The most wonderful thing about life is that it's both a constant classroom, and a constant field trip, I think.
I had a very interesting experience today...
NOTE: Those of you who think of me as a sexless, cuddly, little guy next door my want to skip the remainder of this entry, as it my just fall squarely under the TOO MUCH INFORMATION category.
For the first time in quite some time, I hooked up with a guy today -- via the online chat thing -- without having exchanged more than a few words with him. There's this cute guy who floats in and out of the Philly chat room on gay.com, whom I've seen out when hanging at Millennium Coffee Shop. Well, today he sent me an instant message, and started flirting with me, and then showed up at the coffee shop.
So, okay, I had a random sex encounter with a guy. Not that shocking, when you consider the vast array of crazy shit attendant on being gay in America here in the early days of the twenty-first century.
But I did something I've never done before. I bottomed for this complete stranger. He wrangled himself an invite back to my place, and the next thing I knew I was having the living snot fucked outta me. As these things go, he was pretty damn good.
But here's the thing: As I was laying there, in the midst of it all, I realized that I was completely unaroused. I was pretty seriously not into it.
I've reached this point in my life at which sex -- something I've long been a champion of separating from "love" -- has become pretty tiresome when it's not attached to something larger.
Where does that leave me, I wonder?
I had a very interesting experience today...
NOTE: Those of you who think of me as a sexless, cuddly, little guy next door my want to skip the remainder of this entry, as it my just fall squarely under the TOO MUCH INFORMATION category.
For the first time in quite some time, I hooked up with a guy today -- via the online chat thing -- without having exchanged more than a few words with him. There's this cute guy who floats in and out of the Philly chat room on gay.com, whom I've seen out when hanging at Millennium Coffee Shop. Well, today he sent me an instant message, and started flirting with me, and then showed up at the coffee shop.
So, okay, I had a random sex encounter with a guy. Not that shocking, when you consider the vast array of crazy shit attendant on being gay in America here in the early days of the twenty-first century.
But I did something I've never done before. I bottomed for this complete stranger. He wrangled himself an invite back to my place, and the next thing I knew I was having the living snot fucked outta me. As these things go, he was pretty damn good.
But here's the thing: As I was laying there, in the midst of it all, I realized that I was completely unaroused. I was pretty seriously not into it.
I've reached this point in my life at which sex -- something I've long been a champion of separating from "love" -- has become pretty tiresome when it's not attached to something larger.
Where does that leave me, I wonder?
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