|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
[ed: best secret blog out there]:
after years of the jeans and t-shirt approach, the switch to less heavy, softer fabric is a nice change. along with the overall effect that i'm there, but i'm not "there" - being in absolute opposition to the shirtlesssweatygross queens, having trumped the labelwhore + collarup homos, and giving no thought "straight-acting" abercrombie and yo-boy fags "acting to the point of being a caricature" movement. understand that this is a determined transcendence out of the bullshit, and that getting play isn't an intended result, just an interesting consequence. i'm sure you can come up with something about bringing the boys to the yard.
saturday night at nation - grey slacks, black shirt, tie and shoes - the duotone effect complementing my skin much better than the douchebag colored stripes that are all unreasonably the rage. i end up on dancefloor all night with a particular hot boy. as a rule, i don't usually dance "with" people, as they throw me off-groove with their uncoordinated flailing, space-invading, and/or britney spears/janet jackson/shakira routines. as much as i hate referring to a will smith movie, that commercial for hitch is on-point - great dancers are great in bed, although the latter doesn't require the former. really, i'd rather be dancing instead anyway. i've seen this kid out making his moves for a while, and we're finally getting to know each other - not that it takes much, he's so cool it's like we've known each other for ages. best birthday present, ever.
sunday night at lizard, somewhat of an inverse - black slacks and shoes, grey shirt, with grey and black tie. i've had some gin, feeling kinda tipsy, feeling pretty fine, not thinking the night'll be any different than usual, when this guy starts making a concerted walk towards me. maybe he's trying to get behind me, but i don't move - i never move, until a request is made, i'm not a fan of others' sense of automatic entitlement to space i already occupy. he continues forward and stops right in front of me, basically on me, we're chest to chest and i'm thinking i'd noted his shirt earlier in the night, a print of a bullet exiting a handgun - shoot. the associated face is above-average cute, mid-twenties, but i'm still pretty indifferent as i'm not generally affected by the all-american boy-next-door type. i'm waiting for him to say his piece when he just leans forward and we're making out on the floor, definitely a faux pas, but who's birthday weekend is it? yeah that's right. apply the same reasoning to why we're in his bed twenty minutes later.
at this point in life i'm not that into sex, but it'd been about five months, and it's good to have the occasional refresher on the whole messy scenario. taken at face-value the mild-mannered guy's into basic vanilla stuff, but as a friend has said, "it's always the quiet ones that get freaky." this wasn't as much a "refresher" as much as new ground covered, on multiple fronts. he's into being dominated, which is somewhat fortuitous as i've always had a sense of wanting to dominate, but i've never really had the chance due to having only been with partners that aren't into it or that i've been somewhat scared of breaking in some way. no worries about breaking a 6'1" built air force personnel, as much as he'd have liked it. a total pig, into rape, hitting, boy/dad scenarios, accompanied with a load of dirty talk. he's non-stop with the "i'm your whore", "yes sir", "i'm your bottom boy", "pound my hole", all of those phrases that cause your grandmother to die a little on the inside upon hearing, if she's not already laughing at the excess of it all. i was hoping to maybe get an "i'm your secretary!", for the sake of the moment. insatiable, i'm sore all over from the exercise. it makes you wonder where his need or idea for all of this initiated, and it's surprising how easy it is to converse normally afterwards.
- marcus, "as a means," in revolt february 7, 2005
posted February 14, 2005 in music, performance, print, sex.