Congratulations to my good friend, Shandra Marie and her boyfriend Jerome on the arrival of their second child. He was born Sunday afternoon in Atlanta, GA weighing in at 7 pounds .06 ounces.

"...so you mean to tell me that with men, it's always about sex?" Lucy asked while rubbing This Man's shoulder.
"Absolutely!"
She and I were standing in the backyard, talking with This Man, once again, giving her insight into the male psyche. And, as usual, she was amazed at what I was telling her. Our conversation started when she was telling me about a co-worker of hers who was unhappy with her present boyfriend and how she was sick and tired of him. From there we'd ventured into the miscommunication of men and women. Lucy was going on about how women use displays of affection as merely that--displays of affection. This Man was informing her of how men usually interpret those gestures--as preludes to sex. So we discussed this scenario. A woman rubs up against a man's shoulder and rubs her hand across his chest. Lucy commented, "A woman is usually just making her presence known and she's being affectionate."
I countered with, "But a man sees that as, 'if he plays his cards right, then he could get lucky in a few minutes.'"
"But , " Lucy protested, "a woman isn't wanting sex at that moment."
"But to a man," I countered, "she's asking for it."
We tossed this conversation back and forth. Then we turned to homosexual men. Suddenly, This Man became a real expert.
"If I'm rubbing a guy's shoulders, then I'll kiss his neck and so on. I'm being more than affectionate, I'm letting him know that I want to have sex." I told her.
"OH MY GOD! And you mean that the guy that you're with will know this?" Lucy asked. She'd finally caught on.
"You've learned lesson Number One, my student." I told her.
"So if Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus..." she asked, "then where are fags from?" Without missing a beat, This Man responded with, "Uranus."

Mahalo

"I'm thinking about becoming an escort, " the small-bodied fashionista said. We were laying across his bed, catching our breath after an okay romp session.
"You are?" was all This Man could ask. The look on his face let me know that he was serious. "Man, who's going to pay you for sex?" He could barely take my dick!
"I've decided that if I'm going to have sex, then men may as well pay me. I used to get paid two hundred dollars an hour."
"No one will pay you to let them fuck you." Instantly, I knew this conversation was about to be interesting and I'm glad I hadn't already gotten dressed to leave. "Why should they when there are thousands of men here that will get screwed for free."
"Old men will. And men who can't get laid anywhere else. I know I can get the money."
For what? This Man wanted to ask. There were men out there who could take a pounding better than he could--not only that, but this guy likes to think that he's in control. And now, here he was telling This Man that he was going to start charging for his ass--he had to be out of his fucking mind!

Today was the second time that This Man and the fashionista had gotten together this week. We'd fooled around before--usually ending with This Man leaving, frustrated and still horned up. Today, however, everything was different. Let's start with the choice of music to thrash around to--two words, show tunes! I thought it was a big joke, but there blasting out of his stereo was Liza Minelli singing a bunch of Broadway songs. And let me tell you, nothing can make This Man go limp faster than show tunes! Even when I asked if he could change the music, it played on. It took all I had for This Man to maintain "interest". Then midway through, he decided that he couldn't take any more and was finished.
I was so pissed off!
So here we were, This Man listening to him go on and on about how he's going to start escorting. I don't know, but it just seems like every other guy in San Diego swears that he's escort material. And heaven forbid if we call them what they really are--hustlers and prostitutes.
It was time for This Man to wrap this conversation up and get the hell out of there, before he decided to hand me a bill for his mediocre "service". But I had one more thing to say.
"I guess I feel like escorting would take the joy out of sex and thereby turn it into a job. The spontaneity of sex would be replaced by it becoming a chore." And lord knows, half the time this fashionista was rarely "prepared" when it came time for him to deliver the goods.
Finally, This Man got up, got dressed and got the fuck out of there. He could try and see if he could get money for his ass, but This Man knew one thing--I would be damned if I pay for him.

Mahalo

The email was brief but it brightened This Man's day. It read:
And he was sure to include his email address (which This Man knew already). It was from The Dutchman and I was so happy to get it that I had to force myself to stop reading it over and over. It had been a few months since The Dutchman and I had spoken to each other. I still remember. We'd had lunch at a Lebanese restaurant in North Park and then I tagged along while he went to Costco, grabbing some last minute things that he needed before heading out to the desert for a couple of days. If you've been following my blog, you'll know that The Dutchman and I went through quite a ride before finally agreeing to just be friends. You'll recall that it was after I first professed to having feeling for him--only for him to turn around and get back with his ex. Then later, he turned around and confessed to having feelings for me--months later after I'd finally forced myself to get over him. It was a big mess and we just couldn't get it right! So it only seemed right that we end up as buddies. It was This Man's belief that, since I couldn't have a relationship with him, I didn't just want the sex and I didn't want to lose him altogether so it only made sense that we just be friends. He agreed and that was that.
Lately, however This Man had found myself thinking about him so much. I didn't exactly get all obsessive the way I did with PJ, but I would just wonder how he was doing or what was going on in his life. Quite frankly, I missed him.
So immediately, I responded to his brief email. Here's my response:
I haven't called him yet and I'm hoping that he'll call me. I just want to hang out and see him again. And that's not too much to ask.

Mahalo