Saturday, December 31, 2011

american gigolo

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he hit me up last night with a simple "fuck me".

always an intriguing opening.  i clicked on his profile, saw a buffed-out torso, saw "escort", responded with the pertinent question.

he came back with "for you, it's free," and with that, i grabbed my keys.

he answered the door wearing a jockstrap and a baseball cap, shooing away the chihuahua that tried to greet me--a beauty, but i didn't tell him that, wasn't gonna ruin it--looked me up and down, said, "i'll do anything you want."

"well, for starters, lose the damn cap."

he shyly took it off, i said, "look, balding's only a problem for guys with bad bone structure--quit hiding it," and dragged him off to the bedroom, where i proceeded to work him over to our mutual satisfaction (he didn't come, of course, nor did i expect him to).

afterwards, i told him, "thanks--you're sweet," and his face got hard and he said, "no, i'm not--i'm only sweet for you because you're my type.  for them, it's all about control, letting 'em know who's boss.  here, i'll show you."

he picked up his phone, which had been buzzing with text messages the whole time i was there, picked one, punched the callback, snapped, "yeah, be here in half an hour, but you won't be fucking me tonight [because i'd pretty much wrecked that option]--i'll be fucking you," and hung up.

"see?"

and indeed, i did.  he told me to come back whenever i wanted, but i probably won't--i don't like guys who are mean to their dogs.

Thursday, December 29, 2011

ralph lauren, eat your heart out

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here's a bit of authentically authentic western americana for ya:  from a recently-discovered cache of photographs, a shot of my grandmother as a young girl in west texas, circa 1915.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

it's a short road back to hell


dear twink from thursday night:

i managed to overlook your insisting i pick you up at the abbey right now, and then making me wait half an hour--i understand it's not your fault you get mobbed by adoring fans who recognize you from your porn films wherever you go.

i tolerated you going on endlessly about your jet-setting lifestyle, your kardashian connection and the trust fund waiting for you when you turn 30, and then hitting me up for ten bucks for cigarettes and juice because you found yourself short.

i was happy to allow you to totally embarrass me at the supermarket where i shop regularly, first by loudly complaining because no one was there at 2 a.m. to fresh-squeeze the orange juice your refined sensibilities demanded, and then by hanging all over me while drunkenly critiquing the fashion choices of everybody else in the slowest-moving checkout line i've ever endured in my life.

when we got to my place, i grudgingly gave you points for consistency when i discovered you were every bit as delightful in bed as you were out of it.

next morning, i indulged you in your "lost keys" drama, and obligingly tore my house and car apart in a futile effort to find them.

upon driving you home, i dutifully waited until you came back out, grabbed your shit, said, "the manager let me in; you can go now", slammed the door and walked away without so much as a backward glance (and i can only hope the elderly asian lady walking her pomeranian past your apartment building at that moment was able to overlook my screaming, "hey, it was nice fucking you too!" out the car window as i screeched away).

in the fullness of time, i can forgive all of the foregoing--hell, i've endured far worse in my time at the hands of far messier twinks than you.

what i will never be able to forgive, twink from thursday night, is your leaving that freshly-opened pack of marlboros for me to find when i got home.

*sigh*

eighteen years of abstinence, down the drain...

Sunday, December 25, 2011

one for the birthday boy

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because the only time i ever feel close to Him is when this song comes up on shuffle.  give it a listen--i promise al will make a believer outta you, too.

merry christmas, everyone.