely to send any man/boy running at top speed in the opposite direction. So mostly I try to conceal it, to shrug it off, to pretend that it’s not there. As one of my commenters once said, “you have to hide your crazy”.

For men, I think, it's "you have to hide your impulse to immediately nest with this woman you find amazing and let her take care of the nesting details while you take care of providing the adventure.

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I haven't slept properly in several days. Surfette threw me for a loop, as you can well tell. Silly, really, to turn a three night stand into anything bigger than that in my head. But I did, mainly because I liked her personality. And sometimes, when it's quiet, I worry that I'll be alone on this merry go round forever.

An interesting confluence of events lately, while I was in LA, I visited with LAActor, someone you might recognize if you watch the commercials on TV, and whose voice you may have heard on the radio. I showed him this site, showed him old writings I'd done and compiled, and other things. He said that I should turn this into a book. i had grand visions of turning the book into a three picture deal with Colin Farrell playing me (we're said to look alike) but what, instead, happened was that he forced me to start from scratch, go back to the beginning, and review what I'd done until now.

So - a post from Feb 12, 2004 -

The universes' greatest joke:

When I don't care about the outcome and I come from a state of play, things go really well.

When I invest, they don't.

Which to do, which to do.

What's worse is that it's totally true. July4 keeps texting and calling and texting and telling me about all of the dirty things she wants to do to me. The idea of them bores me, and the idea of sex for its own sake right now is kind of dreadful. I'm not putting this on Surfette by a long shot, I'm assuming this is residual from the end of things with The NewYorker and my never having properly processed them. Whatever it is, I've been unable to sleep, waking up with anxiety filled nightmares, dreaming of Surfette, for the last several days.

Rob asked what I'm going to grad school for - as I'm still trying to maintain a semblance of anonymity here, we'll just say that it's a technology related program in New York City, far afield from the law, and I'm excited.

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The universe laughs at me. It does. You know this. Search for "Hubristic Correction" and you'll see.

Before I went to LA, I emailed The Cuban to tell her that I'd be on her coast as she'd moved to SF from the Upper West Side about a year ago. I'd also emailed her months before telling her of all of the fantastic amazing things that have been happening lately - quitting my job, on to the next thing, etc etc.

Today, after landing in New York, I got two emails from her, the first of which was her number telling me I absolutely HAVE to call her if I'm still on the west coast, and the second was a long rambler complimenting me on my successes and telling me that she got engaged.

Wait, WHAT?

This is the girl who told me "I'm never getting married, I don't believe in it. I'll live with [her boyfriend] for the rest of our lives, but marriage? No way."

Made the sting of Surfette shutting me down feel like a minor flesh wound.

Five years later and she still can kick my ass with an offhanded email.

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So the adventure continues, hanging out with college friends, directors, Victoria's Secret models, but all the while, I must admit, thoughts turned to Surfette, who I haven't seen since Saturday, and whose part in this story appears, quite possibly, to be over.

The Biter suggests that what most likely has happened is that since we met back when and now Surfette met a boy who wanted her time and she couldn't (or didn't want to) get out of seeing him over the weekend. So - she had her cake and ate it too. Not the worst theory in the world.

I pinpointed it. Her personality reminded me of The Cuban and The Liberal. She was of a kind with them. That was my attraction. It's a personality and a self assuredness and an intensity and now that I've figured out what it is, my next step is figuring out A) how to identify it and B) how to find more of them. Or one to keep, really.

But yes. Surfette. The Cuban. The Liberal. Three of a kind.

I fly back tomorrow. I may take an earlier flight than the redeye I'm scheduled on, depending on availability. And then back to work, back to life, and back to a million things that I need to do.

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Rob said:

I find it funny that with all the positive points you've got going for yourself (well-educated, affluent, etc.) that you get self-conscious when you're talking to girls. Especially one you've already slept with -- she's given you her tentative seal of approval. At this stage, you should only worry about saying really really really bad stuff, like calling her mom a whore or making one too many racist jokes. You're past the point now where one wrong word from you will fuck things up with her... enjoy the wiggle room, kick back and just let it flow. Cause when it comes down to it, if she doesn't dig what you have to say when you're being yourself, it probably isn't meant to be in the first place.

Oh. Duh. Good point.

UPDATE: Rob asks if I meant that he was being the dumb one there. Not at all, Rob, the dumb on was me. Surfette basically clubbed me over the head to get me to take her home, fucked me over and over, invited me to LA, fucked me some more, and here's me wondering if she likes me or not. Stupid.

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That's supposed to be my motto - not dead can't quit. Sometimes, though, I find myself too bored to go on, or too wrapped up in things to pay attention. Plus, living one's life by a slogan is stupid.

I haven't been fully absent, I just have been recuperating. After Bad Saturday I've been keeping a lower profile. Work snuck up on me and kicked my ass up and down the week last week. And July 4 thinks she's my girlfriend after meeting, well, July 2. You know it's trouble when the third date, which is an all night and all morning sex romp, ends in "you're not sleeping with anyone else are you?" "What, right this second? Right this second I'm standing in my kitchen with you." And text messages involving the world "darling" after our first night together.

We've had sex twice. Chill.

It's interesting. She was a fit model (she's a little older now) so when I say she's got a perfect body, I mean that literally. And check the various boxes for why she's beautiful and 5'9 and 120 lbs and frankly, I'm not interested.

I was watching Ridicule earlier today. A line stuck in my head. "Je sais que une femme qui se jette à un homme le perd toujours."

So true.

Also - Fanny Ardant is fantastically beautiful. I mean, JESUS.

Been drinking less, since I'm pretty sure I couldn't drink more. Which means less stories. I mean, there was a random hookup a week ago when I had a friend from High School in and was trying to show him a good time. A good time I showed him, by giving him the cuter of the two of them after taking her number.

It's not the number of women you hook up with, or even the quality of them. If you're missing something inside you, or if they're the wrong women, it's not worth the time.

Having said that, in a blind leap of faith, I fly to LA Thursday night to see Surfette. This could go wildly badly or wildly well, but it'll be an adventure, and I'll have carpe'd some diem for once. Will clearly let you know how it goes.

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Dr. Vital pointed out tonight that looking outside myself (women, booze, etc) isn't going to scratch the itch and that I needed to look inward. He's right. And my point that that's very difficult when there are shiny things everywhere was met with derision, in that of course there are shiny things everywhere, it's New York, but what good are shiny things if you don't know what you want? Trading one drug for another sounds like a stupid plan.

Sitting quietly and meditating for just 10 minutes a day sounds like a better plan.

What do I want? I have no idea.

Thanks, Dr. Vital!

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That is fucking it. I can't deal with this hangover anymore.

7 days. No drinking.

I've got to go to a bar party tonight, a bar party on Monday night (where they're christening the bar!) and a bar party on Friday (where they're christening the bar again!) and I'm not going to have a drop of liquor until brunch on Sunday July 15.

Demon liquor, I reject you.

Let's see how that works out for both my social life (will make it difficult, I think) and how I feel.

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One follow-up thought to last night's adventure. The conversation was good, the girl was very pretty and I wasn't really paying much attention. She opened me (yes, Chet, I'm the shiny thing, I get it) and we were talking and she told me about herself, and about her career, and what she was successful at and what she had failed at, the business she owned and the career she had in addition. It was an interesting conversation.

I was at a different bar than I usually go to - this one in NoLiTa, my usual in the East Village. A little farther afield than I like to go on a Monday, but a friend was bartending, so why not?

The women were, overall, even on a Monday, of a higher caliber than I'm used to at my bar. Slightly older, more mature, more self assured, more up my alley. With the exception of Surfette, as I think about it, I've been often disappointed with anyone I've taken home from my bar.

Willie Sutton was asked why he robbed banks and he simply replied "because that's where the money is." Chet pointed out that I needed to start going to the Meat Packing District more because that's where the top flight women are. I'm now starting to see his point.

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After much back and forth (all of it in my head) and a large number of pins, needles, and other stressful events, Surfette called me today.

What's ironic is that she called at exactly the time my "I should call her to see" formula said to call her. I was going to call her right before I went out, at six here, which would be three there, catching her at... yes, clearly I'd overthought it. But as I picked up the phone to call her and debated doing so, she called me.

And then, and here's what's weird, our conversation was stilted and almost dreamlike. It was like we were two prize fighters, so enraptured with being in the ring with one another that we couldn't even throw a punch. Like, when you have a huge paralytic crush on someone and have a hard time talking to them? Only it was that way for the both of us. She had trouble being witty, I had trouble bantering, and when I got off, the only two things I thought were: wow, I like her and wow, it seems like she rather likes me.

It was very high school. Only with a corporate lawyer and a whatever it is that she does.

I've read a lot of PickUp blogs lately - The Sinns Of Attraction, Immaculate Seduction. Captain Jack - They all seem so formulaic. No room for the magic, no room for life to happen. It's applying Dungeons and Dragons to meeting women. They sell the "solution." Don't get me wrong, I've learned from their ilk quite a bit, they helped me a great deal not only in learning who I am but in the mechanics of meeting people. But what they seem to lack is heart. I'm not saying that each of them don't have it individually, I've met Future of Immaculate Seduction at least, and he seemed to have his head screwed on straight back then. But in their writing. It's very much "I went out and did X move Y move and then rolled a 2d10 and voila, liquid panties.

Don't get me wrong, it's good to know that there are moves out there, or as TaiChi used to call them, Jedi Mind Tricks. And don't get me wrong, I've certainly learned my share and have used them extensively. But that all seems mechanical. The shorthand, the step by step nature of it, it just depresses me. I don't know of a lot of happily married pickup artists. Are the two skillsets, settling down and pickup, antithetical? I'm not sure, but it's cause for rumination.

So. Surfette. I like her. And I'm going to go visit her in LA at the end of the month.

In the meantime, The Brazilian is here for two more weeks before she goes back to Rio for awhile, which means PS1 with her this coming weekend, and perhaps I can get her out to Cooper Hewitt with me. We'll see, as they say, what develops.

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Surfette called while I was at the Museum of Natural History with one of my bosses at a grip and grin. I only heard part of our conversation, but it's good news that she called.

I already know that I was falling slightly into the "oh my god I like her does she like me" thing until I realized that yes, she does, and even if she didn't, it wouldn't be the end of the world. There are plenty of other women in the world, and while I like this one, if it doesn't work, c'est la vie. And if it does? Well, all the better.

Technorati Tags: Dating, Pickup, Seduction

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Sometimes it's ok to withhold affection.

Chick: I can't believe you can talk about how much you love your country, and you don't even pay taxes!
Dude: I've paid more taxes than you've sucked dick. Which is a lot.
Chick, after long pause: I don't know why you're walking so fast -- nothing's happening when we get to your apartment.

--4th St & the Bowery (Seen on OHNY)

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Chris Abraham hosts a discussion on why women date older men. Commenter Teresa says

I'm young and considered gorgeous. The only reason I date older men is because they have a bigger bank accounts! The YOUNG men are the ones we really want because they LOOK better then the old farts. Men are just plain stupid to think were there because of how wonderful they are.

Which really amounts to "we're all prostitutes, we just like to pretend we're not." I don't believe that this is true (which is why I filter women out who expect me to buy the first dinner, all of the drinks, etc) but I can't but acknowledge that it exists.

What's interesting is that this reaction was to a woman writing, of the older men side of the equation:

Men date younger women because they are weak and stupid. They prefer their equals to their superiors, intelectually and emotionally. It has nothing to do with body or commitment issues or any other excuse they want to give. It is sheer weakness.

Which sounds like a spurned first wife to me. I have a lot of thoughts on this issue, but for the moment I'll open the floor to you with one note - I've dated older women and younger women. I won't share my preference just yet, I'm curious to see what you all have to say.

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This cartoon still sums up my belief on so-called "nice guys." Old, but good. I have friends like this, still.

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I am tired. I am a machine, though.

Once more into the breach, as it's Saturday night and what else am I going do, go to sleep? I think not.

Haven't heard back from Surfette yet. In my paranoid delusional fantasies, do I believe that it's possible Lex told his girl from that night about his site, and that his girl told Surfette about it and she found this site via the link? Yes. Living in paranoia = bad. Outside the realm of possibility? Enh.

The Biter suggests I give BuffyFan a call tomorrow. When i got home from the bar last night, TheSketcher (no, you haven't heard of her) forced me into breaking up with her by being really irritating and also by her assumption that hooking up with her a few times gave her some sort of hold over me, as if hooking up equated with something serious.

It seems like there is a fucking epidemic of people who are mistaking the physical for emotional.

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BattleScars emailed back. I need a better name for her. Forthcoming.

I also got a very nice email from a reader which made my day. Thanks, reader!

Didn't call the girl from the other night. Going out with Chet tomorrow, assuming I can make it.

And going to sleep now. Many positive things today. Pleased.

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I always thought that "go talk to three groups of people as warmup" was bullshit, but like stretching and vocal exercises, unless warmed up, things seemed strained.

Fortunately, here in NYC, there are enough behind the counter folks and people on the street 24-7 that opening some warmup sets is easy.

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I need more guys who are good at this to roll with. Chet's a good start, but I want to roll in like the magnificent seven.

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I can actually feel a change in myself. It's hard, still, for me to go talk to people in a club, but talking to people outside, in lines, whatever, is becoming gradually easier.

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I've challenged myself, lately, to push beyond whatever boundaries I come across.

I had a long talk with Chet last night about me where he told me things that I probably knew, but probably denied. Like the fact that right out of the gate I'm what a lot of women want. But also out of the gate, I'm closed off and defensive and it's not clear why.

Chet's a psychiatrist. So part of me wondered if I was looking like a nail to him because he's a hammer. But he's also a friend and he's also not wrong. Damn psychiatrists.

One of the things that'd plagued me since I was seeing the New Yorker was my inability to start conversations with anyone, much less women. I would describe the process thus - I go to speak to someone and my tongue swells and my jaw clamps and nothing happens next.

That doesn't actually happen, clearly, but that's how it has felt for some time now.

So lately I've taken to just talking to people. The person sitting next to me on the train, the person standing in line in front of me at the Shake Shack today, a guy rollerblading next to me, and on and on and on. It turns out that most people are will to talk to me given any kind of prodding at all.

Chet's challenged me to go to a party tonight and meet five new people. The challenge works thusly: we go to an ATM, I take out a hundred bucks. Out pop five crisp Yuppie Ones. I hand them to Chet. For each group I talk to, he returns one to me.

What I'd like to do next after that is set up a system where I can actually get some money that isn't mine, whether it's getting money to get a number, or five bucks of his if I open ten sets. Whatever it is, it's boring when it's my money, I throw my own money away. But when it's someone else's, then it gets interesting.

Chet was also talking about my goals. I recently read The Four Hour Work Week which, while self-helpy, does have some very concrete step by step analysis of addressing certain issues while -not- having the Step two problem. The step three problem is basically step 1) Do something, step 2) ???? step 3) PROFIT! This is common in self help books - they tell you about what you're doing now, and where to end up, but not the concrete steps on the path. This one concretes it. Anyway, back to Chet.

He asked me what my goals were. I looked at him and said without any hesitation "duuuh I don't actually know." And then he asked whether I do the things I enjoy and I said "ummm, sometimes?" And he asked what I enjoyed, and it's not the first time he's asked that and so far I've come up with dogs, rollerblading, and electronic music. Not a long list. Also long walks on the beach (hey, who doesn't like those) particularly with beautiful women in bikinis (ditto).

But I don't have any concrete goals beyond the grad school I'm going to and I don't even know what I'm going to be doing there other than "something else." I can't even describe the program I'm in.

Chet's point, then, was well taken. I don't have any big goals. None that aren't generic.

I told him I really liked electronica and then I asked him why I don't see more electronic shows and he said "good question" and I felt like an idiot again.

Today, I was talking to Akira about life too. Akira and I went to college together and Akira is helping me in my real life (my non-pseudonymous one) with a rebranding. He asked me a pretty fundamental question too - "who do you want to be?" and I said "well, that's something I should give some thought to" to which he, cleverly, responded "now's a good time." I didn't come up with much at the time, but I'm thinking about it now. I'm minded of a quote "The future is all around us, waiting, in moments of transition, to be born in moments of revelation. No one knows the shape of that future or where it will take us. We know only that it is always born in pain." That was Chet's other point - that as a man of 31 years who has only ever been in one fight (maybe more, but only one, really, with ass-kicking) I needed some adrenal boosts to get my life kick started. A motorcycle ride. Some fights in a controlled setting (martial arts). Etc.

Lots to think about. Yes, it's introspection time right now. Perhaps I'll have a field report after tonight.

Also adding to the list of things I like: writing, which I'd stopped doing in the face of television, among other things, but I'm battling back.

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The new girl who hasn't even got a nickname yet saw pictures I had posted on the internet and saw how happy I looked with the New Yorker. She wanted to know what was up there. While it's a fair question, it's a postmodern one and awfully premature for someone I just met.

I told her the truth. She'll deal. Or not.

To diffuse the situation, I asked her if she was a good girl or a bad girl, and told her I bet she was a bad girl who kept a good girl tied up inside and sporadically untied her. She said that she guessed I was a bad boy who only looked like a good one. Good guess.

I didn't tell her I was a bad man, but i think my personality's coming back after being suppressed for so long.

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I caught myself buying a drink for the 21 year old last night. What the hell happened to me?

Interesting, though - she pushed her luck and asked me to get one for her friend, too. I laughed in her face and asked who their tab was under.

And I bought drinks on Friday night for the late night student date. She's a student. I give myself a pass on that one.

I usually don't do that because I feel like its buying attention. It is buying attention. But on the flip side, if it's a straight up date, sometimes you gotta.

Yeah, I'm out of practice.

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According to a whoremonger:

They say that when you fall off a horse, you should get back in the saddle quickly before you lose your nerve.

I think that's happened to me. I've lost my nerve. Now, once I'm settled, I need to get it back. I have no nerve. I'm a social person, but i'm very much wrapped up in my head. I've loaded this site back up in part for me to study it, and in part to start reading it again.

I mean, I know what happened...

Continue reading "Know when to hold 'em" »

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I had an incredibly vivid moment in a dream last night. I woke up nearly unable to breathe, heart racing, and all that was on my mind was a phone number. I haven't called it, but I woke up this morning and found the following on an indexcard:

DREAM:
The Liberal
xxx-xxxx
The Liberal

Very strange.

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If making t-shirts were a way to make serious money (or even if selling them to Abercrombie or T-Shirt Hell was) I'd totally make a T-Shirt that reads "I found Jesus and he said you should leave me alone."

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The death flu continues unabashedly to wreak havoc with my life. Nothing to report because of that.

Hoping that the thing living in my lungs goes away tonight. Princess's band is performing in my neighborhood and I want to try to check it out. She sent me a text about it at 3:30 in the morning. Another reason for the exhaustion.

Not much fun in the update here. Comments are open, though, go crazy with that.

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There's something about waking up between my girlfriend and someone else that makes the rest of my day, almost no matter what, turn out alright.

The only thing I haven't figure out yet is how not to overheat completely under a down comforter. Suggestions? And don't say "kick one out" because that misses the point entirely.

I'm glad Spring is finally here, I think we were all going a little apeshit.

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Conversation with my best friend from college about shooting:

Him: My mother is totally anti-gun, but you should have seen her at the range, she was all "pow pow boom."
Me: Liberals hate guns because they can imagine what they'd do with them.
----

My girlfriend never got her cat spayed. She's just that much of a feminist.
----

Why is it when women follow a band they're groupies, but when Men do it, they're creepy stalkers?

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I told The NewYorker that I blog, although not which blog I blog at, as that's caused problems before. She didn't seem particularly interested in it. She did ask though - why do you blog? Why write in public for strangers? She's got an excellent point.

I told her that it was a bit of a compulsion - I can't really help it. I admitted that while I like the attention, I really can't help writing in public. I tried to use a diary once, but it was... well... underwhelming.

"Dear Diary... Today I did whatever I did."

From the depths of my subconscious, my diary said "umm, this is stupid."

She does have me reconsidering blogging though. Why _do_ I do it? I could be writing something saleable. I could be writing vast correspondence to the friends I never get to see anymore because my work is insane.

But instead, I blog.

I blog, and some of you see fit to send me obnoxious comments... but, as the beloved Oscar Wilde wrote - "It's better to be talked about, than not to be talked about at all" which is true, so fo far as it goes. I think that the equally beloved Eden said it well when she said "It's my blog. I'll write about whatever I want. To the best of my knowledge, no one is forcing you to visit and read."

However, the annoyance factor has gotten high enough that I've turned off comments again. Trackback remains enabled for those of you who are down with that, and I encourage you to email me, although abusive emailers will be bozofiltered. Email will be quoted as comments were - selectively. Obnoxious email will be posted for the world to scorn.

If you have something to prove by denigrating me, realize th