A slightly unusual Christmas Eve

It was sunny.

Always a good way to start a story.  I had driven to meet him. Was running when we exchanged text. He said that he was unable to get away. I had seen him recently and thought it would be fine to not see him again after the holidays.

Ever since not seeing him for six weeks, I had developed a new sense of appreciation for seeing him after less than six weeks of separation. In part I think we are trained to accept the maximum time of separation. We develop tolerance for things and we reset the threshold each time a new gauge is set. Now if I don't see him for two months, I would still be OK. I won't like it but I would not be devastated. 

But then he said to meet him in his office after all. We met in his office just after noon. No one was there so it made things a bit interesting. I had never been in his office before.

We embraced. I felt that he was growing hard. He said that it was because of me. He was excited to see me.

I sat on this chair, and unzipped his flier. I took his cock out of his pants and began to go down on him. I liked going down on him. I liked the way he tasted, and I liked giving head.

Then we fucked. First in the black stylish chair, then in his conference room, butt sticking out and that was how he fucked me, doggy-style and like you'd see in a porn shoot, and then me sitting on the table facing him while he entered me. I grabbed hold of him as I came violently and then he came. 

I laid my head on his thighs after, resting my hair and my head. We chitchatted.

We told each other of  our remaining plans for the week. We talked about the New Years Eve. I wanted to see him when I returned from my trip.

He looked slim, dark framed glasses. His hair was longer, curlier, and his sideburns were turning gray. I touched his hair and asked if he'd dye his hair. He said not for the moment.

He wore black sneakers and jeans and a dress shirt. He ran this tech consulting firm in south of Market. I had never met him in this new office before. I had never been fucked in his office before. 

No one had ever affectionately called me "baby' before.

I had never imagined that I could love someone, in a very instinctive way for this long.

Before we parted, I wanted to ask him - "Tell me how this story will end. Tell me how we'd end." But I didn't.

I imagined that when this story ended, there would not be any tears, there would not be any scars, but there would be a bleeding heart, internal bleed only, no surgery would heal the wound and no amount of recovery period could ease the pain, no amount of drugs would fix it, so unless one requested hemispherectomy or lobotomy, memories would stay intact, and pain would persist until the day stories were told millions of times and the protagonist had existed this realm of the world 

I had left a note with him. The note listed seven items, seven Christmas presents I planned to give to him.

1. Ten mind-bending blow jobs. No advance reservation necessary.
2. Ten golden showers. Same rule applies as # 1.
3. Ten unusual sexual fantasies.4. One stay at a clothes-optional spa in the wine country.
5. A renewal of my one year "contractual" commitment to you to stay sexually faithful, adventurous and available for 2013.
6. A promise that I will not fall into the trap of second year slump, and become negative, complaining, dissatisfied, clingy, unhappy, demanding, fat, suspicious, cynical, argumentative, disappointed, nasty, lackluster or generally unpleasant.
7. Finally, a promise that in 2013, I will always provide you with sunshine, support, happiness, genuine adoration, devotion, and love.

Items are not transferable, have no resale value, and expire on December 31, 2013.

Raining day

It was raining. All day. Dark clouds hovered San Francisco, Parking was abundant in the Mission. Walked over to the restaurant on 17th for lunch. Sipping warm coffee, ordering food and talking about people and new year resolutions. It's the typical story of the sort. The inevitability of pondering - why is it hard to find good people to settle down with? It's economics, really, the good ones were taken, the good ones were in short supply, competition was fierce. Holidays were the worst. The expectation of being together, the expectation of not being together, people got bended out of shape.

Never been a fan of holidays. Though am a big fan of new year resolutions. Like letting the past go, being calmer, less anxious, less in need of validation.

Later on in a bar, told a friend about my past and friend told me of his net worth. Perhaps that's how women and men differed. We each had something that we were so afraid of other people to find out about ourselves, and our demons were demons, regardless what colors and shape they came in.

Soon two would leave for back east and one would leave for central valley.

A year had nearly gone by. The rain had finally stopped.

Tomato Basil Mozzarella Cheese sandwich

Moments are created. Friendship is developed.


Shared the news of my upcoming surgery with a friend today. I just got the date solidified. He said, "Do you need anything?" I looked at him, and was taken aback. I was not used to receiving help from men, so I said, half jokingly, "Maybe chicken soup?" He said, "Maybe, if that's what you need."

It was raining, we sat outside on a bench, I began to eat a tomato basil mozzarella sandwich with toasted bread drizzled with overly abundant balsamic vinaigrette.

A woman across the street started a shouting match with a man who drove a truck right into her Audi's bumper. Man did not say sorry so the woman was getting angrier.

"Holidays always bring the worst in people." We watched this unfortunate episode unfolding right in front of our eyes.

"Dating is hard." He said. A good looking man in his 30s with a good education and a decent job should not be saying that.

"Haven't you learned anything?" I asked.

"You sounded like a professor." He quipped.

We sat quietly as I picked with my hand of the remaining basil, and then the mozzarella cheese, and finally the last piece of tomato. The bread was getting soggy and unappetizing. I dropped my folk, then my hat, finally the sad soiled napkin.

I told him that I've been out of breath lately, feeling pounding headaches, and often dizzy at times, and consequently have not been working out.

Suppose I do need that extra pair of hands. Suppose after surgery I could use a hot bowl of chicken noodle soup. Suppose I would welcome his visit in Alta Bates. So I told him about the date and time of the surgery. "Saul's on Shattack, matzo ball soup with chicken is my favorite." I added.

Perhaps at the end of the day we don't care about that blind adoration and empty promises, and we simply wanted friends who cared about us, and could sit quietly with us, watching the world go by, even though nothing seemed perfect in our own lives, we still know, there is a shoulder we could lean on, and when we hit that "send" button for that text, message, or email, we know we'd hear from them, because at the end of the day, it's friends that mattered the most, and you know that you mattered to them, and they you.

A pretend epic love story

You wore red pants today.
I was surprised to see you dressed this way.
"You look gay and European."
I jokingly said.

You grabbed me closer.
Kissed me tender.
"But here we are. Parents. We have children."
"But not with each other." You added.

"We'd have good looking babies."
I imagined the way things ought to be.
"And intelligent ones."
I continued with my daydream. 

"I love you intensely." I declared.
"I'm infatuated with you." You told me.
"How could it be?" I asked.
"What if you get tired of me?" I continued.

"What if I'm the one you are tired of?" You asked.

"Tell me a story. An epic love story." I asked of you.
"Once upon a time, I went white water rafting."
You began to tell a story.
I interrupted you.
"This does not count."
You and I met, 15 years ago, on a white water rafting trip.

"I don't have one." You confessed.
"You have never gotten heart broken?" I asked.
"Not that I know of. I got hurt, but not gotten my heart broken."

"Perhaps I should break your heart." I teased.
"Don't break my heart." You held me.

What you did not know was,
how could I ever break your heart?
When you don't know how to be heart broken?

But mine had been.

And I was never the same again. 

"I like this relationship. It's interesting." You said.
"How come?" I asked.
"Because there is a level of intensity followed by long term absence."
"Then we build the intensity back up each time." You explained.

"I like this relationship. Our relationship. And I like you." You said.
I knew that already
I felt the exact same way.
I felt the same peaks and valleys.

I feared that I could lose you.
I feared that you'd disappear.
I feared that I could stop loving you.
And the sky would turn gray.
And stay gray for the remains of my day.
 
It's the longest relationship I had ever had.
Other than my marriage.
It appeared to be one of your longer ones too.

That's how we fell asleep.
You spooning me.

Middle of the night.
I buried myself in your chest.
Hair messy.
Heart resting.

I was the migrant bird.
You'd always been my home.
Even though I was always flying away.
I would always come back to my nest.

You and I lived.
A world pretended to be.

You and I held.
A feeling supposed to be.

You and I were meant to write.
An epic story.

This time, may our hearts.
Not hurt, not crushed, not broken.

The training of a sex slave

I have bizarre friends. Like a friend who is super well off and is extremely bizarre, and completely living in some sort of fantasy land. So this is a recording (well, recollection anyway) of our recent exchange.

"What do you like?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I know that you like receiving bj. You are a guy of course you do. But Besides that."

"I like women. I like sex. I like hanging out with friends. I like dining out. I like playing golf. I like drinking. Having fun."
"And I like a sex slave."

"How's that induction process coming along? With that girl?"
"OK."
"Up and down."
"She needs training."

"Seriously, who do you know has a sex slave besides you?"

"No one."

"Why do you think she's suitable?"

"It's an opportunity. She's an nymph. That's positive."

"What if she does not listen?"

"Then I will punish her, including not contacting her."

"What does she get out of it?"

"I don't care. It's not my concern.  She just needs to worry about what I like, it's not about her. She's here to serve me."

"Again, I ask you, how's that training coming along?"

"She just needs to listen. She will be trained. She will be obedient. It's not boring for me"

"How do you reward her?"

"By having her to serve me."

"She needs to know her place. She needs to call me sir. She needs to be available to me, including wee hours."

"Wow."

I knew some girl like that once. She was 22 and she wanted someone who would love her back, that someone turned out to be a total user, and that was OK for her, most powerful men are like that. They need a release valve, and they need to be able to go to a safe place and have a girl to serve them. But I don't think she ended up with him. In fact I know she didn't. She grew up.

I collect weird friends. I always find these discussions interesting. I wonder what this story leads to. I am curious because I think it's funny.  I am an observer in life, I like being alone and I like the process of being alone yet having the time to think and process things. I am going to check in with this friend in two weeks or so, and find out how he's doing that girl, who is apparently, has become his target of sex slave conversion.

The way I understood, the girl is otherwise a headstrong independent well to do woman and not some fresh off the boat type. I wonder what this is going to be like. I like stories.

A failed attempt for a Christmas present idea

Try to do something thoughtful, outrageous and unusual for boyfriend.

Then realized it is entirely not possible.

Mission Impossible involved gathering my writing about or inspired by him. Over the last 15 months and give it to him as a Christmas present.

Then realized nearly everything is about him, I've written so much for, about him, or inspired by him, and my love, as it turned out, is quite epic. 

There is nothing that I could do to consolidate and condense the whole journey of taking me from A to B. Literally and figuratively. 

Started with A, A is a mess. A drama queen. B is unexpected, yet I fell in love with him unexpectedly and am still deeply in love. I can't strip and select anything when I know that he is everything to me. He had provided me with nearly all of the inspiration to write creatively. 

However, If there is anything resembles remotely the depth and intensity of how I feel about him, it's this piece. So consider this my declaration of failure. I must turn my attention to getting something much more materialistic and functional. 

Life Through the Looking Glass

How could it be already a week? If I miss you so much, and being apart makes my heart hurt, then, where did the time go?

If I don’t know when we’d see each other again, if I don’t really know anything about you, then, how could I know I’d love you until the end of the time?

If this is what a grown up relationship feels like, if I see my life through this looking glass, then, may I tell you what I see?

I see you and me, in matching charcoal black wool coats, and thick, hand knit brown hats, holding hands. It’s the dead of winter, the sun has long set, yet the moon has not risen, northern lights or the arrival of a commercial flight? Blearly, reluctantly, penetrating lights finally ready to be swallowed whole by the same darkness. Who are those passengers? Are our children, our children’s children on board? The snowstorm has finally stopped, icicles hanging low, break they shall, dimmed snow-covered streetlights, a black cat stretching on the side of the slightly elevated road, green shining marble eyes staring down.

I’m finally gray, and you are finally frail, we are not saying anything; we need not say anything. Footprints are slowly forming on the snow-covered walk. You know I have always loved you. And this is the end of the road.