A stab at change...

Life has been a little busy as of late.

The time is really flying by. Here it is, already June 6, and I feel like I don't have a lot to show for my summer. It's frustrating and trying. I miss having things to do, people to visit. I think I just sort of miss Toronto.

But it's not like I've been morose about it. I haven't really had the time. Last Saturday, I drove the 5 hours to surprise one of my best friends at her birthday party. More on this later, but the important note is that I stayed until Wednesday.

Wednesday night, after just getting back from my trip, I get a phone call from someone in Toronto. My roommate, who has been in Europe for the past month, is coming back Thursday afternoon. We all have to go out and see Sex and the City because she's held off seeing it in favor of a group outing.

I begged to get out of it, saying that I'd just driven 1000 kilometers in the past five days, and really didn't feel like leaving home again. (I also had some semi-secret plans with someone else, but more on that later too).

The next thing I knew, I was being guilted into a last minute trip to Toronto, since 'this might be the last time all of us are together for a long time' because of people suddenly moving far away, getting careers and so on.

So I wound up dragging my ass back to the big city, for one night of togetherness that included Sex and the City, a homecooked dinner, a roundtable discussion on the couch and watching my roommate fall asleep at 10 p.m. Afterwards, I wound up talking until 1 a.m. with our friend while my roommate slept on the couch, a lightening storm putting on a show for us.

All in all, a mostly clam evening that I could have truthfully done without. But in my condition of near-perpetual boredom and under-stimulation, it was something at least a little worth while.

But it was the simple question of my other roommate that made me want to spice things up, shake myself out of this blase attitude.

"So, what are you going to do tomorrow morning? Probably get Starbucks and a paper, and read, right?" she asked, innocently.

And it all sort of hit me, the over-riding sense that I'm in some sort of life rut. Am I so predictable that on a one-day random trip to Toronto, my morning routine will already be recognized?

On the one hand, I look at it as sort of special. It's my routine, my life, who I am. I don't know any 21-year-olds who sleep just a few minutes too much, shower, go for coffee and the New York Times, read it cover to cover, and then carry on with their day. It feels very much like me.

But on the other, I see a stagnant, old man. Should I really be doing this sort of thing at my young age? Shouldn't I be out being reckless and stupid while it's acceptable? Why do I care about something as stupid as a comment on my usual morning routine?

It gnawed on me, a little. It, and the fact that I'm lonely and horny all the time.

So I did something slightly spontaneous, something I haven't done for a while. I ordered out for ass.

A few clicks, a few words, and hours of waiting...a sense of want and excitement. I had set my sights on a Friday morning fling, and I was actually really looking forward to it. This would certainly shake up my morning routine.

Lo and behold, at 11:00 while checking my e-mail, there was a gorgeous guy sitting in my inbox. I commented to my friend, who was in the loop by that time, that he was pretty much 98% my type. I fired off a quick response, and waited for his reply.

By 1 a.m., when everyone was off to bed, he still had not replied to my reply. I tried to do two things: to not worry that I'm not going to get laid, and to not get too enthralled with the notion that in less than 12 hours I could be sleeping with the most stunning guy.

Sleep came and went easily, and for the first time in a while I woke with sun streaming into my room and a smile on my face. I chalk it up to the weather, but I just felt really good. I lay in bed, enjoying the sun and the few moments just after waking up.

Then I realized that I should be checking my e-mail in the hopes that the boy would have replied. Jumping out of bed, I notice that I have a huge line across my forehead thanks to sleeping strangely on my pillow/sheets. No matter, once I shower it'll be gone, long before he gets here.

In eager anticipation I check my e-mail. 1 new message! I click...only to find it not from who I was hoping it would be, but some other vague yet attractive guy.

I waited for an hour, checking my e-mail and attending to some things online. Still no response. My spontaneous moment was shot to shit. The one morning that I attempt something completely random, to break the mold and have a little (lot) of fun, and it falls flat on it's ass.

At least it did switch up the morning routine, minus the orgasm induced by a really hot blond.

The 'buddy', the fuck buddy, and the guy who wants to watch...

This is all about sex, so if you don't want to read, wait for the next entry, or go read my last one.

Now that everyone is paying extra attention RE: sex, I've got some theories. I think I haven't been getting laid enough. Silly, I know, but really it's true. For the past few nights I've been getting progressively hornier. Tonight was no exception.

After plans fell through for the evening (what a surprise) I was left with little to do. I opted for a pizza, a bottle of wine and some Sex and the City. Throw some glitter and some pink pillows around my couch and I'm about as gay as it gets.

Well, I've watched about as much as I can take, so I get up and head for the computer. But there it is, that damn itch! I checked out Craigslist for a laugh, and saw the picture of a guy I'd slept with last year. It was fun, he was a man of few words, but he'd talked to me a few times in between, so I figured we might still have another go round.

I signed into my crusing account, and lo and behold the Buddy comes online. I instantly messaged him, kicking off the conversation, not really knowing what to expect.

While I'm waiting for that to get going, I reply to a few CL ads. I get an e-mail back from a very cute guy, and we also start chatting online.

Of course, my fuck buddy David is nowhere to be found, considering he has some sort of thing called a 'life'. But he did leave me a message on my birthday saying he can't wait to come over and give me my present. Whatever could that be?

I'm very amused at the fact I have a fuck buddy at all. It just sort of grew out of our having sex more than once, and our mutual interest in keeping it going. It's not nearly as flashy as Hollywood depicts it, with the midnight booty calls and looks of lust across a crowded restaurant. In actual fact, he can't say sex, fuck, or otherwise indicate we're going to bed with each other. Instead, he simply says, lets 'hang out'.

Of course, he jerks me around endlessly, but he's good in bed, and as I mature and grow into this thing called a gay sex life I've learned how to deal with it and keep the fun in the 'fun' category. Plus, it's damn convenient not having to order out for sex with someone new.

I prioritize my time with the new guy online. His picture reminds me of a boy from home, who was on the swim team. He was never a crush, because we never knew each other, but he was probably the cutest boy in his grade. That made this new guy even more interesting. I offered to have him over, and he seemed hesitant, saying maybe I should go over there.

Then he said that his 40-year-old roommate was home. Oh, and he'd like to watch.

The sad thing is, I seriously considered it. And if that 40 was a 30, or even a 35, I might have gone along with it. But even if I am diversifying my sex life, I'm not at the stage where I want guys that age watching. It smacks of over-bearing control, of someone being taken advantage of. Maybe I'm insane and don't understand that sexual dynamic yet, but I just wasn't feeling it.

I explained that to him, all the while becoming more wary. He tried to get me to come over, telling me he only does this once a year, and he won't want to next week. Of course, in the previous sentence he was telling me how cool it was for his roomie to watch him and this other guy fool around recently. The weird vibes were outweighing the good ones, and I ended our conversation. I felt badly though, wondering if this kid was being kept under the thumb of some twisted molester-type. But don't quote me, because I don't know all the facts.

With that behind me, I went back to the Buddy. Remember, this isn't David the fuck buddy, this is just Buddy from a million years ago. We started talking dirty, and I was surprised to see he remembered some of the things we did. He wants me to moan for him. Apparently, he likes that.

Also, apparently, he's more vocal online than he was in person, because it got really graphic, really fast. Which lead to me loosing some clothes, really fast. I've never gotten into that cyber/fantasy/phone-sex thing before, but we were going full out. Not the best sex I've had, but certainly not the worst.

And, it whetted his appetite. He's going to come by sometime soon, he says, for our official round two.

Some of you by now are doubtlessly wondering how I plan on keeping a relationship if I'm interested in fucking three different guys nearly simultaneously. Well, I've got two modes, and would be more than happy to divert all my sexual energy to one cute ass than to three. Its a hard decision to make if your relationship is going to be open and allow for certain dalliances outside of your traditional sex life, or to be completely monogamous. Either way, I'm more than willing to give it up for a boy who'll actually be around to have coffee with me in the morning.

While sex isn't going to give me a social life, especially when I'm picking up online and not at a club, it did help me blow off some steam. Even if it was just e-steam.

My night...

The months had felt like years, but flown by too quickly to remember.

I arrived at the apartment feeling jittery and nervous and needing a drink. This sometimes (always) happens when I'm meeting someone, the flux between horny excitement and cold questioning that seems to insert itself into the moment. Really this should not have bothered me, because David has been coming over for a while now, only interrupted by the summer months and my temporary relocation ("Why are you living out there?").

My roommate and I sat at the new old kitchen table, me swigging quietly from a glass of gin and tonic and her pulling from a pre-bottled cocktail. The sun beat through the windows and gave the room a sickening shimmer of heat, pushed away every few beats by gusts of cool air. Tension lifted and we talked about our evenings and she said, "I hope you have a good time," and got in the shower.

The next few hours were spent idly watching the clock, paging through a forgettable paperback left under the coffee table and sipping from a new glass of gin and tonic. He was supposed to show up at 10:30, and by midnight I was getting nervous again. Finally the phone vibrated and he was downstairs worrying his car would be stolen or he would be shot and how can I live in such a fucking ghetto?

I opened the door to him and he smiled with his big lips pushed apart. I smiled sleepy and lightheaded and we took a tour of the apartment where he stopped and sat on my bed. I offered him a drink, closed my door and sat down.

The next several minutes were spent on how summer sucks when you don't got anywhere and how many different job's he had that went nowhere. I forgot to ask him about a road trip he was going on. Then he pulled his wallet and phone out of his pants and lay down on the bed. I pulled the chain on the bulb beside him and lay down.

Over the next two hours we moved around every imaginable angle grasping each other's bodies. He was on his game, more interested than I'd ever seen him before, and I fueled from his energy. The stress and nervousness and worry (this is the first sex you'll have in months...) were gone and all that was left was lust and pleasure.

He finally came while I was inside him, a quiet acknowledgement seconds before the oh-oh-oh's and then I came and we collapsed onto each other and my breath was ragged and the sheets were soaked. Time stood still as the curtain played back and forth in the breeze.

We stood naked in the dark, the angles of his body barely visible and after hearing a noise he says, "Is someone home?"

"Sure, probably. My roommate was out earlier..." It's now 3, and I'm not surprised she's home.

"Cool. Is she hot?"

"I guess. Yeah." I think about it for a few more seconds, but that sounded right.

"So would she let me fuck her?"

I tilted my head. "Probably not. She likes her boyfriend."

He giggled and said too bad and just stood there. We waited there, waiting for the other to give a cue for the next move.

I offered him a shower and he accepted while I tip-toed out to see if my roommate was home. She smiled slyly as she opened her door and I laughed with guilt and at the fact I had just slept with a boy in my new apartment while my friend was home and it was OK.

We all went out for a smoke on the balcony and he introduced himself to her ("I do really want to meet these boys, you know...") and they shook hands. He talked about his school and she talked about her classes and I sat there not saying much because I was tired and spaced out. David inhaled, then exhaled, talking nonstop about his favorite clubs and where all his friends go and where they might be tonight. There was talk of some friend-of-a-friend he knows who's dating Amanda Bynes, and I realise that he really does know (or thinks he knows) people who know people. He then talks about his dreams to move to California with a friend who wants to get a record deal and how he might go because it's great out there, it's all he's wanted to do in life.

"But what's in California?" she asks, because she can't see past Toronto.

"Everything," I say from my chair, and David giggles again.

I tune out his praise for L.A. and wonder why he's so interested in talking to her anyway and shouldn't he be going home soon because it's getting late?

She excuses herself and he sits for a few more minutes dragging on his third smoke. Finally he runs out of things to say and I sit there because I never had anything to add anyway, so instead he gets up and motions to leave. We get to the door and he makes another joke (seriously though) about getting shot on the way to his car and I tell him not to worry, turning the handle. He sticks out his hand for a high-five and I grab it awkwardly not really believing this is happening again.

"Is that how you do it on the west side?" I ask, expecting a more complicated hand motion, but he laughs. "Not really."

Then he's gone, loneliness filling his previously occupied space. I get a glass of water because my head is starting to hurt, then I slide into bed with my roommate who's watching some rerun on TV. We talk for a few minutes about our nights and I start out really happy because I'd had great sex but realize how odd it had been. It all came crashing in, all of a sudden, and I shut my eyes but it didn't block out the dim flicker of the TV.

I was 'that guy'. You know, 'that guy' that he sleeps with between trying to pick up girls in his social circles and pretending he doesn't like bottoming in bed. Part of me wonders if his musician friend knows where he is tonight. I feel strange, because it's not like the casual times like before where its just gay sex and everyone goes home. I'm playing some part in the theatre of his life, a cutout from some novel. This amuses me because I never thought I could get involved in these 'complicated' social affairs, but it's filled with self-doubt. Please, let me go back to 1953 when nobody had sex and good boys read their bibles before bed and marry the girl from down the road and everything is simple with little room for though.

Moments go by and I realize she's talking to me, asking why I said it was a little depressing. Quickly I explain that all I really want is someone to hold and be there the next morning and actually be interested in me, and not ask to fuck the female roommate as soon as I've pulled out of his ass.

"I wonder if I'll ever see him again," I whisper more to myself than to her, but she sits up and asks why. I know why (because I'm less than just a one-time hook-up) but I just say, "Just a feeling I guess." I pull her tight and tell her I love her and she says it back and how it's nice I'm living down her hall, then I slip out of bed and into my own room.

I change the sheets and open the window to change the stench of sex for some exhaust fumes, pulling out new sheets for the bed. A moment later and I'm under the stream of the shower trying to get the latex smell off of me and ignoring my headache.

I finally go to bed at 4:03.

You mean...

I am being taunted by an unknown, malevolent force.

These past few days, a handful of gorgeous young guys have messaged me online. They are sexy, single, and looking for 'whatever happens.' I am instantly flattered and interested.

The one I've actually gotten around to talking to was witty, flirty, and very much my type. The conversation kicked off with us making witty remarks about the street we live on. I was instantly thinking, "Yes, this is good! Someone close by, funny, talking conversationally but flirtily..."

As we talked, he wanted to see some more pictures of me. I obliged, so did he, and (naturally) he complimented me on my cuteness. (But really, what are the chances he'll say, "Oh, you're all right I 'spose.") We chatted a bit more, and he trailed off a little. I needed to go, and he hadn't really said what he was looking for, so I asked him, hopefully.

"So, what exactly are you looking for anyway?"

"Oh, probably just sex."

I was deflated. His profile was one of those, "Want to meet new people and see what happens" types, which I read to mean possibly, but not exclusively, interested in dating. After all, if it's usually just sex someones after, they're fine with being blunt about it. So I let myself get that faint flicker of excitement at the fact that maybe someone who I did indeed find attractive and intelligent would turn out to be someone I might actually get on with, not just get off with.

But of course, since I am only human, I didn't let this show, and agreed that indeed sex would probably be pretty good. So when I get the chance I'll be getting in touch with him and "seeing where things go..."

It was just some sort of prick-tease, though more like a date-tease, as it seems the others are. Where these guys are when I'm in Toronto I'll never understand...because I'm not going to expressly turn down sexual favors in my search for someone to actually date or God forbid start seeing. It's actually laughable in a way that I'm more disappointed these guys don't want a date compared to the old-fashioned disappointment these guys don't want to sleep with me.

Either way, I am looking forward to September and the fun I may get to have then. My luck though, by then all these young hot guys will have moved away and I'll be left to my own devices...

Dead people are damned heavy...

Today was my second time being a pallbearer, and the experience was pushed on me much as the first was.

Both times I was called into duty because a)There was pretty much nobody at the funeral and b)Everyone who was there is too old to do it. Not that I minded doing it, or didn't observe the signifigance of traveling with someone to their final resting place...it's just not something I'd like to continually do because everyone else can't do it.

And bloody hell, do they weigh the caskets down? I mean the dearly departed was over 90 years old, I don't think there would be a lot of body mass in there to cause such a weight. But either I'm horribly weak (who, me!?) or I was having an off day, because slugging the casket around the cemetary was a pain in the ass.

At least, I wish it were a pain in the ass (what a transition!). I'm so sex deprived I'm afraid I'll forget how the next time I actually sleep with somebody. I didn't think I was having that much random sex before getting into a relationship, but it was enough to keep me satisfied. Now I'm scratching my itch several times a day, but not getting the same results one feels when there's another person offering a helping hand. And I don't even want to think about summer...

But I did get one nice thing out of today. Some guy messaged me via a dating site I belong to, and made me feel like less of a loser by complimenting how nice an evening with me sounds. I got to message him back today with my e-mail address, but I haven't heard anything back yet.

That's gotta be the biggest disadvantage of online; everything has the potential to be a huge tease. You get all excited when someone messages you, so you message back...and then never hear from them again. In an age where our collective interest lasts 1.3 seconds, it's almost improbable that you'll hear back from someone who messaged you.

In some situations, it's ok, like when they're wanting to hang you by your toenails and jerk you off with a banana peel...probably a good thing to not hear back from those ones...but when it sounds like a sane person who just might be a little bit of fun and not chuck you the next day, you kinda get antsy when you don't hear back.

Ah well...another night wasted attempting to do homework while chatting to my friends online. I'm so looking forward to the time when we don't have any more work, and can finally get back to being students.

Harder, harder...

So how much is too much sex?

I’d gotten sexual histories from some of the guys I’ve talked to online, but some of the guys that I’d talked to were just starting to explore their sexualities. Some had never done anything, others had experiences with ‘friends from high school’, others still had gotten blow jobs or topped a few guys. But until recently, I’d never met anyone who was out and fully active.

If you remember my Valentines Night, I went over to Brian’s place and happened to meet his roommate, Ryan. Ryan is cute, tall, and very scene. He also has a very active sex life, something that Brian didn’t take long in explaining to me, and how they’re so very different in that respect.

In almost everything else, Brian and Ryan are alike. I could tell by the way he talked about him that they generally were very close, and it’s sweet. But then he talked about their ‘roommate drama’…something that I was very interested to hear about.

As it stands, Ryan is very horny all the time (aren’t we all though?). Where some do nothing about it, and others masturbate, Ryan takes a more active approach. On average, he invites at least one ‘friend’ over each night of the week…and he’s usually just met this ‘friend’ an hour before online.

Now, I’m a fan of hookups. Hell, if it weren’t for the internet, I’d still be a basket-case under-sexed chronic masturbator (surprisingly enough, I still jerk off plenty). But this takes hookups to a new level.

Brian told me the story about how one night, one guy was buzzing up from their lobby just as the second guest of the evening was stepping out their front door. Ryan, disheveled from the sex he’d just had, dashed into the bathroom to shower while the second guy was getting let into the building.

At first, I was in awe. ‘This is so cool!’ I thought to myself. This guy is a student in an intense program, maintains a social life, and has a never-ending supply of hot guys coming to have sex with him. Isn’t that everyone’s dream!?

But as the stories kept coming, I became more and more disturbed by the fact that he’s a sexual maniac. Not that his sex life is ultra-kinky or employs dangerous techniques, but he seems to be really sex obsessed. As Brian said, “It’s like his hobby. He comes home from work, goes online, and finds guys to sleep with. Then he does his homework.”

Even still, when I think about him, I get turned on by the idea of having that much sex. He makes life look pretty glamorous. But behind the sexy stories are disturbing ones too.

One day the two of them packed off and went to the clinic to get tested. Brian apparently made the nurse a little amused with the fact that his sexual history is pretty tame. He got his tests done, everything was clear, and was back in the waiting room.

Ryan, on the other hand, was not as clean. He came out smirking, holding bottles of pills and shaking his head from a lecture about sexual safety he’d just received. He hadn’t tested Positive, but had contracted a few common-place STD’s. And apparently this wasn’t the first time.

“But doesn’t it bother him? I mean, he’s a smart guy, he should know a little better about safety,” I’d said, feeling the amazement quickly deflate.

“Oh, you’d think. But he just doesn’t care.”

So where does it all stand with this sex stuff? Thinking about it, I drew a few conclusions.

Hooking up online is still hooking up, no matter how few times you do it. It carries some dangers, the most obvious being the risk of becoming infected with disease. There are of course preventative measures that you should take, and generally you shouldn’t sleep with someone who gives you the creeps or whose integrity you question.

But at the same time, how do you justify the volume of these hookups? On one hand, if you hook up once in a while, isn’t it the same as hooking up every night? You’re still putting yourself on the line, even if it’s a number of times less than every day. On the other, you can justify the fact that you’re picking up, because you really just want to have sex.

Another way of looking at it is in comparison to trying to get picked up at a bar. Each weeknight, guys of all ages head out to local bars. Is it just to dance? For some, yes, it’s about going out with friends, having a good time and getting a little drunk. But for many others, it’s about scouting for Mr.Right-Now.

That too caries the same risks as meeting someone online. But why is it more socially acceptable to ‘go home with someone’ from a club than it is to get picked up online?

And what are we saying overall? That if we didn’t have to worry at all about disease or HIV, we would and could have sex with someone new every day?

Why do we care about frequency so much, and so many partners? The answer is clear, because people like to have sex. But why did I become so fascinated with Ryan’s active sex life, then a little repulsed by it? How many times a week/month/year should you have sex with someone new?

In trying to figure out my sexual identity, I’ve thought a lot about the random sex thing. It’s just something that’s normal for the gay community, and something that I don’t really mind partaking in. Obviously I have my standards; I’m not sleeping with the first person to message me just because I want sex. I look for guys who I think are hot, and always ask about their health. Of course, people can lie, but so far the guy’s I’ve met are pretty standup guys.

I don’t want to hook up with someone new every day, because it takes too much time, energy and often is complicated because I can’t host. Also, it feels excessive.

But why do I want to in the first place? I had to in January because I needed to finally experience sex with a guy. Now is it that I just want to keep on having sex? And why, when I now have Brian to spend a night with, do I still find myself checking out other guys online? Does part of finding out my identity include getting a few guys ‘under my belt’?

There is, after all, the timid small-town side of my personality. I’m from a place where sex isn’t discussed except amongst teenagers, and the idea is you sleep with people who you’re in love with. But there exists the urban side too, that wants to have lots of sex with hot guys, have three-ways or group sex and generally enjoy myself in my sexual prime.

Jamie told me long ago that it’s different for each individual. Some want monogamy with a person they really care for. Others sleep with anyone at any time. There are guys who have the occasional fling, but keep them few and far between. Is it just a media stereotype, perpetuated by the scene, that guys are always hooking up with each other, and that it is in fact encouraged?

In truth, I don’t know where to go from here. But I’d love to know what your sexual modus operendi is. Please, leave an anonymous comment (yes, they are truly anonymous) and let me know what the ‘average guy’ does.

Oh, the humanity (part one)...

My night ended with me leaving McDonalds more depressed than when I went in. No, not because of the massive amounts of calories I'd had bagged up, hell, the reason I was there was to get some comfort food.

The day started promisingly enough, with me enjoying my last hours at home before making the journey back into the city. I even went underwear shopping at another store (sadly I didn't find anything that caught my eye). With a skip in my step, I was on my way to meet Dave, another CraigsList friend who I'd been chatting with lately. He had a free place this afternoon, and welcomed me over for some fun.

When I finally met him, I was relieved at how cute he actually was. It's such a treat to meet someone and not recoil in horror at their appearence, if you had some pre-conceived notions about their looks. It happened to me a few times when I first started chatting with guys online, thankfully I hadn't made any plans to sleep with those ones, so I didn't have to make any bad scenes.

We got to his house, and pulled off our coats. He wandered inside, and I followed him to the stairs. He turned on his heel, leaned back against the door frame, and smiled.

I love the look a guy gives you when it's "time". His whole face changed, eyes penetrating mine, mouth firm but with relaxed lips, the slightest curve of a smile in the corners. Suddenly the boy who was cute and slightly shy a few minutes ago was sending me all sorts of signals. Two seconds later, our lips locked, and he was dragging me into the bedroom.

His hands moved all over my body as we kissed deeply, sliding under my shirt, into my pants, then popping my fly open. When he finally had my pants open, he dropped to his knees and pulled down my (sexy new 2xist blue) briefs (without even getting to appriciate me in them...) and was instantly sucking my cock. I was on cloud nine, and very turned on by the fact thtat he was so into what was going on. His entire attention was on me, and he held nothing back as he bobbed up and down.

By that time, I'd pulled off my shirt, and was completely naked, with him fully clothed. He stopped, pulled off his shirt and pants, and resumed sucking me off. It was pretty great, all in all, and when he stood up I held his naked body and kissed him. I'm starting to realize I'm much more into intimate sex than suck-you-off-and-blow-my-load type sex. We had a pretty good rythem going, between sucking each other and exploring each other's bodies.

Finally, we each blew our loads, and collapsed for a few seconds. I'll never understand why some guys immediately start getting dressed, I personally love to just lay there for a bit and catch my breath, and of course cuddle...sadly Dave seemed less than interested in making out while our cum dried on our bodies.

We went downstairs for a drink, and sat awkwardly at the kitchen table. I'm not really great at making post-sex conversation in this type of situation, so he did most of the talking, with me nodding along and asking a few questions about him. First, I asked if he was gay/bi, because he'd never said before. His answer surprised me a little, simply saying, "I've slept with more girls than guys."

"Ok, so how many guys?"

"Well, you. And one other one."

Ahhh...now things make more sense. As he started to tell me about his first experience, he could never maintain eye contact with me, much less look at me. Not that he was ignoring me, but he just didn't pay me any attention. This is the thing I'm beginning to understand that gay guys dislike about bi guys: once the sex is over, there's no more kissing, cuddling, or interest in the other guy. It's just over, and lets all pretend this didn't happen.

We finished our drinks, and he looked at me. I suggested one of two things, that he could either send me on my way, or that we could go back upstairs and get naked between the sheets again.

He hesitated. "Well...it's getting later, I mean nobody's home for another two hours, but..."

More hesitation. He looked to me, then the fridge, then the clock. "I guess we'd better call it a day."

I sighed inwardly. I felt a little disappointed. And that's what's been on my mind since leaving his place.

I understand the 'rules' of NSA sex, not to expect anything else to come of it, after the fluids are exchanged it's over and you should be on your way. But I can't help from hoping each time that the next guy I hook up with will want me to stick around after we're done, to cuddle, have dinner, watch TV...hang out...get to know each other...I mean I'm not shacking up with 35-year-olds, the guys I've spent time with are my age, so one would think they too might be interested in more than just sex.

So as I made my way home, I got more and more depressed about my situation. I came to the conclusion that I must want a boyfriend, because I don't seem to be getting the fufilment I'm looking for with the guy's I've been with so far. What's bothering me, I don't know (which in itself drives me crazy). But once I hit my doorstep, I just felt awful inside. Nothing seemed to be making any sense. I want to be with someone, but I can't find anyone because I'm not out, but I can get boys online, but they don't want to hold my hand after I've taken their load on my chest, but maybe I'll finally find someone I'm compatible with who wants the same thing I do, but that seems to break the 'rules' of NSA...

Then I called Lisa, because I didn't want to wind up alone for the evening. She told me about her weekend, and then about how much work she has to do for the rest of the week...and then she asked me what was wrong. I told her I didn't even know myself, but hoped we could talk soon about stuff. As I was talking to her, another guy invited me over to his place for the evening...

It's over...

So I'm exhausted, from sex and being up early and going to bed late and from the emotional baggage of telling Lisa I'm bi.

(Longest run-on sentence in history.)

I'm not going into details right now, because I want to post a fully-fleshed-out recount of what happened. But, I will say that things went fine in my coming out to her, she took it completely fine and made sure I was aware that she really, truely, 100% didn't care.

That was last night. I then managed, for some reason I don't understand (since I wasn't planning on it) to sleep with a guy tonight. It was good, but I've got bite marks on my neck, and my upper right lip and right earlobe are swolen and hurting like a bitch right now. Damn, that boy liked to be rough!

So, you're bi...?

Last night just kept getting better and better for me.

After disasterous letdown coffee date, I came home and cruised CL for a bit. After a few minutes of careful consideration (read: 5 seconds of horniness) I posted.

Time passed, but within the hour I'd recieved about 4 messages. Sanity check: looks good. Pictures: one guy, not really doing it for me. So I started chatting with a guy near me, and an hour later I was headed to his place.

*Knock Knock*

"Oh hey," he says. He's actually cuter than his picture! Yes! Short-ish guy, kinda curly dark hair. "Give me a second," he says, and walks down the hall, sits infront of his PC and continues typing and e-mail. I pulled off my coat, kicked off my shoes...and stood in his living room. After a few beats, I decided to sit down.

"Where'd you go?" he called out, semi-panicked. Well, I got bored and since you're not all over me I thought I'd make myself comfortable, I thought to myself.

He finally came into the living room, and stood next to me, right in front of the couch. "So what are you, gay, bi?" he says, still standing. I pat the couch beside me, and he reluctantly sits down.

"Well, I'm bi," I said. "I hope that isn't a problem."

"No, I am too. So do you like do massages?" Who the hell does he think I am, a fucking hooker? But after a few seconds, I decided it would be fun to give a guy a sexy massage, complete with ass and ball groping. We walked into his bedroom, he stripped at lightening speed to his boxers, and laid on his stomache.

Well. Isn't this the sexy romp in bed I was hoping for. But not once did I give up hope.

I rubbed his back up and down, worked his shoulders, his arms, his legs...his ass. He had a really nice one, perfectly formed with just enough size that it wasn't boney. I did kinda get into the massage, occasionally letting my dick graze his inner thighs. After I'd given him all he was going to get, I curled up beside him, and moved in for a kiss.

I love kissing. Making out, holding each other...it just really gets me fired up. This guy, who responded as into kissing, j/o and oral, basically turned away when I moved in. I caught the lower part of his chin, rebounded, and again caught more chin. Another resignation, this time that I wasn't going to get to make out...fine.

I rolled him over, and started blowing him. He was getting into it, and after ten minutes asks, "So how long does it take you to cum? Because I want to be in bed by 11." I knew then I was screwed. "Oh, don't worry," I said as slyly as possible, "I won't take long." I kept going on him, and he started breathing heavily. I beat him hard, and he came all over his stomache. He sighed, satisfied, and grabbed his dick. I went up for a kiss, and he turned me away. "I don't kiss after someone blows me," he said. "It tastes like cock."

"Don't you like blowing guys?" I asked, alarmed.

"Oh sure, but I don't wanna taste my own."

I was relieved, and moved up towards him. "My turn," I said, leaning into him.

"Actually, I'm going to be a totaly guy here, and not get you off. I'm done."

I froze, kneeling on the bed. "What?"

"Oh, well you should have got me to blow you when I was still hard. But yeah, we're done."

I wimpered something pathetic about only taking a few minutes, but he was already getting dressed. Deflated, I pulled on my pants and followed him to the door. Once I had my coat and shoes on, he stood in front of me, looking very sexy in pajama bottoms and no shirt. He made a half-hearted hugging motion, which I reciprocated.

"We should do that again sometime," he said, opening the door for me.

"Well, you've got my email," I replied, as he shut the door on me. I walked home, a disbelieving smirk on my face. About ever 10 steps, I would say to myself, 'That didn't just happen. He didn't just throw me out,' and shake my head. At least I know what it feels like to feel used.

All I have to say is, I'm bi, and I like guys. That guy needs a lesson on what being bi means. At least admit you're just a straight guy who likes head, and maybe next time the boy you pick up won't be so shocked for the rest of the evening.

The pickup...

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