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Month: April 2010

Floating Anniversary

Last Friday was our floating anniversary.

The Attorney and me.

The anniversary of the day we met.

It was five years ago.  On Good Friday.

Neither of us ever remembers the actual date of our meeting without looking at a 2005 calendar.  But we know it was on Good Friday.

That’s why we call it our floating anniversary.  Good Friday floats around on the calendar, so we float the anniversary with it.  And that is when we celebrate.

Well, not celebrate as much as acknowledge.

It’s a pretty minor anniversary after all, the day you meet. We probably wouldn’t even remember at all if it wasn’t connected to a holiday.

Ironically we spent our floating anniversary on a boat.

We have been having beautiful weather in East Tennessee, so the Attorney borrowed a friend’s boat and we spent the evening on the lake.

Just the two of us.

The water is still too cold to swim. So, instead we just kicked back, watched the sun go down, and floated.

I asked him what did he think he’d be doing at that very moment if we had never met in 2005.

“I’d be right here on this boat with you.”

“Not if we never met,” I replied.

Then he reminded me that even though I did not make use of his phone number.1 after that first meeting, our paths crossed again a year and a half later in a Walgreen’s.

“So, if it had not happened then, it would have eventually,” he explained.

I tried countering back.  “What if “eventually” hadn’t happened yet?”

“The fact is, it has.  That’s all that matters. It was meant to be.”

If you ever want to be right, don’t date an Attorney.  They will justify anything.

“In matters which are obvious there is no room for conjecture,” he said kissing me square on the mouth. “Remember that.”

I asked him to repeat it.

So, he did.

Then he did it in Latin.

Or so he said.  He could have been speaking pigeon Martian for all I knew.

Then he reached over and did that thing he does with his hand.

He’s got really long fingers and he does this thing where he entwines them with mine, weaving them over and under like he’s making a pot holder in church camp.2

He can do it in a split second. It hurts my knuckles like hell and I can’t break free.

But, then, I’d be foolish to try.

{ fin }

  1. I didn’t give him mine. []
  2. Thought it was going to be something dirty, didn’t you, pervs? []

Don’t Rain On My Wheaties

Why is it some people can’t stand to see other people happy?

Is it because they are unhappy themselves?

Take gay marriage.

The argument against it might be less about morality and more about happiness.

If somebody was to take a poll of people who are against marriage equality, and they were to tell the truth, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to find out a that a large portion of them are unhappy in their own marriages. I’d almost bet my left nut on it.

Now, this is not to say that I think there are no happy straight marriages.  There’s tons of them.  No doubt.

But marriage is as easy for them as driving down to the courthouse or booking a church and licking 200 envelopes.  Without any serious obstacles other than whether the caterer will offer a vegetarian entree, I’m sure many jump into marriage without fully thinking through who they are jumping with.  Then a few years down the road, they realize that maybe they should have gone a different direction.

Gay folks, on the other hand, are jumping through hoops and fighting to get married.  Odds are, with all that effort, you going to be pretty damned happy together.  Otherwise you would give up a lot sooner and move on.

And there’s nothing unhappy people hate more than happy people.

Okay, so I know my logic is flawed, but I don’t think I’m entirely off base, either.  Mostly I am trying to illustrate a point.

I get a handful of e-mails now and then from the Unhappys.

Not e-mails about gay marriage. I imagine most, if not all, of them are gay themselves.  I get e-mails about my relationship with The Attorney.

I think anybody who reads this blog can tell that The Attorney and I have a happy relationship.  Not perfect.  But we get along fairly well, are kind to each other, and love each other.  And some folks just don’t want to hear about it.

Those would be The Unhappys.

They want me to write about something else.  Something other than my “sappy romance.”1  I sometimes also get similar correspondence in regards to my posts about Granny.

Most likely these are the same people who would prefer that I go on and on about the thunder in my britches.  But the trouble is that makes me happy, too.  Not as happy as having The Attorney or Granny.  But I’m pretty happy about it.

So, would they then be unhappy about that?

That some people don’t want to read about, or want me to write about, how happy my life with The Attorney is, is really is not an issue for me.  I’ll bring an umbrella to my parade.  A golf-sized one.  And I’m still going to march.

But, it does make me wonder what it is for some folks, that they just have to piss on your Wheaties.

Whether it’s the far right stamping out marriage equality or bitter people hating on something as unimportant as my little blog posts.

I know these people, these Unhappys, deep down want to be happy.  Who strives for unhappiness?

So why deny someone the happiness that you also want for yourself?  Why not embrace their happiness and share in it?

I think you’ll be much happier for it.

{ fin }

  1. Their words, not mine. []

Digest 041310

Just some follow up on recent events, posts, comments, etc.:

  • Thanks to everybody for your really kind and supportive comments on my the last post.  I wasn’t expecting or seeking that kind of response.  But it was nice to hear.
  • To clarify some of the confusion about how long The Attorney and I have been keeping company.  The reason it seems like it couldn’t be five years already is because it really hasn’t.  The Floating Anniversary is in honor of the day we met.  Not when we started seeing each other.  That didn’t start until more than a year and a half later.  So, it’s only been a little more than three years that we have been an item.
  • You can see by the sidebar which picture was voted to be my global avatar thumbnail.  Number 5 was the overwhelming choice.  Pic(k) Me was one of my most commented-on posts. I definitely learned that if you ask for an opinion, you’re going to get a few.  The funny thing is that the one selected was my least favorite.  But, most people commented that it seemed the most natural “me.”  Maybe that’s why I don’t like it as much!  🙂  A couple of people also said that I should smile more in pictures. But, I don’t like my smile because I have really big teeth.  And my grins look stupid.
  • Somebody asked what kind of underpants The Attorney wears.  He wears a little bit of everything.  But mostly he wears briefs.  They work on him.  Briefs always look good on men with really long legs.  And he’s got a nice ass.  Not a big bubble butt, but nicely rounded.
  • I received my 1000th comment on West of Mayberry this week.  It was Brent’s comment on the last post.  Ironically, he mentioned in his comment it was his first time.  So my 100oth was with him breaking his comment virginity.  I feel a little like Wilt Chamberlin.
  • I’ve been putting off mentioning something important in my life.  But I have to talk about it at some point, so here it is:  In early March I found out I was going to be laid off from my job.  I worked my last day on March 26. I’ve been avoiding writing about it for a couple of reasons.  One, I’m a little embarrassed to say I don’t have a job, and tw0, I don’t want it to become a big deal and folks feeling sorry for me.   Luckily, I live pretty simply1, so I have a good chunk of money socked away to handle things until I find something new.  I’ve got some leads on a few things.  I am even considering working for myself.  In the meantime, Granny thinks I am on a vacation2 and I am re-painting the house.

That’s all for now.

{ fin }

  1. and I’m a tightwad by nature []
  2. i see no need to upset her with the facts. []

Marking My Territory

When it comes to relationships, I have been known to be a bit possessive at times.

I don’t like another man sniffing around my cheese.

It comes from insecurity, I know.  And over time, I have worked on being better about it.  I’m nowhere near as bad as I used to be.

I’m a grown up now.  And I’m a little more secure. 1

But maybe subliminally I’m still hiking my leg on the tree.

This weekend, The Attorney and I were working in his back yard.  Planting, re-seeding, weeding, digging  and potting.  Having a sweaty, dirty, good old time.

I took a break from shoveling mulch from the bed of my truck and plopped myself down on the tail gait.  The Attorney took a break, too and brought me a glass of water.  I met him part way, took the glass, and with my free hand I grabbed his ass and pulled him against me and laid a big fat kiss on him.

Not for any reason other than I like kissing.  And I like kissing him.

It was a good one. Kind of like getting on a run in Tetris.  Long enough to enjoy, but not long enough to advance to the next level.

I ignored my boner and we went back to work.

Some time later, we were at Lowe’s loading bales of straw onto the truck for the grass seed we were putting down.

The Attorney bent over to lift the last bale into the bed when I noticed it:

A hand print.

My hand print.

My big grimy dirty hand print on the seat of his khaki shorts.

Earlier when we were kissing and I had a possessive left-hand grip on his butt cheek, I didn’t think about how filthy my hands were.

I have no idea how many people noticed, or how many would care.

But now The Attorney was out in public with my stamp of ownership clearly marked on the right side of his rump.

Marked as my territory.

And no piss was involved.

{ fin }

  1. at least I try to tell myself I am. []

Bumping It

I bought a new pair of britches today.

A nice pair.

The kind that Granny would call “slacks.”

The Attorney surprised me several days ago with tickets to see Kathy Griffin down in Knoxville this weekend.

It was a surprise for a couple of reasons.

First, because I didn’t know she was coming to East Tennessee.  Second, because he is not the fan of hers that I am.  I fact, he thinks her style of humor is pretty classless and he doesn’t think she is funny.

He is going to hate every moment, but he got tickets anyway because he knew I would have a good time.

His selflessness is just one of the countless reasons that make him a great BF. 1

So, I thought I would get some new clothes for the night out.  The Attorney is always so put together and well dressed, I figured I should make sure I look worthy of being with him.

I went to a place where the Attorney has suits made.

It’s one of those places where a little old man makes you stand on a carpeted box, bumps his wrinkled old veiny fist and a tape measure up in your basket, and makes sure you get a custom fit.

The combination of his hunched overed shortness and me standing a step taller than normal put the spotted dome of his head about at my navel.

The combination of my naturally dirty mind and…well…I guess it was just because I have a naturally dirty mind, I thought to myself that he was positioned at a perfect level where I could unleash my pecker and bump his glasses off his nose.

Boom.  A quick whip of the cock and a quick flip of the specks.

My mind didn’t even get as far as replacing the old guy’s head with Jake’s and fantasizing a blow job like it normally does. All it took was finding a face hovering around my ground zero to start me speed bumping in my britches.

Not much.  Just enough for me to know.

Then he knelt down to fix the hem.  After a moment of fiddling around he looked up and asked me about where I wanted the pants to break.  I didn’t really hear him at first because my mind was way off in the magical village of Fellatio2 where Mayor Gyllenhaal was giving me a warm wet welcome.

I always go there when someone kneels down and looks up at me.  No matter what the reason is.  I just love seeing a man on his knees looking up at me.  I’m like one of Pavlov’s dogs.  That’s all it takes to ring my bell.  And bring my swell.

He was asking me about where I wanted the hem to break.  I stumbled over an answer because I didn’t really know and also because I was on my way to full on bump right in his face.  Then I then started wondering if it looked crazy fun house big in his bifocals and that bumped up the blood shipments even more.

I guess I made it clear whether I dress left or right.3

But he ignored the speed bump warnings and placed his hands on my hips with enough pressure to signal me to turn around.

Thank goodness.

While he adjusted the back of the pants, it would give me time to export some surplus blood by thinking of things like puppies being crushed by falling burning buildings.

But there really wasn’t time.

The old guy was a pro and worked fast and was done before I knew it.

His hands pressed my hips again and I don’t know that if it was that I turned to fast or he moved to slow, but when I came around, he bumped it.

My speed bump.

He bumped it with his hand.

Or maybe I bumped his hand with my speed bump.

But he didn’t notice.  Or didn’t care.

It’s probably happened hundreds of times to him over the years.

He just left the stall, pulled the curtain, and waited for me to change back into my jeans.

In denim, I was bumping even more.

The interesting thing is that if I thought he wanted to gawk at my protrusion, I would have been all about letting him memorize it.  But knowing that he couldn’t give a shit if I was showing a mountain or a mole hill only made me feel embarrassed to to be packing out my Levi’s.

So, I walked to the front of the store hiding my candy behind the new britches draped over my forearm.

He took them from me, said I could have them Friday afternoon, and thanked me.

And that was that.

I did a walk of shame out the door and got in my truck where the good mayor continued his welcome ceremony.

{ fin }

  1. And makes me so lucky. []
  2. Must be in Italy. []
  3. Right, FYI. []