My cyber-black book is an interesting mix of professions. Glancing down the long list (don't blame me for having an application that automatically saves every address and phone number) I'm associated with (in no particular order), a bartender, an animal rights activist, a hotelier, a flight attendant, a pilot, a principal, a banker, an inventor, a poet, a dj, a professional slave, a former priest,an interior designer, a chef, an Aggie, a few college professors, several government employees, a couple of aliens, a plumber, a student, a trust fund baby, a gambler, and a deacon in his regional Satanic church.
It's not that I care so much about what these men 'do' but who they are and how that relates to me, the world and the universe. They all have a few things in common: they are sexy, they can carry a conversation, fun to be around and all party quite well. I love all of them: I'm in love with several of them. Let me tell you about 3 of them:
Select Beef and I met through Craigslist, that rather dubious method of meets. I like to live a little dangerously, and his story was he'd been thrown out of his house by his wife, and happened to be at a hotel near me (alas, not the W, but not the Coral Sands either). . His name was Kevin, Shawn, or Wes, depending on the email he sent. 32 years old. Did I party? (yes) Did I have points? (yes) Did I have Viagra? (no) Having answered those questions apparently to his liking, he gave me his address. So, at 5AM, I strolled on over, not realizing how many homeless people sleep on the grass and sidewalks along Franklin Avenue.
Whether he was straight on not, or if there really was a wife, and who knows what else, I administered a shot of Kickapoo Joy Juice and he didn't throw his ass in the air and begged to be fucked: which was refreshing. Instead we watched vintage 70's porn that I'd brought and some bi-sexual stuff. I was intrigued by the newness of the experience (str8 porn, no begging to be fucked, wondering if I grabbed his 8 inch stick would he kiss me...or kill me) that I just kicked back and relaxed and tried not to laugh as he tried to cajole me into sucking his dick (not unless you reciprocate, I maintained. He declined).
As the sun rose, someone playing the role of the wife called and I had to skeedaddle. He didn't slam much he said, he had issues with his father, and being old enough to be his daddy, I got some glimpse of the boy behind the bravado. Yet, I couldn't quite trust him, and I wasn't about to be played. The next three days were peppered with him texting me, calling me or otherwise irritating me. Would I blow him, it was his birthday(no) If he brought the ingredients for a wow of a cake, would I then blow him? (no). Would I buy a 2007 17" MacBookPro for $500? (hard to decline, but no, because he wouldn't let me think it over). Would I sell him one point? (sell? please.)
And that's where it began to crumble. Wes wouldn't buy points at the drug store, online or use the Needle Exchange. He didn't want me to give him a bag of rigs....he didn't use that often, remember?
I gave him 5 and told him I couldn't keep doing the calls for one, one, one. Of course he got angry: another father figure had denied spoiling him. I walked away sad, but still the inner voice whispered 'beware'.
Exit to the west, Wes.
***
My mother had my life as a doctor all planned, and only my parents' deaths set the stage for me to be free. I stood at the gates of one of Texas' most esteemed universities, tuition paid, scholarships in hand...and high-tailed it down I 35 to study fine arts, journalism, and psychology in Austin.
I had met Marcus five years ago, a frat boy doctor who liked my hypnosis skills. Trouble was, as it is with many of my encounters that become regulars, he didn't want me around in the light of day, meaning non-sex time and I wasn't keen on starting a session at midnight when he had to be on his rounds at Cedars-Sinai at 5AM. And that was that.
Marc and I reconnected recently and behold-he took me to dinner. He'd had a crush on me for years.....and I didn't know it. This was the start of something good, I knew. We were older, wiser and we could laugh and talk just like being on a date.
I was wrong.
After not committing to yes or no for dinner three weeks in a row, Marcus and I were on Skype, when he asks 'What has changed since July 14, 2010 when you said you thought of me as a brother?'
'Frat brother?' I tossed out.....all the while thinking:
O goddamnit I had this bullshit with my ex and an old assistant! Am I the only one who doesn't carry a Day Runner with every transgression to be revisited years hence for an explanation?
I don't keep track of such things. I apologized, or attempted to, and got another rant in texted reply.
Exit Dr. Kildare.
***
I met Jerry, the lawyer through a mutual friend, not realizing yet that threesomes go haywire when I'm included, so I backed off....from the three of us talking that is. Let me tell you about Jerry.
At 41, he's a retired international attorney, born in a small southeastern town but as poised and well-spoken as the latest in the line of an old-money family.
At 41 he's a rockhound who makes and sells jewelry from the colored stones he finds when he hikes along trails in the Blue Ridge Mountains just because he likes to.
At 41, he does pro-bono work for those who need legal advice and works like a machine to help them.
At 41, he's kicked cancer once but is battling it again.
At 41, he's the bravest man with the brightest spirit and if I had the money, I'd be right beside him, because I enjoy his company, he enjoys mine it seems
At age 50, I could never be that strong, and although I should be making him believe in miracles, instead he makes me believe in magic. And he's only 41.
It's not that I care so much about what these men 'do' but who they are and how that relates to me, the world and the universe. They all have a few things in common: they are sexy, they can carry a conversation, fun to be around and all party quite well. I love all of them: I'm in love with several of them. Let me tell you about 3 of them:
Select Beef and I met through Craigslist, that rather dubious method of meets. I like to live a little dangerously, and his story was he'd been thrown out of his house by his wife, and happened to be at a hotel near me (alas, not the W, but not the Coral Sands either). . His name was Kevin, Shawn, or Wes, depending on the email he sent. 32 years old. Did I party? (yes) Did I have points? (yes) Did I have Viagra? (no) Having answered those questions apparently to his liking, he gave me his address. So, at 5AM, I strolled on over, not realizing how many homeless people sleep on the grass and sidewalks along Franklin Avenue.
Whether he was straight on not, or if there really was a wife, and who knows what else, I administered a shot of Kickapoo Joy Juice and he didn't throw his ass in the air and begged to be fucked: which was refreshing. Instead we watched vintage 70's porn that I'd brought and some bi-sexual stuff. I was intrigued by the newness of the experience (str8 porn, no begging to be fucked, wondering if I grabbed his 8 inch stick would he kiss me...or kill me) that I just kicked back and relaxed and tried not to laugh as he tried to cajole me into sucking his dick (not unless you reciprocate, I maintained. He declined).
As the sun rose, someone playing the role of the wife called and I had to skeedaddle. He didn't slam much he said, he had issues with his father, and being old enough to be his daddy, I got some glimpse of the boy behind the bravado. Yet, I couldn't quite trust him, and I wasn't about to be played. The next three days were peppered with him texting me, calling me or otherwise irritating me. Would I blow him, it was his birthday(no) If he brought the ingredients for a wow of a cake, would I then blow him? (no). Would I buy a 2007 17" MacBookPro for $500? (hard to decline, but no, because he wouldn't let me think it over). Would I sell him one point? (sell? please.)
And that's where it began to crumble. Wes wouldn't buy points at the drug store, online or use the Needle Exchange. He didn't want me to give him a bag of rigs....he didn't use that often, remember?
I gave him 5 and told him I couldn't keep doing the calls for one, one, one. Of course he got angry: another father figure had denied spoiling him. I walked away sad, but still the inner voice whispered 'beware'.
Exit to the west, Wes.
***
My mother had my life as a doctor all planned, and only my parents' deaths set the stage for me to be free. I stood at the gates of one of Texas' most esteemed universities, tuition paid, scholarships in hand...and high-tailed it down I 35 to study fine arts, journalism, and psychology in Austin.
I had met Marcus five years ago, a frat boy doctor who liked my hypnosis skills. Trouble was, as it is with many of my encounters that become regulars, he didn't want me around in the light of day, meaning non-sex time and I wasn't keen on starting a session at midnight when he had to be on his rounds at Cedars-Sinai at 5AM. And that was that.
Marc and I reconnected recently and behold-he took me to dinner. He'd had a crush on me for years.....and I didn't know it. This was the start of something good, I knew. We were older, wiser and we could laugh and talk just like being on a date.
I was wrong.
After not committing to yes or no for dinner three weeks in a row, Marcus and I were on Skype, when he asks 'What has changed since July 14, 2010 when you said you thought of me as a brother?'
'Frat brother?' I tossed out.....all the while thinking:
O goddamnit I had this bullshit with my ex and an old assistant! Am I the only one who doesn't carry a Day Runner with every transgression to be revisited years hence for an explanation?
I don't keep track of such things. I apologized, or attempted to, and got another rant in texted reply.
Exit Dr. Kildare.
***
I met Jerry, the lawyer through a mutual friend, not realizing yet that threesomes go haywire when I'm included, so I backed off....from the three of us talking that is. Let me tell you about Jerry.
At 41, he's a retired international attorney, born in a small southeastern town but as poised and well-spoken as the latest in the line of an old-money family.
At 41 he's a rockhound who makes and sells jewelry from the colored stones he finds when he hikes along trails in the Blue Ridge Mountains just because he likes to.
At 41, he does pro-bono work for those who need legal advice and works like a machine to help them.
At 41, he's kicked cancer once but is battling it again.
At 41, he's the bravest man with the brightest spirit and if I had the money, I'd be right beside him, because I enjoy his company, he enjoys mine it seems
At age 50, I could never be that strong, and although I should be making him believe in miracles, instead he makes me believe in magic. And he's only 41.
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