The Grand ChaHee dot Com

Monday met some interesting people part 2

2012-01-31T09:40:00.000-06:00

Since this is part 2, it should go without saying that you should probably read part 1 below before continuing; but hey, feel free to partake if you don’t want to read two very long posts of absolute drivel involving things like feelings and friends and lacking things like sex and wild sex acts.

P.S. I didn’t mean to leave you hanging for so long; however, I fell asleep watching South Park on Netflix at around 9:45 pm or so... I’m like a month away from being a geezer, so I guess I’m just starting early.

So, after finding the messages on his phone via Grindr, I immediately texted Denice to get her take. She reminded me that I was being crazy; but I couldn’t immediately shake the opposing ideologies of bringing a guy to meet your friends and banging other guys on the sides. As you have probably guessed, this whole debate stems from the fact that I’m not banging other guys—for some asinine reason, I’m not even looking for other guys…

Once he emerged from the shower, I was engrossed with messages from Denice repeating the fact that I’m not supposed to know they exist, so I can’t ask about them (because that conversation only ends one way—with me looking like a psycho-jealous dude that breaks into a guys phone just to snoop—no, that whole, “Well, your phone was just there” defense doesn’t make it any less insane sounding if I were even allowed to explain my position on that one). Needless to say, I was a bit distracted/surely/sullen—but only mildly.

Yes, I seriously considered leaving—I was going to use the excuse that I’d met 2 of his friends, and he’d met 2 of mine; so we were even…and I didn’t want to impose on a birthday party for a guy I’d never met; however, we went—we were a bit late due to an unforeseen event.

While I know you’ve probably already noticed a distinct absence of sex in this post as well as the last post, we have had sex during all this…several times…plus, he’s touchy feely in between…we’re touchy feely, I should say…and I’m not mentioning it because I think it’s inappropriate to talk about it at this juncture…No, it’s not bad—but we’re ironing out the wrinkles. That makes it sound bad. We play the same position on the field—if you catch my drift; and he’s kind of into some un-vanilla activities (nothing too scary so far). And I have a problem getting relaxed and into it without the assistance of an inhalant…But we’re working through it; and it’s getting better (he’s no 8in of fun; but our sex might be as enjoyable eventually—this weekend was better than any of the previous ones)…Fine, I’m talking about it because I like the guy—which is why I’m getting crazy…I know better than to put my eggs in one basket, but he’s nice and cute and not crazy and not a loser and I wanted him to meet my friends…and well, when’s the last time I’ve had that combination?

So, his Friend J (and hold on to that one because there’s more than one J name coming up) is freaking out because no one is at Haruno; and they’ve reserved a room for the gathering… which I know how awkward that would be since I have that same fear surrounding my own birthday; however, as National Guard Guy said, the Facebook invite did say it was from 7-10…like a come-and-go event (he didn’t conclude the come-and-go part; however, he did state the hours of the invite; and I concluded the casual nature from that; NGG sped the whole way because we left his house at 7:12 and his best guy friend was feeling abandoned). Yeah, we get there and find Friend J and his girlfriend/baby momma S (again there are more than one S coming up as well) along with Friend J2 and his wife S.

Friend J and his girlfriend are obviously younger than me—and probably NGG who is one year and a few months younger than me. Girlfriend S just graduated from college—and looks and acts every bit of 22 or 23…as does Friend J—however, for a guy, that probably means that he’s 25-26. Then Friend J2 looks in his mid-40s (a mild exaggeration, but we’ll get to it a bit later); however, he’s either my age or slightly older (I’d give him 29-32). His wife S talks like she’s a country bumpkin and is probably in that 23-26 range—and her southern accent only makes her sound dumb, which I hate to say because she was pretty nice.

One thing to note is that no one flinched a moment when NGG came in with a guy. They were all happy to see him and acted like he was a good friend. I got warm handshakes and hellos all around…and lingering looks from J friends… But they seemed nice enough—they are nice enough, but they didn’t really put forth an extra effort to make me more comfortable due to the fact that they’re all on their way to getting drunk.

They’re so drunk that they constantly complain—with an increasing amount of volume—that the waitress is being slow at bringing them they’re next drink…well, the guys are. The ladies are ok…well girlfriend S is smiling naively as her husband cusses; and wife S’s accent is getting deeper as she gets louder with her inane story-telling. But hey, it’s a birthday; and I’m just an outsider.

Every cloud has a silver lining. This time it’s the fact that I got carded when I ordered a white Russian. Yes, that’s the silver lining here.

Now, I don’t want to sound like an elitist snob; however, maybe I’m just used to my fairly-well educated friends. I mean—Ambie, Alaina, and Shelly are all in graduate school; Denice has 2 bachelor’s degrees; also, Crystal and I both have our bachelor’s degrees; and Erica was only like 1 semester away from graduating when she decided to work for her parents…But all of my good friends have that education background… And of their husbands only Crystal’s and Erica’s don’t have college degrees, but they’re not constantly crass and stupid acting—neither is NGG…

Well, it’s a little too harsh—even for me. Besides Friends J&R don’t have a college education either, but were perfectly normal. Anyway, they’re all nice people…and they probably sound way smarter when their sober—don’t we all? So, yeah, after the sushi, birthday boy Friend J and Girlfriend S invite us all back to their house—they’ve got “plenty of booze” and we “should all go there and get shitfaced.”

And here is the aforementioned point in my typing when I fell asleep; and thusly losing momentum in my story telling.

Let’s see if we can get it back. At this point in the story I want to interject the fact that all of these people know and love Dog B which is cool because he’s quite charismatic. But I’m pretty sure that they know the dog because they’ve lived with NGG at one point. Well, I know wife S and friend J2 did because the wife told me that his cat was actually theirs in a drunken slur of a southern accent.

After we exited the restaurant, NGG wanted to go back to his house to make sure that he procured some alcohol that would be to his taste. Plus, he has a liquor store in his refrigerator; however, it doesn’t concern me that he might be an alcoholic due to the fact that he gets sleep after even half of one drink—that and he doesn’t have any empty bottles beside the bed, nor a glass of “water” that I’m not allowed to drink out of...

And I’m slightly irritated that I ended that last sentence with a preposition; however, I don’t feel like editing it out, either.

So, we get to Friend J and girlfriend S’s house. It’s on the far west side of town, and it’s ok. It’s definitely a first house—you know, tidy and sparsely furnished. Also, by the time we get there, the others are probably on their second drinks and are all hovering in the kitchen—near the booze. They’re loud but otherwise fine…very jovial.

Within the next 30 minutes, they get really talkative—well, wife S does anyway. In the span of that time, she has told me that she didn’t like NGG before she knew that he was gay—because they thought his secret life included being a serial killer or something bad; also, she’s told me that she’s slightly jealous of his relationship with her husband. From the guy’s perspective, we get into a casual debate about which guy that NGG came out to first—I settle it with Friend J being the one because NGG told me on the drive over to their house.

Now, Friend J2 is a mess. He reminds me of my friend Beau who I’ve known since he was 15; and while that doesn’t mean much to any of you because I don’t generally talk about Beau…but he’s a drunken mess these days and has probably done every drug known to man several times. In fact, the parallel goes deeper because Friend J and wife S pull me aside to warn me that Friend J2 is wanting someone to do Xanax bars with and that I shouldn’t feel peer pressured into anything that I don’t want to do.

Yes, I did tell them that I was 29 and didn’t succumb to peer pressure anymore; however, they still cautiously hovered around me while Friend J2 engaged me in a tale about how he’s ok with gay people. Also, I feel the need to interject that this was all after his very long personal medical history that includes being hospitalized for drinking too much—but he doesn’t feel the need to quit because of his tragic, abuse-filled childhood.

No, I’m not making fun of that situation; I’m merely using the example to illustrate how drunk he was while he was telling a perfect stranger all these deeply-private issues.

If you can imagine, I’m not drinking. Other than the single white Russian at the restaurant, I’m passing on the alcohol which I think is making them self-conscious because they’re constantly offering me something. While I’m politely declining, I’m thinking that someone here needs to stay sober to call an ambulance when this all ends disastrously. Yes, some old habits die hard; and while some of you may not know this about me, I used to be the sober responsible one quite a lot in the olden days because back then I was usually afraid that someone was going to get raped (and after several questionable incidents involving CB2 alone, I feel justified in my position there).

In the absence of a more responsible alternative, I can step up to the plate—and I definitely didn’t feel the need to join in on the fun here because I wasn’t sure where I would end up. No, I’m not implying that someone was going to kill me—they all seemed very happy to meet me. In fact, wife S confessed that I’m the only guy that NGG has ever brought with him to anything. Anyway, I didn’t join in because I strongly felt that this would end up like the El Presidente night; and while it was fun at the time, I don’t think I know any of them well enough to expect them to clean up my puke from the side of their car or my beard (or to “Baby wipe me!”).

After probably another hour of the festivities, NGG tells me that he’s ready to go. Instantly, I feel badly because I’m afraid that he thinks that I’m not having any fun around this particular group of friends—which isn’t the case at all…I think it’s funny—like a stage show, or a circus side show…or a train wreck…I just can’t not look. It was great people watching. In short, this group definitely has an interesting dynamic. Between the chick in the knee-high hooker boots and Friend J sneaking off with wife S to “talk about” friend J2, I couldn’t help myself but to enjoy the view from the safety of the far side of the kitchen table.

Once we were in the truck, NGG confesses that he actually wanted to leave because things were progressing as per usual—and he didn’t want to witness the carnage. Yes, I interpreted that as he was embarrassed for me to see his friends that way; however, he played it off nicely. Yes, I confessed the reason I wasn’t joining in was because I was afraid that I’d have to ride in an ambulance to fill out paperwork because no one else could write—which he took lightly.

The next morning NGG told me that his friends R&J were wanting to hang out. Again, he included me in an “Of course you’re coming.” Then he took us to breakfast before Bass Pro and lunch with his friends. Since we were already out and about, we got to the lunch restaurant—Bamboo—early. While we’re sitting there, NGG gets a call from friend J2.

The conversation epitomizes why we left early… fJ2 was asking NGG is he could remember where his keys were. At one point in the night, someone must have hidden them from him. After NGG tells his friend that he wouldn’t know where the keys were, fJ2 confess that his hand is bloody from hitting a fence—he thinks; and there’s a scratch on his back from something he definitely doesn’t remember… and there was some incident involving the neighbors.

After the conversation, NGG confessed that they’re always like that which was the actual reason that we left when we did. Then we went into the restaurant to wait on his much more mature acting friends. I’m not going to lie here; I think that they were somewhat surprised to see me with NGG when they met us for lunch. But not so surprised that I could read it on their face.

Also, not so surprised that they didn’t suggest that we all go get custard and go to a movie afterward. After the movie, they asked what we wanted to do then; and NGG confessed that he needed to study—and I think that they were disappointed… At one point, friend R confessed that NGG and I had to stay together because he liked us together; his wife suggested something similar.

However, they didn’t appreciate my take on gay marriage. I mean—I thought the benefits of being gay were that we didn’t have to get married, have children, or join the military. But I think I made up for it later, but who knows?

When we got back to NGG’s house, I re-packed my overnight bag (for once, I decided that I should probably bring clothes to his house because he usually wants me to stay for the entire weekend)…and I was going to leave after hanging out for a few more minutes. He had to study anyway—and I felt that it might be nice to see if we could just hang out for a little bit alone.

Well, I fell asleep for a few minutes, maybe? When I woke up, he was watching me sleep…then I fell asleep when he started to study. The next time I woke up he was suggesting that we go to bed. He’d studied, cleaned his kitchen, and started a load of laundry while I was out cold on the couch. Part of me wanted to protest, but part of me felt that was probably wrong—so we slept together and didn’t have sex for once—which didn’t make me feel odd at all because we had sex Sunday morning.

Then we showered together before he went to work; and by the time I drove home, I had forgotten why I was pissed about finding the message in the first place. Even now that I’ve obsessed about it in print, I don’t feel self-conscious about it. It will either work itself out or it won’t…

Monday met some interesting people pt one

2012-01-30T20:31:00.001-06:00

This Friday I had a date with National Guard Guy. He invited me up on Monday…or Tuesday without any real agenda—meaning that he didn’t tell me what we were going to do; however, on Friday he bombarded me with food-related questions. During our text-message exchange prior to my leaving the house, he asked me if I did mushrooms which I took ambiguously since at that point I didn’t know if he was going to cook for me or take me on a psychedelic trip.

Once the fungi question was over, I got the distinct impression that he was going to cook for me which he did. Then just as I was getting into town, he informed me that he was also making his own deodorant and hair gel (or hair styling product). Both have a beeswax base and are all natural and lightly scented. No, I had no clue that he was so industrious.

When I arrived, he had finished his homemade products; and he was cooking spaghetti squash and starting a sauce. In all my years of dating, I’ve never had a guy cook for me—and no, I don’t count that time Prince Albert’s mom cooked us dinner; and I’m not going to lie—I liked it. It was cute all the way up to the point when I heard the door bell ring.

Just after I got in the house, NGG casually mentioned that he had “friends in town;” and that singular reveal came after I referred to his phone buzzing on the counter as he prepared dinner. So after I heard the ring at the door, I knew it wasn’t as much of a surprise as he let on that it was (Me: “Are you expecting company?” Him: “Um, no—I don’t know who it might be…” Me: [thinking to myself] “Sure”). Yeah, so in walk two of his best friends.
Okay, I know I’m “socially awkward”; but we can make this work with two words: “Fake it”.

So, he introduces me to them as they enter the house; however, I’m left on my own to find out who they are—no, I didn’t immediately assume that the guests were the previously talked about friends. But they were, and I got through it with a, “I’m sorry. I know he gave you my name, but I didn’t get yours.” And it led into a playful conversation in which I was able to tell them that I was “socially awkward.”

The guy…Friend R is cute—he’s darker completed with matching hair; I’m guessing Latino because his girlfriend, Friend J is of Mexican-American decent. They’re nice, but not so overly nice that my face is aching from all the forced smiling. Also, they’re both very familiar with the house and NGG’s dog—Dog B, a yellow Labrador-mix with a sparkling personality. Additionally, I inferred that Friend J had lived with NGG while Friend R was stationed overseas—he was active in the Army before working with a sub-contractor, I think; and they used to live here because Friend R mentioned coming over on leave to steal Dog B.

Anyway, we all casually engage in light conversation before it’s mentioned that the other plans for the evening include us all going out with some of their other friends. But it’s ok. I know I didn’t sign up for friends yet; but this has to be a good sign, right? Right. Plus, Saturday is Springfield’s city-wide garage sale at the fairgrounds; and I planned on introducing him to C(B1)C—Crystal is afraid that if I have a boyfriend that she’ll never see me again…but it’s not in a “I don’t want you to have a boyfriend” kind of way…it’s more of a “another friend bites the dust” kind of way.
So, I figure if I introduce her it will sort of lighten that mood. Plus, she has never really met any of my other guys before; so I fell that it’s her turn to be the first friend to meet NGG. But I’ll get to more about that later.

Back to Friday night, and the conversation about us all going out later… Yeah… Since we’re getting ready to eat dinner, Friend J wants to go take a nap before our mutual outing; however, Friend R says he’s not tired at all from the drive and would like to hang out with us some more before we go out. Yeah, I felt that it was a bit odd for him to inject himself into our romantic situation; but c’est la vie, right? Right.

In the end, Friend J decided for him that he was going to go back with her before we all went out; and they left so we could eat dinner. Despite NGG being self-conscious about the squash being overcooked, it was actually pretty good. Yes, I was surprised; well, I suppose I have no basis to be surprised…but I was prepared to have to fake it—and it was nice to not have to, anyway.

Then after we’re done eating, we head out to Dublin’s Pass—this Irish-themed pub on the south side of town to meet up with his other friends. At this place, I meet Friend B—a co-worker and former military guy…Well, like, all of his guy friends are former/current military—mostly, army or national guard. Also, I meet Friend B’s girlfriend who is also NGG’s Friend S—who, also, lived with NGG at one point. Plus, Friend S’s sister is the one who gave NGG Dog G (this is probably going to get confusing here in a minute).

Now, Friend J isn’t here—but Friend R is with his Cute Friend C (RCFC for short). Friend J is with RCFC’s ex girlfriend at her house; and Friend’s R&J are staying with this chick… But, anyway. Friend B isn’t much to look at, but I think he’s going to be nice/funny since the first thing he tells me is, “Don’t believe anything you’ve heard about me.” Yes, I downplayed the fact that I hadn’t heard anything about any of them prior to meeting them that night.

True, NGG has mentioned his friends before; however, nothing specific was ever said—we hadn’t really gotten that far yet... So, I played off Friend B’s comment. I think Friend S had thought that I was some little secret of NGG’s because she was somewhat interested in how long we’ve known each other. Also, she was interested in personal details about me which was a little bit more than a polite interest. I do want to note that she and her boyfriend Friend B were the only two to make a point to tell me how they felt about NGG’s being able to come out after the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell—but it was a mild—“Duh” comment, in a happy way.

Then Friends B&S left—S had to work the next morning; and we remaining 4 continued with friendly conversation. Friend R definitely made an effort to keep me engaged in their conversation and invited me to occupy one of the empty seats left by the exiting couple. The two guys—Friend R and RCFC shared their “war stories” which included tales of divorce (including a personal note about RCFC’s divorce) and life on base. Even though I’m not really inclined toward knowledge of the military, I kept up with the conversation.

Then a little bit later, we decided that it was time to leave; and RCFC left and Friend R came back to NGG’s house with us since he wasn’t quite ready to go back to his wife. We watched some bad television (tru TV), they had a drink, and NGG drifted off to sleep. Other than cute, he’s pretty nice and eventually his wife came to collect him.

Shortly afterward, NGG and I went to bed. Dog B climbed into bed with us; and I’m pretty sure his cat slept on my pillow beside my head. I never sleep well at someone else’s house, but I think I managed a good few hours. Then the next morning, NGG and I took a shower and got ready for the city-wide garage sale.

While we were stuck in traffic, he expressed a mild dismay at what he’d gotten himself into by agreeing to come with me; however, once we were in the place, he seemed to enjoy himself. Also, he seemed to enjoy meeting Crystal as well as surprise visitor Erica—she even got a babysitter for her baby. He even took it ok meeting my Great Aunt—who is more like my Aunt—Connie and 2^nd cousin Sandy. No, I didn’t plan on introducing him to my family; however, it’s kind of awkward to just let him stand there silently when all I have to do is say, “Hey, this is my friend [NGG]”.

Another concern of mine throughout the day was that he was going to feel left out because Crystal, Erica, and I tend to talk in code sometimes—we have a lot of inside jokes, stories, and innuendos; but he seemed to take it well (he actually told me later that he didn’t mind since he knew that I had a life outside of how he knew me; and he liked how “real” Crystal and Eric seemed even around him). Since both Crystal’s and Erica’s first impressions of him were good as well, the whole day turned out to be a success because he actually ended up purchasing the most crap at the sale than any of us (and wanting to purchase even more)—well, I’d say Crystal was pretty close; but I think that NGG spent more money.

After lunch, we went to the Springfield Leather Company to check out their leather selection. He has aspirations of opening a fetish-leather store—at least he’s got a dream. Then we went back to his house…and he told me that he had to go to a birthday party for another friend later in the evening. Since he’d never told me about this nor did he actually invite me to go with him, I asked him if he wanted to go alone—no, I didn’t say it in such a way that would imply that I would be angry with him either way.

His answer was quite simple—yes, he wanted me to go with him; and he said it in an “Of course you’re coming” type of way. Even though I was riding a pretty good self-confidence high, I still felt a pang in the back of my head. Yes, my neurotic-self-sabotaging flaw kicked in because I work in best worst-case scenarios. Plus, while he’s non-verbally communicating that we’re together, he’s made no verbal assertion of that fact.

Now, believe this or not, I’m not a snoop. No, I don’t normally go through someone’s phone when they’re not looking trying to find evidence of infidelity. Having said that, he does keep his phone in the console of his truck; and I happened to notice that he had 2 unread messages from Grindr. Yes, I happened to notice those messages without snooping—it was there, and all I did was glance down at the screen.

Those unread messages leapt out at me—like they wanted me to read them, or ask him about them…Well, they nagged at me until he was in the shower getting ready for our 2^nd outing in as many days with his friends; so I picked up his phone and discovered that he’d hooked up with some random guy on Thursday…All I read was, “I forgot the black-jock strap” sent from the random (or not so random guy); and his response of, “The front door is unlocked”. The unread portion consisted of, “I had fun.” And “We should do it again sometime” from the random guy.

Believe it or not, I’m not a jealous person; and I will fully admit to what Denice pointed out to me when I texted her my internal struggle—we’re not exclusive…I could be doing the same thing…and he has not told me that I should expect us to be exclusive at any point in the future. Now, the last time we hooked up and were driving around, he did refer to me as a “Future partner”; but that’s not anything except a subtle suggestion that we might be more serious in the yet unknown future.

So, now, I have two pieces of information that I cannot react to because they’re not in our equation—I’m not supposed to know that the Saturday that Ambie and I stalked his house that there was an unknown truck in his driveway (p.s. I’ve met almost all of his friends and none of them drive that truck so far); and now, I know that he hooked up with a guy the night before he cooked me dinner and started introducing me to his friends. I know I get crazy about these things (and I know I’m wholly ridiculous, Denice); but when I’m faced with two opposite notions, I tend to think crazy.

No, I tend to get crazy. And I’ve painted myself into a corner because I can’t ask him about either of the things…which I probably wouldn’t do anyway. But why is he hooking up with guys on the side and introducing me to his friends… Why isn’t he asking me for sex if he wants a random encounter? Yes, I know that I live a good distance away; and I’ve implied that I can’t drop everything to come up to see him; but he never invites me up unless he’s going to be off for the next couple of days.

I guess you’ve got to take the good with the bad…

Wednesday is breaking its promises

2012-01-25T09:40:00.001-06:00

So, I told you all in my last post that I wasn’t going to blog about National Guard Guy anymore…however, I felt the need to tell the 2 of you who read this that don’t know me (and that I haven’t told via phone conversation) that things with NGG are fine. In fact, it’s actually progressing better than my job hunt. Besides that, I don’t think the blogging activated the crazy within myself; instead, I believe it was the fact that I had his actual full name saved in my phone.

I know, right? I shouldn’t have named the puppy, but the error has been corrected now; and I’m slated to spend this Friday night with him. No, I didn’t ever find out who’s truck that was in his driveway when Ambie and I stalked him; however, we did have a discussion about his farting that proved positive—he’s not going to do it in front of me anymore (and who says you can’t change a man?). All is right with the world again.

In other news, my mother is going to go to Nebraska this weekend to clean out my uncle’s apartment because he’s in jail for (“allegedly”) slitting some guy’s throat in a road rage incident two years ago. Yes, that’s all I know; and yes, that’s a bit of crazy from my family tree that I thought I’d share. But here’s an article complete with mug shot—it’s bad—the mug shot, and no, I don’t look a thing like my mother’s brother.

Apparently, his oldest son—and one of only two cousins from that side of the family (the other one is in jail, as well, for drug charges)—was arrested and released in connection with the incident. And look at me using phrases like I’m a crime reporter. This is the Grand Chahee signing off…

If only (I were signing off), I were a crime reporter. Anyway, I don’t exactly know how to take this. True, if you look at the mug shot, there is an unmistakable amount of crazy (and confusion) in his eyes. Also, according to this article my uncle sold the truck soon after the incident; however, according to that same article the victim claimed that there were three obese Hispanic perpetrators. So, since my uncle and his son are both unmistakably white, take that as you will--and the third man alleged to be in the truck has yet to be identified; however, knowing the girth of the two already recognized, I can't begin to speculate about the third man in the truck.

My somewhat chubby, white uncle is being charged with first-degree assault and with using a deadly weapon to commit a felony. His bail is either $200,000 or $250,000—I’m not really sure. Feel free to email me if you’d like to make a donation—personally, I’m not; however, something makes me want to start a Free Uncle T campaign—so let me know if there’s any interest, and I’ll get some shirts made (that mug shot would make a killer t-shirt). His son, obese-white cousin-Jayme, is free on bond? Well, according to my mother who heard it from his mother (my uncle’s crazy, first-ex-wife), he’s not in jail.

My mother is a fixer-type person and is trying to help out in any way that she can (let's hope she doesn't get arrrested in the process). My father believes that she has a bleeding heart and should cut her losses; however, thankfully, he’s not saying much either way this time because we all know that will blow up in his face. However, mom is planning on visiting her only brother in jail on Friday and then again on Sunday because they need to figure out a way to get him a better lawyer which translates to Uncle T wanting my mother to pitch in some cash to hire him a better lawyer.

Like my father, I’m staying out of this one—like New Jersey out.

And just so we’re all clear, this blog is strictly being posted for entertainment purposes only. The Grand Chahee is in no way speculating about either the guilt or innocence of the parties involved. Any implied claims made to the innocence or guilt of the parties involved is strictly at the speculation of the reader. Additionally, The Grand Chahee makes no claims to any knowledge not already presented in either local news or facts pertaining to the case made readily available via the local court records both obtainable via the internet. As the Grand Chahee has not been made aware of his Miranda rights, no part of this blog can be used as testimony or counted as fact in the eyes of a court or any judicial proceedings.

In regards to National Guard Guy, the Grand Chahee has revoked any prior claims to stop obsessing over his behavior and will blog about that subject matter until we’re all sick and tired of it.

Sunday is going to blame the blogging.

2012-01-08T21:10:00.000-06:00

It was over an hour before I received a response from National Guard on Friday. Since I deleted all the text messages in my phone, I can’t exactly remember it word for word; however, I can assure you that it wasn’t the response I was wanting. Maybe I should just say that his response isn’t what I wanted to talk about right now.

Overall, Saturday was a pretty good day. I knew that National Guard had his massage class—so there was no way we were going to hang out during the hours of 8-5. So, shortly after I woke up, I texted Crystal. Long story short, we ended up going to the zoo (the pics are posted to Facebook); and overall, it was a great time. As we were driving home, it got to be after 5…and there was no text from National Guard.

Eventually, he texted me…and just as I was about to think all was right in the world, it turned out to be some nonsense. He sent me a picture of his tax return under the heading—“Look what I got before tax season.” Again, it was not the response I was wanting. On our way home, Crystal was preaching to me to not take everything so seriously—if I didn’t get anything from him, I should “take matters into my own hands” (her code for masturbation); and simply, relax.

So, instead of chiding him for not immediately inviting me to have sex with him, I texted National Guard back some random compliment about how “cool” it was that he’d already received his refund. Then I asked him about his day… So, long story short, I did not receive the invite I was awaiting. However, since I knew that Crystal was heading to dinner with her husband (and I’m not one to interrupt marital harmony), I texted and then called Ambie.

Ambie is really good to vent to because she never tells me how crazy I sound. Also, she’s good to vent to because she doesn’t make me think I’m sane when I tell her how crazy I feel. However, she does have a different outlook on things than Crystal—she likes to know. Or maybe it’s better said by stating that she doesn’t like to not know. Long story short here—we agree that maybe Crystal is right; maybe tonight just isn’t the night for National Guard and I to get together.

Crystal was right about that. During our conversation Ambie and I decide to drive to Springfield to pick up some supplies—Ambie knows what those are; however, I don’t feel that the rest of the world needs to know, as well. And during our journey, we happened to drive by National Guard’s house. Now, I think I have to admit that not knowing is better…

In his driveway, we saw a truck that I didn’t recognize; and his vehicle was gone. As Ambie pointed out, the truck in his driveway is something I’m not supposed to know about and thus can never mention. So, I denied myself the immediate gratification I craved and ignored the immediate urge to text him (and question him about his whereabouts).

Yes, this led to me emotionally overeating and obsessing about why he didn’t invite me over.

Somewhere during my gluttony—and pick the overeating or obsessing—I had an epiphany. I was perfectly sane before I blogged about him. I was perfectly sane before I took to this medium to confess to the world that I kind of liked this guy and implied that I wanted something more than just that single nice weekend with him.

However, since I started this cycle, only I can end it. But before I sign off on the topic of National Guard forever, I will tell you that he did text me, “Hey sexy” at 4:08 pm this afternoon…I replied back with, “Howdy.” And I have not received another reply since.

Yes, his “massage class” should have been the same hours today as they were yesterday. Yes, I have been wondering why he texted me at all if he wasn’t going to continue the conversation. But, no, I did not text him anything else—nor do I intend to until I receive another message. I am going to conclude that every guy—even one I might be interested in—might want some time to himself on occasion; and that maybe he’s ~~dead~~ asleep or walking his dogs or studying. If he wants me to know, he’ll text me.

No, my strength won’t last forever; however, I won’t be blogging about him again…

Friday thought it was time

2012-01-06T22:00:00.005-06:00

I know it’s been a while. No, I’m not going to skirt that issue this time. If you look, I think it’s been like since October since I last posted (no, I didn’t look before I posted; however, I think I can remember my own blogging correctly). And I’m not going to lie here and tell you how much I missed it…And don’t lie to me and tell me you missed it. But, “je ne regrette rien”—I’m not sorry for anything (which I just posted to my Facebook as my new personal slogan for 2012).

Before I start to sound bitter because I don’t have an audience (because I’m sure that’s not the way to get one), I will tell you that I’ve been dedicating my time to other deeds. No, I’m not going to elaborate what that means; however, I will tell you that those endeavors do not include sex with men. Well, up until the end of 2011—and that brief, unfortunate rendezvous I had after 8in of fun told me he got caught by his wife—I had not had sex.

No, I didn’t really miss it. That being said, I didn’t really miss it until I had it again; and now, after two different men in the past week—or so—I’m back to craving it like a zombie craves human brains. Maybe that’s a little inaccurate—I’m not being as mindless as I would imagine that a zombie is; however, it’s the best analogy I could come up with as I typed. Yes, I realize that there’s an editing process where—if employed—I could have all the time in the world to come up with something more dynamic; however, that’s just not how I roll.

Now, we all know I’m not very good at resisting the urge to have sex ~~for validation~~—how many years have I been blogging? That’s not the point. The point is what’s new for 2012 is that I only want to have sex with one man—well, I suppose, I should say that I want to have sex with one of two men. This is not a sign of the apocalypse…this is…Well, I’m not sure what it is…I was going to say it is the “wisdom that comes with age”; but that’s about as accurate as the whole zombie issue earlier…

Bachelor #1—only number one because he was the first in this timeline—is some sort of social worker. He had a nice home on the north side of Springfield. We bonded over a shared ~~love of~~ ~~obsessive fascination with~~ knowledge of Battlestar Galactica. What? It was all his idea to put on the soundtrack from all 4 seasons while we messed around—don’t look at me like that. He’s in his early 30’s and a nice guy, however, self-described as shy—which he is… (leading me to call him Mr. Shy…wait, I’m going to throw a Battlestar reference out here and call him “the Fraker”) He doesn’t text me; but he will return my messages within a somewhat suitable period of time.

Now, I need to tell you that I haven’t texted him since I met Bachelor #2.

Bachelor #2 was the last guy of 2011 and the first guy of 2012. Yes, I spent New Year’s Eve with him. Yes, that means that we went out on a date for New Year’s Eve, I spent the night with him, and we continued to hang out until Sunday evening. He’s also a nice guy. I like his build and personality a little better than the Fraker; however, he is a bit shorter. But before I let this turn into a comparison chart, I should tell you that this guy is in the Missouri National Guard (which means that I like his hair cut), is currently studying to be a massage therapist, and is just a year younger than me.

Now, we’ll compare. After a few drinks, the Fraker did not disappoint in the bedroom department; and having said that, neither did National Guard, but it seems that we like to play the same position on the field—however, we made do with our individual talents. Also, National Guard seems like he’d be up for just about anything—which is always fun because variety is the spice of life. Yes, National Guard is the clear winner in this debate (Ha!); however, for reasons I haven’t mentioned (like he’s kind of awkward to talk to on the phone; and since I told him I’m unemployed, I think he’s lost interest in me) I’m not going to completely rule out the Fraker.

*Update*

I just texted National Guard and pathetically asked, “When do I get to see you again.”

His response: “Tomorrow? But I need time to study.”

My response: “I thought your test was tomorrow.”

And I’m awaiting his response to that.

Hmmm. I suppose what I have to say next sort of hinges on that response. Anyway, the Fraker and I had a great time; and I think we actually have more in common—plus, I lied and told him that I still had a job. I know lying is deceptive—but it’s not really any of his business. I mean—it’s not like I’m asking him to support me.

So, upon waiting like 5 minutes and typing the above paragraph, I still didn’t receive a response; so I uncertainly texted, “Well, at any rate, I’m happy to help you study ;)”

Yes, I feel dirty for that text emoticon—a winking smiley reeks of desperation; however, he is a massage student… I’m sure “studying” for a test would involve him putting his hands on me at some point. What’s so wrong with that? I know—I can’t even type what’s wrong with that…

Fyi: National Guard isn’t very good at quick responses—even when we’re involved in a back-and-forth conversation; so, I have no response as of the publication of this blog. Yes, I’m aware that I could hold off on publishing until I receive one; however, I feel that waiting would cast me in an even more pathetic light that I already have.

No, I doubt I’ll get around to posting his reply—should he reply at some point in the near future; je ne regrette rien!

Even after googling “je ne regrette rien” and finding out that it actually means, “I regret nothing” according to a translation site—while wiki still says it means, “No, I’m not sorry for anything” (I know I’m just stalling and splitting hairs there)…What? Oh yeah, even after all that, I still haven’t gotten anything…like a time, a place, or even a confirmation that his test is tomorrow like he said it was earlier in the week…

I’m going to be strong, though. There will be no repeat of the “K…WTF…35 missed calls from you? I woke up to find that” in National Guard’s future. But the longer I wait, the more I want to keep texting…then you know I’m going to call…then you know that’s not going to be good. Now, I’m going to say something that I’ve probably never said before, Pray for me, ya’ll…pray for me.

Friday kinda saw this coming

2011-10-28T10:48:00.002-05:00

In all honesty, I started this yesterday, but fell asleep. Well, I did fall asleep before completing it; however, to say that’s a direct line (I started this then fell asleep while writing) would be a little deceiving. As I think I’ve mentioned before, my sleep patterns have been a little off lately. I’m not going to elaborate further—it’s just as a writer, I like to build suspense by going off on tangents.

I doubt it’s an effective means of creating interest; however, it’s a process more than a means. But no matter, I’ll get back on track in a few sentences (this is not it). In between posting my “teaser” yesterday and starting a whole new post today (it was all in the present tense; and now, it’s all past tense—so I had to scrap it all), I got sidetracked by some bad cologne.

Well, I got covered with the stench of bad cologne while searching for a replacement for 8in of fun. See, not all of my tangents go that far off track. But now, you’re wondering why I needed a replacement for 8in of fun—which is the point of this post; well, the general point anyway.

Anyway.

Yesterday, at 8:39 AM (by the text’s time stamp), I got a text message from 8in of fun. I’ll save the buildup and just tell you it wasn’t the text I was expecting.

“Hi, how [are] [you]? Me, not so good. [I] lost my job, and [my] wife kicked me out.”

It’s a thing I have correcting text shorthand; however, that was the message I got. Obviously, I was expecting something along the lines of “house is free at []. I want to [] you”. He had texted me last Friday (in the afternoon, after our usual dalliance); and told me his wife was expected to be out on Thursday and Friday (I inferred that she was going out of town).

On Tuesday, I saw an interesting Craigslist posting (I think it’s safe to say that you all know I check those out regularly—if only for entertainment value). A 40-year old Bolivar man had posted about his wife being out of town for the weekend, and he was looking for some fun. Now, despite the poster describing his member as “8in of total fun” in the ad, this had him written all over it (I didn’t come up with his nickname on my own, you know).

And I’m not going to pretend like I didn’t respond to it. And I’m not going to pretend that I just responded to it to make sure it was him—I knew it was him. What I wanted to know is if his other arrangements would/could affect his plans with me. My findings in that area were too obscure to be totally certain (I think he was trying to work around me; however, to be totally honest, I think if my fake offer was presented in such a way—my real offer would have been deferred). But within two emails, I did have his number—the same number I have for him in my phone (I told him I couldn’t give out my phone number due to my being married and the need for discretion).

His text on Thursday confirmed a suspension I had about his posting on Craigslist not centered around petty jealously—it could get him caught. I didn’t just stop the conversation with him telling me that he’d been caught and expelled by his wife. I tried to extrapolate as much information about the event as possible—as much for my own fascination as for entertainment value. Wow, that sounds kinda cold. But I’m not going to delete it.

His account of how his wife was informed wasn’t exactly without holes—part of it didn’t make sense to me, but maybe we’ll examine that here in a few seconds. He said someone had responded to his ad and then forwarded the emails to his wife. This someone (who is not me—I just felt I needed to say it, incase the entertainment value comment cast this in that sinister light) said that they liked “busting married men”.

What I don’t get is how the internet avenger knew who his wife was. That’s the hole I could never fill. While 8in of fun isn’t as discreet as I would be, he doesn’t have his name on his email—nor does he offer it readily. I only knew his first name because that other guy told me; I only found his last name from context clues that I found while visiting his house several times over the past few months. I mean his age in the ad wasn’t even correct (he’s still saying he is 40).

He was adamant that he tried to pursue the fellow who was responsible for forwarding the emails to his wife—that she then used to get him fired from his job (he admitted that he worked construction part-time; however, he mostly got paid through doing the books for his church—which as I posted before, he’s an associate pastor). The mystery man never showed for him “to beat his ass” as he texted me (he continued that if he ever finds the man he’s going to “cut his balls off”).

I don’t know what he emailed the internet avenger; but like I said, based on what he emailed me, the only identity vulnerable piece of information I gleaned was his phone number. Unless the avenger knew him from that, I don’t know how you can connect the dots from his emails to his wife. While the thought seemingly never crossed his mind, this had to have been perpetuated by his wife; and from what that guy from up north has told me, isn’t that far off base to think (supposedly, he’s almost been caught before).

Now, I’m not sure if I’m the one who should post this conundrum; however, it’s on my mind, so I’m going to type it. Never in his many texts on this subject did he ever admit to his own culpability in the situation. Never once did he admit that cheating on his wife was the wrong thing to do, and that dishonesty led him to his present situation. I expected the “revelation” to hit him during our text exchange—that this was all his fault. But he continued to blame this nameless internet avenger for “ruining his life”.

Maybe that thought is just on my mind because his getting caught means that we probably won’t have sex again (while he wasn’t clear what he was going to do yesterday, he did suggest that he would go to stay in Oklahoma with some family). And that is something I do blame him for because I’ll probably miss the excitement. To get back on track with this post, when he was texting me about his predicament, he did not suggest that we meet up and hook up one last time (which is one reason—probably the main reason—I kept texting him back). And this leads me to the tale of how I got enveloped with the smell of bad cologne.

Thursday doesn’t think I’m going to get laid as originally planned…

2011-10-27T08:47:00.003-05:00

Well, well. Just as I was publishing the previous post (yes, that whole analogy about bread/cake was so I could type, “Let them eat cake.”), I received a text from 8in of fun. I thought it was a time for our little meeting; however, what I got wasn’t exactly what I thought it would be.

I’m waiting for it to all play out here, but I don’t know that cake is on my plate anymore.

Thursday doesn’t consider it failure

2011-10-27T08:43:00.002-05:00

I went out on a date—an honest date. It was kind of random; however, still somewhat planned. It was a dinner date. I paid for myself. And then we went back to his place where we watched a movie on cable.

He wasn’t a bad guy. Yes, he was kind of short. Yes, he was kind of balding. Yes, he seemed to like to complain about his life. Yes, I felt the entire time that I had the upper hand; and no, it didn’t make me any more interested. He is 40, I’m 29. I can say I’m better looking than he is with out being conceited. He likes ballroom dance and talked about his musical-theatre experience. He liked the fact that I can crochet and talked about me making his nephew a hat.

That’s when I knew, you see—that’s when I knew I had that upper hand.

Well, isn’t it obvious? It wasn’t the difference in age (I’ve dated guys far older than me that I never even saw a hand in those trysts)—same can be said of looks (ugly guys can make me feel almost as self-conscious as the hot ones). The dance and vocal history thing just make me far less gay than him—basically, only serving to make me more disinterested (however, just because I’m not interested doesn’t mean they are—so it doesn’t immediately give me power). It was the hat request.

Simply, we’ve know each other in real life for all of 30 minutes (maybe), and he’s already concocting a way to be with me again. It’s not like I had my yarn with me (believe it or not, it’s not something that I usually bring along), so I’d have to have some further contact to implement the hat-making scenario. He likes me. He likes me far sooner than I could even develop a like for him. And that’s a feeling I can control in myself to control the situation (our date), so the more I tourniquet my positive responses—the more power I gain.

It’s a game. It’s a lot like economics—well, supply and demand. Price in economics will translate to power this situation. Say I’m bread—just as an example. If there’s a shortage of bread, the price of bread increases. When there is an excess in the bread supply, the price of bread decreases. The more he likes me equals the more power I have.

Now, economics isn’t exactly that black and white—maybe bread is in short supply, but there’s lots of cake.

Some would say “Let them eat cake”; however, when someone is 40, bald, short, with an eccentricity of not liking to wear socks, they’re not going to hold out for cake. Let’s face it, cake is tastes far better—sure—but we can’t all eat cake, can we? We can make cake—but who has the time? (Especially if you consider cake mixes cheating—because anything worth having is worth waiting for. And bread could arguably take even longer to make—when you count all the kneading and rising and punching down and rising and baking times can vary by oven.)

When you’ve got a slab of bread in front of you—waiting to be paid for (that’s far more masculine and has much more hair than you probably ever had—we are taking about bread, which shouldn’t have hair at all—but what if you like hair in your bread?), why would you want to go back to the store and wait in a cake-line to buy a slice of cake that will probably ~~laugh in your face without the courtesy of going out on a date with you in the first place~~ be sold out once you get there (meaning that you’ll have to pay an even higher price for the bread once you get it out again—not to mention tuck another shirt into you’re too tight jeans just so the tails don’t stick out from under the sweater…and don’t get me started on those damn socks—or lack there of, anyway.)?

Yeah, so that’s the game: if you know someone likes you, that’s the hand; and if you know someone likes you more than you like them, that’s the upper hand. So when the guy I’ve met just 30 minutes ago is prematurely manufacturing ways to be with me again before we’ve even had dinner, I know I’ve got the upper hand. It’s the hand I’ve been dealt, and I can only play the cards I’ve got.

Say what you will, but everyone wants the upper hand. It usually takes several tries to get it; but once it’s had, everyone plays it. I didn’t make the rules here, I’m just the one that’s willing to admit that I loose interest when I know I don’t have to play that hard (because who doesn’t like to keep playing?).

So, I went to dinner. I made the casual small-talk. I drove him back to his place; and once we were back at his apartment, I let him dim the lights. I agreed to watch a movie on cable (Pay-per-view was offered; but I declined because even though I knew it wasn’t my $4.99, I still thought it was a waste of money—and wouldn’t go back in time and buy me dinner). And I let him do his little couch-scooting dance up to the point that I was hugging my side of the couch so much I thought my arm was going to fall asleep while he petted my other arm and casually rested his bald head on my shoulder.

And his profile said he was a top. Please. This man doesn’t have the throw down to be a top—if he did, I wouldn’t have been able to walk away so easily in the middle of Saturday Night Live (it came on after the movie). If he were a top, I wouldn’t have known SNL was on; and I wouldn’t have been able to leave so easily because I wouldn’t have had my clothes on.

Please

That’s just like every picture he has on his profile he’s in a hat (even in his semi-nude one). Too bad he didn’t wear a hat on our date—it wouldn’t have bought him a second chance; however, I wouldn’t have been subjected to the desperation of him trying to use what he had left to cover what isn’t there—the hat would have done that (those lonely shoots springing up and banding to gether) . A bald man wearing a hat to compete in the dating pool is deceiving. Let’s not forget, omission is betrayal—and while covering something up may not exactly be omitting it; however, he knew it wasn’t right—that’s why he covered it up. Let me say it again, Pa-Leeze (pardon that misspelling).

I’m going to keep eating my cake, thank you (cake is 8in of fun—for those of you who don’t follow this set-up). It’s probably not good for me. It definitely won’t sustain me forever. I’ll never be able to have it and eat it. But it’s on my plate for now; and when the only other alternative is a stale piece of white-bread, cake tastes pretty damn good…

Thursday’s chickens hatched.

2011-10-06T00:20:00.002-05:00

(editor’s note: this was started last Friday and I forgot to post it)

Who knew all I had to do was ask and I would receive? Hell, I didn’t really ask—it was a casual suggestion. Fine, I’m not sure if I said, “Hey, that hot tub sounds good.” Or if I said, “Hey, what about that hot tub?” I know one is a suggestion…one is a question. I know the inherent difference between the two.

I’m not going to lie here; I’m thinking about knocking one out, but don’t know if I have it in me after my meeting with 8in of fun. He met me at the door in a robe. Obviously, you get that his hot tub was a factor this time. It’s like a magic hot tub—he slipped right in…we didn’t just fool around in it this time…we finally managed to fuck somewhere other than his bed.

Well, we hit the bed, too. He was in the mood for a backdoor action himself. It may have been my playing with his ass a little while in the hot tub. I don’t know. I wasn’t really suggesting it; it was there—and I was in a position to play around with it while he was playing around in me.

Usually, when he suggests I plug him, we get right down to it (I always thought the sense of urgency stemmed from his not wanting to lose the nerve). But I let him squirm a while. Then I asked him to flip over, and I plowed him doggie style. This is a deviation.

We also went at it for over an hour and a half combined…I can’t take all of the credit there. He ended up going at me three times (one hot tub; two bed—no, I wasn’t doggie for either, but I did push him back in the hot tub and he was sitting for a little bit of it…I think he likes to have my mouth available to kiss me is why we’re constantly doing it missionary…and I suppose I can’t begrudge him that; however, I enjoyed the doggie—there was something sexy about his back). I think he was just excited to see me.

Continued from last Friday.

I received the text on Monday afternoon asking if Friday would work for me. By some twist of fate, I wasn’t able to respond until Tuesday (my sleep pattern is again fucked up). He hasn’t responded yet; and I’m not sure hot to take that. The text from Monday asked if I was ready for “hot tub and bed” on Friday, so I’m guessing he liked the hot tub.

I noticed the last time that the road is only too visible when we get out of that hot tub to dry off. He doesn’t seem to mind this—going so far as to suggest that some of the ladies drive down his road for the specific purpose. I suppose none of his fellow church goers live down his road.

On a different note, The Shot’s celebrated their 2-year anniversary on Monday. Congratulations. They had a party this weekend. It was fun. Then they left Monday for a bed and breakfast in Branson (I haven’t heard from them; however, I’m assuming they were going as planned).

I would continue more; however, I just realized that tomorrow is trash day; and I still haven’t done that—if I don’t do it now, I’ll forget it and then I’ll have to hear that we have trash backed up.

Friday doesn’t feel good about counting chickens and all that

2011-09-30T00:55:00.000-05:00

Well, just like a watched pot never boils, you shouldn’t count your chickens before they hatch. Last week I did as I was regaling you with a pointless post about how mundane my encounters with 8in of fun were getting (really that was a cry for help—and by help, I do mean Dr. Sexy; Dr. Sexy, where have you been anyway? You know I make a point of never texting a man…are you testing my resolve?).

That (the part in the parenthesis) was a tangent (or a sign of desperation—no, I don’t consider Dr. Sexy a desperate choice—far from it; the fact that I actually typed that, may very well be…because you all know I’d never beg for sex…well, I’d never openly beg for sex…I hope that doesn’t come off as insulting, because the point I’m trying to express is that I want Dr. Sexy to text me in an effort to reestablish communication with the end result being him leading me to his basement and putting me up in that sling. Or filming the much anticipated sequel to our first and only sex “tape”; or at the very least, his texting me to tell me he’d like to do it all again). But, again, I digress.

Back to the matter at hand—counting chickens that haven’t hatched. Well, 8in of fun actually cancelled last week. It was far enough in advance to not trip my “last minute cancellation” trigger; plus it was so flattering, I couldn’t find a way to be mad about it.

“Sorry, this is our day, and it’s messed up; I wait all week for you.”

Well, part of me figured that this might be the beginning of the end for us (you all know I’m quick to jump on that bandwagon). It all starts with a haphazard cancellation, followed by another and another; and then you just sort of “lose touch”. I’m half surprised that he hasn’t found somebody new already anyway.

At any rate, I got the text Thursday morning (yesterday). I’m supposed to meet him at our “regular time” 8am. I got the text at about 8am, so I wasn’t as witty as I could have been. I meant to suggest something dirty for us to do… or maybe to encourage the use of his hot tub again—anything really to just liven things up. But I didn’t—I just confirmed that the 8am time would work.

Remind me later today when (or even if) I get his text giving me the final invite to suggest something dirty. Or maybe I’ll just drop to my knees when he opens the front door. What do I have to lose?

Thursday doesn’t know how to feel about it…

2011-09-29T23:26:00.001-05:00

It was some years ago when I met Mr. Crazy (upon review of the archives, I believe he pre-dates this blog—but he is in the Archives from when I’ve mentioned him in the past). After some crazy calculating, I’ve just arrived at the theoretical date I met him to be circa September of 2006. I believe we “dated” until June (possibly July) of 2007; and upon review of the archives (the label Mr. Crazy), I have come to the fact that the last time I talked to him to be around March of 2008.

For me, that’s a fair amount of time. I don’t remember meeting the man…well, I know the internet was involved, and as I typed that I don’t remember meeting him—I believe the first time I did involved he and I smoking a cigarette on his front porch (he was a bit of a closet smoker; and his youngest daughter was home—which is why I think we were on the front porch). He was in his mid-40s, divorced with three kids (I believe he was just a little younger than my mom…his oldest daughter was 18 when we met). I ended up meeting both his daughters (his oldest had just found out she was pregnant right around the time we broke up); however, his son was off at school (some wayward boys’ school out in Utah).

Our relationship had its ups and downs (he really was bi-polar); it was the only relationship where I was the assertive one in bed—he was a total bottom; and I got tired of just fooling around. It did good things to my sexual self-esteem…he used to call out my name in pleasure while I threw him about the bed. Hell, I believe that I even stayed over a time or two without being coaxed.

The break up was fairly amicable. I do remember that. It was over the phone—he was in a lull; and I hadn’t seen him in a few weeks (maybe even a whole month). And even though we talked somewhat frequently over the phone, I knew the breakup was coming. It was a fairly frank discussion and neither of us were heated; I wasn’t even that sad afterward. I believe I even kept somewhat in touch.

March of 2008 is the last conversation with the man that I have on record (it’s in the archives). I had watched Tootsie and Dustin Hoffman reminded me so much of the man that I called him up (I believe the real prompt to the phone call was that I had seen him earlier in the day, or drove by his new house—and saw his car in the drive way; generic, suv-type car; however, it had a distinct sticker on the back glass).

I don’t know what prompted me to look for him today. I was on Facebook (doesn’t all internet stalking start with Facebook these days), and I found his profile. I found that I had sent him a friend request—it was a while ago, and he hadn’t accepted it yet. The non-acceptance (because it wasn’t a denial) sent me about looking at other avenues (I found all of his kids’ pages, plus his ex-wife’s). I went to the Missouri Courts website (Case.net).

Then I googled his name.

On Case.net, I found a motion his ex-wife had filed on Case.net in his youngest daughter’s behalf. On Google, I found his obituary. He died “suddenly” last May.
I’m not sure how I feel about this. I’m not sure how I should feel about this. I’ve never had an old lover die before. Just so you know, I do feel a pang. I know there’s nothing I could have done, and I certainly don’t blame myself for not keeping in touch (or for breaking up with him). But I wish I would have known sooner—I suppose. I don’t know why; I wouldn’t have gone to the funeral—I wouldn’t have known my place there (and I couldn’t have explained it to save my life). Plus, I think he was buried in New Jersey (where his parents and a good deal of his family are from).

I am kinda sad. And I’m not sure if the fact that I hadn’t talked to him for over 3 years makes me more or less so.

Thursday doesn’t have a direction for this one

2011-09-22T06:36:00.002-05:00

Just to let you know, I’m eating an apple (it’s currently being held in my teeth); and I’m writing out of obligation. And it will be soon apparent that I have no tale to tell at present. Unless you want to hear about my cats (I can’t believe I even just typed that)…and even if you do want to hear about my cats (I’m up to 3—two kittens just joined the now adolescent stray I took pity on at the beginning of July), I’m not going to write about them—you sick fuck…this isn’t that type of blog (I’m sorry for alienating all my cat-loving readers).

No, I haven’t even got another bland, indistinguishable narrative of an additional terse meeting with 8in of fun. Let’s face it—at this point, they are all the same. I will elaborate on that, briefly, if you’ll allow me. HA! “Allow me?” I’m the one writing here—I’ll write what I will. I will admit that this is a tangent, and that I plan on being quite loquacious.

I think I let the elation of having regular sex with an emotionally-unavailable man overrun my desire for hot sex. Let me break that out some: the sex is hot; but at the same time, it’s bland as a jello mold (I’m also apologetic for estranging my jello-loving readers—but even those have to admit the only way to jazz up jello is with the addition of fruit or whipped cream—or both, and those might be fun during sex; but at the end of the day—it’s still jigglie jello). The hot tub excursion was a welcomed detour—hell, at least it was something different; and it also introduced another element of risk (we were outside)…having said that it was one time; and if I constantly wanted to have sex in the same bed in the same position every time, I would probably get married myself.

I thought married men cheated on their spouses to have hot-“strange” sex—to try new things the (forgive the expression) “little woman” won’t do. Now, perhaps I’m a victim to my own overgeneralization—maybe that’s why men cheat on their wives with other women. As I’m certain that anal isn’t a regular on their plate in those relationships (and those men-women relationships out there that do include a regular helping of the ole-back-door action probably aren’t cheating on their wives—I’m just saying), maybe that’s the “new thing” he’s trying (and let’s not forget that I give it to him on occasion—and judging from their picture on that church website, I don’t think his wife will be donning a strap-on at any point in their future).

But come on, throw me about the bed once in a while; come at me from behind, push my face down against the covers while leaning on the bed, kick my legs apart, and go to town—why don’t you? Hell, ask me to sit on it and spin—let your imagination run wild…because you know what? You can ask me to do anything outrageous and the only thing you have to lose is that I might say no. You don’t have to feel guilty because you asked the mother of your children to go doggie, or to call you “Big Poppa” when you stick it to her. Hell, you don’t even have to wake up beside me—I’m going to be gone in an hour—tops—might as well go for the gold.

And now, I’m seemingly complaining about getting exactly what I’ve wanted—sex…no strings, steady, sex without having to worry if the guy’s going to call me the next day (he’s not going to call, but I may get a text). And this is the paradoxical turn my (sex) life has taken. And I shouldn’t complain—I seriously don’t have to hear about his job, his kids, his worry about the car being low on oil. I don’t have to find something we’ll both want to watch on tv. I don’t have to worry that he’s cheating on me.

It’s the safest sex I’ve had in a while. But with the safe, comes the boring.

And other than that, I don’t want to regale you with how demoralizing it is that the majority of messages I do receive while surfing the web are from either old guys or uglies (they’ve been so plentiful that I’ve taken to deleting them upon receipt). And the guys that are probably worth a second look are usually from out of state or just plain time-wasters.

And even though this virtual space is infinite, I don’t believe I have enough words to explain to you why I’ve commissioned a second (yes, you read that correctly—second) fanny-pack from Crystal; or to express the reasons behind my utter zeal at the final product. As hobby projects go, it’s just not very interesting that I’m working on a golden teddy bear—or the restoration of my first afghan (the seams—where I sewed the squares together—are coming undone in different places…mostly where 4 corners meet)…just know a plan is in place to not let this American-made treasure go to waste (well, I should say assembled in America from imported materials—the yarn was from Turkey, I believe).

And no, I’m even going to tell you how I’m loving (LOVING) Wuthering Heights…or how I’m longing to read Jane Eyre upon the completion of the former. So, I’m glad we could catch up a bit. And don’t take my silence personal—you really don’t want this to turn into a cat blog, do you?

Monday was filled with the holy spirit

2011-09-12T06:22:00.002-05:00

I’m not sure what got into me when I started searching for 8in of fun’s wife this past Thursday. True, I had tried to search her out before; however, I didn’t get anywhere, and I didn’t go any further. That was like a month ago.

I knew she was a teacher (or rather that her work schedule was tied to school), but my previous search of the local schools’ websites didn’t yield a positive id. I decided to try colleges (since I had noticed her name tag on their dresser after a few encounters with 8in of fun—this was a couple months ago; while I didn’t have time to study it carefully, I did notice that her name did have a “Dr” in front of it).

I didn’t have to search very hard through the faculty listings on the local college’s site before I came across her name (the first name I had previously remembered from that name tag; however, the last name I only had a vague spelling). So, I found her (with a picture, her class schedule, and her current research topics). Then I decided to find him.

Again, I didn’t have to look long (google may be a search whore, but it’s also pretty quick). The first one I clicked on took me to a “mission trip” (they visited some school/orphanage in Mexico) from 2000. There were pictures and video. I didn’t stay long there before I went back to google and found several obituaries that listed him and his wife as the “musical performers” for them.

I also found his name connected with a local church. I had to go back to the mission trip website and find a direct link to the church’s website…Then I clicked on “Staff” on the top. I’m not quite sure how to feel about what I found. I think this is the first time I’ve had sex with an “associate pastor” from a church before (but at least this explains my inclination to moan “oh god” while he’s sliding it in).

I did not enlighten him to my little revelation when I saw him Friday morning. He was still in his pajamas (but since we were going to be naked in a few minutes, I didn’t have a cause to mind). He had mentioned us in his hot tub, and the thought intrigued him at the moment as well. He asked if I wanted to do that first…I told him it was his show, and he lead me naked through the house to the outside deck (and I noticed that he had already laid out towels).

The hot tub is on the backside of the house; however, the outer door is on the side. His house only sits a few hundred feet from the highway it faces and has a clear view to the other highway I have to take to get to his house. This did not concern him in the least. I did cover myself briefly with the towel before making my way around his deck.

I didn’t exactly know what we were going to do in that hot tub. My only other experience with naked men and a hot tub includes that couple from Nixa…and all they want to do out there is chit chat—I didn’t know what we’d talk about (maybe his church?). Luckily, he didn’t plan on talking and pretty much attacked my face immediately.

I didn’t bring out my lube (silicone lube is fairly waterproof), so some kissing and grouping was all we were afforded (maybe next time, I’ll mention that). After he made me well aware kissing wasn’t all that was on his agenda, he suggested some bedroom time. The hot tube time proved to be an effective opener; and I didn’t have the “adjustment period” while he slid in (I was pretty much ready to go immediately. In fact, he paused—as he normally does—and I pulled him in without wincing).

The hot tub was almost the only new trick, and our encounter progressed the same as always. At some point, he told me “I love having sex with you”. Yes, he used the love word. “Enjoy” is usually what he says, “I enjoy having sex with you”. I didn’t know how to take this dialogue; however, I didn’t think too heavily on it…I did notice that he held me longer than usual, but wrote it off as we weren’t in a rush this time.

I asked about the three way that the (as he describes him) guy from up north was putting together. 8in of fun implied that he hadn’t heard anything else about it. I’m wondering if he even emailed him back (After my pedicure with Denice on Tuesday, he had texted me to ask my position on the matter—basically, asking if I wanted to go. He stated that he wouldn’t mind as long as it didn’t interfere with our time together—as he stated in the text “I enjoy you and I so much”. I replied that it didn’t matter to me—but that one-on-one was fine; I had wavered due to the nosiness of “that guy from up north”). While, I hadn’t received a reply from the other guy myself (either by email or through im); I figured it was cancelled even before I went to meet up with 8in of fun.

This time when I pictured us getting caught it wasn’t his wife doing the catching, it was a perishner with question of faith. And I began to wonder if having sex with a pastor made me closer to god?

Tuesday wants you to know that’s not how to get in touch with me.

2011-09-06T07:49:00.002-05:00

At 10:20 pm, Monday, September 5, 2011, I received what my phone referred to as a “Private Call”. Yes, someone dialed my number using *67 to block their outgoing caller id; so I wouldn’t be able to know who was calling me. No, I don’t answer my phone when the number is blocked (I didn’t hear the phone when it rang; however, I wouldn’t have answered anyway). And this “Private Caller” didn’t leave a message.

Now, calling me blocked doesn’t exactly get you anywhere. Like I said before, I don’t answer private calls. Also, my voicemail doesn’t let you know who you’re calling (it’s a blank—“Leave a message after the beep”—no name attached at all). Plus, who calls private these days anyway? And yes, we’re going to rule out bill collectors (they don’t have that number, and I’m current on everything).

I haven’t gotten a blocked call in quite some time. It’s been so long, in fact, that I didn’t quite know how to handle it. Should I be worried? It was kind of my first response—and that mainly stemmed from the fact that I didn’t know (and can’t figure out) who called. And this worry was mainly wondering if it was an accidental dial—maybe Denice [or another friend] called me from her work phone and it blocks the number automatically; however, in that scenario (or similar) the caller would have left a message—or sent an accompanying text (or tried calling back—fyi persistence pays off: no, I might not answer 1 private call; however, 35, I might…I may have fallen asleep, though, and would love to wake up to find that).

It wasn’t like an overwhelming sense of worry…like “Oh, my god, I got a call from a blocked number…I bet someone is trying to kill me.” No, nothing like that.

I used to think getting a blocked call on occasion meant I was doing something right; however, in my olden years, I’m a bit more laid back—hell, I haven’t even given my number out to anyone in quite sometime—and then it’s only to people who have already given me their numbers (thusly, making it useless to call me blocked). Also, I’m not really avoiding anyone at this time. Plus, I haven’t done anything the least bit shady in a while (apart from that whole having sex with a married man thing—and he doesn’t exactly need to call me blocked).

That was my first non-friend-related worry. Maybe 8in of fun’s wife found my number and waited until 10:20 at night to call. I bet that’s prime husband-investigating time. Silly, me, that’s better left to “business hours”. This worry pretty much evaporated almost as soon as it hit the burner. I mean, nothing was gained from calling me blocked; and I’m fairly certain I would have gotten a text message from him a few minutes later.

Maybe it was the other guy. He had my old number; maybe he was trying to call me about our “group session” that’s supposed to happen on Friday (he’s been “recruiting” people via a fake personal ad on some website—he’s gotten 10 positive responses). And he got my current number from 8in of fun…and wanted to surprise me? That doesn’t really hold water either—but it was an interesting way of letting you know how that’s progressing.

I shut down the conversation when he started asking too many questions about 8in of fun. I’m not jealous—and I’m not lying. It just makes me uncomfortable when he asks me too many questions about what’s going on there. Despite what he may think (he mentioned wanting to know tidbits because he likes to know what he’s getting when he has sex with 8in of fun—and my personal sex-life has direct barring on his; obviously, I call bullshit—what I do on my own time is no concern of his), it’s none of his business; and if he wants to know what I do with 8in of fun, he should ask 8in of fun.

What really irked me was his insistence that I should mention the group thing to 8in of fun (reminding him how much fun our sandwich was). What I wanted to respond with was: “Dude, this was all your idea; I just didn’t ask you to stop”; however, I simply deleted the message and did not reply. I received another message shortly after my non-reply was apparent, “What’s wrong? Are you not into the group thing anymore?” I, also, did not reply to that because I didn’t think I could respond politely enough (“Group thing is fine...but you need to talk to 8in of fun on your own dime—I mean, you do have his ‘personal number’ from your records”).

He doesn’t need to go through me to communicate with 8in of fun, and I’m nobody’s patsy.

So, like I said, if it were you that called me private and you’re not in that random drivel I just typed out, I didn’t know it was you—and you should try not calling private next time because, obviously, you won’t be on my radar—I have bigger fish…(and having just finished He’s Just Not That Into You the book, I know it’s not some guy that wants to be with me).

Saturday knows sometimes more is less

2011-09-03T01:56:00.002-05:00

I was banking on 8in of fun to set my Friday right. I know what they say about counting chickens and all that, but I was still so sure that I’d get laid again on Friday—and I wouldn’t have to be sexually frustrated for another few days. I knew I was getting cocky—it’s become too regular a thing. I know this.

I wasn’t expecting the text message I received on Thursday. Luckily, I was asleep when it was received (or else I would have had even more time to obsess about it); and I didn’t immediately look at my phone when I woke up. It was from 8in of fun: “I’m not sure Friday will work out. Can you come today at 3:30?” Yes, I could have changed things around to make it work; however, I didn’t get the message until a quarter to 3—it would be pushing it to get there on time.

Plus, I had other stuff going on. My second-cousin’s husband dropped dead at the breakfast table Tuesday morning. He was 35. His visitation was at 5 on Thursday. I didn’t want to go to the funeral, so I figured I needed to go to visitation. I tell him as much. He tells me that he’ll try to make Friday work out as previously planned, and he would let me know.

I didn’t immediately think that much of it. I was actually feeling proud of myself. I think this is the first time that I didn’t bend over backwards to amend my schedule to meet up with him (let’s face it, I don’t have much going on these days—and usually, these meetings are a pleasant distraction from that fact…I think it’s the fairly methodical preparation routine: shower, underwear selection, cologne).

However, it was weighing on me. He didn’t explain what came up. I, of course, didn’t ask. I know it’s probably because after my talk with that other guy on Wednesday, that I was starting to feel a little self-conscious about this last minute change...and the possibility of a last minute cancellation.

I woke up early Friday morning—just worked out that way. And even though I was reassuring myself that he would text me—he doesn’t usually cancel, the doubt was starting to pull me at the seams. I probably checked my phone a dozen times thinking I did hear it go off. But no. And each time I checked, I pulled a different scenario out of thin air to explain the alteration in our plans.

Maybe his wife took the day off. Yeah, that has to be it—he wouldn’t cancel unless it was something to do with his wife. Maybe the other guy had changed his mind about his “load” theory and wanted to be first in line. He pulled some trick out of his hat, and got 8in of fun to push me off the board. Naw, surely, 8in of fun will give me credit for my continued patronage. But what if the other guy told him of our talk and made him think I was getting “too attached” (or too cocky). And the fact that I was talking about him with someone else made him uncomfortable with our continuing affairs.

Seriously, wouldn’t he ask me about it if it made him that uncomfortable? If he did, I’d assure him I’d like nothing better if the other guy never asked me another question about him (I’m really trying to be super discreet—and rarely share the details of our trysts with the other guy). For a moment I think I’m a trollop (or the male version thereof). Then I remember that every conversation, every bleed detail, is at the hand of this other guy; and surely, 8in of fun would know that.

I’m still checking my phone. A little more uneasy as the clock ticks closer and closer to 9:30 (just so you know, this all started at 6am…and it was probably like 7:15 at this time). And I was reassured that I still had plenty of time. I received his message, probably just after 8ish. He said it was looking like it was going to happen, but he’d text me by 9 to verify.

I gave myself a little leeway with my previous irrational thoughts, and began to sink to the self-satisfaction that I would be getting laid in a few more hours. I know I’ve been setting this up like I wasn’t going to get laid, and I apologize for that. I don’t usually use that much foreshadowing then be all “ha ha—I got laid like I knew I would”. But I really didn’t think it was going to happen for whatever reason.

I got the text at 9 on the dot. He was on his way home; I should meet him at 9:30. I pat myself on the back. I really had prepared myself for the cancellation…and was really ok with it. I had wavered with the thought that if he cancelled our plans today that I would not meet him anymore. It made me realize that I’ve been too dependant on him for my own pleasure (and having those expectations with a married man is a recipe for disaster—I say to myself again, “They never leave their wives for you” and “Why did you let it get this involved?”).

Despite myself, I started to feel the elation with the knowledge that I would be getting laid today. And I started to let myself off the hook because the fact remains that I’d be glad to be laid no matter who was doing the laying (so long as they aren’t toothless trash that live in a trailer out in the middle of nowhere—or either of those, independently).

He meets me at the door—like every other time. As he leads me to his bedroom, he tells me that it sucks to have to go into work on your day off. Eh? I didn’t ask any questions, or inquire further. I was pretty sure he worked construction; and he wasn’t in construction clothes (nor did he have enough time to change—well, maybe, but his hair wasn’t wet from a shower or anything)…but that’s just the conversation with the other guy creeping in.

It starts out like normal. Well, our new normal—him attacking my face. It’s funny how he goes about it—kind of hesitating to kiss me by grabbing my crotch, and bends down to lick a nip—then his hands tighten around my back and he pulls my face down toward his (I’m a good 4 inches taller than him—at least). He’s not a timid kisser…and I’d give him a firm 7 (on a 1-10 scale…not sloppy, slightly aggressive); however, it’s like he has had to learn to kiss a guy. I know we didn’t kiss at first, so I don’t know how new this is to him (and I’m never going to ask—it would only feed the negative consequences of our arrangement to know I’m the only one he kisses—or has ever kissed).

It almost has that gay-porn-kiss quality about it…almost fake kissing…there’s a little too much tongue out of the mouth—like he wants to lick my tongue, instead of let our tongues massage each other in our mouths. Not too dwell on this too much, but I like kissing—I’ll admit, it’s one of the things I’m not at all self-conscious about…I know I do it well. I like a firm set of lips to meet mine—at a slight angle. Now, we know I like to fake intimacy by stroking the back of the neck; however, that doesn’t do anything for me. I like to be pulled tight—a full body tug. And there’s nothing better than having the weight of someone (weight within reason that is) bearing down—pressing into me as our lips slightly part. Then, with mouths firmly locked together, I invite his tongue to my mouth, then mine follows his back to his mouth.

Watch gay porn sometime…and you’ll see what I mean about the “guy-on-guy-porn kiss”. It’s almost always open mouthed (with like a half inch between them), and the tongues are flicking each other. When they’re pressed together, it’s closed mouthed with their heads alternating back and forth. Anyway (I tried to find a video, but decided that you probably didn’t want to watch gay porn…and if you do, you know where to find it). But I’m working on it with him (the hand to the back of his head shrinks that distance…my other hand in the small of his back).

And today, we kissed more than we ever have. We kissed standing; we hopped up on the bed and began kissing again. I threw a curve ball at our last meeting—I went down on him before he got ready to put it in me; and this time—it’s all his idea. But soon, we’re kissing again…and we’re on track again with him going down on me. Then his tongue makes its way back up, and we’re kissing again with his 8in of fun dangling down by my slightly upturned rear.

I bought new lube (I didn’t think the other one had enough in it to last another go…I think it’s tacky to carry two-partially full bottle of lube…and just opt to bring in the new). It’s silicone based. In case you’re not aware, silicone-based lubricants are condom safe—which is why we use water-based. However, unlike water-based lube—which breaks down as the water is absorbed into the skin, silicone stays slick—you don’t have to use as much, and rarely have to reapply.

Now, one disadvantage of silicone-based lube is that it doesn’t wash off as easily as it’s water-based counterpart. It’s like oil-based lubes in that way—you pretty much have to use soap and water. I didn’t tell him this…and I kinda chuckled when he mentioned that he was still slick. Today, he didn’t release me once he reached his first discharge (ha!). He kept going until he was hard again…saying, “Hell, it’s my day off; I might as well go twice.” (like I didn’t know he had someone else lined up after me).

After he was done a second time, he suggested I try out the new lube (I was about to say, “I thought I just did”; however, I knew what he meant). The first time he asked me to fuck him, I hesitated—it’s not typically my thing; and it was a long while before he asked me again. He’s been wanting me to do this more, now.

He’s usually somewhat coy about it. “How do you want to get off?” he usually asks; following up with, “Do you want me to blow you or…” letting his words drift off. At this point, I don’t mind to really. But I did pause a little—mostly to get my bearings after the pounding I’ve just taken. I can tell he’s eager by how he scoots himself into the position I was just in.

I finish that way easily enough. And I find him holding me. He did this Monday a little bit as well, and it didn’t bother me (he’s done it before as well). But it annoyed me this time. He was not only holding me, but tugging me to him to kiss me furiously—with that passion I’ve been mentioning. I know that I should be moving toward the edge of the bed; I know I should be reaching for my clothes; but I stay there—like I did Monday…like I’ve done the other times. I know I’ve written it off before as a pause in the action—like I’m waiting for him to give me a go again. And sometimes he does; however, this time I know I’ve gotten it all out of him. This time I need to leave.

But I’m trapped. I’ve allowed myself to fall into this routine. And it’s not like it’s a long recovery—or anything, but it’s the kissing…the way he’s pulling me to him…his hand at the back of my neck—I know I should feel flattered that he’s imitating my move, but the faux intimacy of it is irritating me now. I don’t need it. I know I shouldn’t linger afterward—waiting for that sex haze to wear off. This is not my first rodeo.

And this is part of my whole problem. It’s easy to leave a one-and-done trick. There’s not time to get comfortable enough to just lay there. That discomfort—the fact that you’re in bed with a total stranger—is what pushes the move to get dressed and leave. But with 8in of fun, we’ve been at this for a few months now, and it has gotten comfortable. He’s not so much of a stranger anymore. I know details about his life—I know his wife’s name, and that’s more than I should know.

This time, though, when I imagine her catching us, it’s in this position…post sex relaxation. Our senses dull from the near overload we just experienced. And instead of groceries, instead of a bloodbath ensuing, she’s simply holding a video camera. We break from our embrace hearing her voice cutting through the air, “Smile” she says.

In that moment, fantasy and reality mirror each other; and I feel like doing anything but smiling. Realizing, finally, that I’ve been here too long—too many times, it’s all become too familiar; and we’re stuck. We’ll never move forward, and I don’t know how to take a step back.

Restless to get going, I almost refuse the towel he provides for me to “wipe off”. I almost tell him he’ll need soap and water to wash off that lube. I almost ignore him telling me, “I’m gonna try for 8:30 next Friday morning. Will that work for you?” I resist telling him that the other guy has emailed me about that group thing and has plans for noon next Friday—but I do wonder if he knows I’ve been invited…and if he wants me to go…Opting instead for, “Yeah, it should work.”

I do plan to correct this problem—I will not linger any longer, and I will remember that despite the many times I’ve been in his bed that I really don’t know this guy…he is a stranger.

I get a text message a little later in the after noon from an unknown number… “this is [8in of fun]. I’ve changed my number.”

Wednesday likes knowing I’ve got my week planned…

2011-08-31T21:53:00.003-05:00

I had a slightly different post planned before I received a message from 8in of fun’s “boyfriend” (if you can tell, I didn't bother to change the title). I’m not going to provide the archived reference to this person…(hell, that was bitchy. It starts here on 5/25 and progresses from there—if you read it, you’ll notice I refer to him as “Road Head Guy”). I receive the occasional message from him from time to time—never usually anything more than a, “Hey” or a “How are you doing?” I did get a message from him a few days ago (last week I think) asking for 8in of fun’s number.

He said he lost the number he had for him and didn’t want to scour his phone records. I couldn’t figure this out. A.) Why would he want it? And don’t take that as me being jealous (we’ll get to what you can call me jealous for here in a few sentences). What I mean when I say I can’t figure out why he wanted it is because I never initiate a text to 8in of fun—he texts me (he’s the one with the wife—he’s the one that would have to explain odd text messages at inopportune times; and even though he told me once that he has a separate phone for “personal use”, his wife could find it at any time…and I don’t want my text message to be the straw that breaks the camels back). Plus (as I do with almost anyone), I assume if he wanted to set something up that he would text me (I'll also assume that he'd text this guy as well if he wanted to).

And B.) How do you loose your “boyfriend’s” number (by "boyfriend" I do mean trick--If something is good, you make sure you don't lose it)? The only time I did text 8in of fun (when I wasn't simply responding, anyway) was to tell him I “changed” my number (he immediately texted me back inviting me over). I did get a new phone at the same time—and I transferred his number to it (I may not have given him advanced warning of my phone switch; however, I took steps to ensure I could tell him eventually). I don’t know…As I said before, I just always figure if they’re not texting me; they don’t want to. Maybe that’s the reason I don’t have more regular sexual encounters—failure to launch.

This was the message I received in response to some continuing im conversation I’ve been having with this guy on Bear411.

I assumed the number u gave me would be cool. turns out it’s a phone his wife has access to. I sent him a couple texts and SHE wrote back not to text that phone and asked who I was. I didn’t respond back……….BUT

What’s really funny is how does he know it was his wife texting him back? Did she say, “This is 8in of fun’s wife—NEVER TEXT HERE—I have access to this phone and monitor it like a wife who is being cheated on would.” If she did, she deserves to be cheated on. Also, how does he even know he got the right number?

And now we can get to that whole “why you can call me a green-eyed monster and pick apart my motives”. I didn’t give him 8in of fun’s number—I inverted the middle two numbers in the last 4 digits. Yes, I did this on purpose (we can say I did it for 8in of fun…if he wanted to hear from the guy, I’m sure he’d text…example: when his phone wasn’t working for a few days a couple weeks ago, he borrowed a “friend’s” phone to call me—yes, voice on voice). Plus, if the situation were reversed, I wouldn’t want him giving out my number…Yeah, that’s why I inverted those numbers (but no, I never texted 8in to tell him, either).

Also what’s funny (and what prompted this additional post for today) is that he texted me earlier this afternoon to set up a more specific time for Friday. No mention of his wife’s “suspicions”; No telling me that we needed to be “extra careful”—nothing of the sort. The only thing out of place with the message is that he addressed me by name—which is something he’s never done before…in a text anyway.

Another thing, what did he text that would make the receiver ask him to stop trying to reach 8in of fun at that number? The basic rule for anything shady is deniability (duh—it’s fallback plan A; and yes, I would classify texting a married man for sex as shady—responding to a text from a married man, falls under informed consent). And in case you don’t know what I’m getting at here (and if you were wondering how I’d do it—if I did that sort of thing), let me give you a pointer or two here.

Always assume that any message you send (especially, if initiating contact) could be read at any time by anyone. We do not live in a private era. There’s no phone lock that can’t be unbroken; there’s no magic forcefield protecting our phones when they’re not in our possession. So, when initiating a shady text, stay anonymous: never use their name in the text. This is paramount to deniability. How can you backpedal your way out of that? “Oh, uh, I meant a different 8in of fun?” Yeah, that’s a coincidence that I wouldn’t think twice about (side-eyes all over that one).

Also, your first message shouldn’t be ultra sexy. I know some of us don’t have messaging phones, and we want to make every text count; but patience is a virtue for a reason. Let’s replay this scenario using our new rules of engagement: Starter message, “Hey, how’s it going?” Well, that’s certainly not sexy; however, it does start the conversational ball rolling without using a name a little bit better than just a “Hey” would on its own. Once they reply: “Good, and you?” Now we’re free to begin to enter sexy talk land: “Man, I just can’t wait for your throbbing meat stick.”

At this point the reply is only going to go one of three ways: “Who is this?” (with the sub-text “You sick fuck!”), “Who is this?” (with the sub-text “You’re not in my phone”), or “Yeah, I want to ram it home!” (with the sub-text “You’ve got a sweet ass for me to drill”). Obviously, we’re not going to worry about that last scenario in this example (we know where that’s heading “sexty times”©—that’s not a misspelling, that a copyrighted term).

Now, the “Who is this?” with the two different sub-texts is the tricky one; because sub-text does not read into words (even punctuation can’t give you a clear path through). So, you have to remain patient and play it cool. Yes, the patient follow up questions can be a little tricky (if you are texting the intended recipient, you want to remain confident that you know who you’re texting; however, if you’ve reached a wife, you want the exact opposite). I would suggest moving forward like so: “Maybe I have the wrong number”. Now I know that doesn’t sound confident; however, you’re not lacking confidence either (you did say “Maybe”).

If it progresses to a “Never text me again!” You’ve probably gotten a wife. If it’s a “No, problem” (or some other soothing, “I might be interested if I knew who this was” message) you may want to press the envelope a tad (remembering still, this wife may just be biding her time—or not suspicious of an affair). So, we need to keep it light—but playful… “Is this the guy that rammed me in the ass on Monday?” Now, I don’t know any wife that would play along at this point… If you get any—and I mean any--response inquiring of your name (with no evidence that the person texting it doesn’t know, cease and desist... Point of clarification: “Who is this?”—stop; “Is this…” proceed with caution. Now, I know if he’s cheating on his wife—he’s probably not that faithful to you…maybe he rammed someone else on Monday, as well.

But he should at least try to take a stab in the dark at it. “Is this…?” should only be answered with a “yes” or a “no”. You don’t want to reveal yourself until you’re certain of who’s on the other side (the husband deserves to have his dick cut off by his wife if he’s let the names’ of his tricks slip). If the guess is correct, proceed to sex-text till you’re perverted fingers are content. If he guesses wrong, play cat and mouse until he gets your name right—if you’re still a little on the fence, push for other personal information (like your last name, the date of the meeting prior to the one you’ve already mentioned, or something special you did—“It might be me; however, how many times did you pummel my sweet love tunnel?” (the mind reels)…

My conversation continued with 8in of fun’s other little friend for an exasperating amount of time. It was like he was trying to one up me. “If you remember, I told you he changes his number like his underwear. I ended up going ahead and looking back in my contact list and called him on his personal phone, left a message and then texted him there. Of course, he invited me down on Friday, explained that his 739 number is a number his wife has access to as well.” Really, that’s the only number he ever messages me on. “I don’t know man… it’s weird. Did he say anything or would u even tell me—not that it matters. He wanted me to cum down, but my car was in shop so couldn’t. Said I’d cum Fri perhaps.” He didn’t mention it to me at all, and we humped on Monday and he wants to do me again on Friday. “Well, I think it’s because you are so convenient. Lololol. It takes an hour for me to get there, etc.” What’s so funny? I figured that one out for myself. Why do you think I have sex with him? An easy lay is a no brainer. “Funny, so u guys played yesterday and suppose to again Friday? Hmmmm, guess I should check in to see if I’m still invited. As for the phones, I don’t know what the deal is.” I don’t either—again, he didn’t mention any problems with the “little woman” to me at all; I don’t really care much whatever the case may be (so long as I’m not the cause; and even then it’s only a minor inconvenience on my part) because I’m not personally invested in anything other than his cock in my ass. Fyi: I’ve got the AM shift on Friday. “I’ve got Friday night. I also told you he’s tricky that way. He’ll invite multiple guys over and space them apart. You never know who the lucky one is to get the load. I always assumed he just edged for whoever was last. It’s one of the reasons I lay back at times.” Wow, how big of you to wait to be last. And hey, a man that can fake orgasms…That’s a neat trick—for him. I don’t fake mine; and those are the ones that really count to me. “Did you get a load Monday? Have you ever noticed NOT getting it? He’s pretty good at faking it. LOL lots of practice with wife. He wanted me at 4pm yesterday. Maybe you can work one out of him Friday morning and he’ll reload for afternoon and eve. LOL.” Wow, that makes absolutely no sense. Why would a man even attempt to fake an orgasm? But no matter, again, I don’t fake mine. And he’s usually either limp when we’re done—or he puts it back in until it is. But, seriously, it’s whatever. And p.s. the condom, technically, gets the “load”. “LOL…well who knows maybe you do get it. So have you guys messed with anyone else since we did? Or just one on one? You know he gets it elsewhere.” That’s none of your business, so I’m not going to confirm or deny that. I’m sorry I’m under half your age and you feel I’m moving in on your “boyfriend”. He’s married, and he texts me because—as you so aptly put it—I’m much more covenant for him. I’m sure my younger, firmer, sweeter ass has nothing to do with it.

And if you think I’m exaggerating with that conversation…Those are his unedited responses. Yes, he’s far worse off than I’ll ever be. He ended the conversation with a “plea” for another three-way or group. “Mention it to him when you see him on Friday morning. And I’ll mention it to him when I see him Friday evening.” Umm. No, I don’t want him to know I talk about him outside of his bedroom—it’s called discretion (I deserve that side-eye. I just published his ims word for word and countless other details; however, no one but you and I know about this). But I’m still not going to mention this guy to 8in of fun.

I understand why he talks to me—we have something in common. Plus, he wants to check his footings. I get it. But at the end of the day, I don’t matter and neither does the other guy because 8in of fun is married—to his wife (and I’m pretty sure he’s not faking all those orgasms because they do have a grown child—who got married recently—and I think a grandchild). And no matter what we tell ourselves while we’re getting laid, his marriage isn’t fake…we are.

Wednesday walked away from that one

2011-08-31T12:14:00.005-05:00

“There are advantages to having no teeth”. Yeah, he said that—word for word—dead serious while kneeling in front of me. “Relax. Just relax.” I had been led to their cramped, dismal bedroom in the back of their trailer out in the middle of no where (Flemington, MO). His hands were working my crotch as his partner was lying on the bed—cuffed at the ankle and wearing a leather straight jacket. What(!)? Did I go too fast for you?

Yeah.

I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty, but I went anyway. His hesitation when asked for pictures spoke volumes (“Well, I don’t really have very many”—his email read). Once received, his pictures were blurry and old (we all know what a bad sign that is); and he basically ignored the request for his partner’s once he snuck the aspect of a three-way into the “conversation”. Yeah, we were like 20 emails in by the time he coyly asked “Do you like three ways?”

But I take full responsibility for my actions (maybe I’m just trying to assert that I can have sex with someone other than 8in of fun…this is failed attempt #2; however, third time is the charm, right). Right.

This story actually begins last night (and by last night, I mean early Tuesday morning—it was after 1am at least). It continued early this morning (probably, around the same 1am mark). I had made the decision to go forward with it at about 3am this morning. What can I say? I was watching porn…I thought he was a timewaster. Yes, I had forewarning of the leather straight-jacket (“Would it turn you on or freak you out?” he asked—well, honestly, it’s not the most outlandish thing that’s been suggested in my sex life…so I’d probably just go with it). The ensemble was complete with hood—with and mouth hole—and gag—just so you know.

I wasn’t familiar with the area they lived in. I knew it was up near the lake (Pomme de Terre). I know lake-side communities can go one of two ways—either groupings of moderate homes (Bret’s house and neighborhood is just fine)…or trailer parks (which also vary from moderately nice to slums). Guess which one they live in? Yeah, and I told myself if there was a trailer (mobile home—older, dilapidated model—for those of you who haven’t gotten my drift) involved I was out.

I probably would have just turned around and went back home had the toothless one not been out smoking by his car (I’m guessing their neighborhood doesn’t get too many visitors). No, there was no mention of one of them being sans teeth (the partner was described as 37, 5’6” 165—really cool, nice guy). Yes, I did realize he didn’t have teeth before I got out of my truck. But at least he wasn’t morbidly obese (the other’s guys stats were…let’s just say they were a bit on the far side of my spectrum…and probably a good 50-60lbs from the given specifications).

Their trailer was cram packed with junk. I’m not a claustrophobic type of person; however, at one point I could have sworn that one of the towers of shit was leaning a little too much in my direction. After walking in, I was kinda glad they didn’t option for the hood and straight-jacket right away (then they would have expected me to join in right away). As it was, they pushed some crap off of the couch and we all had a little chat about the 15 people who listen to their internet radio station…that’s 15 people in 5 countries (the toothless one pointedly stared at me after saying this effectively allowing a moment of silence so that the awe of it all could sink in).

I will admit I teetered a little as to whether I should go through with it or not. I mean the chubby one I think was sitting there all self-conscious (I’m assuming) knowing that rejection was right around the corner (I mean it all adds up…the vacillation with the pictures—ugly people know when they’ll be rejected…they also know the possibility of rejection is lessened if they actually lure you into their lair). And we know my issues with that—that could be me.

My out came naturally after being led to their boudoir (and after I helped the fat one into his getup). I wasn’t nervous when he was telling me to relax (and thought his gummy bj would be just the ticket to ensuring my participation). I actually found the whole straight-jacket gag thing fascinating…what can I say? It was my first time to witness that. No, I was not nervous-I was utterly disgusted.

But once he read my revulsion as anxiety (I did get hard, but didn’t stay that way)…I knew some manners would liberate me from the road to hell I was about to take. I couldn’t be made to feel guilty about leaving at this point—you see. Any suggestion that it was my own abhorrence to the situation, I would have felt so culpable that I would have had to proceed to prove them wrong (and in the end, my puke would have proven my guilt).

But how can anyone argue with graciousness? I very politely said I don’t know; I don’t want to know; I’m out; all while offering to help free him from the buckles (there were several buckles on that straight jacket…and the toothless one had one arm in a brace—tendonitis from his online excel class through Devry University). I thanked them for inviting me out…and could almost not hold the laughter at bay while I rushed to my truck (if they were looking out their windows, they might have mistook it for crying). It was a violent eruption of elation that struck me as the road to liberty opened up before me.

And I’m still chuckling to myself now. So what if I let a toothless man give me a gum-j© (we all know I’ve done worse); at least I didn’t end up embedded into the stomach of the other one eventually asphyxiating on a combination of my own vomit and tears while that same toothless bastard tried to fuck me. And NO, I don’t think that’s the worst case scenario this time…

I finally drew a line…and now, I have one entry into that list of things I just won’t do.

Monday wants you to know I’ve thought about it (p.s.)

2011-08-29T23:54:00.001-05:00

One thing I forgot to mention in that whole mess was that he mentioned my sunburn and noticed it is getting better. I know, I know…I’m feeding my own delusions; however, I noticed that he got a hair cut and kept it to myself.

Monday wants you to know I’ve thought about it

2011-08-29T23:49:00.003-05:00

I got an impromptu text from 8in of fun just before 3 this afternoon. He was asking if I was free because he "really needed me". The honest way I interpret that is to replace the “me” with “my sweet ass”… (“I really need you”=“I really need your sweet ass”). You know, just so we’re all on the same page here.

I was kind of shocked to hear from him (well, the word “shocked” is probably a little overshooting it…it’s not like I was that taken aback. “Surprised” would probably be a better word for it—“pleasantly surprised”). I had internally scheduled our next tryst for Friday (based on what he’d told me last Friday—Friday mornings were going to become a regular thing now that his wife was back “in school”). I didn’t notice the text right away (like 10-15 minutes had passed since I’d received it); so knowing he probably only had a short window of time, I immediately set about texting him back (had he had a broader window—or had he planned it—he would have texted earlier in the day).

He said he would be free until 5. It was after 3 at this time, and I still needed to shower. Some rushing in my normal routine would be required. He said he wasn’t sure where his wife was and that I should text him on my way out (this is about par—unless he knows she’s at work). So I texted him as I was pulling out of my driveway…and again as I was driving through Bolivar. He said we were still good both times.

I knew we’d have a “condensed session” since our window was short (I got there just after 4…wife to be home at 5). And I was right. He was hastily ushering me to his bedroom upon my immediate arrival inside his house. The front door is just off the kitchen and stares directly at the living room through a shallow entry hall. There’s a door to the right side of the living room leading off onto a deck. Then taking a left off the living room, there’s a hallway that t’s—left is the other bedroom (or rooms—I’ve never explored), a bathroom, and a door leading off the side of the house; right is his bedroom and bathroom.

Thinking his wife was in Springfield, he said we should have some time; however, she wasn’t responding to his texts—so he couldn’t be positive of her whereabouts. He was undressed in the blink of an eye, and had hopped up on the bed. We still kissed, he still went down on me, and we still did some body grinding—it was just all amended (kind of like fast forwarding through a movie). Before I knew it, he was grabbing my legs and lubing up his…8in of fun. It was good. It was admirable. He was really trying to drill it home.

I know hindsight is 20/20…hind-hearing is as well.

I would have sworn I heard the garage door opener—but when you’re slightly paranoid (I’m no fool—I know I should be leery in someone else’s home) any little noise sounds like anything you fear it would. Then there was a creak in the floor; however, at the time I thought it was the bed. I don’t know how long she was standing there before I looked up (it was one of those passionate moments—I was all lost in the sensations). She was frozen, pale white for a second, before the rage filled her face and it was beat red.

I freaked out (and I think I’m under-exaggerating). He was mid-thrust when I ripped our bodies apart; he ended up pumping straight into the bed as I sat straight up. His confused look only lasted a nano-second, before he stiffened up (no pun intended—because at this point he was limper than a sheet in the wind) and turned around to see his wife fuming (I could have sworn I saw smoke).

She had the look of crazy in her eyes. Her face was wild; and while it all happened so quickly, I could see she had a plan formulating beneath the surface. Like she already knew what she was going to do.

It was like that moment was frozen, though—everything suddenly moved so slowly; and I could see her fingers release their grip—dropping the two plastic bags she had been carrying. No doubt, upon pulling into their driveway and seeing my truck, she knew something wasn’t right in her house which is probably what led her into the bedroom first. That feeling combined with the unmistakable sounds of a bed in motion (I know I’m pretty quiet during sex; however, I do let out a moan—or an “oh fuck” here or there).

I heard the glass containers in the bags shatter on impact with the hardwood floor; and in a flash her redden face turned into a blur, and she was gone. He was still frozen in time; however, I didn’t waste a second slipping my shoes on and grabbing my clothes. All I could muster was, “Backdoor?” before he vaguely pointed in the general direction I was to escape. He then popped out of his mild coma—obviously still shocked in this worse case scenario—and set about to contain the situation. He scooted past me and flat ran into through the hall to the main room.

I was in a constant state of motion as I was reminding myself to get dressed—pulling my shorts on—underwear and lube in hand and shirt coming over my head. I had skipped over the shattered jars (spaghetti sauce, if I had to guess) and had almost reached to backdoor when I heard him telling his wife that it “wasn’t what she thought it was” (no, I couldn’t chuckle at the time…I mean, in the position that we were in, I don’t know what else she could have thought it was). Then I heard the unmistakable sound of metal scraping—like a kitchen knife being pulled from its sheath. “What the hell are you doing?” I heard 8in of fun ask his wife in an elevated tone—the fear resonating in his voice.

I was glancing back toward the scene unfolding as I was turning the door knob. I saw the glint of the knife in her hand—her grip so tight that her knuckles were white with the stress. I froze in the door frame to see the sharp knife make contact in 8in of fun’s clavicle. It bore into his chest and I could have sworn it made a cracking noise. He dropped to his knees with a guttural sound of distress. Then just as quickly, she kept stabbing—the blade dripping crimson now.

The need to escape was somehow replaced by the horror I was witnessing, and I was frozen in my tracks—sentenced to observe the appalling tragedy unfold before me. Then she looked up, her eyes burning—I would have sworn they were redder than the blood splattered upon her face. She set her gaze upon my petrified face frozen in a terror-stricken expression. I could see the panic washing over her own face. Still gripping the knife—if possible, even more firmly than before, she rushed over her husband’s lifeless body.

I was utterly stationary envisioning my own fate matching that of my lover’s. Her face in the bedroom-door frame—first pale, then red with flush; his mouth upon mine; his slicked cock entering my awaiting ass; a gasp of breath mixed with a slight moan escaping my lips—my head kicked back in ecstasy; his lips on my throbbing member; me pulling into his driveway—switching off the car and putting the lube in my pocket; the radio blaring as I drove over to his house…the other times we’d been together: the road head, the first time he fucked me, that three way we had; my life flashed before me—seemingly in reverse, then forward, then reversed.

Blinking like slides in a projector, the decisions that led me to this moment were running through my psyche. I didn’t even notice that she was still leaping toward me—bloody blade in hand; me, stuck in the doorway, gripping each side of the jam with my hands to keep from falling backward. I barely snapped out of the episode of “My Life in Pictures” to notice that she had stopped midway down the hall. Her eyes fixed to mine suddenly dropped their stare down to the blade. Almost following a drop of blood from the tip, she looked down to a slight puddle of scarlet, and then followed it back to the source.

Her tense stance broke for a moment, as I saw her shoulders rise and fall with her quiet breaths; she walked back toward her husband. My mind was racing with too many scenarios to count. Should I continue to flee and ignore my guilty sentence and her justice instead opting for my own safety (my guilt driving me to believe that I shouldn’t be allowed to escape unscathed)? Do I tackle her and wrestle the knife from her hands (could I even do that and not get stabbed)? Should I call the cops? Would she tell them it was me who wielded the blade? I couldn’t settle—I couldn’t focus. I never thought I’d be witness to such calamity. I never wanted anyone to get hurt.

Half in and half out of the house, my body seemed to be just as conflicted. My heart was racing as I felt the adrenaline surging through my veins. As I was resolving myself to run away (and as I was running for my life, call the cops then—I didn’t know whether or not my evidence of our ongoing affair would work in my favor or not—should she spin things so sinisterly; however, I think I could convince them that I’m not one to kill a trick), she was making her own decision. I could read it in her stance—she had nervously started pacing over the body. She seemed unaware of my presence.

My grip lightened, and I found myself hovering more in than out of the house. I figured I had a head start (and had absent mindedly locked the door knob, but left it open) if she decided to turn on me. It was like I couldn’t just walk away without knowing her resolve. I was no more than a half an inch from my previous position (in the door frame) when she suddenly remembered she wasn’t alone.

She turned to face me again. Again, I was frozen. Fuck, she’s going to kill me. Fuck, I can’t move—she’s going to kill me. Her expression was blank; and at that moment, I knew she had made her decision. In the time it took for the shock to register on my exterior, she had turned the blade around toward her. She wasn’t going to live with what had been done. Gripping just as tightly as ever, she fell on her own blade.

Unmoving, stationary in dread, I watched as it disappeared into her chest. She screamed a scream that I will never forget as the life drained from her face dripping through the hole in her chest. She pulled the blade from her ribs, and expired in a heap on the floor just a few feet from her husband.

It could have been a fraction of a second—or it could have been hours—before I found myself dialing 9-1-1, each touch of the dial pad seemingly taking longer than the last. I was sitting in my truck—collapsed across the seat—when the operator came on the line. She asked me to repeat myself three times—probably disbelieving the of calm in my voice as I explained everything from the knife sinking into 8in of fun’s chest to the puddle of blood that formed around his wife.

I told the first responders that the door on the side of the house was still open when they began rushing toward the front door (I had the presence of mind to remember that he locked the front door after ushering me in). I heard them call out that the woman was dead—no pulse; however, the man had a slight beat.

It was all a blur. Once the sheriff’s deputy arrived, I was immediately sequestered; however, my still demeanor prevented me from being handcuffed (they simply locked me in the back of the car). I don’t know how long I sat there before the deputy sternly told me I was going back to the station with him to answer some questions. I was still sitting motionless as he repeated his statement.

As I looked up to the officer to nod in acknowledgement, his face changed from harsh suspicion to mild consolation. It was obvious from the scene—and the knife almost embedded into the woman’s hand (they literally had to pry it from her to bag it as evidence)—that my involvement wasn’t as nefarious as they thought upon arriving. Even still, they did insist that I be fingerprinted; however, once they starting questioning, it was obvious that my proximity to the crime was their only concern.

I don’t think they expected the script they received. I don’t know why they initially thought I was there; however, the shock definitely registered on their faces as I calmly reviewed the evening—beginning with the text message received at 2:51 pm, and ending with the misfortune that ensued (and yes, I did censor the sex a little). Upon reviewing my phone, they realized that this wasn’t our first encounter. It was funny how they continued to tiptoe around the length of the affair (that and they didn’t ask for any details).

They did conclude that my narrative rang true; and while I was released freely, they did tell me not to “leave town” until they fully concluded their investigation. An officer had driven my truck back for me (I said it was ok, and they didn’t find any evidence in it either—believe me they searched); however, my mom was waiting for me in the lobby. She was distraught…blah…blah…blah.

Ok, I should finally tell you that this never happened (you should have already been reading in utter disbelief—awaiting that “other shoe to drop” when I got to the kitchen knife). Well, the sexual encounter part did happen; however, the whole getting caught part—and the blood bath that ensued—did not. I know I shouldn’t ever make light of the situation (and I’m not sure that I did…because that’s almost like willing it to happen…I need to interject here that I hope we never get caught). After we were safely finished, he did mention getting caught…and that I should grab my clothes and take off through the back door…I could dress and pretend to be “looking at his garden” (who the hell would this fool? But at least I’d be outside). And no, I don’t really know where his back door is; however, next time I will probably do my best to spot it (just in case).

I almost constantly imagine what getting caught would be like… What can I say? And yes, I do operate in “worst-case scenarios”. And of course, 8in of fun would have only lived just long enough to solidify my innocence, then would have expired himself to leave me alone in my culpability—and I’d be forced to live the rest of my life with the shame of it all weighing on my conscience—not quite a martyr, but certainly guarantying that I’d never want to have sex with a married man again.

Friday is not one to do this...

2011-08-26T22:31:00.001-05:00

But I simply can't stop listening to this song!

Friday waited all day to tell you this…(and honestly, I didn’t realized that’s the way I felt about this until I got to the end)

2011-08-26T22:20:00.003-05:00

No, literally, I did. That’s not saying I didn’t just type it…What I’m saying was that I had a morning appointment with 8in of fun (I was at his house at 7:50 AM). I’m not going to lie—I expected to hear from him earlier in the week, and I did worry that I wasn’t going to get laid this week (hey, last Saturday was part of last week). However, I got a text yesterday (Thursday) evening…and I jumped.

And it was worth the wait. It always is.

I ask you—is the sex so good because he’s unattainable? It’s going to forever have the tinge of the forbidden. Unless we start meeting somewhere other than his house, it’s going to always have that little bit of risk (I take it he plans these things to minimize the possibility that we’ll get caught). Do I enjoy it so much because I know it’s so wrong (and YES, I know it’s immoral…considering most of my own friends are married).

And yes, now, I feel the need to justify myself (mostly because after typing “immoral” it has set off that little part of my brain that seeks rationalization). I was always such a goodie-goodie growing up…I’m definitely making up for it now. I mean, I’m not married. I’m not actively seeking him out. He texts me. He arranges this little trysts.

I’ve completely compartmentalized him, our encounters, and the sex to be a separate but parallel part of my life. What I mean there is that I don’t just wait around for him. I know I haven’t really been going for other guys; however, there haven’t been any (other than last Saturday night) that really express an interest. ~~Bathroom Boy~~ (that’s what I’m calling that other guy—if you read some of other recent posts, you’ll know why that line is there) is all but refusing to set up a meeting…or date rather.

But…now this might contradict some of what I’ve said previously about my detachment to 8in of fun; but the sex is getting rather passionate. I will say that I—as with most of my other sexual encounters—just go with the flow…I basically let him do what he will. Clarification: when we first started meeting we didn’t kiss—at all. Now, there’s a lot of it. With the kissing, there’s much more body contact…he sort of lays on me after he’s finished—head on my chest—and sort of “holds” me after he’s…well, finished.

See, he goes first, then he works on me—that’s par for our encounters these days. There’s just much more intimacy (is that even the right word?) in between now. We talk a little now. Mostly chit chat. On occasion he’ll ask me about Erica’s baby (I think I told you that I couldn’t make it that one time because Erica was in labor like 18 hours, and I told him that). But he remembers.

Well, today, he was asking me what I planned to do with the rest of my day; and we got to talking about lawn mowers (finishing my lawn mowing was all that was on my agenda for today—it was for him, too). It turns out that we have the same mower (Gravely zero turn HD—his is 50inch, mine is 60inch); and he was giving me pointers on turning it… My point is, he’s taking an interest…

I’m assuming it’s a friendly interest—after all, he’s still very much married. But outside of those 40-50 minutes we spend in bed, we’re not friends. And I’m not fretting about it… like I said, I have him compartmentalized—sectioned off from the rest of my life (I never refer to him by name—neither in the heat of passion, nor in passing—even though I know it); and I’m not going down that road again.

What road?

That road where I think he’s going to leave his wife. And yes, it helps me to say (even though I’m not worried) that they never leave their wives (or partners) for you. And outside of these encounters (and whatever else he lines up), he’s not gay—and he seems perfectly happy with that (other than his quips about his wife’s indecision about when she’s going to be out of the house, there are no complaints that I field about his wife). He’s perfectly happy. The “passion” or “intimacy” or “whatever the fuck you wanna call it” is just a product of casual comfort (hell, jeans always fit better the more you wear them—yes, I just compared sex to denim…I was going to use shirts, but I fell more esteem toward my jeans).

I will (speaking to myself, again, more than to you) continue to be cool about all this. This is the best sex I’ve had in forever…well, the best regular sex I’ve had in a while (and that “well” is referring to equally good sex I had that one time when I went to Branson in the middle of the night a while ago…and that kid I met up with in Buffalo…and probably others that I can’t remember right now off the top of my head--including the Dr. Sexy encounters)…I am not going to let this prevent me from finding…I can’t type “love” there—it’s way to trite to say I’m looking for love…and “companionship” sounds too cold (and sexless, and way too finite)…I guess, I should say, I’m not going to let this prevent me from my fair tarot card reading…? No, this is a separate—but parallel—part of my life—it exists as part of the background vocals to my lead singer (fuck, I’m on a roll with the analogies).

Jesus, the Fair Tarot Card Reading again? Really? That’s where this whole diatribe/rant/confession was leading? I should have just wasted that $10 on fair food…and hopped into that golf cart with that staffer (Crystal and Denice know exactlywhat I mean there).

Sunday knows you were waiting on pins and needles for this update…

2011-08-21T07:12:00.000-05:00

If you scroll past the last post, you’ll be reading about some guy that I’ve been talking to that stopped responding, then started responding again, then deleted his whole account the exact day we were supposed to meet up. Well, I’m still friends with him on Facebook, but I didn’t have a message waiting from him once I noticed his profile on Adam4Adam was deleted.

Basically (and yes, I hate to type that word), the guy is a major flake (and a weirdo); but I keep going back for more (I enjoy crazy so much, I go back for seconds…and thirds…hell, this guy is a buffet of crazy…~~I mean, what kind of guy wants to watch someone poo? And he mentioned feeding me on the floor like a dog….and then there’s that time he wanted to shave my head~~). What? Yeah, so I keep perpetuating this like I actually think it’s going to work out (~~and he’s just saying he wants to watch me poo, but doesn’t actually have any real intentions of actually watching me poo~~) despite the fact that he’s constantly making it harder and harder to go along with it…

Well, for example, I “talked” to him on Facebook last Monday. He was online, so I told him that I was going to be in Springfield on Tuesday (I laid sod with Mr. & Mrs. Shot). He’s all like “Really?” and implied that he might want to hang out. Well, he’s throwing around words like “excited” and “yeah, we should meet up after you’re done”. So, I inform him that I probably won’t have access to Facebook. And I say to the guy, “If you’re serious about wanting to meet up, I’m happy to give you my number; however, I don’t like giving it out randomly for no reason” (which is true. Weirdos emailing me isn’t half as unnerving as a weirdo calling me). “Ah, yeah, I understand” he says. And continues “I never give out my number”.

Well, there’s my answer. He basically just told me that he’s a timewaster. I mean why else would someone create a conversation around wanting to meet, then once it got down to the mechanics of actually meeting (that’s the exchange of phone numbers) not move forward. Part of me is glad we got that out of the way (we just established how we’re probably never going to meet); and part of me wants to delete him off of my Facebook (the definition of an irrational behavior would be knowing there’s no point, but continuing with the motions anyway).

It’s that fucking Tarot card reading I got at the fair. “You have a lot of love in your heart.” She said, “You seek commitment. You want to settle down with someone”. So, I think to myself, “Maybe I should start giving guys a chance.” I think I’m done with this guy’s “chance”. And no, I’m not sure if I will ever “settle down” (I probably will—if only for the regular sex).

Sunday can’t blame desperation this time…

2011-08-21T06:33:00.000-05:00

I really don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I was just bored. Maybe I just wanted some strange. Whatever it was, next time I decide to take off at 2 in the morning chasing a “good time”, I need to remember to either a) ask for references, or b) request a (recent) full body picture (how many times have I made that mistake?). How many times have I made that mistake?

I say that like it was bad. Parts of it were good. I just thought it would look better…he…I thought he would look better. Six foot tall and 207 pounds (according to the profile) doesn’t look like that. But I pull up to the slum he lives in (an apartment complex off of Campbell and Bennett—right across from Parkview High School—fyi). I spot him shortly thereafter on the second floor walkway—shirtless, bald, and sporting a mustache that wasn’t nearly as wonderful as in his profile pic (yes, that was his “sexiest” feature—what? Seriously, don’t look at me like that…it was a stellar mustache).

And yes, I could have walked away right then. But we know that’s not how I roll. And like I said, it wasn’t bad. He really enjoyed doing that thing that I’ll ask for but won’t do back…I think he enjoyed doing it about as much as I enjoyed him doing it. That and he treated me like I was the best looking guy he’d ever seen (I’m a sucker for the flattery).

The rest wasn’t bad. I mean, it was a full service visit. The negatives didn’t exactly outweigh the positives… He did try to kiss me after he did the thing that I’ll ask for but won’t do back…and after where his mouth has been (I’m sorry, I know it’s mine, but still), I think I was right to shy away from that. I’ll kiss after a bj…but not after and ass-j© (I’m going to go right ahead and copyright that term)… And then he wanted me to stay (him: “Are you getting sleepy?” Me: “Oh, no, are you?” Him: “Kinda” Me: “Well, I can never sleep in a strange bed very well anyway, so I’ll go.” Him: “But I didn’t get off yet” Me: “Dude, seriously? Why do I care?” Him: “Can I call you sometime?” Me: “No—this isn’t going to happen again” Him: “Well, thanks for the lay. You were legendary” Me: “I know—believe me, I know”—now, all of that didn’t happen…but I’ll let you figure out which is or isn’t the truth).

Anyway.

Ordinarily, I would just blame my good ole buddy Desperation for a silly mishap such as this; however, I got a pretty good lay from 8in of fun on Thursday, so I wasn’t even irrationally horny (“I always enjoy you” was the trailing text message this time). And boredom isn’t really valid…I mean I was bored; however, I had settled into watching Batman (Michael Keaton is the best Batman ever).

I don’t know why I need an excuse for these antics, anyway; it’s about par for the course.

Sunday is not to blame

2011-08-14T11:45:00.001-05:00

Hello, again, it’s me (who else would I be?). So, now that that’s settled, you know that guy I’ve been talking to? I’ve been emailing and chatting with him on Adam4Adam for a little while (like maybe 2 months). You know, the one that stopped responding abruptly for a day or so; then he did respond and has been responding ever since…

Well, like I said, we’ve been corresponding quite regularly. So regularly that, in fact, we had set up a meeting. Let’s see…This past Thursday, he was quite eager when I found him online (by eager I mean that he emailed me twice and instant messaged me within like 2 minutes of my logging in). It was somewhat late Thursday, so I was a little surprised to find him online (I’m not quite sure of his work schedule, so I’m always a little surprised to see him online).

He invited me up to see him; however, he hesitated. His hesitation was about not just wanting to meet me for sex (yes, he admitted that if he meets a guy and has sex with him in the same meeting, he is reluctant to meet them again—something about it being too easy…it’s ironic, I know, because he should also consider himself too easy in that scenario, as well). Promising, right?

Right.

Well, before logging out that evening, he set up a little rendezvous for us Friday night. He said I should “meet” him online at around 7. He inferred that we’d meet up after that for a little “date”. And we’d go from there. He seemed optimistic about it all, and seemed to think he was really going to like me.

You know me, I was ready to go and logged into Adam4Adam by 6:40 (that’s Central Standard Time). And I waited. I browsed on Facebook, logged into some other chat sites, and checked my regular email. And I waited. And waited. Well, I don’t think I have to type that any more to show you how annoyed I was. I was annoyed from 7:40 all the way to 9:15 when I finally logged out.

I hate timewasters. And this guy is definitely shaping up to be one. I think every time we get ready to meet, he does this—misses the appointment, or doesn’t respond to my emails for a few days. It’s fine. I mean now that I realize this, I can stop thinking it’s me. I can remember how desirable I am (~~and wonder why I was even considering--just considering—letting him watch me poop…~~).

It did leave me sexually frustrated (yes, I was expecting to get laid—why bother denying that? and 8 in of fun hasn’t been texting me for anything lately). But I didn’t dwell on it too much. I sent an email letting him know that I was online at the desired time, and waited for him for over 2 hours. It wasn’t exactly a bitchy email…Now, it wasn’t exactly dotted with smiley faces and “lol’s” either; but it wasn’t that passive aggressive.
Crystal and I went shopping on Saturday. It had been prearranged (she came to visit me on Wednesday and told me of her desire to outlet mall shop). She met me at just after 10 Saturday morning, and we trekked up to Osage Beach for hours upon hours of shopping (I got new underwear—just in case you were wondering).

I wasn’t really expecting a reply when I logged in to A4A after I got home (after my nieces bombarded me and Crystal), but I wasn’t exactly expecting what I got. Just so you know, there was no response; however, where his username would normally appear in my inbox, it now simply stated “(User Deleted)”.

I don’t want it to sound like I’m distressed about this. On the contrary, I find it quite hilarious. In fact, my first impulse was immediately to laugh. And I did for quite some time. No, I haven’t gone off the deep end—this wasn’t a psychotic break kind of laughter (like “Ha, ha, ha I finally ran off another one).

No, no, I don’t blame myself for this one at all. He could have simply blocked me if I was getting annoying, but the fact that he deleted his profile means that he was probably doing other things on that site that I can only speculate about. I mean, hat kind of drivel was he spouting to other guys to warrant deletion?

I know. I know.

Now, I do realize it’s speculation to blame his shame for deleting his profile; however, I’m (somewhat) too ashamed to exactly tell you what he wanted to do to me. So, I have to speculate that someone didn’t find it as funny as I did (variety is the spice of life—yes, I do have to say that again so you don’t all worry about me making life-altering-lifestyle choices…so don’t worry, when I say I was considering it—take that at face value, I was only considering it—and it wasn’t all side-eye worthy).

Another funny thing to note is that he’s still my friend on Facebook. So, while I have deleted my interest in this guy (I mean, he has to be an ass hat, right?), I’m not sure how (or if) this is going to play out.

Monday isn’t an entirely different post…

2011-08-08T20:34:00.002-05:00

Yes, this is a direct continuation of the previous post. No, it’s not any more interesting…

I didn’t have a lot to do Saturday. I woke up around noon (maybe 1 or 2)… Soon after waking, I got a call from (Super Fan) Ambie. She sounded almost frantic. Turns out she was frantic because she hadn’t been able to get me on my other number (the one that got disconnected early Thursday morning). It made me glad that I had posted several times about it because she checked my twitter feed and found my other number.

I giggled after she told me that.

She was wondering what time I was going to Crystal’s party. Adam (The Gangle Monster) had invited her; however, she thought he would be arriving super early. Knowing I was also going, she was looking for an alternate ride. I was game, but also planning on going somewhat early (5pm was my plan). She figured I was the lesser of two evils and wanted to ride with me.

Well, I settled into watching Jack Ass and finishing up my moccasins (I had finished just the one on Friday night). Then I finished icing the cupcakes (the chocolate Guinness ones—sorry, didn’t put it over on Baking as Avoidance; I wasn’t really making them to avoid anything), and took a much needed shower (I felt filmy).

I decided I needed to pick up some beer on the way to Crystal’s shindig (I also got soda), and then met up with Amber. After a brief gas station stop (ice and cigarettes), we headed out to CB1C’s house. When we got there, Adam and Crystal’s husband Kevin were gone on their own gas station run; so it was just Crystal.

Soon later, the boys returned back and started grilling. Amber, Crystal and I were conversing in the kitchen while they were grilling on the back porch. I decided to split my time between the two conversations (I needed to smoke and didn’t want to be anti-social. Plus, I like conversing with Kevin and Adam—especially, together…it started with the meat and how it was cooking, evolved quickly to our beards and facial hair maintenance, and at one point we were discussing bears—not the wild-life kind…the burly gay-man kind).

Then the other party guests arrived (The Barnhouse kid, his overly zealous girlfriend Lindsey, and Cody S with his new fiancé Sam—yes, small party…all couples—I am officially the last single at the party). It was laid back and fun. I noticed I was getting sassier as I was drinking (an interestingly new side-effect—that’s not just blamed on Guinness as previously thought), but I don’t think I actually offended anyone.

At one point, it was decided that we’d go swimming (I think I went out to smoke when this discussion took place). So after borrowing a pair of Kevin’s swim trunks (insert a humorous quip about never wanting to get into my friends’ husbands’ shorts), we all got loaded up in the ATVs and made our way through the field’s to Kevin’s parents’ house.

I rode in the back with Kevin in the side-by-side (Adam drove and Amber and Crystal sat in the front), the other couples took 4-wheelers. It wasn’t as bad as last year…well, I didn’t ever think I was going to die this year, but it was definitely a trek across uneven pasture and densely-wooded areas (it was far quicker and less likely to involve law enforcement than going by road).

Although invited on several occasion to do so, I had never swam in Kevin’s parents’ pool (I’ve made friendly with Gary and Annette during several wedding/baby showers). It’s a salt-water pool, so there’s none of that nasty chlorine. The boys began jumping in. At one point, I found Cody attractive (what? I was a little drunk—and physically, he looked the best…then there were the magnum condoms that we found floating in the pool…it’s not my fault).

Ambie eventually got in, and I mostly stayed around the ladies (the conversations are better). We swam around for a little while. Then we headed back. The drive back wasn’t as bad as the drive there (there is something to be said about knowing what to expect—plus there weren’t as many spiders). Then the party dispersed.

Amber, this is where I need to confess that I really did think you were going back with Adam. I fully did not intend to have you ride back with the Barnhouse kid and Lindsey. I wasn’t drunk at all and would have driven you home; however, at the point were I realized that you weren’t going to ride with Adam, the Barnhouse kid had already offered. I thought it was a ploy (like playing hard to get), but that will show you what I know.

I assume alls well that ended well…I mean I didn’t hear of you killing Lindsey mid-drive and having to bury her in the ditch while trying to convince the Barnhouse kid that she was never in the car (Lindsey is a total nag and a little more than inappropriate when she speaks). And that’s totally assuming that you didn’t also kill Barnhouse. Just give me a cautious side-eye if I’m correct—about any of it. And give me a wink if you need an alibi.

Crystal’s house pretty much was in wind-down mode once Lindsey, Amber, and the Barnhouse kid left. Adam was looking for a shirt. He had decided to stay over…then decided just as quickly that he was going to drive home and left. Cody loaded the 4-wheelers and busted his toe open in the process before he and Sam left themselves. Then I had a brief conversation with Kevin and Crystal before making my way home as well.

It was slightly less exciting than last year (there was more 4-wheeling, a toothless stranger, and a childish fight erupted), but I’d say it was a success. I’d do it again…and probably will next year.

Sunday had more to tell you…

2011-08-07T23:19:00.000-05:00

Every year for Crystal’s birthday we go to the fair. Usually, she, Erica (EHW), and I make a point to be miserably hot and eat fair food. Last year, the Shots (Denice and Buckshot) joined us. This year Erica was out (babies and heat don’t mix well), but Denice showed up again (Buckshot was working out of state so he didn’t go this time either).

The fair is the fair, and the only reason I ever go is because it’s one of Crystal’s favorite things to do. I say that like I don’t love it…well, I do enjoy the occasional fair ride; and I do love fair food. However, I wouldn’t say I look forward to it the way CB1C does. We three strolled around the grounds looking for eats for a bit; then we talked to a nice lady in the eplex; and then we took a look around the midway.

It’s different but the same every year. I think this year it was a different company putting it on, but it looked exactly the same as last year—only the YOYO (swings) was missing. We strolled over toward the Missouri Department of Conservation’s booth (an annual stop along our fair route), then went to make our way back to the row of concessions.

This year we made a new stop at the psychic/fortune telling booth. For some reason, we all seemed to be intrigued. Palm readings were $5.00, tarot was 10, and “psychic” readings were 20. We all settled on the tarot (I’ve always wanted to read tarot cards myself—and even went so far as to purchase some). Denice went first (which was funny because I thought she’d scoff at the idea entirely—I think it was her going that finally convinced me to part with my 10.00).

Crystal went next. She wanted the older lady anyway (there were two ladies in the booth—one about our age, the other about our parent’s age). Denice was still in her “reading” when Crystal exited, so I got the older lady as well. I didn’t have any questions in mind (lord knows what I should have asked), so I was glad when the lady just asked me to shuffle the cards and began the reading.

I don’t remember it all (in one ear and out the other), but she “knew” I write and said I wrote well (of course I remember that). She said it was “therapeutic”, and I should continue (I write better than I speak—she said). She said I had a lot of love and longed for commitment. I was going to take a trip across water soon (there would be a slight delay, but it would happen), and that in 18 months to 2 years I would be moving to a big city. Also, I would work in the medical field.

I thought she hit some notes right, I guess we’ll have to wait on the rest. Crystal was less pleased with her reading (“She didn’t know anything” I believe she said); however, I think her displeasure was due to the fact that it was predicted that she’d be having a baby in the next two years (which isn’t in Crystal’s plans—she’s gone from teetering on the baby fence to not wanting a child). Denice’s reading was more to her liking (and from what she told me, it sounded right).

I didn’t think too much about it (what will be, will be). We ended our fair experience with fried goods (Crystal and I had corndogs and Denice got the fried Oreos). And then Crystal and I drove D home.

CB1C took the rest of the week off (Thursday was her official birthday—30, for the record; however, if you ask me out right, I’m saying 29—I don’t plan on aging anymore…so neither will she); but she didn’t have any plans for Thursday. We decided that we’d hang out again on Friday, and Saturday she was having a party.

Well, Friday was a lot of fun. I woke up early and met CB1C in Bolivar. She was poised to do some yard-sale-ing (not sure how that should be spelled), and had delayed her journey due to the rain. She was surprised to hear from me so early, but we excitedly drove to an “estate sale” in Fair Play. Only thing to note here is that North Street in Fair Play doesn’t run north and south—no, that would be too logical. It actually runs east and west (and turns out to be the road that goes to Erica’s old house in Bear Creek).

Crystal bought some goods; however, I didn’t find anything that tickled my fancy. Her mom and step-dad met up with us at the sale; and afterward, showed us the house they’re selling there in Fair Play (it’s nice—I’ll hook you up with their info if you’re looking to relocate that direction). After that, CB1C and I headed out to Springfield.

I’m not sure what the game plan was; however, we had such a good time. We went to a used book store first (I think CB1C was hunting a book on bee keeping). Then we got some lunch. After that we headed toward the south side and got side-tracked by the Springfield Leather Company. Again, no real agenda there (Crystal had never been and I love the smell of the leather—and ended up buying a moccasin making kit—they’re flipping sweet, fyi).

We ended up going to some other stores CB1C had never been (A New Yarn, and Anna Sophia’s). Then we bought some movies from a used electronic store. We also hit up Joann’s and Marshall’s before heading to Target.

It was just like old times with Crystal. I say that like things have changed. Well, they have; but we still have fun together. What I mean is we used to go shopping and gossip during the week back in college; and it was just like that. Nothing to buy, really, just shopping for something to do.

We headed back at about 5ish (I didn’t look at a clock—that’s a lie; I was looking at the clock—8in of fun had texted me that he was going to be free from 3-7 after I texted him my new/old number…I wasn’t really planning on doing it—even though I missed our Thursday appointment due to that pesky phone issue; however, I was keeping a mental note of the time at the time. Now, I have no clue what time it really was when we left Springfield). I do know we stopped by Walmart to get some food items, and then to Chinese takeout (and I think it confused the lady that we showed up together).

We ended our night watching A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream and eating our take out while I worked on my moccasin. We made plans for Saturday and I drove home. I ended my evening cleaning the kitchen, making cupcakes for Crystal, and watching the Jack Ass box set I got at the used electronics store.

Sunday almost forgot…

2011-08-07T19:50:00.002-05:00

I got a response from that guy. You know the one I was bitching about in the previous post. It came after a random post to my Facebook Wednesday while I was out at the fair with Denice (DWF) and Crystal (CB1C). The Facebook post was in regards to the tarot card readings we got—the response was just as inane.

But when I logged into Adam4Adam, I found another brief response to the message I sent him there. So, he’s not lost; however, I haven’t decided if he’s back on the island.

Tuesday is done waiting…

2011-08-02T23:02:00.006-05:00

Ok, I’m going to say this (and feel free to believe me or not); but this post contains drama that has been heightened for storytelling purposes. I was reading the archives, and I used to obsess about one thing after another (yes, usually a guy). I haven’t done that in a while, so I was thinking I’d ramble for a little while for the fun of it.

I will, duly, admit that I did have hopes for this one (~~which by the end, we'll all wonder why~~ *that's an edit after the fact and an inside joke that if you read through hopefully you'll get). We’ve been talking for a while, and I had hoped to get to know him better—so I am, somewhat, disappointed at this turn of events. But overall, this is just a small blip on the radar that I’m blowing out of proportion (like so many other things).

I mean, I never even met the guy (he doesn’t even have a moniker); I’m still having somewhat regular sex with other guys (and dodging Norm’s text messages); and I have plenty of projects to keep myself occupied (I’m over halfway done with Leah’s blanket—one color left to finish—and I have Allison’s to start). Yes, this is all in an effort to have something to write about. So, enjoy or ignore…

So, I haven’t gotten a response back from that guy (no name required). I may have sent another message (not psychotic, I promise)…I mostly just wanted to confirm what I already knew—he needs to be sent off to the island of lost men. And yes, the site shows when the messages have been opened.

Yes, obviously, I take this all as a bad sign. No, I’m not overreacting. Yes, every other email I’ve gotten a response…usually, the next day. But every other time I’ve noticed the email I’ve sent has been read, I get a response. And this time I get nothing…I’ve gotten nothing.

I usually check my email on the site to see if he’s online (now, I never said this wasn’t going to sound pathetic—just that I’m not really obsessing). I’ve finally deleted all the emails from him; however, that hasn’t stopped me from looking up his username to see if he’s online. I know he opened the emails—if you have time to check them, you have time to respond to them.

Oh, god, this is why I’ll forever be single—I just don’t get men (wow, that sounds trite…and like I’m a martyr just because some guy has stopped responding to my emails).

I don’t even know what I could have said that would have put him off. Nothing bad, it has all been flirty (and not too needy flirty, either). I’ve mostly been returning his sentiments (which is something I usually don’t do…I actually have been making an effort…or at least meeting him halfway with the efforts). But now I get nothing.

Nothing is the most frustrating. And hell, we all know how I like to jump the gun with these things. I don’t want to contradict everything I’ve just typed by saying that I’ll probably get a response in a day or so (I mean, why would he wait to respond?); however, in the grand scheme of things, he’ll either respond or he won’t. My checking the site everyday 20+ (alright like 100+) times or more doesn’t speed that up (and constantly staying logged into my Yahoo! instant messenger is yielding negative results—I just got a message from some guy in St. Louis that I hoped had lost my information).

I’m not sure yet what I’ll do if (big if there) his theoretical response does come. I mean do I ask him what his problem is (was)? Or do I act like nothing is amiss, and I didn’t check the website 20+ (100+) times awaiting this theoretical response?

Do I really want to be spanked? (yeah, he may have mentioned wanting to do that to me…along with wanting to watch me taking a dump…I seriously just gave myself a side eye for that one. It’s not like he wanted me to take a dump on him…he just wanted to watch. I didn’t confirm that I’d do it. I said, “Maybe”. Who am I to judge him on what he thinks is sexy? Plus, it threw me for a loop since no one in my entire gay history has ever asked to do that. Yes, there’s more—and you can only imagine based on what I’ve already told you, but I feel like I’ve said enough. Hell, I’ve said too much. And don’t look at me like that. Variety is the spice of life)

What was I saying? Oh, yeah, never mind.

Monday weighed the alternatives

2011-08-01T18:48:00.000-05:00

“U always get me worked up”. This is a post-sex text from 8in of fun. I don’t think he’s ever been so full of praise (it came after, “Thanks man awesome” and just before, “Hope I can c u thur”). I was equally thankful for the 8in of fun that I received. It was nice. I don’t know if I want to say this because of the way it sounds (it’s going to sound like I’m getting attached—and I’m not), but the more I have sex with him the more comfortable it gets.

We’re falling into a routine (no matter if the wife could walk in any minute or not). Having said that, it’s not getting mundane. It’s much more enjoyable than that (plus there’s always that underlying “getting caught” thing that keeps it exciting). What does that mean (regular but pleasurable)? Well, sometimes with a guy of a certain size, it never goes well (no matter how much I’m prepared); however, it’s always been good with 8in of fun (the first time, the three-way, every time in between--sans that time he made my dick bleed). It always feels good with 8in of fun.

It’s amazing. I’ve been with guys that have been screwing guys for years and years and do it on a regular basis that still don’t know that you don’t just shove the thing in there. They don’t know the value of good lube, or when they should back off for a second. But it's like 8in of fun just knows (or maybe he's just considerate--and requires that I provide the lube).

This encounter was indicative of all the others. I get a text message with a time. I get a confirmation close to the time. I drive to his house. He answers the door before I can ring the bell. He leads me to his room, undresses making casual chit chat, then he leads me to his bed and begins.

Now, sometimes he goes down on me immediately after undressing, sometimes he waits until I’m on the bed. He puts the lube on the nightstand and gets himself into position. And he always makes sure I get off. He’s been increasing the kissing and the body contact lately.

I could tell he was freshly showered (also a usual occurrence) as he approached me. He reached for me and pulled me to him. I could taste his lip balm. He was steering me to the bed, which he climbed up on after me. He positioned himself between my legs.

He started grinding against me and kept making out. While extended down to me, he casually reached for the lube; but didn’t make immediate use of it. He was preoccupied with my nipples. Then he went down on me again stroking himself as he made the fluid up and down motions. It’s all set up to relax me to take the assault he has planned.

Yes, he may have started with the kissing; however, once between my legs, his primary concern was to get into my ass. He had a casual urgency to his strokes and waited until I had totally accepted him before he let me have it. I got one and a half performances from him (he put it back in to get me off—which isn’t a norm; but hey, it worked).

Then he got a towel for me, inquired about Erica’s baby as we dressed (he had wanted to meet while I was waiting for her to have Ava), and lead me nonchalantly to the door. He mentioned wanting to meet up again (at around the same time) on Thursday. Then I unceremoniously left.

It was (is) all so relaxed. Like I’ve known him for years—like we’ve been doing this for years. I suppose it is because he has been doing this for years (and lord knows with how many guys he’s doing this with currently). It’s so lackadaisical that it never occurs to me to obsess over it. I simply enjoy. I merely accept that he’s married and don’t crave anything other than what I’ve been getting. Which, as you all know, is surprising considering the hours I’ve spent waiting for a reply from an email from a guy that I’ve never met before.

And now, we get to those “alternatives” I was “weighing”. I got the text from 8in of fun. Then I checked online for a response from online time waister (no response, but he wasn’t online at least). Then I got a text from Norm—small-dicked, ugly, Norm. What were those choices again?

Monday knows better than to wait around…

2011-08-01T02:00:00.001-05:00

As pathetic as this is going to sound, I’ve been waiting for a reply from a guy practically all day. Now, I’m telling you this…and admitting that it’s pretty pathetic; however, we all know I’d be up anyway (and it is my fault for not asking for a specific time to expect his reply). He mentioned finally meeting tonight (late Sunday night was all he said).

Well, he’s online now (the website shows); and he’s read my previous message to him. However, I’ve not received a reply yet. It will probably show him online for most of the night (I’m not sure how that works if you don’t actually log out). Ok, I refreshed a few times and still no reply. And he hasn’t shown up online in my Yahoo! instant messenger yet. Alright, fine, I’ll get onboard with the pathetic now.

I should have just hooked up with Norm. Yeah (eye roll), I got a text from him earlier. “I just got home from 10 days in Joplin. Wanna hang out?” No, no I’m waiting on some guy for a late night rendezvous (I want to email him again—I mean, is he not responding because he sees me online as well? I understand that it’s late and the hook up is probably not going to happen, but why not just say that—I’m not going to express my disappointment to him—I have you all for that).

So, yeah, Norm. Condensed down it went something like this: Blah, Blah, Blah. “We should hang out.” Blah, blah, blah, “Tell the guy you got called into work.” Blah, Blah, Blah, “If you don’t want to hang out just say so.” Blah, Blah, Blah “Are you serious?” Blah, Blah, Blah “Like ever?” Blah, Blah...

His responses started coming slower and slower. I’m probably going to have to block his number again. Wait, the cell phone number he's texting is getting disconnected next week anyway (August 4th, to be exact). And no, he doesn’t have my other number (which I’m keeping and everyone should have from before). Problem solved.

Well, that problem is solved; however, I’m now left wondering how long I should keep checking for a message… I mean, if he just closed out of the window, it could take sometime before it shows him logged out. And if he had responded, I would have gotten it immediately. And if he was planning on responding, more than likely, he would have done so by now (yes, realizing this only serves to make me more pathetic).

I don’t even know why I care (yes, I do…he’s expressed an interest in being sexually adventurous—and I do enjoy variety…plus, playing wife-walking-in roulette isn’t what I’d consider adventurous sex). It’s not like I don’t have options. I had sex with that married guy last weekend (in the bed he shares with his wife), and 8 in of fun last Wednesday (in the bed he shares with his wife). I’m not even that horny (I mean there’s a normal level of horn that I maintain; however, it’s on the minimal side now—it will rise, naturally, the longer I go between sex—and masturbation doesn’t count as sex—just a little fyi/tmi there)…

I’d expect a baking/crochet project to spring up here in the next few days (I still have zucchini and my niece’s blankets to finish…plus, then the waiting around for something to happen doesn’t seem so pathetic--I'm logging out as I post)…

Thursday knows there was a reason that number wasn’t in my phone

2011-07-28T08:33:00.001-05:00

A few (or a couple) weeks ago I got a text that read simply, “I wanna fuck u”. I finally looked at my phone a few hours later, so I didn’t respond—plus the number wasn’t in my phone. I haven’t given my number out to a random stranger in forever, so I couldn’t think of who would send this message.

Well, I got the message again Tuesday while I was hanging out with Denice (we had been downtown; but at this time, we were back at her house yarning). This time I responded, “Who is this?”

I got another simple response. “Mason.” Hmmm… Mason, eh? Doesn’t ring a bell. No, there’s not even a hint of recognition toward that name (which doesn’t mean much—I mean, no matter how good or bad my memory is toward names, I rarely use their names…never name the puppy unless you’re going to take it home). He also texted, “Who is this?”

Well, well. So, this guy doesn’t know me. “You texted me.” I began, “Who did you text?”

“Tryme67 from A4A [Adam4Adam]”. I felt a little relieved I didn’t tell him my name—plus this narrowed down the results (of who this could be). I had a vague recollection of the guys I might have given my number from this site (I really don’t give out my number that often). The only reason I would have is if we hooked up; however, if we hooked up, he’d probably know my name.

I responded again to gain more understanding of the situation. “Ah. Well, I don’t remember any Masons. Did we hook up?”

“Not yet. But let me fuck you.” I’m gald he’s so apt—I must be doing something right.

“Can I get a screen name, or a picture?” He sent a picture, and then asked for one back. His picture was underwhelming (to say the least), but it gave me a better idea of who it might be. I asked him if he was the little boy from Conway (you remember? The one that wanted me to buy him beer, and then he would fuck me.)

I got the confirmation, “Well, I’m not little, but I am from Conway.” Yeah. Ok, then. Mystery solved. I’d like to tell you this is where the conversation ended (I know what commentary that D and I discussed—it involved a “hell, no”—I’m pretty sure); however, I did continue to text him (my own pictures included). What? He kept telling me I was hot and how much he’d like to fuck me and I should let him fuck me… I’m not above flattery.

But driving to Conway wasn’t in the cards in any way, shape, or form (once offended, always offended…and his prior conviction of beer for sex was quite offending). No matter, I actually passed out at D’s house…no we didn’t drink; I was just so tired. I was so tired that I slept until after 1 the next day. Yeah, sorry about that D; don’t know where it came from…

I did save the kid’s number in my phone (with a note: the kid that wanted beer for a shag), so next time I can just text him back immediately, “No! I said No!”

Tuesday got rear ended (and it wasn’t a preview)…

2011-07-26T10:30:00.005-05:00

Monday morning I was awakened (at 5:40 am) by my mother beckoning me to bring her my dad’s paperwork (she forgot it on the table). This is the 2nd week in a row that she’s done this. Last week wasn’t that big of a deal because I was up anyway… Well, it’s not a big deal this week, either, just a real annoyance (and a sign of my parents’ overdependence on me—I know what they say about people in glass houses).

But it got me up and around which wasn’t a bad thing. I was anxious (yeah, anxious) to make this zucchini cake, and I needed to find some spices (my quest for anise seeds and cardamom is documented in Baking as Avoidance). After leaving my mother at work, I went shopping. I didn’t find everything I needed, so I researched some options and set about my journey (sounds epic, right?).

Well, it all led me to Springfield. Once there, I went to Nadia’s European Market first. By European market, they really mean Russian bazaar (as 90% of the goods there were all in Russian—I seriously didn’t know what to buy). Then I caught Denice just before she was leaving for work (I shared my purchase—these really great chocolate-covered wafers). My point in seeing her was that I knew she’d point me in the right direction with my quest.

And she did. I ended up finding everything I needed at Mama Jean’s (which wasn’t even on my radar—I simply didn’t think about them). Then I went to another European Market on the south side. I got some French blood-orange soda (very good) then started to head home. Just before the construction area on Kansas Expressway, traffic had stopped; however, the car behind me didn’t realize it.

It was the noise that got my adrenaline pumping. I saw him coming in my rearview. I’ve been rear-ended before, so I get a slight cringe when I see someone coming up behind me anyway. But when I heard the screech of the tires as he slammed his brakes, I knew he was going to get a little too close. Then I heard the crunch of his car connecting with mine (I think it was the sound of his blinker light cover shattering that really got me) and felt my truck shake.

Honestly, at this point, I didn’t know if the back of the truck was still there or not. He was out of his car in a flash while I was dialing 911 (a natural response on my part). He was at my window telling me that he didn’t have a lot of time, and I told the dispatcher “never mind”. He wanted to just exchange information and get on with his lunch.

I was a little taken aback, but I also thought the back half of my truck was gone as well; however, he’d already looked and encouraged me to do the same. It was nothing. There are two blue splotches of Toyota paint on the right half of my bumper, and the indentation of my tow hitch in his hood.

Ok, I was good to just take his information and be done with it. He immediately handed me his license—I took a picture (like I carry a pen around with me), and a second later I had his insurance card. I didn’t immediately notice the police car to our right, but they noticed us. They wanted to do a whole accident report…and I was kind of glad.
Officer 1 was a late 30s guy. Obviously balding, he had his head shaved smooth. Officer 2 was mid-to early 20s (I am unable to tell human ages these days—but I’m fairly certain he was younger than me) with a short buzz cut, and he filled out his uniform nicely.

Accident guy was a skinny construction worker with short brown hair…he wasn’t ugly, but he wasn’t cute. He’s an electrician working on the Bass Pro remodel—it was his birthday (he told me, and I confirmed it on his drivers license—he turned 29 yesterday), and he was rushing to his girlfriend’s house for his lunch and then to the bank (we had a little time to talk). He was skinny fat—you know, just slight but no real muscle—probably never worked out a day in his life (I got a good look at his stomach—my eyes went to the trail of hair leading into his pants—because he kept using his shirt to wipe sweat from his brow.

The officers soon ushered us to a side street.

I haven’t been in an accident in a while. The first time I got rear-ended was back in high school, and I was so hysterical that I couldn’t tell you what happened (yes, I kept crying and sitting down on the shoulder—plus, my trunk was in my back seat, and the other driver was slumped in his seat like he was dead). So, I’m not so familiar with how these things work (and again, I was perfectly fine with our just exchanging information).

But it dragged out. I felt kind of bad for the guy. I know this accident was in no way my fault; however, it was his birthday, his car was more hurt than mine, and this was killing his lunch hour. Once the officers had compiled their information, they approached us. Officer 1 asked me to come with him to the front of my vehicle. I was taken aback and thought (briefly) that I was going to be arrested.

I guess he just wanted my side of the story. I don’t know what he was getting at because obviously the other guy wasn’t going that fast (the damage to both of our cars definitely indicated that much), and no one was hurt. But he wanted to know if I was stopped fully, if I noticed the other guy coming up, and if I was wearing my seat belt.

Then the officer asked him similar questions while hot officer 2 asked me if I like to hunt (I have a poaching bumper sticker on my back glass). Then they went back to their patrol car to deliberate further. They were still holding our licenses and insurance information hostage.

Once they returned (officer 1 did most of the talking—officer 2 must be the strong-silent type), I got my license and insurance card back. I also got a little paper with the other guy’s name, address, and phone number. Yes, I found him on facebook; however, I abstained from adding him as my friend (I’m considering deleting my FB—plus, I think he got a ticket).

Telling my parents was actually the easiest part. I made sure my dad knew everything was ok first (he takes my personal safety to heart a little too seriously to be the dad of a 29-year old—had I not told him I was fine, he would have asked within .5 seconds). With my mom, I gave her one of my delicious Russian wafer cookies. Plus, there’s like no damage.

But these things happen in 3s. I’m not really a superstitious person; however, my bother had an accident the Monday before; so we all need to watch out for next Monday. Better safe than sorry people!

Tuesday thinks you’re too young for us to be having this conversation…

2011-07-26T09:21:00.002-05:00

“Uncle Tommy,” My niece Malissa calls from the back seat, “when are you getting married?”

I would have said my mother put her up to this; however, you never know what really motivates a 6-year old to ask blunt, on the spot, hard to answer questions. Plus, my mom probably figures I’d tell her the truth (which would upset the delicate sensibilities of my brother and his wife—having his kids face the reality that things “they don’t believe in” are real). Yes, my nieces can believe in Santa Clause; however, knowing their favorite uncle (their only other choice is a ~~crack head~~ex-crack head) is a fag would just totally upset the balance.

Well, sweetie, we live in a red-state…

“I don’t know.” was my simple reply. And it’s true enough. I’m not even dating right now. I could have also went the, “I don’t believe in marriage,” route—but that probably would have led to a different life-altering conversation for a 6 year old. While Malissa asked the question from the backseat, her older sister Leah (8 years old) was also interested in the answer from the front seat (she had a pensive look about her when I glanced her way). Thankfully, 4-year old Allison is so self-centered at this point that I’m hoping she’s oblivious. I’ve gotten in “trouble” before broaching the topic of marriage with my nieces.

I know I’ve told this poignant story before of then 4-year old Leah coming in my room to propose. She’s always been so serious. “Uncle Tommy, I love you. Will you marry me?” she asks. “Sweetie,” I’m gay, “we can’t get married. Our babies would be cross-eyed”. Honestly, it was the 2nd thing to pop into my head. “Ok.” She replies, “I wanted to marry my friend Anna Grace” (her little Asian BFF) “But mommy says we can’t.”

Relieved she didn’t ask why our babies would be cross-eyed, I replied with the first thing that popped into my head, “Why would mommy tell you that?” Well, you can see where this is leading… and yes, it ended with “You tell mommy in Canada you can.” Well, it really ended with my brother preaching to my mother about “things they don’t believe in.”

Truthfully, I don’t really want to broach the topic with them either. I’m not sure at what age it’s appropriate; however, as long as I don’t have to lie to them, I think I’ll string that “Uncle Tommy just hasn’t met the right person yet” out as long as I can. Ironically, I wish I would have told them before they were old enough to ask those questions I really don’t want to answer…like “How” and “Why”…and trust me, they’re old enough now to ask.

Anyway. They stayed with me (and by me, I mean my mother) over the weekend (brother and sister-in-law are still recuperating from that pesky motorcycle accident). They’re funny and sweet and remind me of why I’m an uncle and not a father. I was up early the next morning as well (I awoke just before midnight and was beckoned away by some married guy whose wife was out of town).

Just after they woke up, we were sitting in the living room (I got them hooked on She-Ra). This time it was Leah asking the questions I didn’t want to answer (which makes me wonder if she and her sister have talked about this independently—I wonder if they’ve asked their mom and dad…or if they’ve overheard their mom and dad talking)… “Uncle Tommy,” Yes, there’s no way to get them to drop that extra “my” of my name, “When are you going to have babies?”

Which is funny because she, at least, equates marriage and babies (so if I don’t know when I’m getting married she should have connected the dots that I wouldn’t know when I was going to have babies). This equation stems from my sister-in-law (her family is super religious); however, I’m not criticizing… if my little girl wanted to know when she could have babies (and yes, Leah has asked before), I’d probably tell her the same thing—“after you’re married” followed by, “when you’re much older” (which is kind of ironic as well since their grandma, my mother, had all of us unwed…and I’m pretty sure my grandma had my mom and her brother unwed as well).

Anyway, the topic of babies and when I’m going to have them is another issue I don’t want to broach with my nieces—or my mother (probably for similar reasons as the subject of marriage)—especially at 7 am (they’re early risers—well, Allison likes to sleep in—thank god—and she does not take to being awoken before she’s ready to rise). The answer is more simple than the marriage one though, “I don’t know, Pickle” Yeah, Leah is my pickle, Malissa is my pumpkin, and Allison is peach, “Uncle Tommy doesn’t think he wants kids.”

I know it’s patronizing to talk to them in the third person; however, it works to lend authority to what I’m saying (and they’re too young to mind). I quickly followed up that “I don’t want kids…” with a very pointed, “But if Uncle Tommy did decide to have kids, he’d want them to be just like you and your sisters.” Yes, I may be gay; however, I know the best way to sweet talk a lady is with a complement that sounds sincere.

Now, down to the brass tacks, “Leah,” I said calling her blonde-headed brown-eyed attention from the tv back to our conversation, “Why do you care if Uncle Tommy has kids?” Yes, that third-person condescension is annoying to me, too; however, I had a hard time stopping it with them no matter what I tell my self about their intelligence.

“I want more cousins.” And yes, she was as serious as a heart attack. I’m kind of glad her reasons are somewhat selfish. It probably would have led to an awkward discussion had she said something like, “Well, you’re supposed to have children.” Or, “You’re getting older and shouldn’t wait any longer.” It would have made me laugh—really loudly; however, it’s not that farfetched of an idea that she would leap to the conclusion; plus, she was also previously a little too interested in my age.

It wasn’t all heavy, life-choice conversations with them all weekend. There was She-Ra on Netflix, “You stop that right now or Uncle Tommy will put you in time out”, and a water balloon fight in the front yard. There was also spaghetti for dinner and bacon and waffles for breakfast. I helped Leah with her crochet, Malissa would randomly start crying, and Allison would try to bite me.

You know the kind of stuff that makes me love being an uncle.

Friday is feeling it…

2011-07-22T14:13:00.001-05:00

I’ve been making cookies practically all day (my nieces are staying the weekend due to my brother’s motorcycle accident with his wife earlier in the week>. He escaped with minor injuries; she’s healing, but found out her tailbone and arm are broken). It’s nice to have the smeel of baked goods in the air. But before I made the cookies, I actually took a side trip to the past.

Briefly, I put in my old earrings (my cartilage has been pierced since just after high school). The piercings never seem to close; however, they do get irritated and red if I leave an earring in these days. I’ve also noticed before that the scar where my labret piercing was isn’t fully healed either (I occasionally notice a little moisture there after I brush my teeth), so this morning I decided to find out if I could put a barbell through it again.

Well, an earring went in smoothly enough. So, I proceeded with the bigger rod. After a little pressure, it went in smoothly. I was a little surprised at how easily. It was tight; however, now, it’s loosened up. I’m considering keeping it in for a while (my parents can’t bitch very much since I used to sport it a few years back).

I also shaved off my beloved beard. I kept the goatee, though. I look funny, however, it’s nothing compared to how weird I look with a completely bare face.

Not sure where the urge came from (I voluntarily took out the labret, and I did love my beard); but now that it’s done, I’m adjusting well (I think I look a little younger).

Oh, and fyi, I did hear from Norm (the conversation happened via text, but just as I predicted--"Hey, we should hang out like old times"). I’ll leave it to you to decide if I actually went through with it again...or not.

Wednesday should know better…

2011-07-20T03:42:00.002-05:00

Well, let’s catch up a bit.

8 in of fun has been sending me random text messages. Don’t worry it’s nothing like that; he’s not trying to “woo” me. It’s worse. He’s texting me at odd times to tell me he “thinks” his wife will be out of the house. It’s annoying to no end. He’s like the middle-aged man who cried “fuck” (middle-aged is probably a little harsh--he’s only 40). But it’s annoying as hell.

I’ve been dealing with that for weeks.

As if that isn’t enough, last week—as a lark—I added “Norm” as a friend on FaceBook. Like a moth to a flame, I do enjoy a disaster. Today, he asked for my number (I deleted the comment off of my wall). Who knows how this will play out; however, I do have a theory… I’ll get a call (he’s not really down with the texting)…it will probably be kinda late at night…he’ll be pretending to be drunk.

After getting the “pleasantries” out of the way, he’ll ask me about what I’ve been doing lately. He’ll want me to talk dirty to him. Then he’ll be so “worked up” he’ll need to meet me. I’ll resist—say I’m tired (he is still the ugliest man in Stockton). He’ll try to sweeten the offer by telling me that all I need to do is show up…he’ll do the rest.

I’ll probably end up caving (what else do I have to do? And besides, 8 in of fun has turned into a time waster).

Thursday should always end a good time with skinny dipping

2011-07-14T23:39:00.001-05:00

I’m not even sure where I should begin when it comes to Wednesday. I woke up at the crack of 11 am (which is pretty early for me) with the sense that I had something to do. In reality, I didn’t; however, I did want to try and spend some time with C(B1)C and E(H)W. E(H)W is still on maternity leave and that’s going to end soon (six weeks has gone by way too quickly).

Anyway, I texted C(B1)C to see what her plans were. Upon not receiving any reply, I texted E(H)W. She did reply, and I set about getting ready to hang out with her. Her baby was 5 weeks old on Wednesday, and I’ve only hung out with them once since she was born (I slept through the visit C(B1)C made a few weeks ago).

I was determined to not miss this opportunity. Well, C(B1)C eventually texted back; and we all got to hang out. It was fun—the kind of fun that only old friends can have. It’s funny how E(H)W’s baby is now a character in our fun. And after agreeing to meet next Wednesday to write our book/movie (CB1 told me I had to find EH and her brother’s former house rules—they’re funny, I might post them—they would give you an idea of the type of fun we used to have), we disbanded.

I went home. CB2 has been on me about how I “never hang out” with her anymore, so I actually had it in my head that no matter what I would go with her to Kai (our old regular Wednesday tradition). She was apt to go, and some of her other friends were going up there to eat as well. I got ready and met her at her Grandparent’s house.

It was fun. I kinda know her other friends (at least from her stories). We ordered drinks and eats. The wait staff was up on their friendliness (we pretty much know everyone by now—and I think they were even more friendly with me due to my last Wednesday there about a month ago when I got a little drunk and funny). It was different sitting at a table than it is when we sit at the bar (plus, Handsome Bartender G was missing; so there was Furry Bartender P and an alternate).

CB2 and I proceeded to get drunk. Eventually, the other friends left. We ended up leaving and following our server (CB2 hangs out with that crowd after hours on occasion) and going to the Outland (she wanted to go see Sam—they’re going to “Chiefstock”? some floating thing this weekend). We got to talking there, but there’s only so long you can linger outside a bar.

So, we went to head back to the car. CB2 got distracted by some girl she knew (she knows almost everyone) standing outside this apartment that was playing music earlier in the evening (well, there was a band at the “party” they were having). Of course, we went over to investigate. The girl, Coma, greeted us warmly (it seems I made friends with her as I ended up adding her on Facebook). Despite the outpouring of teens leaving, we decided to go on up and check it out. Coma, another woman named Kris, and a guy named Sean, climbed the stairs with us.

We were again inundated with teens; however, these were teens we knew. CB2 was greeted by KKKKatie’s little brother (and some of his friends?) as they were leaving, and I guess even Ambie’s little brother (Rex) was there earlier as well. It was kind of awkward being confronted with such a wide age gap (well, it was for me; Most of the people there were actually only a few years younger than CB2; however, some were just barely 17 and 18). At some point during this affront, we were approached by some kid that knew me, my former work place, and CB2’s aunt and cousin (I’ve told you before that I’m famous where I’m from—in this case, I was famous for my former workplace and for selling the kid cigarettes underage…eh, I didn’t recognize his face at all); at one point, however, he did turn to me and say, “Well, I don’t want you to get offended or punch me in the face or anything, but my friends and I used to call you, ‘Gay Tom’”. Indeed, I was called that in about 4 counties (and I responded to that effect).

Coma made friends with the kids by the keg, so we all got beers. Then we sort of drifted out of the party and back down to the street (the keg had gone dry). I made another “friend” of a kid wearing a flannel shirt (he was named Payton…for some reason I offered to hook him up with chicks—cause you know the gays can talk to the ladies). But after trying to talk him up to his friend’s girlfriend, we decided to leave downtown.

Still buzzed, I worked to convince CB2 that we should go skinny dipping. It didn’t take much; she got on board. We stopped by her Grandparents, so she could get us some towels. And we drove out to the lake.

I was a little stoked about it. I hadn’t been skinny dipping since last year; hell, I haven’t even been swimming at all this year. We went to Masters Beach on Stockton Lake (this is usually my beach of choice for skinny dipping). It was literally the perfect night for a swim.

For one, it was warm, but not overly hot. Also, the almost-full moon was so bright we could see all the way down the beach. The lake was quiet and inviting. CB2 hesitated for a moment, but I was all too eager to get in the water. It was cool at first; however, the cool almost melted into a warmth that was like bath water—comfortable and inviting.

We waded for a moment (the lake was low), sort of kneeling in the water to make it up to our shoulders. We swam out to the “rope” (it used to be a floating rope with little buoys keeping it afloat; however, it’s been replaced with a plastic tube that distinguishes the swimming part of the lake from deeper boating part of the lake). It was so nice out.

We sat on the rope for a while dangling on it kicking our feet. Once wet, the tepid breeze felt almost cool now. But after dipping back in the water slightly, it was warm again. We swam around until the eastern sky started to lighten as the moon fell dark toward the west; the clear night was giving way to a pleasantly cloudy morning.

The light of the morning swept the pleasure of skinny dipping behind its folds. Not wanting to get caught as the park rangers make their morning rounds (or let it get light enough outside to make our nakedness awkward to each other), we meandered our way back to the shore to our clothes, and then the car. The light of dawn continued to paint the sky as we made our way back to town.

CB2 dropped me off at my truck (still parked on the street outside her grandparents’ house). Her night was ending; however, I decided to go visit my mom at work (she manages a gas station). I stayed a few hours, learned how to use the new registers, and helped her with her daily cooking. And then the exhaustion (and a “walking hangover”) forced me to make my own way back home. After checking on the orphaned kittens (I tweeted about them a couple weeks ago), I took a shower (I’m not one to go to bed with lake water on me), brushed my teeth, and fell into bed.

Thursday hates all this nerdy computer crap…

2011-07-14T20:55:00.000-05:00

I’ve been messing with my domain settings in order to create new “sub-domains” for Baking as Avoidance (baking.thegrandchahee.com is up and running--no www. needed) and Crochet as Avoidance (crochet.thegrandchahee.com--no www for this one either). And before you get all “well, you should post more and worry about that crap less”... Let’s just label this as, “Nerdy Computer Crap as Avoidance” (no, there won’t be a new sub-domain for that).

Anyway, it seems that some of my changes have affected the site in little ways and some have affected the site in other ways. One of the little changes (other than the new sub-domains), I’ve added a “favicon” (that’s the proper term for that little picture that appears in the browser’s address bar—it used to be the Blogger icon; now it’s a cat’s head); it worked pretty well as far as I can tell. One of the negative impacts my changes have brought to the site was that it wasn’t redirecting the naked domain (simply typing thegrandchahee.com into a browser wasn’t bringing up anything). I believe I have that fixed (and I just checked that—seems to be working fine).

Now, earlier today, I was checking on the site’s email settings; and I somehow disabled all thegrandchahee.com email addresses. This only really affects the very few people who have asked or been given a Chahee email address (the Chahee email login at the top is for those people). CB2, Dr. Sexy, Ambie, and I are the only ones in possession of these emails (and Ambie hasn’t logged into hers since 2009). I seemed to have also got those fixed as well (and if my tests were correct, any emails that were to be delivered to any address or an alternate set up for those emails have since been delivered—so no lost emails).

My point in all of this is that if something is amiss, please let me know! When I change something, I usually try to post it in the Site Updates section at the top—if there’s a problem I can’t fix, I will post it there—so again if it’s not listed, I probably don’t know it’s broken. I really do try my hardest to make this the best theGrandChahee.com I possibly can!

If you’d like to report an issue, those of you who have my number text me (CB2 pointed out that it wasn’t redirecting correctly, and I got it fixed with in like 10 min), email me at chahee@thegrandchahee.com, or leave something in the comments (those forward to an external email).

Sunday didn’t feel the need to tell you right away.

2011-07-10T22:09:00.001-05:00

I had an “appointment” with a re-run Friday night. He’s so far back in the archives I was still an insurance agent when we first met. Yeah, he dropped off the planet after our few encounters. It’s just as well—he’s nothing to look at anyway.

But he does have 1 redeeming quality about him—and it’s not his charming personality. Having said that, I’m not sure that it is a redeeming quality after all; I mean if it’s too big—it’s just too big. I know I’ve taken it before, but this time something was just a little off.

I blame the drugs (yeah, maybe after this post, you all can call me Mr. Excuses). He got me high (it was just “medical grade” weed). No, I don’t normally go for that sort of thing (that’s why I think it was a problem—well, I do on occasion get high…few and far between; however, I don’t normally have sex while high). And while drugs can make you relax, I wasn’t so far gone that I was 100% willing. Well, I was willing enough…it just didn’t loosen me up enough.

And for excuse #2 (which may be #1 depending on how I’m telling this story), I think he tried to use hand lotion as lube. No bueno. It’s too much of a throw back to my youth (Stick-in-the-mud-Kevin used to try to do me that way; what? I was young and naïve…and hadn’t learned enough about good lube). And while I used to use everything from Vaseline to conditioner as lube, in my old age (29—just for the record) I’d like to think that I’ve risen above bad lube.

It didn’t feel good at all. Yes, I asked him to stop. Yes, he made a few attempts; however, it just wasn’t going to happen. And it didn’t. Which left me high in his house somewhat sexually frustrated (another reason I usually don’t mix those poisons). I don’t think I stayed long enough to make it very awkward…well, I don’t think it was awkward (how, the hell do I know? I was still a little high).

I’m not sure if I’m going to hear from him again or not. I probably will (because I get the impression that he wants to finish the deed); however, there’s an equal possibility that I won’t (which doesn’t break my heart). I can tell you this though I’m going to bring the lube next time.

Tuesday didn’t feel that regular sense of regret…

2011-07-05T02:01:00.005-05:00

I’ve talked to this kid on Grindr before. And no, he’s not literally a kid; however, he is 21 (and I consider that a kid). I had kind of over looked him before partially because of his age; then because of his stats (he portrayed himself as a little chubbier than I like them)—6’, 260 (which is like 2” shorter than me and a little bit chubbier). I wasn’t sure how those stats were going to play out.

It wasn’t so bad. I was expecting sloppy (he also sent me a shirtless-picture previously—no bueno). However, after seeing him, I didn’t have the desire to run away at any time. He was not a looser (I think that was his actual house).

I was laughing when I got out of my truck because he was talking me through how to find his house. Then I started giggling because I felt like I had been too harsh on him previously (I mentioned that he’d better know what he was doing because I wasn’t going to be the public service announcement—what? He’s 8 years my junior—that’s almost 2x what C(B1)C and her husband have in age difference…that’s the age of my oldest niece).

He led me immediately to his bedroom and took off his shorts (he was shirtless when he met me on the porch—he’s also furry, in a good way). He’s also pierced—down there. I don’t know if he knew where to start with me because he just sort of looked at me. I mean, I was looking at him (because I rarely make the first move…it’s true. I’m a whore, but I never make the first move).

I wanna say he was giving me a hard time. I’m probably just making that up because he looks at me and says, “How old are you again?” Hmm. Believe it or not, as much as I lie about my age in real life, online I’m quite the straight shooter. I have it posted in my profile that I’m 29. I am damn it (I’m coming to terms).

I told him as much. He replies, “Did you lie in your profile?” He had a smile on his face. He looked 30 (or at least 25—I am unable to tell human ages). I’d like to think he was giving me a hard time. I proudly replied that I was 21. No, I fessed up and almost reached for my phone to show him my correct age of 29 on my Grindr profile. He said something about thinking my profile read 23… then I called him out, “Why would I give you a hard time about your age if I were only 23?” (I used to…just so you know…give guys that were 21 a hard time about their age when I was 23. Of course, when I was 23, I used to go for guys in their 40s…it’s ironic kind of that the older I get, I actually seek men who are closer to my age…I like a man in his early to late 30s—but they are few and far between. Most of them haven’t started cheating on their “life partners” yet, or they haven’t decided to be in an “open” relationship yet—that’s reserved for those guys in their early to late 40s).

That was a long tangent. I apologize. No, not really.

Anyway. After we cleared up that age thing, he sank to his knees, briefly (like 30 seconds—fyi, my injured equipment is healing nicely—although I do have two reddened scrape marks…remind me to bite 8in of fun’s dick the next time I see him…see how he likes explaining that to his wife); and I responded in kind. I was impressed with his 21 year old equipment. He stiffened up nicely after the 30 seconds I gave him (give 30, get 30—hell, give me an hour, I’ll probably still only give you 30…I get tired of it, unless I’m specifically in the mood for it). But it went from like hard to hard-hard.

Then he said the magic words of the evening, “I have to get up at 7 in the morning…” And things progressed nicely from there. He was a little too swift to get things started after insertion (if you know what I mean), but after that it went pretty smoothly. He checked on me about halfway through (I’m still very quiet when getting plowed—no matter how I’m enjoying myself). And then I checked on him, “I’m really close,” He says. Then added, “Is that ok?”

It was. I mean he’s the one who has to get up early in the morning. I didn’t want to burden him with an all night fuck fest. I wanted quick and simple, and that’s what I got. He sped up, and finished himself. Then he detached, and went into his bathroom to clean his hands (he doesn’t like lube on his hands—who can blame him?). I sat there for a second contemplating my own release.

I thought better of it, and hopped up and got dressed. I like how the kid operates because as I was buckling my belt, he was halfway through the living room to show me the door (it sometimes makes me feel cheap when they do that—despite my no-nonsense approach to these matters, I do on occasion like the illusion that they would like me to stay—plus, it usually leads to a round 2…but all in all, it’s nicer that I don’t have to pretend to hesitate).

He thanked me for removing my shoes at his door (I like to be polite—plus, it’s a habit). And then he said the most confusing thing I’d heard all night, “Well, now you know where the place is.” I know I had a little trouble finding it initially (the highway has been changed and his road isn’t in my gps), but I never thought I’d need to find it twice.

Maybe this isn’t a one and done. I mean, I’d probably do it again. I didn’t have that “OMG what am I doing” moment at any time during our brief encounter. Having said that, the kid is only 21, perhaps he doesn’t know that when you meet someone in the middle of the night on a random hook up application it really means “One night stand”…

Sunday giggled a little to himself…

2011-07-03T23:40:00.000-05:00

While casually perusing Grindr (the app that lists other gay men online according to their relative distance), I saw a familiar face (don’t roll your eyes at me…they’re not all familiar to me at this point). The Bartender has gotten himself a smart phone (well, he had one before, but this one looked like an Android). And yes, I can tell this because the (bad) picture had the camera in it (it was a little out of focus and a little too dead on).

I’ll never understand why guys have to take pictures in the mirror. A©H should start teaching a course to show men how to take a self picture (it should be called The Art of the Self Pic: Camera Phone Edition). Yes, I’m already accredited; however, I thought I should give a shout out to the master (she can do it with a full sized camera like nobody’s business). I suppose my course will be in Creative Camera Angles for Beginners.

What’s that phrase? You only have one chance to make a first impression…and that first impression shouldn’t include your phone (those are details you get to critique later down the road).

But no matter.

He’s calling himself “Kyle” (which is not his name…wait, that maybe his middle name—HA! he’s already burned through his first name—yes, I deserve that eye roll)…He wasn’t looking so hot—I’d say he was on the downward side of mediocre (it’s that damn faux-hawk thing he’s doing with his hair); but I’ll admit I’m probably not the best person to ask.

I’m just happy I didn’t even have the slightest urge to message him. Having said that, on the unlikely urge that he’ll message me (review the archives), all bets are off. I’d do it again. I’d do it again and laugh the entire time (because if you review the archives, you’ll come to the same conclusion that I would: he really has burned through that first name…it might be hot—we could play the “sexy stranger” game).

Sunday knows there’s no teeth in bj

2011-07-03T23:24:00.000-05:00

Just like there’s no “I” in “team”… there’s no “teeth” in “blow job”—it doesn’t even have a “t”, an “e”, or an “h”. None of that is in there. So, if you haven’t guessed, I got a bad bj. It was 8in of fun. Obviously, he needs a little work in this department.

I got a text from him this afternoon pleading (yes, that’s pretty much was it was) with me to come meet him out at the fair grounds at 4. I wasn't doing much anyway (you don't really have to coax me to get a bj-it's like a handshake, I could go without them; however, if you extend the hand, I'm going to reply in kind).

I didn’t think I would have to be the public service announcement with him (he always seemed to know what he was doing). I’ve never had a complaint with his oral skills before (and that was down a bumpy road); however, this time (while stationary), I think he let his enthusiasm get the better of him.

He seriously wore a raw spot on the side of my dick.

So, why did I allow this to happen? I’m not one to complain—I just try to subtly cajole. I stopped him once (by pulling his head up a little). I think it made him think I was close (you can only imagine how far away from close I was at the time), so he dove back down. It was alright for a second, and then he forgot to tuck his teeth again. And yes, at one point I wanted to slap his head and let him know how it’s supposed to be done (or show him how it feels).

Even after he realized what he was doing wrong (there was a brief moment where he looked up--penis in hand--to see my grimace, and noticed the reddening), it didn’t get much better (yeah, I think he was just that excited). I finally had to pull him off altogether and finish myself (it wasn’t going to feel good no matter what he was doing at this point). He waited eagerly, and I nudged him at the proper time.

He didn’t even make a mention toward pleasuring himself (despite having had his pants pulled down the entire time); he put his own away and told me how he’s been “trying to find a way to get me out to his house". I, obviously, am not holding my breath in anticipation—despite my own enthusiasm over wanting his 8in of fun again.

He seemed to think he’d find a window of opportunity sometime soon (he inquired about early morning rendezvous--yes, I rolled my eyes at that; I'm not much of a morning person). I suppose good things come to those who wait.

Saturday completed the Soundtrack to my Summer part 1

2011-07-02T01:54:00.000-05:00

Who knows how many I’ll get up to. This is just the first one. And yes, most of it has a dance beat (the links are to the videos--which helped some of them get into the mix):

1. Steve Angello & Laidback Luke ft. Robin S- Show Me Love
2. Jai Paul- BTSTU
3. Alex Gaudino ft. Kelly Rowland- What a Feeling
4. Aloe Blacc- I Need a Dollar
5. Audio Bullys- Only Man
6. Caro Emerald- That Man
7. Cascada- San Francisco
8. Chase & Status ft Delilah- Time
9. Duck Sauce- Barbara Streisand (Original Mix)
10. Example- Changed the Way You Kiss Me
11. Artic Monkeys- Don’t Sit Down Cause I’ve Moved Your Chair
12. Woodkid- Iron
13. Katy Perry- E.T.
14. LMFAO ft Natalia Kills- Champagne Showers
15. Martin Solveig & Dragonette- Hello
16. Passion Pit- Little Secrets
17. SBTRKT- Wildfire
18. Gyptian ft Nicki Minaj- Hold Yuh (Remix)
19. The Presets- If I Know You
20. Thievery Corporation- Until the Morning
21. The Wanted- Glad You Came

Friday could have lived without that.

2011-07-01T23:30:00.003-05:00

I got a text message from that guy that thinks he’s “dating” 8in of fun. It’s asking me if I got his messages from Bear411. The message was just that, there was no mention of what the messages were regarding. I decided to overlook the fact that he’s texting me to ask about a message on a website that will tell him when I’m online. I also decided to overlook the fact that it was 9 in the morning.

I logged in to Bear411 to find 7 messages waiting for me. Luckily they weren’t all from him (7 pending messages from any 1 person is exceeding the limit from normal to full crazy). Anyway, the message was telling me that he was setting up another 3-way with me and 8in of fun… it was going to be at 11 this same morning. While I appreciated the text to alert me, the following message I got told me that the 3-way was cancelled (he explained that motel rooms are more expensive on holiday weekends—just like the last time he tried to set up a motel room 3-way).

He texted me the exact information after I told him I read his messages. I wanted to ask him why he even bothered me just to tell me about a three way that wasn’t going to happen. I wanted to explain to him about not getting excited about something that’s not even a thing yet. I wanted to ask him why he feels the need to fill me in on what 8in of fun is up to all the time.

But I just told him that I hope we have better luck next time. He then proceeded to suggest that I text 8in of fun for a little outdoor adventure. And also suggest that I “do my homework” and find a regular place for us. I’m sorry, but it’s like 100 degrees outside… outdoor sex is only good for a certain time of year…and that’s not the dead of summer.

I did get a message from 8in of fun at about noon. He was sorry it didn’t work out—he “so ready” for it. Eh, for once, I could take it or leave it. Now, I’m not saying I wouldn’t do it again. I’m just saying I’m not going to hold my breath waiting for it.

Friday will never learn its lesson…

2011-07-01T22:41:00.001-05:00

I know I’ve said this before (and if this is any indication), I will probably say it again. But a clear picture should be a prerequisite for any rendezvous. And a clear picture is one that includes all of the face with out obstruction—preferably at a dead on angle. It’s not a pic where a beer can is hiding most of the face, or a full body shot from about a mile away.

But before I should start giving advice to others, I should probably follow it myself. It’s not like the guy was ugly—he just had a funny-shaped face. Eh, I probably would have done it even with a clear picture…I was so bored and horny. But that aside.

Last night, I activated the GPS tracker to go to Clinton (yes, that’s about 60 miles from where I live). I don’t know if anyone has noticed this pattern yet; however, I usually actually activate the GPS tracker for guys that live outside my normal radius (8in of fun was an exclusion—but a rare one). I’ve talked to this guy before—he’s in my friends list on Bear411. We’ve chatted irregularly over the past 6 months (at least).

I was supposed to be going to Conway to meet some guy. Wait, I’m trying to explain what led me to be so bored and horny…and I think I’m not going far enough back.

Ok, ~~Tuesday~~ Monday, I had a hot conversation (via messaging on Adam4Adam). I would consider him local (we’re in the same county), “age appropriate”, somewhat good looking, and enthusiastic about my profile and pictures. I, of course, was looking for instant gratification—he was (seemingly) trying to set up a series of trysts.

We ended the conversation with him saying he needed to go to bed (it was like 2am). I sent him a message before I noticed he logged out, then another after I realized—they were not stalking messages (I only say that because there were two in a row)... I was expecting a reply the next day. None came. I’m still waiting for that reply.

After activating a dummy profile (with my favorite Norwegian “friend’s” pics), I’ve determined that he isn’t going to reply to my messages because he most likely deleted them. And before you give me that side eye (I probably have it coming, but wait a second), I did not use said profile to stalk him (well, yet anyway). I should have known the man was a flake—he’s from California.

But anyway, pending my supposed rejection, I entertained the idea of a 25-year old from Conway. You should know I don’t go for the younglings (they make me feel even older than I already do). I believe we’re up to Tuesday now—because I didn’t go that night because the Former Ms.W was still in town (and I made myself look like a timewaster to go hang out with her).

I chatted with him briefly again on Wednesday. We planned something for Thursday. He was going to text me when he got up. He was true to his word. I got a text at about 1ish. He was set for me to come over. I told him I needed a shower. He asked if I could pick him up some beer.

Now, this is familiar. I had a similar request a few years ago…from a youngin also from Conway. This guy looked nothing like the previous guy—but that experience left me with a 24-pack of Budweiser (Bud-fat not Bud-light)… So, I was having none of this, “I’d like a 12 pack for later” nonsense for the same reason I left with the 24-pack from the guy before—I don’t pay for sex. And yes, I consider the exchange of a good for a service as the definition of a payment (I do barter a service—ahem—for a service, but nothing of monetary value).

Yes, I took offense that he would even suggest such a notion. I believe I responded with a “Ha” (if anyone should be getting good for a service, it should be me—especially, after all the stuff I’ve done for free…I’d probably have to teach the kid how to stick it in—I’m still fuming, somewhat). He had his own response, “Well, I was going to tell ya just to come over anyway before I got your ha reply”. Sure, kid. Sure. I believe I responded with another “Ha”, and told him to have a good day.

So you can understand the predicament I was in (such a travesty, I know). It left me expecting sex and not getting it. Now, I shouldn’t have been this randy for action (especially considering my hickeys from last Saturday night/Sunday morning have just faded—thank god!). But when this guy from Collins gave me an open invitation, I decided to jump on it.

I was delayed in my action by his sister breaking her hand (I still don’t understand why he had to postpone because of that—but that’s probably because I don’t like either of my brothers that much…had he said friend, I would have been immediately on board). It was later when I got another message from him letting me know that his invite was back on. I took to the highway.

I found the city and his street easily enough (thank god for GPS—TomTom all the way!); however, I kept overlooking his house (probably subconsciously because it was the worst house on the block—if not the city). He stayed in the shadows while he invited me in. I guess I just expected him to be better looking (plus, he sounded like a homo—a major homo; which also took me aback because he had such a masculine demeanor about his messages—I know, I know--they can’t all be Dr. Sexy—intentional shout out… why have you dropped off the planet? Are you busy? Your normal enthusiasm did not come through from our last email exchange).

Where was I? Oh yes, if I were to nickname this guy, he would be Mr. Excuses2 (or possibly 3 or 4 at this point). We started fooling around fine (he had porn playing when I walked in). And that part went off without a hitch—and with minimal delays (I made sure his slum wasn’t going to kill me). Of course, that progressed; however, not as far as I would have liked.

That’s when he had the equipment malfunctions… the excuses came flowing. First it was too hot (he was dripping sweat on me); then I got the, “I’ve been up since 4” really tired; and then I had to hear about his old back injuries making him less sensitive “down there” (that was a new one). It was ok for short periods at a time.

It was less than mediocre (mostly because of the excuses—life happens…you got that, men? You don’t have to make up lame bs excuses), however, not bad (mostly due to the fact that he did that thing that I’ll ask for, but won’t do back really well). But I’ll have to get really desperate before I drive up there again (I mean, it was halfway to KC…I should have just gone all the way…you hear that?).

Sunday woke up with a hickey

2011-06-26T23:40:00.001-05:00

The Former Ms. Walker (FMs.W) is back in town. She got here Friday, and she’s staying until Thursday. I’m elated to say the least. She and I hung out at the Polk County Fair (yes, that’s as fun as it sounds) on Friday; and then she, C(B1)C, and I hung out on Saturday in Springfield.

FMs.W is in town to test and interview to be a cop (yeah, there’s the prospect that she’s moving back). So, we didn’t really get up to much craziness. She left my house Saturday night at about 11 (which would be mid-night on her internal clock set to Eastern Time).

We all know I wasn’t going to bed anytime soon after that. CB2 had texted me while FMs.W and I were making cookies, and I didn’t hear anything else from her; so I actually settled in to finish Wuthering Heights (I’ve actually never read it before—but I’m developing a soft spot for the classics). But before I settled in to read, I went looking for a little fun.

8in of fun has trailed off (his wife is back—yes, I deserve that side-eye), and I haven’t really been having any fun of that kind. So you can imagine I was feeling a little horny. So I turned to my online resources. There wasn’t much happening until I got this on Adam4Adam.

Branson Guy: what up?

His profile says he’s 39, from Branson, and his main profile pic had a full back tattoo (of a Celtic cross with “tribal” wings—yeah, I know, right?). Now, I’ll tell you, I’m not much for religion…and I wasn’t planning of driving as far as Branson (the live music capitol of Missouri is about an hour and a half from my house). In fact, I had already turned an offer for a bj on Grindr from some guy staying in a hotel in Springfield (I wanted something local).

Was response was generic enough not to imply that I was going to meet up with him, but civil enough to continue the banter. His response lent that he was also interested in continuing the dialogue; however, it sounded like he wanted to move it in a “more than conversation” direction.

Branson Guy: just me......man...come hang with me

I will give him points for directness. I like a man that doesn’t beat around the bush. He was definitely not a time waster. But it wasn’t my intention to move forward on that course. I wasn’t going to go more than a few miles for my fix, and I responded to nip it in the bud before it looked like I was a time waster.

The Grand Chahee: u in branson? that's a little outside my search radius

I’m not usually this direct (I’m usually more cautious, so I don’t come off as curt). But, what do I have to loose? He’s an hour and a half away.

Branson Guy: well, yes, sorry to hear that man
The Grand Chahee: yeah.

And I thought that would be that; however, he was tenacious.

Branson Guy: sorry man, you may want to
The Grand Chahee: to...?
Branson Guy: expand your radius
The Grand Chahee: I'll definitely think about that.

Now, I again thought this was going to be the end of that. I still hadn’t received any other offers, so I was more than happy to continue the messages. So, I didn’t feel the need to be abrupt this time; however, that’s also in part because I thought I’d already settled the matter. I wasn’t looking to drive an hour and a half (I hate to keep repeating that, but I was fixed in my resolve—I repeated it to myself at every reply)…plus, it was already 2am by this time (at least).

He had other ideas…

Branson Guy: you can come down here and have a great time ;)

Normally, I would have pressed what he meant by “a great time”; however, I was set in my determination.

The Grand Chahee: i have no doubts

And even after not receiving any sign of encouragement (and no, I don’t read that last line as encouragement—keep in mind it came after an initial rejection. The only thing I was trying to convey there was a, “thanks, but no thanks”), he kept on…

Branson Guy: well do it

Do I seem easy? (Don’t answer that—it’s what’s called a rhetorical question) Did I appear desperate? (Don’t answer that either…) You and I may know how easy I am and how desperate I can get; however, I would like to think that I don’t exude such impressions to an objective onlooker (yeah, I know we all have to tell ourselves that sometimes). But I remained firm…

The Grand Chahee: lol. alright, but it's not going to happen this late tonight

Ok. Now, feel free to question whether or not I actually typed that (fyi. I did—for real). I’m usually one to throw caution to the wind at the drop of a hat (cliché much?); however, I was resolute to not go to Branson. And we all know I did, so why don’t I just cut to the hickeys? Because this conversation just kept getting better and better…

Branson Guy: ok, well, I'm one of the hottest men in this area

To paraphrase Carrie Bradshaw, “This kind of unwavering, self-confidence is what causes men like Ross Perot to run for President” (yes, Sex and the City will forever be relevant). I literally laughed out loud at that one. Who says that? I think this is where he finally put a chink in my armor. But not the way you probably think. More often than not, I lack self-confidence. I make it a point to not go for men that I consider better looking than me (roll your eyes at me all you want—let’s call a spade a spade here).

So, his saying that he was “one of the hottest men in this area” did not make me any more inclined to meet him; however, it did make me intrigued about what kind of man can seriously make that claim. Plus, at this point, I wanted proof—up until now, I had only that back picture as a reference.

The Grand Chahee: is that a fact? u have a face?
Branson Guy: yep

And with that he unlocked his private picture for me. It was alright. He wasn’t ugly… he had a beard, and it was a dead on angle (no creativity in with his self-portrait)… he has dark hair and blue eyes (like me). Fine, he looked somewhat handsome.

Branson Guy: so, when you decide you'd like to meet me face to face let me know ;)
The Grand Chahee: you'll be the first to know. I'm half tempted now, but it's late. and I actually live north of springfield near bolivar
Branson Guy: so, we can sleep in :)

What can I say? Blind persistence pays off? I don’t know. He wore me down at just before 3. Yes, that’s AM. The rest of the conversation I was hesitating so I could get myself together (you know, quick shower…grab my tooth brush…leave the address and phone number he gave me in a discrete place in my room and activate my gps tracker).

He was accommodating enough, made sure I found his duplex easily, allowed me to use his bathroom, didn’t say anything when I brushed my teeth and put on my pjs. He was situated on one side of the bed, so I grabbed the other. He made no attempt to make a move (which isn’t very productive considering that I don’t make the first move—I figure the host should set the tone for the evening—yet another reason I don’t host).

The conversation was light—just friends and stuff. He’s a loan officer, single, and is from Ohio (and if the previous conversation was any indication, he does have a fairly high opinion of himself). He told me that he doesn’t really have a lot of dating options in the area, and the Springfield homos haven’t been very accommodating. Yes, there’s a story there…something about a friend and a friend and a crush. I know I didn’t get the whole story. I got the impression that, while he was stating he didn’t like drama, he actually thrives on it.

It was after 5 before we settled into a sleep pattern. While he didn’t touch me, he did keep positioning himself to be more on my side than his (I noted his distance to me, and my distance to the edge—I didn’t move). I’m pretty sure he wasn’t really sleeping when I say we fell into a sleep pattern because of this. I don’t sleep well with someone in the bed.

I never have.

But eventually, I drifted off for a while. I awoke to find him even closer to me—I was facing his back. I would have preferred if he left me a nook to drift into—things would have progressed faster if he would have. It seems like he was only waiting for me to touch him because after I sort of nestled up against him and put my hand over him to spoon, he was more responsive… definitely not asleep.

He finally moved to where he was lying on his back, and I found the nook. I think I drifted to sleep a little bit, but at this point he would nudge me a little here or there, or stroke my leg. Once we finally got going, I wasn’t disappointed.

He’s an aggressive kisser. But not forceful and not sloppy (thank god—the last man I kissed thought teeth were a part of kissing). He planted himself against my face. I was responding. I’d twist a nipple (they were pierced) and stroke the back of his neck. A hand to the back of the neck lends a certain intimacy to the situation (like I’m pulling him to me because I just can’t get enough). And Yes, it’s a ploy to make men think I’m more into the situation than I am (that they’re the one in a million, not one of a million—what, I know it’s cheap, but they almost always respond to it).

He certainly responded. He took control of the situation, and steered us directly to where I wanted to go. He was aggressive in that too, but again not forceful (that is the fun kind of rough with out being violent). And he definitely knew what he was doing. It lasted just long enough, and I was in almost every position I can think of with out having to disengage. He had some rather comical facial expressions, and wanted casual commentary (while I can’t exactly quote what he was saying—in one ear and out the other—the gist is he wanted me to tell him how good it was).

He withdrew and climbed atop of me to…umm…finish. And after a quick towel off, we drifted back to sleep (with him on his back and me in his nook). He seemed comfortable with that. I found myself detached when I woke back up (he moved or something). I drifted back to his nook which started another round.

I almost left after we finished the first time; however, I was still tired, and he made no indication that I should leave. We were both up this time, he motioned me to the shower, and while I don’t know if he wanted to hang out more or not, I made no hesitation after showering to get myself together and make my departure. There was no good bye kiss, and I got the impression that he didn’t exactly know I was leaving (he didn’t open the door for me after I found my shoes).

I said a casual good bye. No mention of a repeat. None of that “I’ll call/text/contact you” bullshit. I had a good time and all, but I don’t think we’re compatible. And no, this isn’t one of those self-effacing things where I’m into him and wanting to play it casual… It is what it is: Another meaningless sexual encounter that didn’t end with me being chained up in a basement (and we can take comfort in that).

Plus, at one point during our romp, that pompous ass left several hickeys (I guess he wanted me to remember him—even joking about turtlenecks in the summer)... and not like little mouth marks, the one on the right side of my neck is like 4 inches long. What am I—a teenager? I prefer to not have any evidence of my sexual trysts.

Thursday has some nerdy computer crap for you

2011-06-09T04:43:00.002-05:00

The site now has a mobile version optimized for cell phones!

http://www.thegrandchahee.com/?m=1

You can go to the link above to access on a Blackberry, Android, or other cell phone; or below, you can use your barcode scanner on your Android powered smartphone to access the site as well by scanning the barcode!

Thursday wants you to know I’m thinking about it…

2011-06-09T04:32:00.001-05:00

However, I’m not going to write anything about CB2 and her new love interest. A.) I’m tired of typing. And B.) I’m not quite sure how I can spin it. But the fact that I do not have to hear anymore tired tales of Sully (and what an utter asshole he is) warms my heart more than words can express anyway.

Yes, that’s one name I’m crossing off my Christmas Card list…

Thursday got laid

2011-06-09T04:28:00.000-05:00

I’m officially changing Road Head Guy's moniker to 8in of fun. No, I haven’t been getting road head lately, I’ve been getting…well, 8in of fun. He’s been pretty busy since his wife has been out of town on that mission trip (I know, I deserve that side eye).

Well, I had to check the last time I’ve talked on this subject, and it seems I’ve been quite busy with 8in of fun since my last re-telling. I’m going to graze over that random motel meeting I had with that Oklahomo (I had a three-way before with him and his boyfriend…it’s been long enough back that I didn’t think I could find it in the archives)—the only thing of note here is that the guy is a total bottom; and I had to step up to the plate (if you’re picking up what I’m laying down).

That change of positions is merely notable (because while uncommon, I do on occasion pitch instead of catch) to this situation because since my last post about 8in of fun, we had a three-way with His Other Guy. This three way was somewhat different from the ones I’ve had in the past. Other than the fact that they’re not a couple (although, not entirely strangers), I was a little more involved.

In fact, I’d say I was an essential ingredient to our three-way sandwich… I was the meat. Believe it or not, there are some things that I’ve never done; and this was one of them. I think my preference for catching has hindered me in this regard; however, it was a request that I decided not to defer. And it was fun.

Afterward, we pretty much lay in a heap. Then we got going again. I pitched to his other guy one on one… and I caught 8in of fun several more times (I think I counted like 4; however, I don’t know that I can count them as separate incidents…if you know what I mean).

Anyway. That was last Saturday (6/4); then Sunday we got down one on one. Monday I was occupied with D(W)F (I’m not complaining about that in any way). Tuesday I got a summons while in the hospital with E(H)W (I know now that I could have did it and not missed a thing, but c’est la vie). I got a text Wednesday morning (6/8) requesting my company.

What’s funny is that I told him why I declined on Tuesday (my bff having a baby does take precedence to getting laid—I just wanted that noted for the record); and that’s the first thing he asked about when I met up with him. He actually expressed an interest. I know, right? The only reason I told him was so he didn’t think I was avoiding him (I like his 8in of fun).

Now, if he were a single man (or even openly gay and dating someone else), I’d take this all differently (and we know I have—ahem, the Bartender). Now, I’m not talking about his taking a brief interest in my friend’s baby’s health (that’s just good manners); I only think that’s funny because if the situation were reversed I’d probably wouldn’t have even remembered it because that didn’t involve a penis or an ass (sorry to be so crass…that rhymes—I know I deserve that side eye, too)… If he were a single man (or a gay in a couple), I’d think he really liked me and was really into me (since he’s requested my presence so often)…and I’d probably start to take things much more seriously than needed; however, since I’m not delusional—and he’s married, I know that he’s just excited to have the time, place, and absence of watchful eyes and wants to use it to his advantage.

Even though I can tell he’s getting more and more comfortable with me in bed (after pitching to me, he requested to catch—fyi I gladly acquiesced his request), I am fully aware that he has no interest with me otherwise. I’m only noting that just as a confirmation of my sanity. And no, I’m not just typing the pretty words because I think that’s what you want to read (which is that I’m not going to start obsessing over a married man)…NO, NO, I actually have no interest in him other than his 8in of fun. And I’d have to agree with His Other Guy, he’s never going to leave his wife. And if some circumstance were to lead to a divorce (rest assured, I’m not planning on being involved with this incident in anycapacity), I don’t think he’d ever date a guy (exclusively, anyway).

But hey, I don’t really care about any of that. Like I said, I’m just enjoying the 8in of fun while it lasts.

Thursday knew this day would come.

2011-06-09T03:33:00.000-05:00

E(H)W had her baby! A girl (for those of you who didn’t know), 8 pounds 15 ounces and 21.5 inches long arrived at about 1:18 am Wednesday morning.

I was somewhat taken aback when I got a text from her on Monday. She was telling me that she was going to be induced into labor on Tuesday. I was only taken aback since we’re still like a week away from her actual due date. I guess her blood pressure was a little high, so they decided to keep her.

She was to be induced into labor at 6am Tuesday. I told her at once I’d clear my busy schedule (yes, that was sarcasm), and be sure to be there for her first birthing experience. She informed that it was not necessary…that it could take up to 18 hours; however, she didn’t really protest when I reiterated my resolve.

I got there just after they had induced her. I’m kinda glad I did because we had some time to just chill before the contractions got too bad to effect her mood. She was going to try it naturally; however, about 6 hours after heavy contractions (give or take about 12 hours after it all began) she went for the epidural.

I can’t say I blame her, and she was much calmer afterward. However, the downside is that an epidural generally slows down labor.

But hey, alls well that ends well, right? And you can bask in the glory that is E(H)W’s first born if you’re friends with me on Facebook (though, I think I posted a pic on twitter, as well).

Monday has unrelated news…

2011-05-30T17:29:00.001-05:00

C(B1)C and I are officially on pregnancy watch. E(H)W has already been to the hospital once thinking she was in labor. She’s a little more than 2 weeks from her due date (June 17th); however, they told her she was starting to dilate. She may go full term; however, she’s hoping the baby will come early (so it doesn’t rip her vag to bits). The baby was already over 5lbs at her last checkup (well, the last one I heard about over a month ago).

Her shower is scheduled for June 12th, and we’re thinking the baby will be on the outside by then. She’s supposed to have a girl, by the way. And we’re both anxious to give her all the stuff we’ve made/bought for her (I’ve amassed an impressive array of baby crap—and C(B1)C’s assortment is just as notable). Plus, C(B1)C really likes hosting showers.

Monday got a consolation prize.

2011-05-30T17:00:00.000-05:00

Friday, the three way did not happen. I almost knew it wouldn’t. Sometimes planning doesn’t pay off. But maybe it was that they didn’t plan enough.

I got a text message that morning just as I was waking up, and I didn’t know how to take it… “U already get lucky?” it was kind of cryptic. I sure didn’t know what he was getting at, so my response was a simple, “What?”

“We gotta postpone till later.” Ok, so this wasn’t the room number for our rendezvous like I was expecting. I wish I would have gotten his message beforeI had gotten out of bed and took a shower, but eh, what can you do? I figured now that I was showered that I should probably go ahead and get dressed.

Another message came through after a min or two, “U hear from him?” The “him” was Road Head guy. I initially go the impression that Road Head guy had cancelled the event and His Other Guy was checking with me to see if I was the culprit. “Nope, haven’t heard from him” I responded. I didn’t really expect to though.

“We put it off for next week. Hotel is too expensive.” I found out later from a brief chat with him on Bear411 that the rooms were pricier due to the holiday weekend. Who knew? He continued to message me about this other group thing he’s got going at his place next weekend. I wasn’t that excited (I didn’t want to drive that far for an orgy with older dudes).

Then I got another portentous text message, but it was from Road Head Guy. It stated minimally, “Call me.” However, it was ominous in its simplicity. I set about calling him, wondering why he needed voice on voice (the scenario going through my head involved his wife on a wild goose chase and him cautioning me to watch my back). But, oh no, he just wanted to inform me that the plans had fallen through but he was still available.

He wanted to meet me at the Polk County Fair Grounds. I hadn’t been out that way since before I could drive (4h “competitions” were held there in my youth). While I wasn’t exactly sure where it was, it didn’t sound like the ideal meeting place. I almost vetoed the entire thing, but something in me (my penis) wanted to give it a go (plus, I needed to go into town to return my rentals to the RedBox).

He met me at Walgreens (the closest RedBox location), and insisted I check out the fair grounds with him. I asked if he just wanted to get in with me (two cars would attract more attention than one), but he needed to “stay close to his truck” lest his wife call him to pick her up(?).

The location was good from a vantage stand point. It was located off a county road off of a lettered highway. It was far enough down the road that we’d be able to see anyone coming from the highway or the farm road; however, it was pretty much out in the open (and I didn’t think I could come up with a viable excuse as to why we were there). So we scoped out the rest of the road; there was a dairy farm at the end and a gravel pit that the county/city road crew used as a dumping ground.

The gravel mound was certainly big enough to hide behind; however, it was not easy to see anyone coming. He was getting restless at my overly cautious nature and wanted to get down to business. He suggested we just stop on the road so I could help him out. Our tête-à-têtes had been fairy one sided (with me being the beneficiary of his oral inclination), so it was only fair to try being the benefactor.

He was impressed with my lack of hesitation, and seemed also impressed by my aptitude. He was moaning and rubbing my head as I introduced myself to his “8in of fun”. It was a bit of a challenge (in a good way), but it didn’t last too long. Then we swapped positions. I dropped him off at his truck (which was in the fair grounds parking lot—not a mile from our current position still on the county road—I put on my flashers when I sank to his crotch).

I was adequately content, but not quite fully satisfied (I still had that itch that needed to be scratched). He was still insistent that I come visit him while his wife is on vacation (I gave him a side eye), and he mentioned the “group session” with his other guy later this week as well.

I’m kind of on the fence about the group, and I’m a little unsure about going to his house when his wife is gone (I always feel a bit awkward—for obvious reasons). But we know I’ll probably do both. I’m not one to turn down a good time.

Thursday forget to tell you…

2011-05-27T00:15:00.001-05:00

I’m still doing the naughty chat with that hot Canadian. We’ve become a kind of a regular thing. Well, on occasion. Tonight, we just chatted and I listened to his music. I think this is one of my longest running internet relationships.

And even after we’ve fooled around, I still message him the next day… and it’s not even remotely awkward. It’s safe. He’s in Canada—which makes completely unavailable. And we know that’s what I look for in a guy.

He really is cute though. More lean than I normally like them. But I dig his music…and his beard.

Thursday has some advice for married men not wanting to get caught double dipping.

2011-05-26T17:11:00.003-05:00

I know I probably don’t seem to have any rules; however, I do try to practice some basic policies to keep myself (and my trick) safe. I know it’s easy to get caught up in something new and throw caution to the wind (which is ok sometimes—the risk is a big part of the fun), but you need to maintain a level head—because, seriously, getting divorced over a little road head would be kind of stupid. Now, mind you, I’m not married; nor, have I ever claimed to be (except maybe on facebook); but I’d like to think I’ve learned some lessons over the years.

Plus, these aren’t like hard and fast—follow to the letter—rules, they’re more like guidelines anyway.

Rule 1: Have a plan.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from D(W)F, it’s that thinking ahead enough to at least have a basic outline of what you want/need is the key to a good time. I’m in no way saying not to be spontaneous; however, you want to at least know what going to happen and approximately when it’s going to happen. Even if it’s just a sketch—it’s better than nothing.

You at least want to iron out what you want, what you want to get, and what the other guy wants (this is complicated with the more people who are involved—you definitely want to plan something for a three-way; and you’ll probably want something written down for an orgy).

Rule 2: Have a plan b (and if possible a plan c, d, and e—none of which include getting caught by the police or your spouse).

You don’t want to be so rigid in your planning that you forget to have fun. I mean, that’s what it’s all about, right? Right. But a good fall back plan can help prevent the horrific reality of things going wrong (you’re wife walking in mid thrust). As I’ve illustrated in my previous post, if your wife ends up not leaving the house, road head is a favorable alternative.

Rule 3: Double check

Also—as demonstrated in my previous post—make sure the “little woman” isn’t pulling a fast one on you (testing you’re resolve) before you have a guy on his way to your house. Road Head Guy is just lucky that I got his message in time—I almost lost signal on the way. Which leads me to…

Rule 4: Give just enough information

A trick only needs highlights. You only need to give the specific amount of information a trick needs when he needs it. Don’t give directions to your house until you’ve Double Checked that the scenario is going according to Plan (a, b, c, or d). Even then, you want to make sure you’re comfortable with the information is given and how it will be handled (do you really want your escapades to wind up on the internet?). Some guys aren’t as discrete as me (side eye to myself) and would publish all this with names, addresses, and telephone numbers.

A true trick shouldn’t know your last name (that’s why they’re a trick and not your fucking boyfriend), nor should he know your wife’s name at all (it’s none of his business), nor should he know if you have kids his age (this is an unrelated scenario placed here for effect). If you don’t want him showing up on your doorstep informing your wife about your deep throating skills, don’t give him the ammunition (if some guy showed up on my door step convinced he’d slept with my husband with out my name, my husband’s name, and only a vague recollection of how things went down, it may raise some suspicions; however, I think I can write off the guy on my doorstep as a confused youth—rather than the gospel truth).

Rule 4b: Pictures are worth a thousand words

This is a rider of rule 4 Give just enough Information. This is when being cautious can really pay off. If you’re truly as discrete as you say, you would never include a picture of your face attached to a naked body. Crop that out. I know, I know. I’m sure I’ve drilled the importance of getting a good/recent face/body shot a million times over the years…but that was from my perspective (that one being that I don’t want to wind up with an ugly).

Having said that, from a married guy’s perspective, how would you explain that explicit shot if it wound up on your church’s online message board? Smiling with all your 8 inches of fun in hand with a provocative look in your eye? That’s right, you couldn’t. No amount of the ole “that was photoshopped” excuse can cover up an honest, full body shot—face included (an fake is a lot easier to spot than an authentic—this is true). Who probably took that full body shot? Who else probably has a copy to check via email during downtime at work? Do you know how to use the self-timer on your camera? Can you set up a tripod? I bet your wife knows how (most straight men aren’t that up with the technology).

Rule 5: Safety First

I would think this goes without saying, but you can’t be too cautious when meeting a stranger for a torrid encounter. Now, there’s a fine line between freaked out and fun. And I know it’s not like you tell your wife who you’re meeting or where you’re meeting them…but some sort of system to ensure you don’t end up in someone’s den if inequity, might be something to consider.

Again, I know this is all secret stuff. Most likely you’re not telling your best drinking buds that you secretly crave the cock (or else they wouldn’t be your friends, or you’d be sucking theirs), but if you only give just enough information you might stave off disaster and keep your secrets (It’s not like I tell D(W)F the ins and outs, but at least she knows I’m doing something that I probably should check in from once it’s over).

A quick, “Hey, I’m going into a bad neighborhood for an hour or more” could be the difference between tragedy or ecstasy (plus, there is a secret feeling of relief when you know someone will look for you if you don’t check in).

Rule 6: Learn to Gauge the Creepers

You don’t have to wag every dick you see. You should take caution to weed out the creepers before you engage in sexual activities with them. People who are overly pushy themselves, or people who show a little too much caution (there is, after all, a fine line between perfectly normal and hella creepy). Always trust your instincts, before your dick.

Maybe, try planning a few days ahead of time (to masturbate) to make sure you really want to hook up…at least to make sure your cock isn’t the only head that’s thinking. I get so caught up with wanting to get some that I’ve wound up with a lot of uglies.

Rule 7: Know When to Hold ‘Em, Know When to Fold ‘EM

Knowing when to walk away and when to run. Never count your money when you’re sitting with a trick. Ok, I’m only kidding there. But if you’re Plans fall through even after Double checking, know that you can always walk (or run) away. If you have to improvise every move, you’re going to get sloppy. And if you get sloppy, you’re bound to make mistakes.

If you’re too far out of you’re comfort zone, if the guy has turned out to be a creeper, if anything spells bad, a simple “No, thank you” can go along way—especially, if you haven’t given too much information.

And lastly, Rule 8: Don’t Take Candy from Strangers

Supply your own drugs and alcohol. Never take a drink you haven’t mixed yourself…and drugs should only be supplied by and taken with people you actually know (and trust). We’re all adults here. You should know by now that being under the influence (no matter how much fun it is—or how relaxed it might make you) will impair your decision making abilities (moderation is the key).

This is one rule I’m pretty strict on myself. Because I know when I’m drunk, plans go straight out the window, I become an over sharer (give too much information), would definitely be willing to take pictures I wouldn’t normally have agreed to, and can rarely judge when it’s time to just walk away.

Now, like I said, I know we’re all adults here. Hell, this guide is for married men—if you’ve gotten married, you should have a decent head on your shoulders (that’s right, I said shoulders). And they’re only helpful guidelines--not exactly hard and fast (“you’ll die if you don’t follow them to the letter”) rules. But using these as rules should keep you safe.

Thursday took a slight detour.

2011-05-26T17:08:00.001-05:00

I got a quite unexpected text message from Road Head guy yesterday evening. This was a few hours after his “boyfriend” gave me the low down on their “relationship”, Road Head’s “boundaries”, and a glimpse into his history (of man-on-man encounters). I believe the two were unrelated (I don’t think the conversation sparked the text message), even though I know he knew I was talking with His Other Guy (because today he loosely confirmed our three-way tomorrow—he’s going to “try to make it”—hell, if he doesn’t I’m not going).

The message was simple—nice and simple. “If the house is free in the morning at 10 are you?” (Yes, I completed some words there for him—he’s texting on a Motorola Razr). My reply was equally as simple, “Your house? Yes, I’m free.” (now, I do text with complete words—full keyboard for me).

I, however, did not receive a reply last night. Well, not until this morning. “My house at 10.” He texted me. He said his wife would be out of the house for a while. He ended up messaging me directions and specific instructions that I’d meet him at the gas station, then follow him out. Fine. That’s fine.

I activated my Gps tracker, and went on my merry way.

I actually saw him on the square in B-town. I got a text that said he was going to take a slight detour and was going to be about 10 minutes late. Still fine, whatever. So, I get the go ahead message a little bit after that. So, I go ahead.

I can see him in my rear-view mirror about ¼ mile back. Then, I get another message. “Wait, the wife is still at home.” Yeah, some cautious married guy he is—didn’t even know his wife changed her mind about leaving. And that leads me to wonder if he actually wants to get caught with his hand in the cookie jar (so to speak). I thought it was part of the “Married Men who Fool Around with Guys” handbook that you know where your wife is before you arrange a hook up at your house.

He pulled in behind me on some county road. He was on the phone. Then he got out of his truck and came to my window. He was sorry for the confusion. He thought his wife was going to be out of the house today. Frankly, I didn’t care—better to know before I get there (or we get caught and I get dragged into some divorce proceedings). But if I was still up for a quick drive, he was willing…

Well, road head is better than nothing.

His Other Guy told me that he wasn’t ready for anything other than man-on-man action only. He was cautioning me not to get “emotionally involved” (warding me off his territory). But Road Head guy was all about telling me about his wife (she’s a school teacher), I already knew where he lived (I got very specific directions), what he does for a living, and he invited me to come by his house “as often as I wanted” while his wife is out of town for two weeks in June (“Heck, stop by every night if you want, I’ll be willing and able to pound ya”).

I know there are a lot of red flags in those last few paragraphs. His Other Guy is red flag enough. Married men never leave their wives for the faggot piece they get on the side (well, except for that one guy that one time—but he didn’t leave his wife for me…some other fairy that tripped his trigger a little more than me). Plus, there’s the high-risk behavior (umm, I’d be tracking my wife if I invited someone over to our home; and he also suggested fooling around in an open gravel road again). I’ve got far fewer concerns about getting caught, and it would be far less embarrassing for me and I’m like 1000% more cautious (at least someone is tracking me-- lest I wind up chained in a pleasure dungeon).

But he’s fine with it being one sided, so far. I mean, after the call from his wife when he told her he was “at the gas station picking her up a soda”, he was zipping up his 8 inches of fun and expressing his desire to finish me off. And that’s what he did after I turned the truck around. I feel the need to find out if getting caught is what he wants (I would lose about 99% of all attraction for the man if that’s the case—for obvious reasons…don’t look at me like that, you know the appeal is in the “forbidden fruit”). And if he doesn’t want to get caught, I feel I should take him under my wing and give him some good advice (the rules I try to live by).

Stay tuned for part 2… Thursday has some advice for married men not wanting to get caught double dipping.

Wednesday knows it’s a small world after all.

2011-05-25T15:54:00.002-05:00

Now, don’t go getting all spoiled…two posts yesterday, and now another today. I just thought this was funny. I got a message from that guy that scheduled the three way for Friday. He was informing me that I already knew the other participant.

This got my attention. I’m always interested to know who’s what in my community (if you know what I’m saying). And I didn’t put two and two together until he told me I met with the other guy yesterday. It’s the Road Head guy.

Now, this whole “just sex, no conversation” thing seems very funny because I had a nice little chat with Road Head guy (that one where he invited me to his house when his wife is out of town). And now, I’m getting a lot of info out of the other guy that’s setting up the three way.

I think I’ve piqued his interest. He had implied when we first started chatting that the other guy and him only played together (the revelation to the contrary is probably why I’m getting all this new information). He confirmed Road Head guy is married, and that he doesn’t think the marriage will last (I guess he’s thrown caution to the wind a few times and has been caught by his wife).

Now, this other guy told me that he’s been “dating” Road Head guy for a few years now; so I’m not sure how much stock I’d put in his information. It reads more like jealous other woman (or man) than as the word of god.

I’m still in conversation with the other guy as I write. I guess some “other married” guy’s wife that Road Head guy was fooling around with sent a private eye to check out her husband and the wife sent the info to Road Head’s wife. Prompting this other guy to tell me that he rarely goes out to his house anymore.

I don’t know about you, but this sounds completely fabricated to me. I’m not sure, but I’m guessing Road Head made it up to cool down this other guy. I mean Road Head wanted to fool around in a practically open park, which does not equal a man who’s had a PI send info to his wife. And maybe he does want out of his marriage; however, we live in a small town and there are far less embarrassing ways to get divorced.

I just want to tell this other guy, “Look, dude, I’m not moving in on your man. I just want his 8in of fun”… But I’m not going to lie, this is getting pretty good.

Tuesday finally has something to blog about (part 2)

2011-05-24T21:46:00.003-05:00

Yes, batten down the hatches ladies and gents, there’s a second part to this story (and it’s not a wedding tale involving the lack of sex I had in the St.L—see previous post). No, no, I decided this was the day for me to get laid. I set about checking all of my online resources (Grindr, Bear411, Gay.com, Manhunt, Recon—a fetish website [don’t ask], Adam4Adam, and even Craigslist); and despite my overabundance of online assets, the search was slow and painful (Manhunt is kind of shitty in my area—boasting only 4 profiles online this morning; I don’t think the men of Grindr know I’m there—it lists men by relative location; I'm still new to A4A and it's a slow learning curve; and Recon is, well, kind of a lost cause—I’m not deviant enough for those people).

So, I decided to make my own damn luck… I messaged a guy I know on Grindr and posted an ad to Craigslist (I know it was shameful—but I was desperate). The guy on Grindr is always flirty; however, it took him a while to respond. The conversation went no where fast (especially, when I found out he broke up with his boyfriend…yes, for once, I wanted 2 for the price of 1). And I didn’t get much from Craigslist early on.

However, once the conversations started picking up, they really picked up. There were a lot of out of towners messaging me on Bear411; but once that started, I got a reply on Craigslist. I left specific instructions in the ad for stats, pics, and the words “Stiff one” in the subject line of the reply (you have to be very specific with those people); however, the response lacked the asked for pics.

hi i live in bolivar gl white 40 5ft 8in 150# with 8in of fun i am married and very discreet and horny could meet you some place and play [phone number redacted]

Hey, I know they all say they’re “gl” (good looking) when they respond with out pictures (and as you will note the “very discreet” usually accompanies it); however, the guy did leave his phone number, and “stiff one” did come through in the subject of the email—so I know he’s not a faker (just probably an ugly). And while I didn’t exactly notice it at the time, he put his cock size in there twice (“8in” with the obligatory stats; and “8in of fun” just after that). I was also leery of his stats being my ideal (5’8” and 150lbs isn’t exactly my type).

I don’t even know why I’m trying to act like I didn’t respond when we all know I did. I got a text response almost right away (phone numbers are a lot quicker than email). We ironed out some things. He wanted to meet me, but wasn’t sure of what we could do in a car. He then insisted that he’d get in with me, and he’d blow me.

Ok. That’s cool. I can be a selfish lover.

Anyway. so I meet him. He’s not ugly (I’m also not sure if I’d describe him as “good looking” though). He was just as his stats implied (which I think is a first…wedding band on his hand indicated the married part was accurate—“straight” men don’t think to lie about their stats the way the gays do). He was a lighter framed guy with mousy brown hair—his 40’s were showing in the light grays that were sorting through. We ended up parking his truck at the gas station and he hopped in with me.

For a “married guy” that was “very discrete” he wasn’t exactly faint of heart (or adverse to fooling around in broad daylight with very little cover—our first location was a drive through park—with no trees nor a parking area; his suggestion once his truck was parked at the gas station was a graveled turn around just about 20 feet from the gas station—also on a lightly used road--but we were following a car that was using it). I, however, know that my “get out of jail free cards” will one day expire (what? I’ve already been caught twice by 2 different officers—who decided that ignorance was bliss and decided to not ask me why I was in a secluded place with another man or why I had to visibly pull my clothes back on once the officer had arrived); so, anyway, I kept us mobile.

It’s called “road head”…and up until this incident I’ve never done it (yes, I’ve fooled around in a parked car several times; however, never while driving). Oh, and another fyi—he didn’t lie about that “8in of fun” either. It was huge (it’s always the little guys, isn’t it?). While I was in no position to “service him” while I drove, he did whip it out and I did give it a stroke or two.

We drove around a county road for a little while; catching the hwy back and finishing off on the same county road a few miles back (he didn’t want to get too far away from his truck lest his work call him). Oh, and he insisted on swallowing. He also told me how his wife was going to be out of town in June, and I should really stop by his house—in the evening, so we could fool around more.

I did note the oddity that he wanted me to come to his house. Married guys are usually a little more secretive about their homes (lest I go all crazy home-wrecking homo on him and try to ruin his marriage). To be quite honest with you, I think it was because he was just so excited to be getting some dick (lack of dick makes me kinda crazed sometimes, too). Eh. Alls well that ends well.

And I think a private residence would be best to do what I want to do with that “8in of fun”.

So, yes, being able to check “getting road head” off my list did do good things for my libido; however, a bj didn’t exactly satisfy that itch that needed scratched (if you catch my drift). I was already being messaged by another local married guy on Grindr (I’ve talked to him for a while, never met up with the guy because he’s not exactly handsome—I ran into him one night at Walmart; plus, he has a really ugly wife and new baby—not exactly making me want to jump on that boat--and don't look at me like that; yes, I would scratch a bitch's eyes out for having sex with one of my married friends' husbands; however, I don't suspect my indiscretion will ever come to light as I have NO intentions of turning into a home wrecker...).

Did I mention that he was kind of ugly?

Well, anyway, back to this itch that I needed scratched (and no, it’s not a rash). I’ll skip past the Grindr conversation. He did not have 8in of fun…and he didn’t exactly “scratch” my “itch”…he got off too quickly. Talk about excited—this man was having me hold back 10 minutes into it. I mean, I know it was probably because we were in his house (at his suggestion); and in the bed he shares with his wife (also his suggestion).

The house was a mess—they do have 2 children (I know…but I only knew about the one). He was furry, though; and he was a little thicker than the last guy (body wise, not penis). He was younger than the first guy (mid 30s); however, after his mediocre performance (yes, he came too soon—which is unfortunate; however, I got him turned on enough to cum too soon—which is kind of flattering—yes, at the end of the day, I still have the “itch”--but I do not feel the need to rate it less than average on that technicality). But on another positive note, he did take direction well (lack of experience leads to an open mind because I’m pretty sure I got him to do far more than he intended to do).

Fortunately for me, when it rains, it pours. Some guy that’s been texting me all day just randomly called me—he sounds flirtatiously hopeful (plus, he’s not married). The only reason I’m enjoying the fact that he called so soon into our interlude, is that his last text message was asking for my name; upon hearing my name, he said we could never date (yes, I’m going to sidestep the obvious “I never said I wanted to date you”), and then laughed at my text that read, “Ok. So it’s going to have to be purely physical” (I’m a witty flirt).

Oh the thing about us not being able to date… I guess his last five boyfriends had the same name as me. I say that’s a sign that we should date—since, we all know I’m the best person with my name around (yes, I’ll sidestep the fact that I’m a junior and have the same name as my dad). But I did tell him he could just call me J.R.

Enough of that ramble. When it rains… I also got an invite to do a three way with a non-couple on Friday. It’s slated for around noon (who the hell schedules a hook up for noon?—side eye to them); however, it’s supposed to be one of those anonymous “come in, get fucked, and leave with out much conversation”. Yeah, Mr. Tuesday night (and countless others) said that, too. So we’ll see how that works out.

I’m supposed to get directions sometime this week to our rendezvous. I’m also supposed to find them getting down and just join in. And then (and then) there’s the possibility I’m to be the meat in a sandwich (if you catch my drift)—which is another something to check off my list.

But I’m not calling this a comeback. It’s just that Sex as Avoidance, is just more fun than Crochet as Avoidance.

Tuesday finally has something to blog about

2011-05-24T20:17:00.001-05:00

AC got married this weekend. Yes, I know, this weekend was supposed to be the rapture… but hey, we’re still here (Macho Man Randy Savagemay have saved all of our lives). The wedding was a success (the photos are up on my Facebook).

I rode up with Mr. Shot and his lovely wife D(W)F (or Mrs. Shot)… We checked into our sweet hotel room (those pics made it to Twitter—for those of you who are not my friends on Facebook). And then we headed to S(M)G (Mrs. G).

All the usual St. L players were there. Mrs.G (of course—it was her house). Mr.G and the kids were there too (Lil K and J Man). AC and HC (no relation—HC is AC’s long time friend and maid of honor) were present and accounted for as well. I never realize how much I’ve missed them until I’m back in their orbit.

We took our leave from Mrs.G’s to do our pre-wedding ritual pedicures (those pics are on FaceBook as well). And a good time was had by all (well, as we later learned, HC may have had a little too much beautifying as she had a slightly bad reaction to the waxing—the bitches at LG Nails are relentless when it comes to anything with wax).

D, her Mr., Mrs.G, her Mr. and the kids and I went to dinner after that. We went to this little pizza joint. It was pretty good—plus, we got a souvenir cup. Then we headed to custard; however, not before Mr.Shot and I could get the kids to chant “Winner, winner, chicken dinner” all the way there (I even reminded them when we got stopped at a train crossing).

The next day we all headed out to AC’s wedding venue. There was hair to be done. And then the rapture happened early. Great Clips was the chosen spot for the up-dos for the ladies (I sat patiently making the bride and her maids friendship bracelets out of rainbow yarn). Now, I thought their hair looked good—all of them; having said that, the bitches at Great Clips don’t know how to ring anything up.

It was like the world really was coming to an end. The stylist trying to take payments probably had to call her manager 4 times (at least); and even after that, I’m pretty sure they still didn’t get it right. It was the best display of work-place stupidity I’ve ever seen. But, they finally got it settled, and we got to grab a quick bite to eat.

AC’s final few hours as AC was taking its toll I think. Nothing major—like cold feet; just last minute tension mounting. When we got back, I had just enough time to scarf down my lunch before I was commanded to lace up the corset backs of the bridesmaids dresses. Then we got down to the brass tacks… I made Alaina a blue garter belt (yes, I traveled with my yarn; what of it?). Her dress was new. I’m not sure what was old… but I also lent her my “I am Loved” pin (yes, that was borrowed AC—I have to get it back *wink *wink).

The ceremony went off with out a hitch. Super Fan Emily was there as the Dj for the blessed event (those pics are on facebook as well). And the weather remained extremely agreeable for the big day (so agreeable, in fact, that there was a t-ball game in a field directly across from the wedding’s venue).

It was pretty fun. Mrs.G and I snuck into the changing room to steal sips of Champagne (booze were not on the menu—and it’s another wedding tradition). We all talked, took pictures, made fun of the groomsmen. We checked out the family. We gossiped. All typical wedding day stuff.

A©H had an afternoon wedding (nuptials at 2pm). We stayed entertained until around 5ish. Then D, the Mr. and I went back to our respective hotel rooms. I took a shower, then a bath, then a shower (they were separate—as indicated by the previously mentioned pics posted to twitter). It relaxed me to the point to where I didn’t want to go do anything; however, D—in her wisdom—made me go. We went to a motorcycle-themed restaurant where one of Mr. Shot’s friend’s was a waitress.

HC and her boyfriend joined us. Mrs.G showed up late with Super Fan Emily and another friend in tow (is it bad that I forgot her name? I just met her at the wedding—let’s call her Margo). Emily and Margo both belong to the library fraternity (sorority?) as A©H (well, they’re librarian friends together). I believe their common thread was the college down in Cape Retardo (Cape Girardeau—forall of you who want to look it up on a map).

It was fun. We all got a little lubricated with some alcohol (but I kept mine under control—we didn’t want another El Presidente incident onour hands). Super Fan Emily drove us all back to our hotels (yes, there were 6 of us crammed into her Toyota—it looked like a clown car. Some chick took our picture…I hope she tags me—but I doubt that will happen because a. she’s not my friend on FaceBook and b. she doesn’t know who the fuck we are…probably just listed us under crazy white people).

I was going to troll for sex. It was my second night to have that big hotel room all to myself, and I didn’t want to waste it (the shower, bath, shower incident repeated itself—so that fancy hotel room wasn’t a total waste). I found a couple guys. St. Louis is mostly full of uglies and time wasters; however, I caught some guy (he had tat something in his Grindr name…and looked surly and bearded—just the way I like them). He was on his way home.

I almost had him to turn around with the private room alone; however, he ultimately turned out to be a time waster (which was doubly disappointing because he stated that he was a dominate, aggressive top—yes, it’s redundant for a reason—and that reason turns me on). But he stated he wanted me to keep my Grindr open so when he woke up he could decide if he wanted to come back to do me.

I did try to keep Grindr up—fyi (not to admit my desperation); however, it causes the screen to stay lit; so I locked the phone which put me off line. I got a message from him the next day as we were leaving. It involved the words, “Cunt”, “Bitch” and “Your Loss”… well, there’s only 1 response warranted there, “Was it?” I think he knew he’d met his match, so he ended up being nice by the end of it (I told him there was no way I was waking up for anyone at 6:30 AM).

And we had a pleasant trip back. I’m not sure what to put as my snappy ending line…either Alls well that ends well or Another one bites the dust.

Saturday got an unexpected message

2011-04-23T00:50:00.002-05:00

Do you remember me? we dated for a little while about 8 or 9 years ago.

Messages that begin like that are never good. "Do you remember me?" is like saying, "I'm banking on the fact that your recollection of me is going to be fuzzy enough for you to reply".

Oh and p.s. “Dated” would be an overstatement. We humped for like a month and a half (using hand lotion—What? Like you always knew how to have sex, or the necessity of good lube? Those are things that come with age, you know). He was such a stick in the mud. I remember inviting him to a party at D(W)F’s house (back in our college days). He watched me like a hawk to make sure I wasn’t drinking; then sulked when I took a few sips (he stated this was because he was Catholic—umm D’s Catholic, too, douche bag, but she doesn’t have a stick up her ass about a little sip of the good stuff—she’s just not too fond of rum…or cheap liquor—another good thing that comes with age).

Oh yeah, where was I? Stick in the mud. Then about a month after we hadn’t spoken, he pulls the “I love you” card. I’m not downplaying here when I state that we “dated” for a month and a half…that’s probably like a week longer than reality. And then he’s telling me “I love you.” After I explained that he was mistaken, he called me an asshole (crying) and never spoke to me again. A few years later, I got word (unprovoked, I assure you) from his boyfriend that he still didn’t hold me in high regard (that was a few years ago, as well).

I replied in kind, “lol. of course. [First and last name] right?”

We all know the unwritten context of that “lol” is “why the fuck are you writing me a message?” or “yeah, how could I forget how big of a dip shit you are?”…or “I knew I should have made my profile private.”…I could go all night.

His reply is kind of naïve…(in the context that the last time we spoke—the “I love you” incident, I so fondly remarked on previously—I ended that conversation with saying, “I didn’t lose your number, you know.” Well, he was right…I am an asshole).

you guessed it. What you been up to for the past almost decade? I just got out of an 8 year relationship, i bought my own house and i went back to school at MSU. So it has been a very interesting few years. my email is [redacted] if you want to email me.

Now, I got this message like 4 days ago. ~~I’m not quite sure I’m going to reply.~~ We all know I’m going to reply; however, I’m not quite sure which direction I want to go with this. Part of me, wants to message him back, jovially—like it’s a sign that we should reconnect. Part of me wants to teach him his lesson, like the asshole I am, that he should have left well enough alone.

We all know I’ll probably play the jovial angle. I have a hard time being an asshole overtly (side eye to myself). Well, that, and I bet this is going to be even funnier if I let it play out a little.

My Reply:

Hey, sorry about the delay in the reply. Oh gosh, has it really been almost a decade since we last talked. It seemed like only yesterday. LOL. I’ve had an interesting few years, myself. Feel free to catch up at www.thegrandchahee.com. That’s right! You can stalk me online. Be sure to follow me on twitter!

Thursday could tell you a thing or two.

2011-04-14T23:53:00.003-05:00

My parents are becoming delusional. The other day my mother (who fully knows I’m a homo) expressed her desire for me to sire a child (it was during her rant that her aunt only had 2 kids and already has 8 grandkids—in contrast for my mother who has 3 kids and only 3 grandkids). And earlier tonight, my father (who also knows I’m a homo) informed me that if I “would have gotten my head out of my ass” I would be having a baby with E(H)W. I paused briefly amid his delusion to ask him what planet he was on.

And then C(B1)C non-jokingly admitted that she thinks I should also have children so her, E(H)W’s, and my children could all go to school together. But at least I was still a homo in her hallucination (she fancies that I’ll adopt).

Seriously, people, the benefits of being a homo are that you don’t have to get married, nor have children, nor join the military. What’s happening in the world today?

p.s. this was going to include an update about Dr. Sexy; however, I pleasured myself and lost interest…maybe I have another “[Fill in the blank] as avoidance”.

Friday got a check up.

2011-04-08T00:33:00.002-05:00

I kept my appointment with Dr. Sexy (I like how I say that like I even considered not going). It has been a while since I have had an “adventure” (and by “adventure” I mean a long drive for sex). I got a text as I was leaving from the good doctor informing me that he was up and available for me any time. We had arranged for something around 3, but his schedule became clear (he’s usually excited about these things).

The drive up was uneventful (so I’m going to skip those details). Save that I made it to Kansas alright.

I got there about 2:30. His partner answered the door. I think I got a “Hi there” from him before making my way upstairs to Dr. Sexy. Truthfully, I don’t think his partner has “warmed” to me. I mean he did participate before, but I got the impression he was making the “most” of things. Now, I know I didn’t write that before (and I’ll get to why I think that here in a bit); however, those of you I told the “whole truth” can attest that was my original impression of the situation. But I made the most of it, as well, and didn’t think too much more about it.

So, back to the present. Dr. Sexy was upstairs (on the computer I think). He greeted me warmly (no change there). He’s tall—I almost forgot how tall. His hair is blonde (it looks highlighted, but I’m not quite sure), and cut in a boyish manner (it’s the kind of hair cut that you see on preppy men…short, but longish). I think it’s the way he parts it that makes it look youthful. And his face is framed by a trimmed beard.

He looks like a nice guy (probably because he’s usually smiling at me), but there’s something trustworthy in his face (that whole doctor thing probably adds to that). He seemed to be in good spirits, and he couldn’t stop touching me. After a brief check on the new cats that his partner acquired (yes, they’re cat people—or as he put it “He’s an animal person; [his partner] is the cat person”).

Soon, he was leading me into his bedroom. I know we pretty much jumped to it last time, too (he knows that too much exposition makes me bored for the climax). And I can appreciate that; however, he made a point of telling me that he wanted to “hang out more” this time. So, the race to get my clothes off was a bit unexpected (and you know I never know what to expect anyway). He had my legs in the air with in about 10 minutes of my arriving.

After he finished with round 1, we just sort of laid there. He forced me to cuddle with him as we casually chit chatted (and I’m not sure about what at this point). And then set about massaging me. I’m not complaining (it felt pretty good after the long car ride). And then his partner announces his arrival at the top of the stairs (it wasn’t that dramatic; however, I lacked another way to express the action... I believe he said something to the effect of, “Guys, I’m coming up” or “I’m not interrupting anything am I?”).

He went into the bathroom. Dr. Sexy followed. They had a conversation (I couldn’t hear any of it—not even the whispers). Then, the partner exits the bathroom carrying a bag; and Dr. Sexy returns to bed. I think it took Dr. Sexy by surprise. I don’t know why I say it like that, I’m pretty sure he didn’t know what was going on there—“I thought he was going to join us”, he said.

Yes, I saw the bag. And yes, I knew there was a hushed conversation; however, it didn’t immediately occur to me that he actually left until the good Dr. mentioned it to me a few minutes later (he went to stay with his mom for the night). That’s when I decided that I wasn’t going to stay the night (yes, that was a part of the original plan—I remained uncommitted; however, I did pack a bag). You know, lest he return in the middle of the night and a scene ensue (I’m fairly certain that it wouldn’t be the case, but I didn’t want to take the chance of being awoken in the night and asked to leave…or strangled).

Dr. Sexy and I continued to hang out though. He’s kind of a nice guy. I didn’t quite know what to say when he started talking about his partner’s mood lately. Other than not knowing what to say, it’s not really my place to say anything that and I just assumed it was because his partner didn’t really want me there and that Dr. Sexy didn’t want me to feel any more awkward than I had to (because I’m no home wrecker).

But after a little bit on the couch, Dr. Sexy recharged and we had another round. I’m pretty sure there were two rounds; however, he didn’t “disengage” between them. It was fun, but it the ease of it made me feel like a whore (if you know what I mean) just a little bit. But hey, it goes with the territory.

After a brief visit to his shower, we adjourned for a bite to eat. And then we swung by Michaels for some yarn (yes, it was an impromptu visit prompted by the two beers I had during dinner). Don’t look at me like that. I knew I was going home, and wanted to start on a new project. Crocheting as avoidance is a practical tool to keep me occupied for the rest of the night; I ended up stopping by the store on the way home to get some supplies to make cookies, though. Baking as avoidance is even more effective.

Sunday has another one for you…

2011-04-03T17:13:00.002-05:00

I have confirmed my doctor’s appointment for Wednesday in Kansas City. Don’t worry, I’m not sick or anything. I just have this itch that I’m going to get scratched. Yes, it’s a “doctor’s appointment” (or an appointment with a doctor—Dr. Sexy). And yes, I just like saying it like that (D(W)F knew what I meant the whole time; however, C(B1)C had a moment of dread before she realized that it was an “appointment” and not an actual appointment).

Dr. Sexy has been texting me off and on all week (so I’m pretty sure he’s excited). He has mentioned something about a sling and videoing it (I offered up my phone it has HD video quality). I’m hoping that he has some surprises for me (not to put too much pressure on him, but I do not enjoy reruns). But I’m sure it will be alright.

No pressure, Dr. Sexy (but I’m not driving all that way to have a mediocre time).

Sunday isn’t sure what to make of it

2011-04-03T16:56:00.000-05:00

This guy has been messaging me on Grindr (my main source of entertainment—grindr that is). I’m not sure how to take it. He’s one of a couple (I know, not this again). He says that he and his partner are just looking for “friends” in the area because they don’t know many people. He’s already invited me over to “watch a movie”; however, I think he actually means that we’ll be watching the movie.

We’ve had a fairly platonic conversation over the past couple of days. It’s all good (the platonic part) because let’s face it, I don’t actually have any gay friends. He says he’s born and raised in Bolivar, works in “Technology”, and is not really out (of the closet). His profile says he is 33. I have no clue who he is; however, he has a fairly good idea who I am (something about a friend of his knowing me). He wouldn’t really elaborate on how he knows the things he knows.

At first, I thought he was that one guy from that one time. Long story short, the IT guy from Bolivar HS used to text me incessantly (to the point of annoyance). They have the same name (first anyway), and I questioned him on his last name; however, I never got an answer. I know he lives somewhat near CB2’s grandparents (and super fan Ambie)—I was there last night and got a message about my being only 1000 feet away (oh the joy of Grindr).

I’m still not sure what to make of any of it. I mean, this guy knows I’m single…and if his “friend” even remotely knows me, he knows I’m a slut. I’m pretty sure his “partner” is on Grindr as well; however, no messages from that guy yet. Like I said, I just don’t know. I’m just hoping it’s not the guy from before (he was kinda ugly and annoying).

Friday should just embrace the yarn

2011-04-01T00:10:00.002-05:00

I haven’t posted anything in a while. It’s not that I haven’t been doing anything; I just never think to write it down that and crocheting as avoidance © I think has me evading my laptop among other things (if you follow me on twiter—like we know you should—you’ll see my latest creation). But I’m running “low” on yarn projects, so I think I’ll find myself posting more.

Hell, I just renewed my domain registration; I should probably put it to some good use.

I haven’t had sex (with anyone except myself) in a while, so there’s nothing really new on that front (and catching you up on a random encounter I had last week seems like I’m reaching—not to mention that the back story is so long that it seems pointless now anyway).

C(B1)C and I are getting ready for E(H)W’s baby shower. D(W)F and I are getting ready for AC’s upcoming wedding (and finding a gift is getting tricky). And life is going on.

But I’m supposed to have a Dr’s appointment next week in KC (that is if Dr Sexy still has me on his books)... So maybe you won’t have to wait so long for that next post.

Wednesday does not want you to adjust your screens

2011-03-23T05:41:00.002-05:00

Yes, I changed the “background”. Yes, I changed my Twitter. Yes, feel free to email me if you believe this to be a change for the worse; I didn’t actually look at it on anything other than my desktop computer (twitter is a little funny looking, but this looked fine).

Yes, I had that background on my phone for a long time. Yes, I took it with my phone. Yes, it’s siding from C(B1)C’s house. Yes, this is the third (and final) update from today.

*editors note:
From “~~Sunday~~ Wednesday is thinking about issuing a retraction”

Referring to “I got a text message from J of the couple on Wednesday.” That was Wednesday, March 16th. And yes this post was started on Sunday. What can I say? I put you off for porn (I may have posted a new video).

Wednesday finally took someone up on a free dinner…

2011-03-23T03:28:00.002-05:00

We all have to eat right?

Last work was kind of a nightmare at work. They messed with my schedule and had me work Tuesday through Saturday. Anyway. Friday was a short day. So, I took advantage (so to speak). I was off and on Grindr. Some guy (with out a picture) was messaging me off and on through out the day.

Now, if you review the archives (which I would definitely encourage you to do so), you’ll know how I feel about guys with out pictures (means their either ugly, or old, or ugly and old). He eventually sent me one (it was an interesting angle and there was a dog in it). His profile kind of cracked me up…something about a masculine cowboy (don’t get me started on guys that list “straight acting” in their profiles).

Anyway. So, the guy asks me if I’d like to “meet him for dinner”. “Or,” He continues, “we could just fuck.” I like his style; however, this was before the picture. Then he sends it to me, and starts asking where I’d like to eat (maybe he’s a little self conscious). I agreed to meet him at Steak n Shake (classy, right?).

Well, it wasn’t so bad. He wasn’t ugly. Kind of plain looking. He’s a high school English teacher (for those of you keeping up with the employment records). And as an added bonus, I don’t think I’ve ever talked to him before (forging new territory). We had a somewhat pleasant conversation. I’m not sure if I was a disappointment (and I’m not going to dwell on that, either); however, he had an out prepared (something about taking a friend to Joplin)…and then he used it (I’m not that concerned because it’s not like I was lover ready anyway).

All’s well that ends well, right?

Well, my night didn’t end there anyway. I took advantage of my getting off before 9 to visit good ole Hobby Lobby (I needed yarn—yes, I’ll proudly take that side-eye). My shopping was interrupted by some couple on Grindr inviting me for dinner (thankfully, I had already eaten). Yes, they were ugly (upon hearing that I’ve already eaten, the invitation was extended to helping them “burn it off somehow”).

I was alternating messages between them and an out of town middle-aged guy. He was in a hotel with work. He was a little over zealous in inviting me over (or rather, a little too persistent to be as handsome as his picture). I’ll skip the boring conversation (mostly because it includes the part where he swoons over my having a hairy chest).

Well, turns out he’s a dirty talker—well, whisper. I almost said, “mumbler! I can’t understand anything when you mumble!” But I abstained. And I came first. Don’t worry, I stuck around so he could get off, too (even though there was some concern that the two beers he had in the hotel lobby was going to prevent that).

Sunday Wednesday is thinking about issuing a retraction

2011-03-23T02:31:00.000-05:00

I got a text message from J of the couple on Wednesday.

I think I’m going to have to ask them to stop.

Now, I think you know I’m not much of a planner (most of the time there’s one too many variables to plan anyway…plus, no plans means no last minute cancellation). So getting a text message on a Wednesday asking about my weekend isn’t much more than a mild irritation.

No, I do not get aroused at the thought of sex that far in advance. Factor in that it’s the prospect of sex with the couple, again. Yes, the bloom is definitely off the rose (which is probably the same reason I stopped returning their requests about a year ago). Typically, you’d think that a couple looking for a three way is looking for a way to spice things up; however, with them our three ways have become mundane.

Naked awkward conversation in the living room, followed by naked awkward conversation in the hot tub, followed by a romp in bed. Now, the sex is somewhat deviant. I don’t think I’ve told you this before, but J likes to be degraded in bed. Yeah, he likes to be called names, etc. M acquiesces his requests with out even the slightest hesitation. I’ve been slower to warm to it; however, now I’ve been finding it kind of funny to call him a dirty faggot whore (not to mention making fun of how he’s servicing my equipment).

You know how they say, “No good deed goes unpunished”? Well, I believe that’s just as true today as whenever whoever said that. I’m wondering if whoever said that had had a three-way with a slightly neurotic couple. Now, I’m no saint, but it’s damn annoying.

Even thought it’s a deviation from the norm for me, it’s about par for our rendezvous. It’s become very mundane, almost tedious (and yes, there are inhalants involved). So when J texted me on Wednesday, I knew I had no plans to speak of; however, I let on like my dance card was full. It’s like this, see, I could go have a three way with them; however, I’d probably get more pleasure out of staying at home finishing my latest yarn project (crocheting as avoidance is in full swing).

Thursday wants to blame it on those damn Russians

2011-03-10T22:44:00.003-06:00

No, since you last read, I did not develop a hatred of Russians. I do not harbor ill will towards Russia or its people. I’m speaking of White Russians—the drink. So, I went out with some friends (D(W)F, her husband Mr. Shot, and CB2) and had a few drinks. What of it? It’s my “weekend”.

Yes, I’m still a little tipsy. I apologize; however, I’ll come around.

Blah, blah, blah schedule changed at work. I now work 4-10 hour days. This is only noteworthy because otherwise I would not have had Wednesday and Thursday (today) off. Otherwise, I would not have been able to meet D(W)F and her husband for lunch today.

Yeah, so. Tuesday was D(W)F’s birthday. We’re now the same age (however, we’re both still younger than her husband). She had tweeted (or maybe texted—who the hell knows at this point) that she “wanted/needed” to go to the mall on Wednesday…and was wondering if I’d like to accompany her. We both know I don’t really need an excuse to hang out with D (or her husband), so I was down.

I talked with her Tuesday night. She and the Mr. were going to go to church that afternoon for Ash Wednesday (she’s really catholic—I’m only a catholic enthusiast). I’m sorry. I’m now reconsidering finishing this to watch a little porn before I fall asleep.

I was tired and babbling. I apologize. Well, I’m obviously not that sorry (I’m not editing anything out). I ended up making the chocolate Guinness cake into cupcakes for D’s birthday. They turned out magically. Anyway, Wednesday, I met D, Mr. Shot, her mom, and her mom’s husband for lunch.

Then we went to the mall.

I got Grindr (my man finding app) for my phone. I was chatting with a couple guys on there. D, her husband, and I went around for a bit; then back to their house to watch some movies. They were going with me to meet CB2 later at Kai (it’s an on and off tradition for CB2 and I on Wednesdays). I don’t normally drink. I occasionally get sushi and hang with CB2 while she has a drink…

I decided that I’d have a few with dinner. The cute Kai bartender (CB2 and I have become friendly with the staff) had made us his special white Russians the previous week, and I decided to have one while waiting for CB2 (she was coming from a midterm). I proceeded to have several. CB2 met us, we all had dinner, then D and the Mr. left us to go home (they had a big conceal and carry class the next day—yeah, D’s going to be able to carry a gun…she’s now my body guard)…

Anyway, CB2 and I decided to have another drink (well, CB2 had decided; I caved with in .05 seconds of her ordering). Well, nothing was happening on Grindr (just a lot of “good conversations” if you know what I mean). I had decided to try my luck at the porn store (the ole standby).

The Russians had me a little tipsy. I wasn’t thinking that it was a Wednesday night and probably wouldn’t be anyone there. Well, there were some guys trolling around there after all. I noticed a guy wondering around the “merchandise” section when I walked in. He was eyeing me as I got change for the booths in the back. I noticed another guy in the back perusing the “now playing” videos in the display case.

I thought about getting a bigger booth; however, I went for the small ones. I didn’t have to wait very long before the guy in the merchandise section was at my door. He wasn’t good looking, but he wasn’t ugly. He was kind of normal looking; however, if I saw him in another context, I’d probably rate him a level 2 creeper (probably harmless, but a creeper nonetheless). I almost turned him away, but he was already in the room before I had the “can’t sit here” scowl on my face.

I was still looking for “stimulation” when he started rubbing himself through his pants. But he obviously wasn’t there for that because he started fiddling with my belt. I looked on with disdain as he lowered himself to the floor. No, he didn’t make an effort to blow me. He just jacked me off while he gently kissed at my groin (yes, that’s the most accurate description I could muster). He made an effort to lick the tip, but I had almost had enough (and no, I wasn’t even close to being close).

I dismissed him in a haphazard fashion (pretending I was out of ones). I probably wouldn’t have ordinarily let him go with out knowing there was something better out there; however, during his “pecking session” someone opened the door to peer in (and I knew I should have gotten a bigger booth). I didn’t have to wait long after the creeper left (hell, it was practically a swinging door).

The guy that was looking at the “now playing” section was walking in. He wasn’t bad looking either, but he looked a little rough (and again in a different connotation, I probably wouldn’t have thought twice before dismissing him either). But, he had moxie. He walks in, strips off his shirt, and rubs his body. He was smooth and toned, but not in an attractive way. He looked like trash (again, for lack of a better term).

He made no move to do anything to me. So, I went to blow him (I wasn’t very picky at this point—nor did I hold any illusions that I would get a top notch bj that night). A.) He couldn’t really get hard, and B). He kept saying how he wished he had “enough money to go in on a big booth" (he mentioned it when I asked him what he “liked”, and again a few minutes into my blowing his Mr. Softie).

Then the dollar ran out; he mentions that we’re out of money—that he wished we could get a bigger booth. He put his clothes back on when I made no move to get another dollar (I didn’t want him to know where my money was—he looked like rough trash, remember). And again I didn’t have to wait long before another guy was at my door.

It was the guy that had opened the door before. He kind of cracked me up. I think he was angling straight, married man looking for a blow at the porn store. However, I’ve seen him out before and on a few sites—he’s far from straight. He had a ring on his left hand which—at cursory glance—looked like a wedding ring (upon further inspecton, it turned out to be one of those big square men’s “fashion” rings—yeah, I know); also, he was wearing an argyle sweater with pleated front dress slacks and shoes that had a tassel (I don’t know what angle he was playing there, really, what “business man” goes out at 2 in the morning for a bj—wearing clothes like he’s just stopping by from the office?).

Total tool.

But he was uncut (side eye), and had inhalants that he was willing to share (don’t look at me like that…it’s a public place—perfectly safe). And while he did lift up his sweater to play with his own nipples, he never took down his pants…he just let it hang out the zipper (lest he wrinkle his pants…I mean, I bet he had a 3 am business meeting—who was he fooling? I felt like telling him this wasn’t my first rodeo). And after he left, there was a wafting hint of baby power in the air (which is a welcomed fragrance compared to some).

I blame the white Russians (and the cute bartender).

Let’s all just forget about that itch I’ve been refusing to scratch for the past few months (or that somewhat disappointing three way I had with that couple on Saturday—yes, I did that again) and just blame those damn white Russians.

Monday doesn’t feel like dancing

2011-02-28T01:02:00.004-06:00

I got a text message from one of the guys from that Nixa couple on Friday afternoon. He said they were going to go out, and wanted to me to come meet them later. I was tempted by the offer; however, I didn’t really want to go out. I pushed it off; however, I still texted him back once I was off from work.

His reply came just as I was pulling into my gas station stop before I drive home (I’m a creature of habit). I was tempted, but I took a rain check. I knew I had to get up early Saturday morning (family matters), and I had called CB2 in the mean time (the time between leaving work and arriving at the gas station). He kept texting me the whole drive home. It got to the point of annoyance as I was sitting in CB2’s grandparents’ living room.

CB2 and I ended up going to Walmart to buy yarn. I bought another Pound of Love to make NP a baby blanket (she’s having a girl).

But I was still considering a Saturday evening rendezvous. I guess something in my subconscious still had doubts because I didn’t sleep a wink Friday night (I started working on NP’s blanket). C(B1)C met up with me at about 10 to go to my Grandma’s estate auction. I don’t remember if I told you she died (my Grandma) in October. They sold all of her stuff on Saturday. It was weirder than I expected being in her house with it all empty. I’ve never seen it so empty.

It almost filled me with regret…like I regretted not seeing her more, or not visiting her. I didn’t really know her that well. I mean, I knew her, obviously; however, it’s the same way I know CB2’s grandparents. A kind of, yeah, she was a nice lady kind of way. She was my last grandparent. The others are all gone, too. But c'est la vie.

C(B1)C had to get home to meet her husband for dinner; so after the auction was over, I drove her back home. And then I went to meet my parents for dinner. After I got home finally, I was exhausted; however, I had the vaguest inclination that I could drive all the way to Nixa and have a sordid three way. But that was just not meant to be. I passed out flat at 9:30 pm and slept until 6 Sunday morning.

I rolled back over until about 11. Then I got up and went to lunch with my parents. And this is what I’ve become. But it could be worse. and hey, I’m getting really good at crocheting as avoidance.

Monday is that time again.

2011-02-14T00:01:00.006-06:00

Since we all know I haven’t made any Valentine’s Day plans (and we all know I’m not going to), I’m again re-posting this “letter” to Mr. Crazy. It’s kind of a tradition. I’ll explain after it’s over.

Dear Mr. Crazy,

Enclosed are the chocolates I bought for you. I hope you enjoy them.

By now, you probably realize that there are cupcakes all over your house. I would anticipate that your list of suspects was very short, and that I was on that list somewhat close to the top. However, if you're asking yourself how I know that there are cupcakes on your house, I'm no oracle; and you're not the man I thought you were.

On that note, I do not feel the need to confess anything here; however, if I would like to inform you that I went to great strides to make and decorate cupcakes for you for Valentines Day, then threw them on your house in a fit of rage when you did not answer nor return my calls, I would not do so here in this letter. I would do no such thing.

I do not feel the need to justify my actions--if any—at this or any other time. As I am certain to get your voicemail from this point forward, no matter how much I want to, I will not be calling you and leaving the obligatory "Hi, it's me, you're a DICK!" message angrily.

However, I do feel compelled to tell you that your action—or inaction rather—was quite disappointing; and as such, I will not be requesting the pleasure of your company from this point forward. At such time that you find it necessary to explain your position, I will consider your point of view, and act accordingly.

Quite simply, it's over, dude.

Sincerely,
[The Grand Chahee]

P.S. Enclosed is a self-addressed, stamped envelope. Could you please return the necklace and any other trivial items I may have left at your home. In case you were wondering--no, my dignity and the past 5 months will not fit in this envelope.

For those of you who do not know the origins of this letter, it’s a hypothetical break up letter I thought I was going to have to write to Mr. Crazy. He almost stood me up one Valentine’s Day (we all know how I feel about last minute cancellations). But no, I didn't have to resort to a drive-by cupcakeing, nor did i have to explain myself, baked good in hand, to a police officer.

And, no I’m not normally one to fall into the Valentine’s Day haze; however, Mr. Crazy and I had been dating for 5 months at the time, and we had made plans and everything; however, at the last minute he didn’t answer his phone. He ended up coming through eventually, and we ended up breaking up (amicably) about 4 months later. He really was batshit crazy (like certified), but it was kind of fun at the time. And to think, if it had lasted, I would be a step-dad and step-grandfather right now.

Sunday is wondering if it counts since it was a re-run.

2011-02-13T22:46:00.000-06:00

First of all, I’m über tired today. I had another all-nighter Friday night into Saturday. No, it wasn’t just so exciting that I couldn’t fall asleep. I just couldn’t fall asleep. KaKaKakatie gave me some yarn, and I was set to make something with it—while watching Battlestar Galactica. Before I knew it, I was talking to my mom (she was headed to clean my grandma’s house). She wanted to know what I wanted for my “birthday dinner” (wow, I’m 25, already [side eye to myself], I feel old). Then she wanted to know if I wanted to meet her and do a little shopping.

I was meeting up with D(W)F later that evening and decided I’d just go with it (I still wasn’t the least bit sleepy). We had lunch and then did a little light shopping. And I was still pretty good. D and I met up and went to grab a bite to eat later. Then we settled in to yarn (I’m working on an “ugly yarn” blanket—it’s become my project for her house.

While we were watching Netflix and yarning, I was on my phone scoping out the man situation on Bear411 (I figured I owed it to myself to at least look for a good time for my birthday). That couple from Nixa were the only guys talking to me. They were trying to get me to go to the Edge. It’s the only homo bar in Springfield that I haven’t ever been to. I was intrigued when they told me it was kind of a free-for-all there on men’s night. And it happened to be men’s night on Saturday.

I kept nodding off while yarning; however, we went to get some coffee at Starbucks. That extra shot of espresso gave me a little bit of energy. So I left D’s at about 10, and headed downtown. CB2 was out as well. She had called me and wanted to see if I wanted to go out to a warehouse party (some DJ that we know throws these after hour “parties” at some abandoned warehouse). I was tempted. But I wanted to see if the Edge was as good of a time as the couple had let on.

FYI, it wasn’t. I’ve never gone to Edge before because from the outside it looked like a scary shit hole. Inside it looks like a scary shit hole. The “clientele” were a bunch of either old or ugly or old and ugly mostly skanks. After getting a bottle of beer (I didn’t think a draft would be safe), I found the couple.

They were at a table at the far side of the bar. They were about the same as usual. After we watched some skanky strippers, they invited me home with them. It was about the same as before. We got in the hot tub, went back to their room, then got back in the hot tub. The only variation was that I got a little vocal. It wasn’t so bad. I just needed to get laid. The hard part was the drive home (I was quite tired). But I managed quite well. I don’t think I’m going to let myself go that long between rendezvous again. It starting affecting my mood there towards the end.

Monday wants you to know that you have not been abandoned.

2011-01-31T01:00:00.002-06:00

I am alive and well. For those of you who have imagined that the reason I haven’t been posting is because I am out living a life of fornication and decadence…please continue thinking that, and read no further. For those of you who are not delusional and know I’ve done nothing but crochet and hang out with my friends…you know me so well.

And I haven’t been posting any of it because I don’t want to convert it to a yarn blog. I believe since Christmas I’ve made 2 scarves, an afghan, a baby blanket, booties, a poncho, a hat, and I started on another afghan tonight. I’ve been doing this with D(W)F, CB2, and C(B1)C—who are all working on their own yarn projects.

I feel old. I fell lame. But I’m keeping warm this winter.

Sunday learned a valuable lesson about how to handle wildlife.

2010-12-26T03:11:00.002-06:00

Ok. First of all, Merry Christmas. Yes, I took a few days off (we’ll call it winter break instead of laziness). I’m not having sex, so there’s not much to talk about (it’s mostly been full of yarn and wit)… But anyway. Christmas at my house is an early afternoon event, so I was left with my evening free.

CB2 mentioned something about Ambie and Butch being free in the evening and us all hanging out. I was trolling the internet for men…and when my search didn’t yield any worth while results, I decided to change the course of my evening. So I called CB2. No answer.

So I called Ambie, and I was ecstatic to hear that she was just as bored as I was (and I don’t want Ambie to feel like my second choice or to rejoice in her boredom with the previous sentence). I headed over to her house in my non-descript mid-size sedan (it’s a loner…the Danger Ranger is down, but not out). If you can imagine, there wasn’t a lot to do in Bolivar on Christmas night; so we headed out to the Gangle Monster’s.

We didn’t know if anything was going on; however, I did send him a Christmas card; so I figured we were good for a drop in. There were some unknown vehicles in his driveway when we pulled up (turned out to be a pleasant surprise of Farron and Andrew…and some other kids)…But he was excited to see us… He was excited to see us and show us his new pet… raccoon.

Raccoons are really cute up close. And they’re soft to pet. I know they don’t normally let you pet them—they’re usually quite cautious around people (being wild—they have a natural fear of humans); but this raccoon was quite docile. Some “neighbor kids” found it in the field and brought it in (fyi: they’re only “kids” because I’m 28).

Ambie was having none of it. And while I thought it was funny/weird at the time (the raccoon was quite harmless acting), I think it was her “woman’s intuition” (or her allergies). No, this is not the part where I tell you the raccoon was rabid and went crazy on us all and we spent the rest of the evening in the emergency room. Well, the raccoon most likely did have rabies (a quick google search revealed it’s behavior to be strikingly similar to the symptoms of rabies); however, no one was actually harmed by said encounter (that we know of…the same google search stated that the onset of human rabies has an incubation period of almost a year, and also has symptoms very similar to those of the common cold)…well, I didn’t get scratched or bitten or allow any of it’s saliva to get into my mouth or eyes (yes, I took that wiki answers page very seriously)…

But alls well that ends well, right?

Monday wasn’t going to update but…

2010-12-13T03:11:00.001-06:00

I still haven’t gotten laid, so I haven’t really had anything to post about. Well, and I don’t feel like writing about my crochet projects (I’ve finished another scarf, started another one, and E(H)W’s baby blanket). I’ve just been hanging out with C(B1)C and D(W)F mostly on the weekends (shopping mostly); E(H)W joined us this weekend…

Then I went with D to a work gathering. I never knew D(W)F has a tendency to have conversations in her sleep. However, it was pretty funny (because she was a little drunk); so I’m going to have to remember that for the future.

My Christmas cards went out on Saturday. Thanks again for those of you who “signed” up to get one. Super Fan Emily, I tried to get a Hanukah stamp for yours; however, the postman at the Bolivar post office informed me they did not have any. So you got the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus like everyone else, but I tried…

Wednesday had a productive night

2010-12-08T03:08:00.003-06:00

I’m going to skip the whole, “I’m sorry I haven’t posted in a while…” I got the cards all addressed and ready to send out. Plus, I finished putting together my Dad’s anniversary present from my mom (a work bench with literally a million pieces). And yesterday, I finished another scarf.

So, yes, this post should be called “random projects as avoidance.”

I still haven’t had the desire to get humped. I think I’m getting there. I’ve been talking to this local married guy. I fear he’s really ugly; however, he seems pretty nice. I have no real plans to take things further. He’s invited me to meet him…in his car…on his lunch break. Yeah, he seems like a romantic.

Wednesday is closing the list

2010-12-01T17:37:00.001-06:00

I'll be finalizing the Christmas card list when I get home from work, so you have about 4 hours if you still want a card of your very own. I'm probably going to start sending them in the next couple weeks.

Thanks go to those of you who responded. And I promise not to stalk you or sign you up for random shit...

Thursday is Thanksgiving.

2010-11-25T03:43:00.002-06:00

Yes, it’s the one day of the year I actually volunteer to cook. I know I’ll bake all day long, but I actually loathe to cook…well, except for Thanksgiving. I’m going to sleep in, put on Pandora, and set about preparing a fabulous meal.

We’re having an “amended” menu (it is only for my mom, dad, and me). Having said that we’re having only the classics: roasted Turkey, mashed potatoes (with gravy of course), green-bean casserole, stuffing, and pumpkin pie. Just the classics.

Wednesday has a brief update…

2010-11-24T03:16:00.000-06:00

I’ve been MIA a little lately. It has been intentional. I went to update Sunday night (in typical fashion)… but I decided not to (there’s nothing to tell). Plus, I’ve been busy getting my Christmas card list ready. I’m up to 23...and thanks to a fan in Tennessee, I’m sending a card to yet another state (I’m hoping to make someone at the post office wonder what I’m up to).

FYI: you’ve still got a couple of days left to get yourself added to that Christmas card list.

But the real reason I’m updating today is because that one guy from St. Louis texted me today. You know that one that was supposed to meet up with me one night on his way to his mom’s house (he was going to buy me dinner and a hotel room—I’m not going to bother linking to it). He’s on his way to his mother’s house for Thanksgiving, and wanted to meet up with me.

Him: Getting on the road tomorrow, u still want to meet for dinner and to meet
Me: [Ignoring the redundancy and trying to avoid the situation] What time do you think you’ll be through?
Him: Leaving St.L at about 4 so there about 9
Me: I work until 10:15…and if you leave at 4, you’ll probably be here at 8 at the latest [I thought he was on a schedule to meet his mom]
Him: I will leave later. Want to meet you bud.
Me: LOL [I say that in awkward situations sometimes], you don’t have to, if you need to get to your mom’s
Him: Have to get there Thursday. Wanted to hang with you before.
Me: Ah
Him: U’re call bud
Me: I kinda need to get my turkey ready, so I was planning on heading home after work.
Him: Ouch, ok, all good. Thought we could meet but all good.
Him: [Not receiving a reply] It’s cool, maybe I’ll will be by again.

Yes, that line about the turkey is a lie. Well, I am going to cook a turkey on Thursday; however, I don’t have to do that Wednesday night. No, I don’t really have any plans…and no, I wasn’t trying to be mean about blowing him off. And No, I’m not just blowing him off because he blew me off the first time we were supposed to meet. I decided I should spare myself the disappointment.

A couple weeks ago I started to examine his pictures a little more closely (the select few he’s sent to me); and while he looks ok on cursory glance, I think he’s hiding something. It’s the angles, the picture quality (my phone is up to 5 mega pixels with auto focus), and the cropping that all adds up to something not quite right. Plus let’s throw in that over eagerness (we all know I’m so fond of)…

Having said that, I really don’t want to get myself all presentable for some guy that’s just passing through town (I have been observing “no shave November”). Not to mention the fact that if we were to meet and he’s less than par (and we know I don’t set that bar very high), I’m going to be compelled to have sex with him anyway (he was planning on getting a hotel and buying me dinner…we know how trapped that makes me feel). None of this makes any sense anyway…

I guess I’m not progressing through my lull as quickly as I thought I was (despite my naughty chat sessions with that cute Canadian)…

Friday just wanted to update you…

2010-11-19T02:43:00.003-06:00

I’m 21 strong on that Christmas card list. I got one from that kid that invited me on that road trip that one time. Well, at least I think it’s from him (he had the same first name and last initial—yes, I remember his last name…well, it was in my phone for a while). And don’t worry, I’m not going to inundate you with this Christmas card list for much longer. I’m setting a dead line of December 1st for all entries (so hurry up…you know you want to).

Well, enough about that nonsense (we all know I don’t think Christmas cards are nonsense). I may have made a great stride against that lull I’ve been talking about for the past few days. I may have (and we both know when I say may have it means I did) did a little naughty video chat via Skype with a somewhat cute Canadian (if you wanna see the goods, so to speak, he’s my new friend on Facebook). He said he’d keep in touch. Don’t worry—Vancouver is way too far for me to drive for sex.

Ah, I installed a GPS tracker on my new phone (the one for my BlackBerry has a version for Android). Yes, I’ve already emailed D(W)F the instructions on how to remotely activate it via text message (that is if my GPS is on). And I’m loving my new Android phone (Mytouch 4G); however, I kinda miss (and feel like I’m betraying) my BlackBerry (plus I don’t have my man hunting application on my new phone).

Tuesday I almost forgot to tell you…

2010-11-16T01:43:00.006-06:00

In between my lube job (sounds so much dirtier than an oil change) and my hair cut on Saturday, I got a text message from Dead Eyes. It was actually a reply from Friday night (just general chit chat type stuff). I guess I was more subtle than I thought when we parted last weekend. I mean I pretty much ran out of his apartment and refused to kiss him goodbye; then I gave him a smirking wave as I sped out of his parking lot.

So when do we hang out next, if there is interest of course

There was no question mark at the end of sentence. I think that’s looming. I was telling CB2 about this on the way home tonight and I wrote an ellipse (…) into the sentence at the end (and I thought there was a question mark). I like it better when I though it was if there’s interest of course… better than that unpunctuated statement (how am I supposed to know what he means?).

Well, we both know what that means… I wasn’t mean enough to get the point across. So I responded…

Well, I’m busy this weekend…

(that ellipse really was in the original text—just so you know). And then I told him he made the Christmas card list (I got Butchie, too…we’re still friends, now). And yes, I’m just that into my Christmas card list (and sending somewhat mixed signals…having said that, I think I could explain that I like sending Christmas cards with enough enthusiasm to imply fully that I’m not that into him).

I’m not having sex right now, so I need a project to advert my attention (my new phone is set to arrive tomorrow…and I made cookies on Sunday…I’ve got a hat and other yarn projects to undertake…and I’m making reindeer Christmas ornaments… and ironing out my Christmas music for the 2010 cd…yes, it’s been quite a lull).

FYI for those of you who have my BlackBerry email address, it’s going to be discontinued when I switch phones (I think only Dead Eyes has it anyway—I’ll send him the Chahee address…maybe he’ll put two and two together and I’ll get to forego—yes, that’s a pun—that awkward conversation where I tell him that yes, I think he should trim a little more around his collar…wow, my no sex is making me sound bitter…fyi I started “pleasuring myself” again…my lull is almost over).

And that invitation to get a Christmas card from the Grand Chahee is still on the table. Email me at Chahee@thegrandchahee.com (it comes to my phone—old and new, and I will reply—and not stalk you) or direct message me via twitter.com/the_chahee (and follow me while you're at it). Send some nudie pictures while you’re at it—I may be in a lull sexually; however, I could use a good laugh.

Sunday is still getting that ironed out…

2010-11-14T04:07:00.001-06:00

Speaking of the little joys in life…I’m still working on my Christmas card list (despite the fact that I’m not going to send them out until at least the early part of December—it’s not something to leave until the last minute). So, if you’re hesitating to email me your address, please get on that (I’d at least like to know if I need more cards…despite the fact that I found a new box from a few years ago and I bought three new ones today). And if you’re worried that I’m going to use your address to stalk you, just know that I’m entirely not that motivated.

Thanks, Super Fan Emily and Sully for emailing me your addresses. I’ve got you down. I’ve got Mr. Shot down as well (however, as I understand it, it may be a little bit before you get it; unless you have a more accurate address…and no, I don’t think that the USPS can deliver to a set of GPS coordinates). And Super Fan Ambie, I know you’ve been busy with that whole trying to get into grad school thing…so despite not actually knowing how to actually spell your last name, I believe I’ve got yours as well (email/call me if you don’t want one at this point). Oh, and speaking of cyber stalking, CB2 I found your grandparents address and added them to the list as well (I figured your grandma at least would get a kick out of it).

I’m 19 strong now (after I got the Gangle Monster’s address; yes, from the Gangle himself; and no, he’s not a reader—I had to threaten to steal his mail to get it). So far, I’ve got 10 different cities (three different zip codes for the St.L alone) across 5 different states (Missouri, Kansas, Texas, Virginia, and Minnesota); and only 2 of the 19 people are actually family.

I’m kind of surprised that I haven’t heard from Butch yet (I’m going to revoke that email address soon if I don’t); I would have thought she would have been the first to respond (side eye to Butch)…I know I probably sound like a 4th degree creeper with all this inviting random strangers to send me their address for a Christmas card; however, my Christmas card list has been narrowed this year (due to unforeseen events—I’m still considering cutting my brother out)…so I’m turning to my tricks (Dr. Sexy, Dead Eyes), and you people to fill in the gaps.