The Great Outdoors

Seventy three degrees, mostly sunny, and a slight breeze. Could you ask for a better day in mid-February than that? Not me. Funny thing is I've talked to a total of 4 (unrelated) people today since waking up, three of them live in the DC area. All of them, including me, decided to go hiking yesterday. What is this, Oregon? Granted, my roomie is a West Coast lesbian, so its assumed he's hiking the trails with a bag of granola any chance he can get. But everyone else? Maybe it was just a local case of the Hippie-Flu that made hikers out of all of us. Good thing...cause if eveyone went hiking yesterday, I'd have nothing selacious to blog about.

Outdoor sex.

Yup. I'm not sure if we decided to take a hike to 1. enjoy the outdoors, 2. do something different, or 3. have sex outdoors. Probably a 33.3% split. And wouldnt ya know, as soon as we start hiking around the national park near The Musician's house, I see him eyeing various logs and fallen trees for acceptable locations. Now I wont belabor the point, but it was interesting, although prematurely interrupted by rain. Nonetheless, it was very reminiscent of my 'straight days', when I would have sex with the man-woman Nicole outside all the time...beach, forest, lakes, lifeguard stands, tree stands, etc. I think its been 10 years since good outdoor sex. Sad. But hopefully "times, they are a' changin."

POP!

As many of you heard on Monday night, the cherry was finally popped. I have mixed emotions over this--I used to enjoy sex, but it wasn't nearly as good as I expected it would be (but also not as difficult/painful). To quote our much missed GCC, "I tried bottoming, and it really wasn't for me". Oh well. Maybe it gets better with time? Maybe? Please!

The End of an Era

...well almost. But its rapidly approaching.

I know you're all craving juicy sexual gossip and personal stories, so here goes...I last successfully bottomed around 2002 (though I tried once in 2004, didn't work). Most loyal readers, friends, and everyday passers by have a hard time believing I'm not a total bottom, let alone a top. But I've always said that its just cause I haven't had the "opportunity"...really, I've just resisted since I've either dated someone too horse-hung or a total bottom. But now I've been dating The Musician for about a month--and as a vers/top he expects some ass. Being a manageable size, I'm willing to try this. And I did mention something to him about "when ya come back from Chicago"...which is in two days. I know what he's gonna try to do as soon as he sees me. But, being the controlling Aries, I did lay conditions: not late at night, not drunk, etc. That gives me a few more days reprieve...so I figure something like Jan 1 or 3.

Stay tuned for updates (and funny walks).

Almost a Sucker

Last night I decided to have a "night off"...no socializing, gym, or swimming. Inevitably that means I spent the better part of the night chatting online, flipping through tv channels, watching porn, and jerking off a few times. Three of those four can create an additively dangerous environment, "The Perfect Storm." So there I was chatting with some young hot thing (I think I attract them like flies to shit) from Atlanta. He was supposed to visit/fly to DC this weekend, but a friend's family emergency meant that he had no place to stay. Enter "The Perfect Storm"...I start thinking (after seeing his pics and discussing sexual proclivities) that I could help a gay in need and provide him with a floor/sofa/bed/penis to sleep on this weekend. Might be kinda odd, but is that any worse than hooking up with a complete stranger? I justified this line of thought by the fact that we had friends in common in ATL--or at least that's what Myspace said. Fortunately after jerk-off session #2, the storm passed, the skies cleared, and I regained my sanity. But if it wasn't for a few hot clips on Xtube, who knows what exploits I would have shared on here come Monday.

Men Are Becoming Superfluous

Let's think about my reasons for having a man:

• Confidant/entertainment


• Sense of love/acceptance


• Sex


• Massage


• Cuddling


• Shared home/expenses
  

I've begun to analyze these points and determine whether I have them in my life, especially given the ever-increasing technological breakthroughs of the 21st century. Let's face it, the older you get, the more successful relationships become less about sex and physical attraction as fun and entertainment. If you have a great set of friends--which I'm slowly accumulating--what's the need for a bf? Granted, those friends may never love you, but they provide that much needed sense of acceptance. Then there's sex: the mother of all components for a young gay man...but let's face it, we all admit that jerking off is just as effective, if not better half the time. And once I start taking yoga, I'll be able to lick my own ass and give myself head. Or I can just become a bottom and experience the joys of vibrators/dildos/plugs/beads. Now I've always admitted that a good massage is much better than sex, and leading the active lifestyle that I do with constant walking, biking, gym, and swimming, I'm always in need of a good rub-down for my many sore muscles. Enter my new partner: the Homedics shiatsu massager.

I no longer need a man to rub my back, shoulders, or feet. And the best part? This one can go for hours. I think last night I literally let the thing work out the knots in my back for 2hrs straight. Put it on the floor....feet are taken care of. And no complaining about hands being tired. Couple that to a nice big body pillow, and you've got all the physical needs for having a man covered. Now I just need to find someone to split my overly inflated DC rent costs.

When Tricks Go Bad

Joe, me, Ken

My friend Ken...how do I begin to explain him? First of all, he's latin--that is not mean to be prejudicial or stereotypical (although stereotypes are there for a reason). But he confesses that his lifestyle is due to his Colombian heritage. He's 37, probably doesnt have a savings account, no credit, and a rollercoaster of occupations. Oh...and he's probably ATL's biggest whore. His fuck list is extensive, everyone know's Ken. He estimates his # to be in the thousands. He's also the former captain of the gay soccer team in ATL, which has their World Cup in Argentina this weekend. His roommate is my best friend Joe.

So this week some of the soccer guys went to Blake's (the old standby bar in ATL). Ken, also an alcoholic, gets shitty drunk as always. The rest of the crew leaves Ken to his self-destruction. Apparently he closes down the bar, and walks the 2 blocks home with his trick-o-the-night. Problem #1: Ken passes out. The trick the proceeds to steal his wallet, keys, car, and Joe's laptop. Most pathetically, he also stole the box of cereal that Joe left out for the next morning's breakfast.

Problem #2: Joe's passport is in his stolen laptop bag

Problem #3: Its Wed morning, their flight to Argentina is Sat AM.

Problem #4: Ken files a police report, but has NO CLUE what the trick looks like. So they were basically robbed by the invisible man.

So Joe is in town now at the passport office, we'll hang out later. At least it gives me an opportunity to see him. Well he just called, so I'm off to entertain...more details to come.

Big Dicked Bottom

The Big Dicked Bottom, or BDB, is a guy I met online last year. Unfortunately he lives in Eastern Shore, so my exploits with him are somewhat limited. But our story is quite amazing. The BDB somehow chose me above all others on Myspace to hang out with....his first gay friend in DC. At 25, and a big Italian stallion muscle stud, he had never been with a guy before. WHAT?! Yea, I'm not shitting ya. So after "chilling" for a bit--mind you he brings out the butchest side in me, but its ok--we start messing around. I can tell he's not lying about me being his first guy as 1. he's obviously nervous and 2. isn't that 'good'. But these are the things you need to put up with when dealing with virgins.

Let's just say his virginity didn't last too long. He must've been fantasizing about this moment for a long time, as he was very willing. I doubt I've ever encountered anything hotter than a big muscle bottom begging for more. His ass is named "Henry" because its so large it requires naming. Wow. And not flabby, all muscle with some padding. Obviously, with a name like BDB, he ain't hurtin up front either.

So the good news...he's making a return trip to DC this weekend. I guess this will be our 4th meeting. It really is a shame he doesn't live here, nor is he planning to move. Oh well. One more potential that has no potential.

Masochists

Just had to share this. Its amazing how some people open themselves up to insult.

Trick: wanna play again soon? it's been awhile
ConsummateAries: yes it has. to be honest, probably not
Trick: aw how come [Here is where he's just asking to be insulted, but I resist]
ConsummateAries: Just not really interested. Sorry...moment of weakness I guess

I wanted to say..."You're not my type. Maybe lose a few pounds, or gain muscles like you looked in your pictures and I'll reconsider."

The Baskin Robbins of Orgasms

As I mentioned before, I've recently ratcheted up the N for those DC individuals that I've conquered in bed. In a more romantic sense, I refer to them as my victims, like Aries the God of War who lines his bed with the hides of those he's vanquished in battle. And after all, isn't sex a battle? If you disagree, you've never had two tops vie for "total top" position. And during my latest sexcapades, I've enjoyed observing the biology of orgasm. No, not from a fetish aspect, more like Alfred Kinsey. Though don't get me wrong, I love a good orgasm.

One recent conquest, I'll call him Monkey Man (MM) almost made me stop mid-fuck and ask, "what the hell are you doing?" The whole time he had this intense look on his face, but in a howler-monkey way...rounded mouth, moaning and giving me 'verbal encouragement.' Unfortunately, he wouldnt let me just fuck him from behind...insisted on looking at me. So there was no way to avoid the monkey face. The finish was just as good...he kept the total howler monkey face the whole time, as if it was this amazing cum shot and he was so proud. It wasn't.

Fast forward a few conquests to Pride. I found this hot outta-towner. Shaved head, piercings, a few tats--love that. Great kisser and huuuuuuuuu...well, you get what I mean. Let's just say I love mushrooms on my pizza. He was a top too, so I'd just enjoy his oral skills. Granted, I'm willing to bottom some day, but it better be aerodynamic the first couple times. So yea...as he was getting close, he kept convulsing. This isn't odd, the occasional body twitch. However, afterwards as he was lying in bed for several minutes, he continued to spasm--somewhat violently. I wanted to ask him if he took his phenobarbital, cause it was kinda freaky. But still, I'd rather have sex with Katharine Hepburn than a howler monkey.

I'm sure in the fog of my memory there's many more instances I could add here, but as I said in my first blog, the fog is the reason I'm writing this down--I forget too much. So have you observed any really weird orgasms lately?

There And Back Again

In one of my first blogs I discussed occupational bulimia: periods of intense work (binge) followed by periods of complete non-productivity (purge). I’ve now found another bulimic aspect in my life: sex. It should be noted that the two cycles are definitely independent of each other. My occupational bulimia occurs over a full 2 week cycle; sexual bulimia often occurs at a temporal scale of many months.

Like most newly out gays, I went through the characteristic whore phase when I was 22-24. Countless numbers of men fell victim to my sirenous smile, abs, and butt. *Binge* Of course, that was back during the Clinton era, when we were all expected to get blow jobs from every Mark, Rick, or Steve. I look back in fright about how stupid I was back then; so naïve. Well it all came to a head with a couple visits from Venus in rapid succession, along with my best friend getting “sick.” It definitely scared a sense of responsibility and chastity into my life. *Purge* I went through a period where I’d only hookup with guys I was dating. On average I’d get laid about once every 6 months or so. And since my average dating longevity is 2 months, there wasn’t even much of an oasis between the deserts. It looks like that period has ended.

And hopefully I will have learned something from when I was 24’ish, and not need to revisit the doctor as frequently as I approach 30…less I fall victim to the resurgence in HIV that has plagued the gay community due to complacency.

It Puts the Lotion on its Skin

Its amazing how two people can be so similar in some respects, right up to a point where it just all falls apart. Take, for instance, GCC and myself. Besides being blessed with 5'6" height, athletic bodies, muscular abs that naturally jet out giving us the appearance of a slight gut, exercise fanatics, we're also both biologists and aggressive tops who have a slight bent for the creative side of sex. So we're twins, right? Or at least I'm the MUCH younger brother.

Wrong. This really struck me while comparing our two reactions to Le Depot in Paris...what he calls a "backroom" bar, I call a "dark, seedy, windy den of debauchery." I guess officially its a cruising bar. However, when I first entered the...how should I put it...foyer of the lounge, I already knew this wasn't for me. I then proceeded downstairs. It was here that I was struck with a deep sense that I'd been here before...not in real life, but by proxy. It WAS the basement of Jamie Gumb, aka Buffalo Bill in The Silence of the Lambs.

As my beloved Kathy Griffin would say, "Let me break it down." You go in and there are relatively bare cement brick hallways. Its very dark except for the eerie red light that casts a dream-like haze over the entire space. If only it was green light, it would be just like looking thru Bill's night vision goggles. You then meander through what seems to be a nonsensical series of small hallways with tiny cubby holes. Did I mention its REALLY dark? The amazing thing is that guys are hanging out in the hallways...and actually leaning on the walls. I wouldn't touch any surface of the place even if I had on a full biohazard suit. And you know some freak there would get off on their biohazard suit fetish if I walked in wearing one. (I never understood the whole gas mask fetish...unless they're realllly ugly.)

So like Clarice, I explore the dark, seedy, windy den of debauchery, every once in a while popping back into the bar room (imagine the SOTL dungeon pit room) that is well light. And as I quickly turn each corner to find another dark cubbyhole, I hear the breathing of nasty mean, just like Jamie Gumb, behind me. Though that could've been The Mexican. What really scared me is that even considering my physical bulk, I could easily be abducted into one of the rooms that actually had a door, and some guy would devirginize my ass (I consider my ass virgin since its been untouched for about 4 years now).

So like I said below, I stayed a whole 15minutes...while GCC "had fun...[and] nailed some willing bottom like there was no tomorrow."

Sex is 15 Minutes, Pride is Forever

Aaaaaaaaand I'm back. So where do I begin about discussing the trip to Paris? There's actually bets being taken on what GCC will discuss first. I figured I'd first touch on an overall theme of the week in Paris, then break it down day-by-day as I have time. But the theme: Sex is 15 Minutes, Pride is Forever. As you will see it applies on many levels.


Apparently I had rather large shoes to fill at this year's IGLA, being the team newbie, relatively young (for IGLA standards), and not grotesquely overweight (except by The Imelda's standards), I was wagered to win the "Team Award," which I believe is being renamed after our former teammate who has left us for the Atlanta Rainbow Trout. I guess the best way to describe the qualifications for the "Team Award" is that it is given to the swimmer who best exemplifies the spirit of inter-squad camaraderie, networking, and bonding. I, however, did not meet these qualifications (this year). And why? TEAM PRIDE! Granted, there were some uber hotties there, who I would gladly "switch sides" for, particularly on the Paris team. mmmm...pastry flavored Paris boys. But that aside, who wants to spend $2500 on traveling to Paris to swim, but then do shitty? Well...one of our teammates (who will go unnamed).


I did, however, have my first sexual experience with a cruising bar called "Le Depot." I think that in this case, "cruising" is a complete euphemism. Before arriving, I pictured in my head the good ole days of walking the hallway at The Heretic in Atlanta...dark halls (but still somewhat light), men groping each other lightly (or as they called it "petting" in sex-ed), the occasional hand-job, etc. Nope, not this place. Full on fuckin in littly cubbie holes. Let's just say I got my free drink and left after 15 minutes. The whole time I was huddled in the center of the room, backs to my teammates, in a battle-ready position, watching the porn on the tv's of course (hey, it had been a week). Amazingly, there were some hotties there too.

Alas, I have returned to DC still sexless, light in the wallet, probably 10lbs heavier from all the bread, but with more team spirit and pride than when I left DC!