Thursday, December 20, 2007

These mysterious ways

The good news is that I call the guy from Blow Buddies and right away his voice gets more melodic and fuller in tone with longer syllables at the ends of his words, queeny too and of course I like that. We talk about buildings because I'm trying to picture the building where he lives and the Tenderloin because that's where I live and San Francisco in general how long we've been here and we both moved here a while back and then left and lived in some of the same cities except he lives in Dallas and I lived in Seattle. And we talk about cruising, especially Buena Vista Park where he used to live I mean he lived on the park. And the City College bathroom where there is such a wide assortment of people you wouldn't expect together -- you wouldn't see them at the Nob Hill Theatre, he says and I'm curious why I mean who they are what kind of people since I haven't cruised there. But then we're talking about safety and risk-taking and STDs and Pulling Taffy, he says one of the reasons he really liked it was that it made him feel better about the way he had sex instead of feeling ashamed like how will I ever find a boyfriend? Then we're talking about writing in general, I guess my writing, and I'm trying to describe So Many Ways to Sleep Badly but I don't have this super short and tight description yet, and maybe I don't need it anyway I can talk about all the themes and how they interact.

And also the conversation is flirtatious in both directions, I like that. We’re talking about how I always get hypoglycemic and he wants to know if eating come helps with that, I say I don't know, but I can show up at your house and we can see, you can be the coach and you can feed me. Coach, he says -- you mean chef. That's right, I say -- I can be a cooking student coming over for a special lesson, that would be really hot!

We're both getting into it, but tonight doesn't work for him he just got out of the shower and he's winding down. He goes to bed a lot earlier than me. Tomorrow's my queer incest survivors support group, and then Thursday and Friday we both have plans, so it'll have to wait. I like it that I'm still trying to convince him to get together now, I mean that I have all that energy, even though I've also talked for too long and I'm crashing, but then I still decide to go to the Nob Hill Theatre afterwards -- I mean I haven't come in 10 days, and I know it's strange that I count but otherwise I'm worried I'll forget, I mean that I’ll get so exhausted in between the brief moments when I'm actually horny and then it'll never happen.

What's funny is when I'm sucking this guy's dick and it's all the way down even when he's coming, hands on my head like I like it, and it's not until he's already come that I start choking -- it's not his cock it’s the come, probably another allergy. This guy's a funny combination -- a preppy GQ-type look like one of the fashion spreads where the colors are bright no maybe that's Details, plus an aggressive masculinity that might be a performance of working class blackness for the mostly white crowd here at the Nob Hill Theatre, or it might be something closet-related I mean we're certainly having sex in a closet, right? What I really like is that he's so concerned about my choking, concerned for me that is and it's sweet. Earlier too when he keeps saying sorry about something, something to do with touching my head I’m not sure.

Afterwards I get that rush like yes here I am, but quickly I'm crashing and my whole face hurts and then my chest and shoulders too, luckily after I walk down the hill I catch the Geary bus. At home, when I take off my earrings I realize I've lost two earring backs -- oh, maybe that's what the guy at the Nob Hill Theatre kept saying sorry about -- at least I still have the earrings -- that's what's important. Oh well is what I'm thinking about the rest of my night, all this pain -- what's interesting about when I wake up isn’t the way it still feels like there's smoke stuck in my sinuses, it's that I can smell that guy in my sweat -- I mean, we didn't have much skin-to-skin contact except face to neck, face to crotch, but here in my bed it's the liquor and something a little too sweet maybe rotten that I smelled under his not-quite-preppiness except now it's coming from my pores -- somehow it's still surprising the way sex connects you in these mysterious ways.

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