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Form: NaughtyStrange
I think I fucked-up yesterday by eating too many nuts -- cashews, specifically, but yesterday afternoon, I was overwhelmed by such hunger, crankiness, and general wooziness that some sort of snack was absolutely necessary. I failed to check precisely what size serving of cashews contained 12 grams of carbohydrates, though, and I think I might have gone over the 20-gram-per-day limit. Oh, well. Everything is a process, a journey, I guess. Hopefully, Patrick and I will go to Sam's soon, so I can buy tuna, meat, cheese, and other assorted edibles in bulk. This eating-out protein-only thing is getting fucking expensive, and damn fast. Apart from feeling like I've been beaten with a baseball bat, though, I feel pretty great. Yesterday morning, I finished off the tricep and pectoral work I had skimped on the previous day (Okay, so I didn't even really skimp; I just couldn't physically do as much as I meant to, perhaps because I was being overly ambitious on an empty stomach.), then did lower muscle groups. I discovered muscles in my legs that I didn't know I possessed, and I also discovered that they aren't as strong as I thought they would be. Walking feels very interesting today. Last night's cardio was rather "non-traditional," meaning that rather than StairMaster, bike or treadmill, I opted for vigourous fucking of not one, but two people. There really doesn't seem to be much middle ground with me; I'm celibate or I'm slutty. (I kind-of like calling myself slutty. It feels good, in a naughtystrange sort of way.) This kid who was visiting from Boston on business, staying in a hotel about 20 minutes away, had seen my profile on a certain online service and had been bugging me to get together with him, so I drove out. He was very cute, and there's something I find hot about hotel sex, so it was fun. He was he was more in a top mood, but I was not so much in a bottom mood, and regardless of cuteness, he did NOT qualify to fuck me, so he took it for probably a good half-hour to 45 minutes. Did pretty well, too, considering what he was taking and the fact that he said he hadn't been fucked in about a month, which I believed, 'cause the boy was fucking TIGHT (and I mean competition with one of my friends who lives in the City, who I swear is the tightest I've ever had). It was kinda weird, 'cause I got there, and we just dove right in, but then, we were having conversation about various aspects of our lives while he was riding me. Anyway, eventually, he got tired, and I told him he could cum wherever he wanted, so after making me promise I'd shoot all over him (not a problem), he did, and I pulled out and kept my word. I tend to shoot a lot, and pretty far, so it ended up on the sheet above his head, on his face, and generally all over him. Smart kid, though, (apparently, he's an accountant of some sort), he had towels right there by the bed. We washed off in the shower, chatted for awhile, and I left. I walked out to my car and called my ex, Lars, who lives just a few miles away from the hotel. He's been trying to get me to do him again for months, but the right opportunity just hasn't presented itself. He knew I was meeting the guy at the hotel, though, 'cause we'd invited him to join us, but he doesn't dig three-ways, so I'd agreed to call him after I was done. I'd intended just to tell him I was tired and then drive home, but talking to him, I felt myself getting hard again, so we arranged to meet up. Long story short, I nailed him bent over the bench in a dugout of the baseball field next to his house in the middle of a brief but pretty intense thunderstorm. It was pretty hot. He came pretty quickly (I didn't even notice), but he let me keep pounding him and didn't complain, which was a bit of a surprise for me, since he used to always be really sensitive, both before and after. Sex with him was never particularly prolonged or interesting, but it was usually pretty good anyway. He's got a great ass and gives pretty decent head, and I still love the way he kisses. Going at it with him was always like I imagine making out with one of your high-school buddies would be; he just has that kind of energy about him, so it was a fun little trip down Amnesia Lane and an adventurous setting to boot. It occurs to me that I haven't written about sex here in awhile. It's not that I'm not doing it (though I did go through about a 3-week dry spell a few weeks back: mostly because I was busy, partly because I was wallowing in a pit of self-loathing); I've just been a bit caught up in work and music and political ranting. Besides, I like to think that I think about things other than fucking every now and then. As much as I think, it would be sad and scary if the little head were all that was going through my head. Sex hasn't really been all that fulfilling lately, anyway. Sure, I still jerk off two or three times a day at minimum, but intimacy is what I really seek. I look at Patrick, for example, who is gorgeous and whom I once wanted to fuck senseless (We are not dating; he's just one of my best friends. He has a crush on someone else, as do I, though that's sort-of fading -- out of sight, out of mind...), and all I want to do is hold him and hug him and kiss him and snuggle with him, 'cause he KNOWS me. It's actually similar with the crush; he's fucking adorable, built from all the most desirable materials, as far as I can tell, but I cannot imagine having sex with him. Weird. I over-slept this morning, so I did the yoga and some crunches, but not the cardio I should have done. We'll see if I make it up tonight. I'm betting not; there's another boy I know who wants me to fuck him. Really, it's almost like a sport for me, albeit one I'm not sure how interested I am in playing anymore. A competition: Who can shag the most hotties? I'm not sure against whom I'm competing, but I figure I'm probably winning. (Short funny story: Last summer, when I ran off to Maine to save a production of Godspell, I found myself one night sitting around with the cast and crew playing "I Never...", and the next day, I called one of the cast aside to make sure nothing I'd brought up was construed as offensive, and he said, "No, but we all determined you won." I was like, "Won? Nobody WINS in 'I Never...'" and he said, "No, but a few of us were chatting afterwards, and [Actress] was like, 'Ya know, I think RainDog wins,' and we all pretty much agreed." I had to laugh later when the aforementioned actress, unsolicited, came up to me and told me the same story. It was ironic, I guess, too, considering the show.) I seem to feel as though it validates me in some way, like applause or praise for my music or whatever. Strange things, apparently, make me tick; strange engines drive me. I'd blame it on my past, but even were the past different, a number of aspects of me would still be the same, I think. I am who I am. "A tree fulfills the Lord's will for it by being a tree." I may constantly strive for my own evolution (As Anne Rice has her vampire Lestat discover over the centuries, time only renders us more completely who we truly are), but I embrace my nature. Regret is pointless. r
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