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Month: April 2009

Seventeen Again

So it was Sunday afternoon.  There I was. And Hugh Jackman was sucking my nuts.

Of course, Hugh Jackman wasn’t really sucking my nuts.  I was having a dream where he was.

Hugh.  Not Jake.1

He looked up at me as he gave me a good ball-washing.2  All I could see was his eyes. And my dong up against his forehead.

But that was just fantasy.  In reality my dong was up against my stomach, under the pressure of the Attorney’s palm.

It was a gorgeous, warm, sunny afternoon and we had been snuggling, within the protection of a privacy wall, on the lounge on his patio.

I’m a lot like a lazy dog, I love to sleep in the sun.  In fact, I sleep better in the warmth of the sun than I do most nights in bed.3 Somewhere along the way, I had dozed off.

I woke up with one arm around the Attorney and his head on my chest.

And my meat in his fist.

He looked up at me4 and asked, “So are you dreaming about me?”

I smiled,  stretched, and settled in a bit more to enjoy the trip his digits were beginning to take along my lower peninsula.

It was a non-answer.  Better than the truth, and certainly better than a lie.

Besides, in a way, the Attorney is my real life Hugh Jackman.  Jackman could play the Attorney in the movie of my life.5  No, they don’t look alike, but they are similar types: several years older than me, charming, handsome, fit, big-shouldered, very leggy, with that big wide-mouthed grin.  So, in a way I was dreaming about the Attorney.  Just the celebrity version.

But back to the point of my story.

The Attorney gave me a kiss while he continued to root around inside the front of my britches.  I slide my hand under his shirt and played with his chest.  You know.  Heavy petting. It was like I was a horny teenager again, making out with in bed of my granddaddy’s truck with girl who was jacking my package while I worked my big mits into her bra.

I can’t remember one bit of the dream except for the end where Hugh was storing my nuts in his cheeks like a squirrel preparing for the winter.  But, whatever led up to it must have really primed the pump.

Because within moments, I had an orgasm rip through me like I have not experienced in years.  You know, one of those where you think you might be going blind. I felt like I was being turned inside out.

First off, I’m generally a slow cummer.  Particularly by hand. And secondly, never that forceful by someone else’s hand.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have issues with busting a good nut, but you know how it was when you were seventeen.  Swift and powerful.

I’m going to be 34 in a couple of months.  Seventeen times two.  Maybe busting a seismic nut runs in 17 year cycles.

If so.  Hello 2026. I can’t wait until I’m seventeen again.

{ fin }

  1. Another indicator of my shift toward older men. []
  2. I love when they look up at me. []
  3. Maybe the answer to my insomnia is a sun lamp. []
  4. not unlike the way Hugh does []
  5. As I have said before, Eric Balfour will play me. []

Fateful Attraction

How much of life is circumstance and how much is really Fate?

That question has been on my mind the last few days.

I guess because of Good Friday.

Good Friday is a fateful day in my relationship with the Attorney.  A benchmark.

Because that’s when it all started. Good Friday 2005.

Well, things didn’t really get started until about a year and a half or so later.  But that Good Friday was the first time we laid eyes on each other.

I wrote a post about that night on my old blog.  But, the focus of that post was about perception.  Meeting him was just an example to illustrate my point.  Because, at the time, of course, I did not know that it was fateful the he’d become The Attorney, instead of just an attorney.

The reason I wonder if Fate was at work in the background is because we met in a gay bar.  Not that there is anything wrong with that.  But, it’s difficult to chalk it to simply circumstance because neither of us are much into the bar scene.  Locusts return more often than we go to a bar. So, what were the chances that we’d be in one the same night?  The same one on the same night.

I went home with him that first night.  But we didn’t hit the sheets.  He made me pancakes and we soaked in his hot tub.

So, a man takes me home from a gay bar and serves me what happens to be my favorite childhood meal.1 Circumstance or Fate?  Granted the hot tub had no significance, but everything can’t be a sign.

So, how much of a hand did the universe have in putting me and the Attorney together?

Consider that I left his house in the wee hours of the morning with his phone number and I never did anything with it.

I have since found out from him that he thought my excuse of not staying the night because I had to take care of my Granny was a lie created to blow him off.2 And when I never called, it confirmed to him that I wasn’t interested.

Of course, he was wrong on both counts.  I was very interested in him.  I know it doesn’t make sense when you look back on it, but the fact was that I liked him so much that I was afraid to call him.  Why would an educated, sophisticated, white-collar man be interested in an average laborer with only a high school education?  Sex was all I could figure.3 And I figured that’s where his interest would end. I was just as wrong as he was.4

Luckily…or was it Fatefully?..we ran into each other again several months later at Walgreen’s.  A Walgreen’s down in Knoxville that I had never been to before.  And never since.  It turns out it is his regular Walgreen’s.  Circumstance or Fate?

I think at that point, Fate said, “Okay, I put you two together again.  Now it’s up to you.”  And The Attorney heard it.  Because he was not going to let me go until I agreed to see him again.  Being a man who is driven and being a good attorney, he left me defenseless.

And so, week or so later, we were steaming up the windows of my truck after our first proper date.

It makes me wonder if that was merely the first and second time fate tried to throw us together.  Were there times before that.  Near misses?

Maybe on football Saturdays we brushed by each other outside the stadium.  Had I maybe seen him zipping through the park where he sometimes runs when I was there with RJ and his dog?

There are definitely places in common that we have frequented.  How often was it at the same time?

I guess only the universe really knows.

{ fin }

  1. Once, as a a kid, I was indulged with pancakes for Thanksgiving. []
  2. not in the good way []
  3. I mean, country boys are damn good sex. []
  4. Although I am still amazed that he continues to have interest in me. []

It’s Official

Can I just say that I have the best boyfriend ever?

I’m sure that statement is likely to prompt some of you to fire off an e-mail about your boredom with hearing about The Attorney and the “sickening sweet” stories about our relationship.  I really don’t understand why people want to deny someone the chance to express a little happiness, let alone denying a virtual stranger.

But, it’s all good.  For every one of you that has dropped me an ugly note, there are dozens of others who have supported me and shared in my happiness.  And I thank you for that. Besides, no one can stop me from being happy but me.

Tonight I am about as happy as I have ever been.  I feel so good that I am floating and can’t even sleep.  Of course, it’s not all that unusual that I can’t sleep, but this time I have a reason other than insomnia.

Because this evening, The Attorney made it official.

He is officially the best boyfriend ever.  Well, the best one I ever had anyway.  And I can’t imagine one being better.

The other day, I saw in the paper that one of my favorite writers, David Sedaris, was going be doing a reading at the Tennessee Theatre down in Knoxville.  About 4 years ago1 I got to see him in the very same theatre and had my copy of “Me Talk Pretty One Day” signed.  About the only bigger thrill would be for me to meet Peyton Manning.

His appearance was tonight.  Unfortunately, I found out about it too late to get tickets.  They were sold out.  Even on Craigslist all I could find was people wanting tickets.  Not selling them.

The Attorney offered to pull some strings and find some tickets but it would have been for nothing because, due to a meeting,  I wouldn’t be able to get off work in time to get home, get Granny situated, get cleaned up, and get to Knoxville in time for the event.2

He said that if he could get his hands on tickets, we could always go late.  But I hate going into things like that after they have started.  I feel like I an annoying the rest of the audience.  So, I turned down his offer.

He knows me well and knows that I would stew on it all night and wallow in my pity, so after work he called and asked me to come down and have dinner.  Again, I turned him down.  But, like I said, he knows me well.  So, then he suggested that we have dinner downtown near the theatre and maybe we sneak in to the book signing  following the reading.  As much as I wanted to hear Sedaris read, what I wanted more was to have my copy of his latest book signed.  So, I took the bait.

But, as it turns out, the Attorney did not intend for us to work our way into the signing.  He was using red herring for bait.

And it was the most delicious and satisfying herring I have ever had.3

Near the end of dinner, The Attorney slid a copy of “When You Are Engulfed in Flames” across the table to me.

It had already bought  copy from Amazon last June.

“But this one is a special edition,” he said, instructing me to look inside the cover.

There on the title page was neat little hand printing, upper and lower case that read:

“To Tony. It won’t be the same without you.”

I recognized the blob-ish strokes below that as Sedaris’ unique signature that, if you look closely, contains at least a “D”, a “V”, and and “S.”  It was the same signature as in my book from four years ago.

Special indeed.

The Attorney had gone through the trouble to arranged that a book be ent to the theatre with a request it be personally signed for a fan who wouldn’t be able to see the show.

And so it was.  Signed. Personally. To me.

“To Tony. It won’t be the same without you.”

But from where I sit, it wouldn’t be the same without The Attorney.

My life, that is.

It’s official.

{ fin }

  1. almost to the day []
  2. Just another reason to hate my office job. []
  3. Actually I have never had herring, red or otherwise, before.  Just go with the metaphor. []

Morning Glory

I like morning sex.

This is not to say that I don’t like sex at night. Or in the evening. Or at lunch. Or after dinner. Or before. Or between courses. But I particularly like it in the morning.

The ideal beginning to any day would be a nice engine-revving session of knocking boots followed by a big bowl of oatmeal.1

I haven’t had morning sex all that often.  Maybe that’s why I like it so much.  Because it’s a rare treat.  Like caviar.2

In the couple of years that the Attorney and I have been keeping company, we have never had morning sex.

That’s because we have never woken up next to each other. 3

Since I can’t leave Granny by herself at night, I have have never had a sleep over at the Attorney’s.  Some late nights but never until sunrise.

What does he look like when he rolls out of bed afters eight hours?  Bed head?  Puffy eyes? Dried drool in the corners of his mouth?  How bad is his morning breath?

I wanted to know these things.

And I wanted to do a little internal gut punching as the robin sang his first song.

So, I figured out a way.

Sunday is the Attorney’s day to sleep in.  Especially on Sundays that he has decided that he isn’t going to church.

So, yesterday I decided to get up extra early and drive down to Knoxville and slip in bed with him before he got up.  I didn’t know if he had plans for church or not, but I figured we could get business out of the way in time for him to get there and be absolved for all the sins he had committed just a couple of hours before.  Sins so fresh he would still be able to smell them on his fingertips.

I deactivated the alarm, let myself in, put the fruit and muffins I picked up for afterwards in the kitchen, stripped down and headed up to the master bedroom.

He was still asleep.  And he looked pretty much like he always does.  No drool.  Maybe a little bed head.

I wasn’t able to get in bed without waking him up.  He got startled for a moment, then focused and stretched with sweet “Hey.”

He put his glasses on and sat upright.

“What are you doing here? What time is it?” he asked.

I told him how I just wanted to wake up next to him, then I took off his glasses and told him to go back to sleep.

We settled in together, spoon fashion.  I wrapped one arm around his chest and gripped his pec in my hand, and threw one leg over his.  I made myself into a coccoon around him, with my nose in his neck.

We lay there for a bit.  Just breathing.

Then I heard him say my name.


There was a hint of being annoyed in the tone.


“It’s too early for that,” he responded.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” he said over his shoulder, pushing his ass back against my hardened cock for emphasis.

I didn’t even realize I had started to bone.  But I had.  And I was poking his backside.

“It’s too early. So, put it away.”

The Attorney is not so into morning sex.

And as any of you with peckers know, it’s not that simple.  To just put it away.  Generally once the bull is outta the stall, you gotta ride it.

So we changed positions.  He became the outside spoon, and me the inside.  He wrapped his arm around me and placed his hand on my belly.  I pushed it lower and wrapped his fist around my dong.

He squeezed it.  I sighed.

He worked me with his hand until I popped.

We dozed off.

Relationships are all about compromise.

Apparently so is bull-riding.

{ fin }

  1. with a follow-up blow job, just to take the edge off. []
  2. Sometimes just as salty. []
  3. Unless you count naps. []

Too Little, Too Late

Why is it we wait until it’s too late to ask whether we should have done things differently?

I’m at work right now. The one thing that I do like about working in an office now is that I can sometimes avoid work and write a post. But, I’m not avoiding work. I can’t work.

I have been staring out the window for about two hours doing nothing. Nothing but thinking. Thinking about the terrible news we got at the office today. And wondering if I could have made it different.

Those of you who have followed me and my previous blog may remember a post or two about a young guy named Travis who used to paint for my company. The original posts were about the time he came out to me.

He was looking to me as some kind of mentor or something and I regret to say that I was not a forth-coming as he was. I didn’t turn him away or anything like that. But, I also didn’t do anything to make him not feel so alone. I let my worries about being open in the rural South influence my actions. Or non-actions, as the case may be.

And by the time I positioned myself to be a support system, he had rolled back up in his shell and into the closet and violently refused to acknowledge we had ever had a discussion.

A while later he got fired1 and I rarely saw him.  But we did cross paths once at a gay bar down in Knoxville.

He was drinking even more heavily, and his image had changed from a cute fuzzy-lipped hot-bodied little redneck boy to a frosted-hair A&F wannabe.  He had really thickened up the muscle on his body, but at the same time looked gaunt and unhealthy. 2He was well out of the closet and apparently well out from under the oppression of his right-wing Church of God family.

That was the last time I saw him.

Today I found out he moved to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida maybe a year or so ago.  According to the party line, he turned up dead over the weekend.  He was abusing crystal meth and something called GHB.  I thought it was some kind of growth hormone3, but I’m told it’s not.

He went into a coma briefly, came out of it, and died.

I don’t know that if I had been the mentor he was seeking some years ago he would not have ended up running in the crowds he apparently was any more than I can know that he ended up that way because I wasn’t.

By nature I have a protector instinct.  This time it failed.

This is one of the reasons I would never want to have kids.  I wouldn’t always be able to keep them safe.

They say hindsight is everything.

What they don’t say is that it is also a bitch.

RIP Travis.

{ fin }

  1. From missing too much work as a result of alcoholism and losing his license to DUI. []
  2. Although admittedly still with a smoking hot little rump. []
  3. that would explain the extra muscle []

Twittin’ Time

So, I thought I would see what all this Twitter fuss is about.

That’s what all that jibberish is about over in the sidebar.  Especially jibberish since you only see one side1 of conversations.  I guess you just have to fill in the rest for yourself.2

I’m not sure I really get why Twittin’ is so popular.  And I’m not sure I’m going to stick with it.  But, I guess I can give it a try.

Besides, Jake is doing it.  So is my latest crush, Hugh3  Can it be so bad?

I follow them.

Maybe they will follow me.

Now you can if you want.

I just can’t promise it’s going to be all that interesting.

{ fin }

  1. my side []
  2. That could really be dangerous. []
  3. Crush is putting it mildly.  Avalanche is more like it []


After lunch today I went down to check out the progress on a job site. A sub-division of new construction that I don’t know who is going to buy. But, our worry is painting not selling.

I wasn’t real happy with the progress or the quality of work and let the crew know.

I took a brush and schooled the boys on trim work, which was my specialty. One of them defended himself by saying he was the fastest on the crew. I told him that I agreed, now that I’m not slinging a brush anymore.

He bet me a six-pack that he could lay in a piece of three-inch crown around one side of the room faster than I could do the other side.  Being a guy, naturally I’m game for a dick measuring contest and took the challenge.  Plus, I like beer.  Especially free beer.

Not only did I beat him by a couple of feet, I was more accurate and didn’t get a speck of color on my office clothes.

I may have won the beer, but looking back on it, I think I may have been Tom Sawyer-ed.

So who master and who is student?

{ fin }