His Name Was Marc

Sometimes this journal makes me fall down stairs. I'll be at work, dropping off someone's check, and I'll see someone giving me the eye from another table. Not the "let's take off each other's clothes and fuck right here on the table" look, but the "I think I know you from somewhere" look.

Two weeks ago, I dropped off salads to a guy that I had gone to elementary school with. Hadn't seen him in fifteen years, but we immediately recognized each other. No, this story is not going to get kinky.

Before I took a six month desert sabbatical from work, I got the eye from one of my own customers, while I was taking their order. I'd already introduced myself as Insafemode, so I figured if the person really knew me, he would have recognized the name, and figured out how we knew each other. He did look somewhat familiar to me, but I happen to think that all white people look alike, so I dismissed it.

When I stopped by the table to make sure they liked the food, he asked me if I went to some high school near Boston. No, I didn't. He then asked if I ever worked at a movie theatre. No, I hadn't. We went back and forth about places we might know each other from, Cranberry Lake, a renaissance faire I used to work at, places I'd performed, the state he had lived for a few years. Nada, nothing, zip. We just looked familiar to each other.

At least, when we recognized where it was we knew each other from, that's what we led the rest of the people at the table to believe. Oh, we'd met alright.

I think the chronology went: Guy I Blew on the Beach, Joey, Tommy, Marc. I don't know, I was rather busy with the ass and cock that month.

You'd think I'd be fixated on Tommy. He was beautiful, astounding in bed, had many common interests, and had the libido of a seventeen year old...you know, because he was seventeen. I wasn't. Not because I was a whore, but because Tommy was seventeen, and just as much of a whore as I was. While I thought he was amazing, my self-confidence led me to believe the feeling was not mutual. So back to AOL's Cranberry Lake Whore4Whore I went.

As soon as I entered the chatroom I got an IM. Marc had read my profile, and wanted to hang out somewhere public and safe. So we did. He was a twenty-five year old student who was about to transfer from UMass Cranberry Lake to some Ssuthern University. He really likes Cranberry Lake, but he hadn't found anyone interested in the same type of films, animation, books, whathaveyou until he read my profile.

The scene resumes at my house. We're talking about Run Lola Run. We're naked. Because, really, there's no better way to talk about a foreign movie than when you're about to fuck a film student.

The conversation was great. The sex was equivalent. I wasn't aware of it as it was happening, but we were having angry sex. I wasn't aware of it because I wasn't the one who was angry. I was in bliss. He was way better than Joey or The Guy I Blew on the Beach, and nearly as good as Tommy, who had only left the house about eight hours earlier.

When we were finished, he immediately started to put his clothes on and head to the door.

"Have somewhere you've got to be?"

"Kind of." He said, as he put on his Southern U cap.

"Want to get together sometime and rent a couple of movies."

"I can't. When I get home I've got to tell Joey that we're even. Then, I'm hoping he'll be faithful to me. Otherwise I'm dumping his ass. Even if that happens, I won't be calling you."

"Oh."

I was almost tempted, as I cleared their dishes away and dropped the check off, to ask how Joey was doing. For all I know, Marc was a sleazebag who dumped Joey when he failed to be a cutiful nineteen year old hornball. Marc was pretty sleazy. He lied to me about his age, wasn't up front with me about having a boyfriend, and he apprently monitored his BF's Internet use by reading over his chatroom logs. But who was I to judge? I was the guy that blew his boyfriend on his bed. I didn't say or ask anything. That may have been the reason he left me such a good tip.

original post: http://insafemode.livejournal.com/14961.html

Alternative Methods

I hope whoever coined the phrase "There's only one way to find out" died long-suffering from a debilitating disease. Is there really only one way to find out whether a friend has syphilis? No. You don't have to fuck them to find out, you can ask them, or if you're too shy, ask someone who's slept with them, you could even spy on them in the shower and see if they exhibit any symptoms.

Wondering if your mother's having an affair? You don't have to sit in the closet and wait for her and the postman to make a delivery to the dead letter office. You don't even have to set up a camera in their room. You could just ask her, or put a sleazy ad on Craigslist.org, or tell your father you heard her and his best friend jumping on the bed together while he was at work. There are always several methods to discover things. Yet, I found myself in Joey's bedroom, talking about the taste of cocks saying "There's only one way to find out."

I don't remember what his cock tasted like except that it probably tasted more or less like cock. This was after I discovered the taste of Altoids, but before I discovered when they could really be useful. So all cock tasted pretty much like cock.

There was nothing particularly interesting about sex with Joey. This is not a condemnation of him, merely a sad commentary on how much sex I had been having with assorted people that month. Were we to have met at any other month in my life, I probably would have been able to regale you with more details about what we did in he and his boyfriend's bedroom. As it was, I don't even remember what happened after we blew each other. I know at some point I must have left. Otherwise, I'd still be there now.

original post: http://insafemode.livejournal.com/14601.html

Everything's Going Nineteen

Joey was nineteen and...well...nineteen. We IMed for two hours that I should have been outside enjoying the summer days. I was mostly unemployed, the show I was stagemanaging wasn't up yet, and the show I was acting in when Mike and Gina visited wasn't into heavy rehearsals yet.

The conversation, like all the IM conversations I had that month, meandered around how horny he was. Unlike the rest of the conversations I had that month, Joey already had a boyfriend, so he didn't need me to unhorny him.

We agreed to meet anyway. As friends.

I take a quick shower, in case there's still the scent of cum on me from the kid I blew on the beach a few hours before. Once I'm all dressed and ready, I check my e-mail for better offers, and head over to Joey's.

Joey was cutiful. A little more than cute. Not quite beautiful. He was about 5'6" with brown hair that was almost gray. He showed me around his house while his father snoozed in the living room.

It was a nice house. Kitchen, three bedrooms, living room, dining room, front porch, pool in the backyard. Typical Cranberry Lake house.

"The best room in the house" he says, in case I don't know where he's leading me to, "is my bedroom. This is where Forgethisnameit'snotimportant & I sleep."

"Wait. Your boyfriend lives with you?"

"Yea."

"Your boyfriend lives with you, and you invited me over to hang out in your bedroom while your boyfriend who lives with you isn't home?" I aked.

"Well, my parents don't know he's my boyfriend."

"Do your parents know you're gay?"

He shook his head. "No."

"But they know that you sleep in a room with another boy. A room with only one bed?"

"Yea. They're really not too bright."

Apparently his father was Sleeping Ugly, snoozing his life away in the living room. I wondered if he secretly knew that his son was a fairy prince.

Joey showed me a picture of his boyfriend whose name wasn't important enough for me to remember. He was cute but older. Of course, I was older, too, but his boyfriend with the unremarkable name looked a few years older than I. He was 28.

No parents were this dumb. I had a feeling they weren't the ones who'd dropped out of high school to get their GEDs.

I tried to get off the subject of his boyfriend (primarily because I was trying to get off). I don't know what we started talking about. I know that we were only talking about ten minutes before we started discussing what kind of cock we liked.

At that point in my life, I had only ever been with circumsized guys, and I was circumsized myself. Joey had only been with non-circumsized guys, and was non-circumsized himself.

"I wonder if they taste different?" he asked uninnocently.

"There's only one way to find out."

original post: http://insafemode.livejournal.com/14267.html