Games

It had only been about 3 hours since MARC BOLAN dropped me off at work, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the night before so I rang him up....

ME: What are you doing?
HIM: Napping.
ME: May I come over?
HIM: Make it snappy.

An hour later, following a near-perfect round two....

ME: I can’t stay.
HIM: Do you want to meet up later to play shuffleboard?
ME: What?
HIM: Shuffleboard….as in….shuffleboard. The game.
ME: What? Um…No.
HIM: Come on. Afterward we’ll come back here and wash eachother’s hair or something.
ME: What?
HIM: You heard me.

I didn’t see him that night, nor did I meet up with MALCOM [still-married friend]. Although, I have tentative dinner plans with MALCOM this week, and an open invitation to sex and/or a shower with MARC BOLAN.

My Dick's Tired

There is something about a good compliment that goes a long way. Of course the ego boost is nice, but it's really the openness that is so attractive. I am a sucker for someone brave enough to tell me how much he likes me.

MARC BOLAN [super sexy guitarist I met at a festival over a month ago] called last night. We sat on the phone for an hour, discussing self help books until he suddenly announced that he was leaving his house and walking toward mine. I hung up, got dressed, and walked out the door to find him on my corner. Without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed me, then pulled away, looking me up and down and said, “Nice shirt. You look really good.” Then he turned us around and we headed down the street.

An hour later we were at his apartment. He asked if I’d spend the night, adding, “I won’t seduce you or anything. My dick’s tired.”

But when we got to his bedroom, we lazily took off all of our clothes, as though we’d been together forever. Then he looked me up and down for almost too long and declared, “I like you and you are gorgeous.”

Sold!

It was one of the most relaxed first times I can recall. No surprises, nothing fancy, yet very good.

I might give MALCOM [technically-married friend] a second chance tonight with dinner and a movie, but first I am stopping by MARC BOLAN’s for round two.

Car On Fire #2

The date with MALCOM [the recently-separated friend] happened. It was about as messy as one would expect a date with their (technically) married friend to be.

We went to a rock show… along with everyone we collectively know. A tiny part of me wondered if going to such a public place was his attempt at revenge on the estranged wife. But after a few judgmental glares, MALCOM whispered, “I should have known better than to bring you here,” which made me a little feel better.

Although he is usually very shy, he put back enough beer to allow him to ramble on aimlessly, while putting his hand on my waist or knee every so often. His affection felt good, and he looked so good too. But it was clear that he was not ready to be dating again.

When the cab pulled up in front of my house, he followed me out for a proper good-bye. There was a long hug, followed by a couple sterile cheek-kisses. Then suddenly, as I pulled out of the embrace, there was a huge bang behind me and we instinctively grabbed eachother and swung around to see what the noise was. A van had smashed into a parked car, sparking a small fire and MALCOM hugged me again, muttered into my neck, “Kinda looks like my life.”

He called a few minutes later to announce that he was home and that “next time” will be better, though I am not sure I want to find out.

Raining & Pouring

The sexual revolution has hit the ground running....

1) MARC BOLAN called yesterday afternoon, only to say, "I want to see you this week, preferably with our clothes off."

2) Upon arriving home last night, I got a sketchy text message from FLOYD asking if I’d participate in a threesome. I’d consider him a friend, but not a close one. I only know her as his girlfriend. I see them a lot, and I can’t deny being taken with her, but the idea of sex with him is almost gross. We’ve been buddies too long to go down that road. I am considering a negotiation of sorts.

3) And this morning, MALCOM, a married friend I’ve crushed on for years called me and asked if I’d go to a concert with him this weekend. We don’t usually hang out one on one like that, and as my mind swirled around this, he blurted out, “We’re separated… I haven’t lost my mind. I know this is weird.”

Ask and you shall receive, apparently.

My Match?

MARC BOLAN [the smarmy/sexy guitarist I want to sleep with] and I had plans for Saturday night. Then I bailed on the date. It was true that I had just returned from tour and had not showered, but the main reason was that after a month of chasing and avoiding one another, my excitement over him was fading... Until I asked for a raincheck on our date and he simply said, “No. Come over to my house immediately.”

I didn’t run over to MARC BOLAN's house, but I was definitely excited to see him the next day. We met at a quiet bar and played Boggle and Connect Four, all the while discussing our fathers, mothers and appreciation for great bass players. We teased each other and I stared at his amazing nose: kind of crooked, sitting perfectly under his eyes that are always half-open. Fucking adorable.

Afterward we walked through the neighborhood, where we found a car on fire, surrounded by fire trucks and neighbors. We stopped to watch the scene, until he very plainly stated, “This would be a good time to make out.” He turned toward me and I walked backward away from him. More chasing & avoiding that led to phenomenal kiss up against a fence. We eventually found my bike, where we kissed some more. Then he suddenly shoved me away, smiled, and said, “Pick up your fucking phone when I call you or I’m not going to sleep with you.” And off went MARC BOLAN down the street, not turning back.

He just called. I picked up.