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Never Enough
16 April 2003
4 14:53

First things first: Roy Orbison. Genius. I've been listening to the one recording of his which I possess, Black and White Night, very frequently lately. Not only were the man's melodies beautiful and lyrics vibrant with life and reality, the pleasure and the pain, but his voice, which I disliked as a child, has become one of my favourites; there's a catch in my throat as I listen to much of this disc. And what a testament it is to what a musical badass this man was that his backing band on this recording should include Jackson Browne, T-Bone Burnett, Elvis Costello, J.D. Souther, Bruce Springsteen and Tom Waits, and that Jennifer Warnes, Bonnie Raitt and k.d. lang should have stood upon a platform side by side and sung backup vocals! Sitting in the audience for those performances must have been like heaven. I cannot conceive of being in the same room with that many great performers. And what a pleasure it must have been for them, too, to work together. Unbelievable.

I'm starting to think I have a serious problem, or rather, a few serious problems. The one which first occurs to me at this point is that I am not eating. It isn't that I don't want to eat; I simply have taken to forgetting. This is particularly bad when one drinks as much alcohol as I do, as one becomes intoxicated more quickly and consequently is more likely to make an ass of oneself than one otherwise might do. It's also rather bad for the liver and the kidneys. The second problem, of which I'm sure everyone is already aware, is that I'm a raving sex addict. The symptoms are getting serious.

The other night, after getting off the phone with C, I thought a lot about his signing off with a very quick "I-love-you-Bye", took a hit off the pipe and scribbled in one of my notebooks a few lines which I've edited to: "You see, it's difficult for me to explain to you that sex and love have never had anything whatever to do with each other for me. In fact, they always seemed inverses, the one constantly canceling the other, which is to say, each using its virulence to cancel that of the other, rendering worthless any relationship in which both were involved." I've always said that I had no real problem separating sex and love, but it had never really occurred to me that it did not require a conscious effort, but rather was a fundamental, base-level programming glitch in my psyche. Or maybe this is my Sexual Revolution.

Perhaps part of that revolution is, in addition to constantly wanting sex and actually having sex with multiple partners during the course of a single day in multiple encounters, failing to remember with whom I've done it. The guy I pounded the living daylights out of and referred to as Ron in Ohh, Yeeaaahhhh...? I can't remember his real name. I've talked to him online a couple or three times since the encounter, but whether his real name is Chris or Brian or James or something else I've no clue. I feel bad because we had a fair amount of good chillin' and chat besides the sex and I was hoping to do it again sometime. Oh, well; it'll just make things a little odd.

Did I say something about sex with multiple partners in multiple encounters in the same day? Yeah. Yesterday was the first time I'd done that in awhile. During the day, I was chatting online with this guy I know who lives nearby; he and I have been wanting to hit it for awhile, but haven't gotten around to it, and unfortunately, yesterday was no different, as he had stuff going on in the afternoon. When I got home, consequently, I was super-horny (When am I not?), so I got in touch with a friend who's cool with trading blowjobs every once in awhile, walked to his place and did just that. Unfortunately, his technique has a tendency to give the phrase "jerking-off" a whole new level of meaning; for some reason, he thinks that the appropriate way to give a blowjob is by putting the head and perhaps a bit of the shaft of his partner's dick into his mouth whilst squeezing it and pistoning his hand up and down the shaft at an impossibly fast speed. This is NOT the way to give good head, so we ended up just jerking ourselves off, meaning I took care of me and he took care of himself. It was much less fun than it was meant to be, and I walked back home feeling so gross about it that I was pausing to spit every hundred yards or so and at one point gave myself a nauseated coughing fit. On arriving home, I made myself a citrus-melon-vodka martini, and showered and shaved, which made me feel a bit better and prepared for going out.

Once again, I arrived at BAR a little after 10 p.m. and hung out with my friends, whom I love dearly. Towards the end of the night, I found myself chatting and flirting with a cute Yale Law student whom I'd met before. After playful banter outside the place, which included pretending to proposition a guy who kept driving by repeatedly, since we were headed in the same direction, LawGuy and I walked down the street together. When we arrived at my building, I invited him inside and took the opportunity to kiss him, hard but briefly, in the elevator. My apartment, of course, is a wreck, but we chatted for a bit, then made out on the sofa and on the floor in the living room before taking things to the bedroom. Each of us dozed off for a bit, but on reawakening, continued making out, naked, of course, and eventually, we got around to fucking. LawGuy has a fairly nice body, though not perfect (Whose is?), but he has a beautiful cock, so after slapping a condom and some lube on it, I climbed on for a hell of a ride. Considering we were both decidedly "not-sober" at the time, it was pretty damn good sex; certainly it went on for awhile. We kept it to two positions, the first being me on top riding him, and the second occurring after I'd started to lean far back to drive him as deep inside me as he could go, when I decided to pull him over on top of me, my favourite position, for reasons I think I've discussed before. I couldn't say for how long we went at it, but I'm lately surprising myself with my stamina as a bottom, as well as the level of pleasure I derive from being taken that way. Eventually, I came on myself, he pulled out and shot about a quart all over me, we cleaned ourselves up and went back to sleep, still naked. All in all, a nice night of hot sex. Trouble is, now I want more.

Tonight's service: Tenebrae -- Named for the Latin word meaning "shadows". It'll probably be two hours of chants and readings and the occasional burst of polyphony in deepening shades of darkness, finishing with a crash. Afterwards? Anyone's guess...

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