Monday, November 11, 2002

So, Saturday as I am preparing to leave work and spend a quiet evening at home, a coworker asks if I will work her day shift Sunday, and she'll work my night shift. I hesitate, and say something like I need to see if I have any plans, but I'll call you later. She giggles, and says "C'mon, you don't have anything planned." I know she is just being playful, and just wants me to do this favor. I tell her again that I'll call later and let her know. But it kinda bummed me out, as of course I had nothing planned. Sunday afternoon is when you go brunching or flea-marketing with your boyfriend, or other couples, or lie around bed reading the NY Times together and making lots of coffee and taking naps snuggled up together. But I tried to shake the silly foul mood that was approaching, started laundry and cleaning up the apartment a bit, put my new Red Hot + Riot disc on, and the rhythms and beats helped me fight off the blues. I left the apartment only to get ice cream, and to drop by the restaurant to tell my coworker I'll work for her (giving the message to another coworker, she exclaims "you are the nicest guy, always helping out!" - yeah, I read somewhere that if I keep doing nice things, God's gonna give me a really hot boyfriend). Later I tried the chatrooms and CRUISETOOL, and of course just a handful of stupid responses, or guys with no face pics, or men who lived on the other side of the island (say all you want about my stubbornness about not going outside the neighborhood, but these guys weren't cuming down to Ave C, either), and just spent some time flipping TV channels and eventually put on a few minutes of porn so I could get some sleep.

Sunday afternoon at work was horrible, the whole neighborhood needed take-out, the cook just couldn't juggle the take-outs and all the folks who descended upon the restaurant on this beautiful Sunday afternoon . But 5 o'clock rolls around, my replacement is on time for once , i have a bunch of money to count up, and it looks like I'll be out by 5:15. The computer system starts to go nutty, another 45 minutes pass, it's still not fixed, I decide to get out of the way (and away from those awful, hungry customers), and take a seat at the bar and have my first on-the-house margarita since I started working there some 10 weeks ago. I get home around 7:15, a pal calls up, brings over some chocolates, and we watch Simpsons. Late late that night, I am still horny (when aren't I?) chatrooms, videos, CRUSETOOL - nothing is helping. By around 1:30, I decide to head out. It's a warm night, it stopped raining a few hours earlier, and I get dressed and put my new favorite disc in the walkman. The bike ride is great; the rain scared enough people away that the streets aren't too nutty, and the air is warm and breezy, the sounds in my head soothing, the smell of autumn, the wet leaves on the ground, is intoxicating. I find myself at The Phoenix (how did that happen?), but locking up the bike, the song is just too good to go in just yet, so I lean against a wall oustside and enjoy the rest. Reminds me of the last time I hung out in this very spot, a nice young man visiting NY, we came outside to this spot to smoke some pot. Probably the best part of the night, as we had no distractions, no loud music or other men, just an incredibly lively conversation with someone who has a beautiful soul. Now, if I were a cynical person, this would make it difficult to go inside and hope to meet anyone, but I wasn't feeling cynical; nor was I counting on meeting anyone. Beer was 2 bucks, and I put a great Pere Ubu tune on the jukebox.

But, even though it was pleasant enough in there, it was one of those "I'm the only one who's not talking to someone else" nights, so when the beer was done, I was gone. Some more aimless bike riding and music-listening, but of course House of Regrets wasn't far off on the agenda. Paid my 10 bucks, started to walk thru the booth area and thought it was much darker than usual. Maybe I hadn't yet adjusted to the light, but after awhile, I was sure I was right. Several of the booths had no lighting whatsoever. After maybe 30 minutes of back and forth, up and down pacing, I leaned into a booth, most of my body outside of it so I was still visible. Some guy appears to be looking in my direction, but he's in the shadows, and so all I have is an outline of a decent shaped body, and his hands groping his trousers. Eventually he crosses the aisle to position himself in the booth next to mine, which while he's in better lighting, it's much more awkward to actually look at him. Realizing I can't see him, he slowly emerges, and leaves his booth, crossing in front of me, and then parking himself against the wall on my right. He leans into me, I'm not moving, and he does the light touch caress across the torso thing, gets no resistance, and lets his other hand begin to stroke my chest. I reach up and put my hand at the back of his neck, pulling him into me, and after a couple light kisses, he comes into my booth.

Good, solid body, gentle touch, and our arms are around each other as he begins to massage my back with his thick, strong hands. He pulls my jacket off, then continues the massaging, then positions his legs so as to lift me up, and my legs are no longer touching the floor, but are wrapped around his lower torso. We kiss gently and he is making pumping motions with his hips. When I dismount, I try to grab his stuff, but apparently I was going too fast, and he stops me. Slower, I reach in and just gently play with his balls, and he reaches into my boxers and grabs everything with one hand, pulling it all out and stroking. Soon I am down, his balls in my face, his moans gentle but clear. His thick cock is bobbing above my face, and I can't wait any longer, and pull him in. He seems to like this, as his body shudders, his hands both at the back of my head. We play around like this for awhile, he switches places briefly, and he then tries to play with my ass while I am blowing him. At one point he says the p-word, and I gasp. I try to laugh it off (meaning loudly, so he knows not to say it again, but then he says "nice hairy p---y." I say EWWWW really loud, and he stops going in that direction, pulls me up and kisses some more. Then he turns me around, sits on the bench behind me, and his hands are all over my ass saying all sorts of filthy things (but good filthy, the p-talk is no more) he pushes me forward, so that my ass is more up in the air, and one hand grabs my cock, stroking and continuing the dirty talk. My balls are slapping against my thigh, he's really got me going here, and then woooosh! Naw, he couldn't have cum. Awww, crap, he lets go of my cock, then reaches back for it and then I realize he's put lube all over my ass, balls, and cock. Yuck! "Awww, JEEZ! Where the fuck did all that fuckin' lube come from?!" I am totally grossed out, my cock is withering, and he tries whispering in my ear "don't worry baby, I wasn't gonna fuck you, unless you want me to..." I turn around and say, "sorry man, I can't stand lube, I can't even touch myself you got it all over me!" as I reach for my pants and get my clothes back on. He offers a tissue, I decline, and he tries the "Ain't gonna fuck you" line again. I simply say "have a good night" and get out of there. I go to the bathroom, but it's hopeless, he must've dumped a quart of that shit on me, ferchrissakes, I feel so gross, and now I can't even attempt anything with anyone else. I head up the stairs, take a few deep breaths as I unlock my bike, find myself chuckling aloud, and realize I may well break that 5-week record afterall.