I'm a ridiculous person

In brief ? Here are some truths.

> Parties at the estate of the divine Lady M. are guaranteed trouble. And fun. Which is just a really creative spelling of trouble.

> Men who respond to your question of "Do you HAVE a last name" with "Hey ... shut up" are the ones NOT to sleep with.

> Men who play with you for an hour while you two are in bed with your friends (who are sleeping, no more foursomes!), are the ones TO sleep with.

> "Sleep with" in this situation means, having sex through quietly muttered commands in your friend's bathroom.

Have we learned our lesson now?

My Dave, but not

Spent another weekend at K.HAN's; really, it was the same Saturday-Sunday overnight, but nice nonetheless; I studied, he entertained and somewhere in there, I finally focused enough to learn some technique; he does this thing with two fingers and the clitoris where one finger pretty much nails the clit down and stays still while the other massages next to it. So - yah, try that one out at home. Also, he ends up going down on my in such a way that he is perpendicular to my body, instead of paralell - so all the crevices I'm so fond of get just the right amount of attention. Yum.

I knew we were having sex when he brought up his computer, put on Moon Safari and lit candles (even though it was about 5pm ... I mean, we're far north, but the sun was just setting. Whatever, I was wooed); the problem was the problem that we often have with older men - he was stimulated as hell, but couldn\'t get all the way up. And then that presented a condom problem - he likened it to losing his whiskers; he just couldn't figure out where anything was. And he kept taking smoke up breaks ... whether at this point in time, he just fucks better stoned or was trying to feel better about his shortcomings is anyone's guess. At some point, he called half time and we went to shower; after which, he got in my ass and encouraged me to do the same. "I'm not gay," he said, "but I'm kind of gay ... so ... if you wanted to stick your finger up my ass, that'd be cool." So I do (I'm old hand at this, right ? right.) and encounter ... what feels like rope. Rope ! ! Which is FECES. (Why does feces feel like rope !?) SO, after rolling around the bed wailing, "Rope! Rope!" like a madperson, we got up, showered again, and he went to see a magic show. I stayed at home (his, of course) and finished some work. And smoked. And called people, and hung out online. Then he came back, restoked the fire (did I mention that he has a fireplace? did I mention that making out by a fireplace is awesome?) and snuggled up next to me.

Which led to sex, round ii ::: much better. Much much better. Not Sean level sex but really fucking close; better than those fucking undergrads - jeez. But the crowning achievement was this morning, when I crawled on top of him, half asleep, and fucked both him and myself for about half an hour, cumming a record six times (or more; I remember the kanji character for six -- ro -- flashing before my eyes a few times. I haven't had visions like that since Thiago when, in the early days, he would inspire me to see European cities in a wash of light - like a blue Paris or an orange London). Then he dropped me home and blah blah blah.

The weird thing is, I kind of ... don't know what to do with this now. I really like him, but I all but promised him that we were just having fun -- I have a boyfriend, he's rebounding, blah. But yes, a steady is outstanding (even if its just a sex-fueled 36hrs every week for the past two weeks) and comfort is key. Like, yknow, when he peed on me on the shower - that was weird but because it was us, I felt comfortable. And I wasn't on the floor or anything, he kind of sprayed me with his hose. All of which, I can't help but feel, really affects my dating pool ::: the more alternative shit I'm exposed to, the higher my tolerance becomes. When J.HAN spanked me, I had to keep directing - harder, faster, etc. At sex's end, he admitted that he wasn't really into spanking but would indulge me - who knew that these men existed ?

Changes

I’m back like a spine.

Today, I uploaded a bunch of posts; things have become complicated as others (I’m sure) imagined they would. So here’s the situation in short; J.NYC has won me, fair and square, but we’re always better together. So we have what is called an “Open Relationship”: if we’re in the same city (tri-state area), then we’re together; if not, we’re not.

Now, dear reader, I did think this was “the big one” – and I can still see myself being with J.NYC for a long time, after graduation. And I did try masturbating myself into blindness to keep the monogamy alive. But then, after a less than satisfactory visit from the man, I resigned myself to the polyamoury I’ve been teaching for the past few months. I mean, its November; how many “Never Have I Ever”s do I really have left this year?

Maybe I should start by saying, “My apartment does not have wireless.”

My apartment does not have wireless. Now, while my beloved flatmate and myself have to do nothing more than walk onto the porch and get access to the school network, we rarely do this. So, when I finally left the apartment to do work in a nearby campus building, I was so excited that I had to let loose on an orgy of IM and email. And I happen to email K.HAN. Who happens to be recently singled. Well.

Although the idea was to “hang out” instead of “make out,” that didn’t quite happen. Despite the visitors at his place, the plans to come back to campus for a party and the vow of celibacy he’s taken, I found myself about four orgasms in at midnight. “Something about you,” he says, “just makes me want to … sink my dick into you, as far as it will go.” Which is terribly romantic but, of course, did not come to fruition; K. HAN’s celibacy rules are simple: oral sex, good; sex, bad. So, we did what we could. Most of which was exactly what I’ve been wanting; he restrained me, pulling my hair to get me into place; lingually teased me and whispered orders into my ear … and then casually propositioned me with sexual favors; he uses the same tone for “I’m going to eat your pussy for a little while” and “I think I’m going to get some coffee.”

That said, its hard to explain the elements of intimacy, but they were there. Something about sleeping over, showering together, having the cat meet us in bed. Or maybe its all just déjà vu all over again; K. Ont is proving to be this weird G. NYC/S. NYC hybrid. Except, not married. Upgrade ?

Untitled

I’m considering reconciling with my ex-boyfriend. Ish.

The short story is, I had a boyfriend in high school and we ended up going to college together. The slightly elaborated story is, I had this boyfriend who took me to the towering heights of love and then threw me into the adjacent chasm of love; my body (heart, mind, soul, whatever) has only really mended recently. So what would make me want to go back into the garbage it took me three years to swim out of? To be honest, because he’s here, he gets me (somewhat; there are basic Yvonne precepts that he’s got nailed down, even now) and we had a great sexual relationship. I’m at a point where I could substitute doing the same act with lots of people for doing lots of acts with the same person. And … maybe it would nice, for a little while, to be in a relationship. Of course, I’m in one now, but its this separate lives thing we’re running right now --- a junior relationship, if you will --- that makes me think I’m ready to upgrade.

Or maybe I should just decapitate the next person who comes to me with marriage talk.

“Be discreet, and keep the home fires burning.”

The rules for not passing out drunk are relatively simple:

Ø Don’t smoke weed.

Ø Keep up the uppers.

Ø Don’t lie down – play, even if it’s a drinking game.

Of course, I didn’t learn this until Sunday afternoon; this is Friday night we’re talking about here. Roughly, I drank myself into a stupor without realizing it --- something about the cold makes you think you’re sober –- and passed out in J.HAN’s bed while a party was going on downstairs. Around 5am I woke up moments before getting pounced on, Tigger style. (I think he actually said, “I’ve been waiting for this.” Good thing I was trying to sleep with him before I passed out…)

J. HAN adventures somewhat remind me of my Ex-Boyfriend (the capital E and B denote his importance in the destruction of my girlhood dreams of romance): we understand each other and are free with each other in a pretty special way. But that’s what comes of knowing someone for years before you actually end up fucking them. Or, having them figuratively fuck the shit out of you, as it were; is it a good sign if you can’t talk or focus your eyes after sex?

Post-coitally, the fun continued. We talked some music and then *bad Yvonne!* I asked him about his girlfriend, currently studying in Europe. He loves her, he says, and wants to marry her (or at least, get engaged to be engaged) when she graduates, a year behind us. “So then, why are you fucking me?” I asked. “The same reason I fuck all the girls I fuck,” he explained, “you’re gorgeous.”

Oh. Thank you.

“The thing is, you have to be discreet,” explains he, as he changes the music to some rollicking rock and roll. “Be discreet, and keep the home fires burning. Chuck Berry said that, and he’s been married to the same woman his entire life.”

It’s Cool, We Can Still Be Friends

B. HAN has become a problem. Ish.

What do you say to someone who you just don’t want to/can’t bring yourself to sleep with? Why do we have to have sex, when everything else is so great? The hooking up is fun, we have great conversations, his apartment is amazing, blah blah blah. And being a real New Yorker, I would potentially sleep with someone for real estate reasons. So the fact that this deal is not being sealed is pretty telling.

With plans to watch Labyrinth (a film wholly responsible for everything that is wrong with me sexually; muppets + David Bowie’s football sized codpiece would mess any seven-year old), B. HAN and I met up at the local videomart; strangely, the DVD was out (I can only imagine the extras on such a thing) and the video had been stolen. So we went back to his apartment for cable and … right.

Somewhere between the cold medicine and the absinthe, I got cuddly. And then horny, and then sleepy. The three kind of oscillated together until roughly 430a when we got up, had a ciggy and he drove me home. The problem did not lay in our drunken/affected cavorting, but rather in the email I would receive about 20hours later, saying something about leaving him in need and toying with his affections. Like his having blue balls is my problem, right?

Parole, Parole

Every so often in the course of waitressing, you have a night that you just erased from your memory. This was the case after work this evening, when I came home and dove into our bottle of … Vampire? When my flatmate finally returned home from her own hellish shift, we indulged in an orgy of electronica, masala and red wine on my bed before downing some Vodka Crans and scampering out into the world.

Flatmate/Soulmate grabbed a game at the house of a boy we love the most (the most hilariously self-hating Korean we know), so I sauntered off to B2. HAN’s room. Or rather, I TRIED to; the door was locked. Eventually, I weaseled myself in and planted myself on his sofa while the world more or less revolved around us in weedy clouds.

Gradually, everyone cleared out and we did our thing. Which was good the first time, pretty outstanding this second time; generally, I try and have sex relatively sober (or I DID), but there’s something to be said about that many chemicals flying around your system at the same time. The big finish was when we, being finished, collapsed on the bed together; tummies to the bed, eyes glued to the wall. “That was AWESOME,” he says. Please strike from the record anything bad I’ve ever said about sleeping with slightly younger men; their enthusiasm is infectious.