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Sprung, and Slightly Rewound (Today's Second Thoughts) Friday, a friend finally was able to come through with some smoky-treats, so I drove the 45 minutes to his town to pay him for them and pick them up, as my ex's friends have been unable to make the connections to import yummy smokes from overseas. I'm not quite sure why it's always so much cheaper when this particular friend of mine has them imported; they're nearly the same quality, but somehow, they cost less than half as much. Maybe it has to do with the market where he is versus the market closer to the City. In any case, I was most grateful, as I had not had good smoky-treats around in quite awhile. On my way home, C called and invited himself, after going home, going to the gym and getting cleaned up, to come down to my place for dinner & drinks, of which I was quite glad, as I'd not seen him in some weeks. Thus when he arrived, I had a smoke, we drank some bourbon, and we made the first trip in nearly a month to the delicious restaurant downstairs, where we gorged ourselves on bacon-cheeseburgers and fries, and of course, continued swilling bourbon. It was rather late when we got upstairs, but we had a smoke (smoking goes nicely with bourbon) and watched a bit of TV before becoming incoherent and going to bed. Saturday morning, I got some of what I'd asked for, as C and I had very nice, very friendly sex, which felt very good indeed, but I still wanted something more. I contemplated this at length during the afternoon, after he'd gone and while I should have been finishing the configuration of my apartment. I accomplished absolutely nothing Saturday. I sat around and read and watched TV and fucked around on the internet and went to bed absurdly early, hoping on some level, I suppose, to make up for all the sleep I lost whilst playing insomniac last week. (When C showed up Friday night and looked at me, he said my eyes were so sunken I looked like a heroin addict. Nice, I thought. If only I were as thin as a heroin addict. Actually, that wouldn't be good; I look scary when I get too thin. At any rate, the bags under the eyes have improved; I figure I have enough mental baggage that I shouldn't be carrying around baggage under my eyes, too, though I always have slight dark circles, just because my eyes are so deep-set, and the odd colour does nothing to minimise this effect.) Sunday morning, Mass at Christ Church with just a quartet, which was quite nice, actually. People seem to know what's going on, as attendance drops remarkably on Sundays when we aren't there to sing, and when we are, it seems to triple. People were visibly smiling at the four of us as we walked with the clergy in procession around the church, singing the Great Litany. It's nice to be appreciated. That afternoon, I really did not want to go sing the other service to which I'd committed myself, but the alternative plan I made fell through, so I found myself doing more singing. Hey, it's all money, right? Sunday night was for unwinding and resting and chatting online with cute boys, most of whom I have/had no intentions of meeting at any point; the whole internet meeting thing still weirds me out. One of the boys I talked to, though, was an exception. He's an adorable 23-year-old soccer boi who works as a low-level financial analyst and is taking night classes to work on his MBA. My height, slightly tighter than my build, dark blond hair, hazel eyes, very funny, very sweet personality, if a little bouncier than I usually like my company. I think we shall be good friends. We decided (despite the weather) to meet for dinner in his neck of the woods (Hartford) last night. I left work a little early, drove up and met him. We hung out for a bit, talked, decided to go for Chinese food (We couldn't think of anything else that would make us feel more bloated; I only ate about half of mine, bringing the rest back for lunch today.), grabbed some beers and went back to his apartment to hang out and watch TV. Not a lot of TV got watched, kids. Did I mention the boy is adorable? When we got back to his place, he was standing a little too close to me as I cracked the tops off our Coronas, so when he went to give me a mock-sucker-punch to the ribs as we were joking about something, I grabbed his arm and pulled him closer to me. We stood with our noses touching, looking straight into each other's eyes. "Oh, so you ARE interested, then?" he said. "Um, yeah," I responded, "Is that cool?" "Definitely." We kissed. Tiny little gentle lip-snuggles with a smidgen of tongue-touching for a moment, then we went to watch TV for a bit. We talked while watching TV, then boy needed to check his e-mail from school, so we went in his bedroom, where he also wanted me to hear a song by Daniel or David SomebodyorotherBritish. His computer crashed from the multi-tasking, so we decided to just snog for a couple hours. Okay, so we didn't just snog. We stripped to our skivvies and cuddled and kissed and stroked and licked and nibbled for awhile, with a little talking and joking around inserted for good measure. (I mean, it wasn't supposed to be a hook-up at all, really; it certainly wasn't supposed to degenerate (uh, if you wanna call it that, though I wouldn't) into a random fuck -- not that it did, 'cause we'd laid down ground rules that there'd be no fucking last night just as soon as we realised the potential was there and we both wanted to (for record, I'd definitely be the dominant force in such a situation), but that it might make things odd in the future, and we definitely want to hang out more.) So then, we're lying there, and he's like, "Okay, nap-time," and I said, "Um, no, time for you to blow me," and he's like, "Really?" and I said, "Ya wanna?" He answered with actions, 'cause those speak louder, hauling my dick out from under my waistband and giving me some of the best head I've had in years. I have two friends who give just about the best head on the planet, and this kid, with a hell of a lot less experience than either of them, has got them tied easily, if not surpassed, with his skill. Clearly, he wanted to get me off, but I thought it would be rude for me to get off without getting him off, so I insisted we sixty-nine, which honestly, is more of a turn-on for me than just getting blown, even if I do have the pleasure of watching cute soccer-boi's face bobbing up and down on my cock. He was a little concerned that I might not get off (I'd mentioned that I think only one person has managed to make me cum with his mouth in the last six or so years), but he kept stopping to ask how I was doing every time I'd get close; this was the only flaw. Finally, I told him to shut up and stop worrying about it and just blow me, and within about five minutes, he was dragging me over the edge of the most intense orgasm I've had in years. It was absolutely mind-blowing. As I felt the energy rising, I warned him (as best I could with his dick down my throat, by moaning very loudly and on the verge of a scream) that I was about to cum, but he just kept sucking me, taking every thrust of my manhood into his throat and swallowing every drop. That was a first; no one's ever swallowed before, and in fact, I think I've only ever shot in someone's mouth maybe two or three times. It was unbelievably hot, though it left me a little shell-shocked. In any case, I was pretty much lying there unable to move for a few minutes while he assured me repeatedly that this was not something he normally did; for a minute, I thought he might cry. No worries; I believe ya, kiddo. At that point, I felt I should take some initiative and finish him off. If I had continued working on him a little earlier, he'd have taken no time at all, but by now, the mood was a little busted, so I was back to, well, not quite square one, but there was work to do, though I was totally up for it. Returning the courtesy, when he started to moan that he was going to cum, I just kept going, thinking I'd try to do what he'd done. As a consequence, I learned something about myself; either I have a mental block against swallowing, or when there's an object not being swallowed pressed against the back of my throat, I can't swallow. Nice to know, huh? So I had to go spit in the bathroom sink, and I kinda felt bad about that, but he didn't seem to mind. (Note: I've NEVER swallowed. Not Ever.) So after that was done, we had another beer (or maybe I was the only one who had another beer) and we cuddled and kissed and chatted a bit more, and then, since it was nearly 10.30, I took off for home, so the boy could get some sleep before he had to be at work at 7.45 in the morning. He'll be in New Haven for much of this weekend, visiting with old friends from college, so hopefully, one night we'll be able to hang out and watch a movie or something. I don't see us dating or becoming a serious thing, but certainly, we're amusing foils for each other, what with his bubbly outgoing personality and my introspective nearly lethargic "terminal mellow", so I could see us becoming good friends, hopefully with priviliges, which is what I think we both want right now. To tell the truth, I hated to leave him there alone, but I'd have felt weird asking to stay, so I went out and braved the snow. The trip home was treacherous and took at least an hour. The department of transportation in this state is utterly useless. Roads from Hartford to at least North Haven were so covered in snow that the lanes could not be discerned from each other, and the passing of a number of cars did nothing to even carve ruts into the steering-defeating mess. There were several harrowing moments, one of which was when I found myself veering off the left side of the highway onto the rumble-strip, despite having turned the steering wheel to the right, and taking a moment to realise that the reason for all that noise I was hearing was that I was driving on the strip at the edge of the lane. Another would include being passed at high speeds by tractor-trailer trucks flinging enormous amounts of slush onto the windscreens of my car and any others past which they were flying; those guys really need to receive a lot more traffic violations than they do, in order to burn the idea into their brains that they do NOT own the road and are more of a menace than practically anything else out there. Finally, around 11.30, I got home, parked on the street outside my building, went up to my apartment, had a smoke, checked my e-mail and went to bed. I woke this morning to find a $50 parking ticket on my car for having parked on the side of the street during a "Declared Snow Emergency." Who declared this, and where was it posted? The street where I live had already been ploughed when I got in, so the amount of snow there was minimal; I saw nothing that indicated an emergency state of affairs. You bet your ass I'm contesting and refusing to pay that fucker. In happier news, today, I got my desperately-needed haircut: clipper-short on the sides, not quite as short and a little raggedly uneven on the top, and with blond streaks. The weather may not be ready to reflect the fact that it IS spring, but my hair is damn well gonna put some pressure on, beotch. r
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