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Holy Weekend Somehow, I've managed of late to be so busy as not to type these updates in and post them, so here's the first, a recap of what happened from the update of last Thursday through Easter Sunday. The Maundy Thursday service was neither so long as I feared it might be nor so miserable. Apparently, the new Priest-in-Charge believes in treating it like a festive occasion, rather than an opportunity to lie on the floor and flog oneself. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this, but in any case, it went well, and I excused myself from Mexican food and beer by mentioning I had prior plans and slipping quickly out the door. Shortly after my walk home, SoccerBoi phoned to let me know he'd arrived in New Haven and was parking. When he called a second time, I buzzed him up to the apartment, and we had a drink and changed clothes before going out. Only one particularly good friend of mine showed up, but we certainly made some new acquaintances, thanks to the fact that SoccerBoi is tall, gorgeous and incredibly outgoing and friendly, not to mention a terrific flirt. The bar where we went is a generally laid-back neighbourhood bar type place which happens to have cheap beer on Thursday nights. The clientele are usually significantly older than I am, but on Thursday, the beer specials drag in a younger, trendier (but this is their relaxed night) crowd, in addition, so the place often ends up packed. SB and I stood around chatting for awhile, lamenting the lack of eye candy, then some random woman came up to him to introduce her friend, who had been admiring him from not-so-afar. This began a good hour or two of drunken flirtation between myself, SoccerBoi, two women, and two men, one of whom was the hot bartender whom I'd met at the end of the night on Tuesday. SoccerBoi got both men's phone numbers, and both have contacted him; I only got Bartender's, and he hasn't returned the one call I made to him. In the end, SB made it clear he wasn't really interested in anyone other than me by turning up towards me and kissing me as we walked down the stairs on our way to the door when we decided the night needed to come to an end. I love cuddling with him, sleeping next to him, waking up next to him, having sex with him; hell, I even love the way he snores, and I certainly love the way the pillow smells for a few days after he's slept on it. I fear this is fast becoming a dangerous full-body crush. We woke Friday morning, showered, got ready for work and hit the road. Well, he hit the road; I loafed a bit, checked e-mail and opted to call and update the office calendar, saying that I would not be in at all that day. I hung out online for a little while, looking for a friend who'd been visiting the area for the holiday to see if he might be available to get together for a few rounds of fun. When I found him, we chatted a bit, but his family was keeping him very busy indeed, so we figured we'd plan on sometime Monday or Tuesday; it never came to pass, but I do hope he's safely back in Chi-town and getting him some action that makes him a very happy man. I can't imagine he's not, as Chicago's infested with good-looking gayboys, and Muscleboy (as he likes to be called) is hot as the deepest levels of Hell. I just regret that I didn't get to go a few with him while he was around. Oh, well, maybe some other time. I managed to show up on time for the 11 a.m. call for the Good Friday service, which though it only lasted 2 hours and 45 minutes, seemed like the longest and most tiring service I've ever sung in my life. Crucifying, apparently, is hard work, even for those who just have to stand around (or kneel) and sing about it. After the service, as tradition dictates, we went to Yorkside for pizza and beer, both in massive quantities. Good times, good company, my friends. Since it's nearby, I went back to the office and changed the backup tapes before stumbling home in the bright afternoon sunlight. C had called, and we agreed to get together a little later in the evening. My intention was to head to his place at 8, but somehow, my nap decided to extend itself; I can't remember if I forgot to set the alarm clock or if I just turned the fucker off, but when I woke it was closer to 9, and C called a couple minutes later to ask what was taking me so long. I dashed to the car and made it to his place in near record time. He was interested in going to this dingy (that's "DIN-jee" as in "dirty", not "DING-y" as in "feather-brained") old place in Westport known as The Brook to check out their supposed "Latin Night". There was a good-sized crowd there, eventually, but there was definitely not a lot of "talent" in it. More surprisingly, I've seen more queer Latin boys walking down the street in the course of a day here in New Haven than I saw in that bar that night. Then again, that is Westport, and this is New Haven; perhaps that does something to explain it. In any case, there were a couple of cuties, but because C & I were hanging out drinking up, neither of us bothered trying to be "social" with them, and eventually, we just decided to retire back to his place for some smoking and TV-watching hilarity. I'm not entirely sure what we watched, but I know we smoked and drank a LOT before passing out, then deciding to hit the hay. The next morning, we woke several times before finally deciding to get out of bed sometime in the early afternoon. I fielded a phone call from SoccerBoi, trying to figure out the plan for the evening, and then C & I went for lunch, accompanied by more drinking. (Thank you to the Poufy-Haired English-Woman of long ago for teaching me that sometimes you really do need to take the hair of the dog that bit you.) We strolled back to C's place and hung out, watching TV, smoking a little more, and talking for another couple hours. In the course of the afternoon, I managed to silence him a couple times with things I'd said, and I really hate when I do that. When C goes silent, it means he's been hurt and he's trying to regroup and deal with the pain of whatever grain of thought has lodged in his head and made it an unhappy place, and I really hate when I'm the one responsible for that hurt and that silence. He asked questions from which there was no way out; if I'd answered directly, he'd have the answer, and if I declined to answer, he'd have the same answer. Yes, I fucked my other ex the weekend before, though I have to confess I felt awful about it, both because it was weird and because it wasn't particularly good sex. Yes, I've been fooling around with other people since we broke up, though it's typically meaningless, as they're just hot people using me using them to get off, whereas I was actually in love with him when we were having sex. I still do love him, in fact, just not in quite the same way. This we addressed, too, as he decided to talk about how he misses me (we probably see each other more often now than we did when we were dating, and we certainly have more fun) and wonders if we made a mistake in ending things (from a time-commitment perspective, and considering what I was like when we were dating and how I hate myself when I get jealous and paranoid and mean like that, I think we did the right thing). Yes, I love him, but more as a best friend combined with brother combined with guy I sometimes like to have sex with; I still don't think either of us is in a position to make a go of a serious relationship with the other at this time. About an hour and a half before I needed to leave, we calmed things down a bit and I switched to drinking water. We re-heated the left-overs from lunch, and I ate and had a soda to try and aid me in the "coming down" process, then drove back up here, showered, changed clothes and reported for the Easter Vigil. As we sang through the many chants for the evening, I was a little paranoid about blending and uncertain of my own tone, but by the time rehearsal was over, all was well. The Vigil has never seemed so short to me before. Unfortunately, it wasn't overwhelmingly well-done or well-attended (For the most part, the choir sounded great, but there were errors in other places which I won't bother discussing, save to say that I'd love to hear the Exsultet sung well and by someone who understands how and can actually infuse it with the kind of power it deserves.), but it was, nonetheless, enjoyable, edifying, even. After the service, dashed home again, expecting SoccerBoi. And he arrived. I must confess I know exactly why everyone loves this boy; he's certainly in the process of stealing my heart, despite my best efforts to the contrary. I get a little flutter when I think about him, and an entirely different sort of flutter when I think about him with anyone else, but I know he doesn't want to take the time for anything like a relationship right now, and neither do I, really. I hope we're not shooting ourselves in the foot by clinging to that original position. At Gotham, everyone continued to moon over him, including and especially Bartender, who tried to convince us to go to after-hours, presumably to hook up with him, and who as we were leaving, hugged us both at the same time, giving me a little peck and slipping SoccerBoi some serious tongue. I was not at all pleased, as I'd thought he was all about me, and SB had other admirers. Sometimes I wish I were more friendly and engaging and not so damned aloof; people simply do not feel comfortable approaching me in person, and they've gone so far as to tell me so. At any rate, the evening ended well. Despite having to get up early in the morning, I wanted to stay for after-hours, but SB convinced me otherwise, leading me down the stairs and kissing me in full public view by the door 'til we were both probably very noticeably hard. Yes, leaving was the right thing to do. We walked down the block to my apartment building; I could scarcely wait to get him back upstairs and get my hands on him. We went to bed and kissed and cuddled and talked a bit, though. We slept for a couple hours before cuddling led to groping and kissing and throwing off boxers for a nice hot and very sincere fuck. There's only one detail about this boy that worries me: He seems to like to take it raw, which is to say, unprotected. He swears he hasn't had sex with anyone but me in about four months and that he's really never done that before, but it freaked me out that I was lubing up and he decided to sit on my dick before I'd had a chance to throw on some latex. I know I'm all about playing as safely as reasonably possible at all times and he should have nothing to worry about from me, but I really would not like to even think about potentially putting anyone else in that kind of position. So hot as it was, I pulled out, gloved it, then went to town on the boy. After we'd wiped off, we went back to sleep. In the morning, we lay around talking for a good hour or so before I had to shower and get ready for Easter Morning. SB is not just hot, he's also quite intelligent, good company, good conversation. I worry that he'd sometimes like to refuse when I want to have sex but doesn't feel comfortable doing so, but then, he thanks me for doing it, like I'd done him some kind of favour, afterwards. After he'd gone, the rest of the day went much as Sundays usually do. Mass in the morning was massive. Mass in the afternoon, well, I almost skipped it, but then my conscience kicked in, and a good thing, too, as there was a massive baritone solo in the piece we were singing, which wouldn't have worked so well without me, I'm afraid. After that was finished, I was off to dinner with other singing folk at Rob & Alison's house. It was, as usual, fantastic, and I ate enough to render myself uncomfortable and drank enough to slur my speech just a little bit, I think. Good times, good friends, good food, good fun. After dinner, even those of us who were not singing stumbled over to the church for Compline; it was beautiful and put me in a different frame of mind for the walk home and the sleeping. And the sleeping was very good indeed. r
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