the Glory Part

For many months, there was no glory hole. Then, one spring night, he entered the empty men’s room and discovered a crudely hewn, half-dollar sized hole, just below and to the left of the toilet paper dispenser in the farthest stall. He quickly examined its construction, and felt gingerly around the bent metal rim. It was, in its own way, crudely attractive. A hole designed for pleasure, and perhaps even a little pain. Rather than sticking around continuing to admire it, he exited the restroom, and returned to his truck, hoping to observe what might happen before he tried it out.

A few cigarettes and a few puffs on a roach later, another car drove in. A single, male driver. That’s good, he thought. The driver parked the car, and walked towards the grim building. He was a decent looking man, probably in his 30’s, Sometimes he could tell if a man was interested by the way he dawdled or looked around on his way in, but not this time. After a healthy minute, he gathered up his courage, and went inside.

A quick glance under the stalls showed a pair of Adidas under the last one. He entered the one next to it, dropped trou, and sat down. From his angle, he couldn’t see much on the other side, except for a hairy thigh. Good so far, he thought. Leaning forward, he adjusted my angle and caught a glimpse of the other man’s crotch, his hand covering his dick.

He watched his own penis start to grow. He sat back, and adjusted himself. A shadow moved on the floor, indicating that the other guy was now leaning forward to look in. He felt the gaze, and moved his hand slightly, to reveal the base of the shaft, while the rest of it grew thicker as it hung between his legs.

The shadow moved back. The man on the other side leaned back, giving him a full view. He could see the shaft, poking out of a healthy, hairy basket. He kept looking, waiting for him to start to stroke. He started dragging his palm down the shaft, revealing a blood-engorged, pink crown on what looked like about a six-inch shaft. After a moment, he stopped stroking, and gripped the head tight.

He had to arrange his dick up from between his legs to keep it from touching the rim of the toilet, so he sat back and gave the other guy an equally revealing view, stroking his dick slowly. The other guy took a long look, and before he sat back, he poked his tongue through the hole twice.

He stood up, quickly checked out the room and leaned against the wall, aiming his dick towards the rough hole. At 6’4”, he had to do a semi-squat to get his dick through. Pressing himself close to the wall, he gripped the handicap bar for support and poked it through. He was rewarded by a warm, wet sensation that went from the mouth on the other side, to his dick.

He kept a firm grip on the handicap bar, lest his dick slip and scrape against the bent metal, while feeling a warm suction on his dick from the other side. He knew enough to keep an ear out for the sound of the door, which would signal the need for a very hasty retreat. Very soon, that familiar ache in his nuts started to make itself known..

After a minute or so more of sucking and stroking, he thought it only fair to give back for a while. He slowly extracted his dick from the hole, and poked his finger through it, to indicate he wanted to suck the other man’s dick.

He sat on the edge of the toilet, and heard him shuffle on the other side. He waited for the other guy to poke his pole through the hole. And when it did it was nice to look at--almost as big as his own with a nice, defined head. He grasped the meat and lowered his mouth on the tip. He took in the head and went to work.

After a few minutes, he pulled back and indicated he wanted me back. He went back to the position and his warm, wet mouth went to work again. Soon he was near that point of no return, that point when his nuts told him there’s no turning back.

He was ready to shoot, and wasn’t sure the other guy was the swallowing type, so he reluctantly extracted his member and let the other guy watch while he finished off in his own hand.

Evidently the other guy was also close, and started to shoot after just a few strokes of his own hand after watching. His cum splattered on the tile floor, a few large splots of white that quickly turned clear.

The deed done, they quickly exited, satisfied for another night. He took another trip back two days later and the hole was gone, replaced by a riveted stainless steel shield on both sides.

Craigslist #2 - Sorry To Tell You

All right, here's a request his wife would surely approve of. And, of course he doesn't want to do any of those gay things like kiss a man. Jesus!

I am seeking a married man to suck on a regular basis - m4m - 44
Reply to: XXXXXXXXXXX
Date: 2007-10-25, 9:59AM EDTI am a clean cut professional married guy who would like to give oral to another married guy on a regular basis (no one time hook ups - no exceptions). Looking to hook up with a man who doesn't suck cock but enjoys receiving oral and does not mind that he is being sucked by another guy. Just looking for something casusal, I am pretty straight and masculine and I am not into kissing or fem stuff nor am I looking for a boyfriend. I am very discreet and require the same from you, I am disease free and need to stay that way so you need to be clean, and you need to know of a place to meet (and it can not be out behind a tree somewhere). I have a family too so times are limited but would like to meet like twice a week to keep you satisfied, but am willing to get together when ever you are horny and need release. I would prefer a cock that is cut. Your age and race are really no big issue, although 30-50 is preferred. I don't need a hard body guy but no one real obese.

On the other hand, he's pretty low maintenance--maybe I should send him a note....

No, not this time.

Veggie Curious

“I want to try to be a vegetarian,” asked my boss. "What do they call that?"

“Veggie curious,” I replied.

Being veggie curious is where it’s at in my household, at least since child #2 decided to be a vegan last winter. Not being a total stranger to a vegetarian diet, more of a veggie-curious guy all along, I’ve been really enjoying cooking when she and her roommate come over.

She’s always amazed how I can toss together a little entrée in about ½ hour and I enjoy teaching her and her roommate about how to cook. Last week’s dinner included:

Stir fry: eggplant, mushrooms, onion, garlic, fresh yellow beans (microwave steamed for 6 min. before), purple bell pepper. Season with McCormick’s savory mix (mainly rosemary), salt and pepper. After veggies are stir fried, add ½ can of Ro-tel tomatoes with chiles.

While I made the stir fry, #2 made falafel from a mix. We never had them before, but they also turned out great. Nice, crispy and tasty—much better than a chicken nugget any day of the week.

Roommate assembled the salad (organic mix) with heirloom tomatoes

Bread (local bakery)

It was mighty tasty.

Having her over, cooking for her—cooking for others always puts a smile on my face.

Journalism 101 for Matt Lauer

All right, I'll admit to having a crush on Matt. Especially after seeing him without his shirt on. Nice abs, Matt. Too bad you spent all that time in the gym instead of in journalism class. Or perhaps with a gay man who could have prepped you for that interview.

First of all. Don't ask whether Larry Craig is gay or not. Of course he does not identify as gay. He's afraid of admitting to himself what he's been hiding for years.

Here's what Matt should have asked:

Have you ever had a sexual encounter with a man?

When was it? Did you ever receive or give oral sex with a man? Did you mutually masturbate with another man? Did you receive or give oral sex? Did you ....well you know where this is going.

With how many men, etc?

It's simple, Matt. Ask the right question.

Who cares if he thinks he's gay or not. He's obviously an idiot, and a liar. He's a Senator, for Chrissakes! If it walks like a duck.

Second big question for Matt to ask:

What do you mean by lifestyle? Cuz if you mean behavior, then you're busted, buddy. Because part of the lifestyle is having sex with other men.

How simple can it get?

F-Buds

Fuck buds

Neither Tom and Jerry, Bugs and Daffy, Lenny and Carl, or any other male couple in popular culture effectively represents the bond between two fuck buddies. Two men who are into each other sexually, respect each other on a social level, and have a good time together.

I’ve had a few fuck buds over the years. There was a succession of them, actually. There were the repeat guys I met at the rest stops and parks. Lots of those guys back then were married, like myself. The ones who were fuck buds were more than quickies. We wouldn’t just have sex, we would talk. Some of these relationships lasted two or three months, some lasted many years. Some were a little twisted, like the guy who drove a Coupe DeVille to the local softball fields and propped his size 12 pumps on the dashboard for those who were interested. It wasn’t his shoes, but his gently graying, well groomed façade, a Midwestern version of Ricardo Montalban, that led me to his car. But I digress.

Eventually, I learned, they all end. And that’s perhaps the roughest part of having one. How do you balance the need for good sex with the need for everything else in life? Good sex often takes the back seat (and not in a good way).

It seems the key to a long term relationship with a bud; however, always hinges on a few key areas.

1. a shared level of sexual intensity
2. some level of common interests
3. able to be honest about the relationship
4. able to respect the importance of keeping other commitments

Hmm, sounds a lot like a bf, minus the dating.

If I Had Come Out

If I had been able to come out to my co-workers last Friday, it would have happened like this:

Me:

Hey, folks, I'm gay.

them:

Chill, no prob, man.

Ok, here's the story. In spite of my mental preparation, our little department never went out for lunch last Friday, which precluded us from having a regular meeting spot that would be conducive for my little revelation.

I'm not really worried about it. When it happens this coming week, I'm sure it will work out fine.

On to other posts.

Outing Myself

I thought that ?? (movie/tv character) was gay.”

“My first boyfriend was gay, I’ve never really understood that.”

“It’s O.K. You can tell us.”

All right, the first two are actual co-workers’ quotes from this week. The third one I made up because I couldn’t remember the one my boss said today. But it was, overall, a week that offered up a variety of opportunities to talk about being gay. Coming out was/is on my mind, and if I had felt that any of those were the right opening line, I may have jumped on it.

I know, those two of you who are reading this, that you might have expected some grand post today. Have patience. The specifics are that our department has a weekly luncheon on Friday, and that’s where I planned to step out. Besides, the office magpie (and I say that in the most Christian way, possible) was home sick today, and I deserve to experience her reaction fully.

So, tomorrow it is. Day late, maybe, but who cares.

I’m sure it will be just fine. For chrissakes, I’m working with two English majors and a Theatre major. As if that’s not gay.

Working Man

I much prefer working to the alternative.

One of the tenets of my Calvinist upbringing was the importance or value of work. A man's occupation (sorry, women, this is my past) was his reason for living, and it was mine as well. There were, of course, caste levels in the occupations, as there are today, but inherent in Calvinism is the notion that good, honest work itself is of value, and that no occupation should be considered unworthy. I learned that in college, anyway, and it was part of our church community's collective mythology.

My successful corporate career was testament to that; I was a loyal, work-focused, company man. I thrived in that place for many years. I lived its values and was, I believe, a credit to that organization. And when I moved on, I carried that sense of the value of work.

But during those corporate years I also yearned for the day that I could get away from the 40 hour grind. I remember leaving the building some nights, and wishing it was the last time I left that building. I would dream of taking a couple of years off for myself, wishing there was a way to trade a few years in my early 40's for working a couple of years when I'm 65. Turns out, that's what happened. I got my wish.

After leaving that company, I went to a competitor. From there I was downsized. Being out of work for that year, during my initial separation was cruelly hard to take. But, the reality of it was that I was more upset about losing my job than I was about losing my marriage.

I know now, I wanted freedom, not freedom from work.

These days, I'm happy to be working again.

Tomorrow's topic? Burnout.

The Trailer and the Track

Let’s do a photo inventory here:

Single-wide trailer with awning

Twin propane tanks in front that look like giant scuba tanks.

Taurus SHO (Red, generation II)

Weber-style grill with chrome top in the front yard

Card table with tomatoes for sale

Backyard above-ground pool

Large sunflowers in front

Check, check, and check. Nothing really surprising.

But wait. What’s that? It’s a race track in the back yard! How wonderful is that? It even has its own start/stop stand. Gee, and there’s even a watering/grading unit to keep the dust down, and a giant “Hoosier Tires” sign along the fence. All on one of god’s little acres.

Each day, I drive past that little trailer with the race track in the back yard. It’s about two or three miles away from my workplace—just a hop, skip and a jump from town, as they say. Driving by, all I get is a long look each day, heading west in the morning and east in the evening. I will probably always speculate about the lives of the people who live there, but having seen it for six months now, what strikes me most about it is not just the novelty of a short dirt track in the back yard; it is how well kept the property is.

Neat plantings surround what I imagine is a 60’s vintage unit, and the mature trees around it suggest it has been at this location for about that length of time. It was probably a nice trailer in its day; certainly it was well made to last this long. The lawn is always well kept, too, as are the cars and truck in the back. No abandoned cars on this lot, nosirreee!

For the longest time, I never saw any of the people who lived there. Until I did, it was easy to objectify this little place—make fun of it a little, and I did just that when I mentioned it to my co-workers. “Have you ever seen that place?” I asked once, describing it in a condescending tone.

Lately, I don’t see it that way. I saw the guy who lives there a few weeks ago. Although I was flying by at 60 mph, he looked like a regular guy. His husky-mix dog was following him around, wagging his tail. He tossed a ball ahead, leading out to the track. The guy just looked like he was enjoying his life.

Happy is the man.

Coming Out, The Reasons

“Can I bring up a personal topic to share?” Pretty lame.

“Does anyone know what day/week this week is?” I can’t believe I even typed that one.

“I have an item I wanted to bring up this week,” Hmm, that’s not too bad.

I know it doesn’t really matter what I say to open up the topic to my coworkers.

I know it really doesn’t matter how I bring it, up, I just have this persistent feeling that I should celebrate National Coming Out Day this year. Why, my dear readers ask? Why now?

I need to do this for a variety of reasons—some personal, some political, but mostly because I feel at this point it’s the right thing to do.

I imagine we’ll be chatting together, just the five of us. It will be at one of the local restaurants--our regular Friday department lunch. The group includes my Boss M, a young married guy, and coworkers A & K & C, who are women—one in her 40s, two in their 20s.

Ok, that’s the scene.

But why bother telling them? As one friend said, “They probably figured it out by now.” In the six months since I’ve been there, I’ve talked about many things, but never much about my social life or the reasons for my divorce.

Here’s the personal reasons:

I want to be able to use the correct pronouns when and if I discuss past, present or future social encounters. Instead of saying I went out with a friend. I want to say, my buddy Frank and I.

I want to be able to ward off potential “matchmakers” who may think I’m just the catch for their lonely sister/aunt/neighbor. You know, the one with the great personality.

I want to be able to at some point, introduce a partner or date to these people, without springing it upon them by saying, “Oh, by the way, my date is Jeff”

Here’s the political reasons:

I want to be a voice for issues that are important to me.

I want to be a silent citizen, too, to show how “normal” I am; how normal “we” are.

I want to be able to live in a society that values diversity. To do that, I have to be who I am.

Next Friday, here goes…

Typing that sentence made me smile. I think I’m really ready.