zaziel
Now. Then. Previous. Next. Random. Ernst. Fallen. Crush. Notes&Quotes. Profile. Rings.
I'tr�m breit vula�oz�o ye spalla ei�tlin nel�ffnes pieqi aummit su berwegr'ra'ao.

Jack

Sunday, May 5, 2002 -
Ap�sl�min ida corbalanyrtne 'ls�o rohl'daathi�m v� nen�a iroyss�rd.

"You want to watch me jerk off?" asked the Fiend, doubtful and a bit querulous. "Is that all?"

"To start with," I said. "Let's see how it goes from there." He was standing just beyond the foot of the bed, with his shirt unbuttoned and hanging open, his hands fiddling with the top button (undone) of his jeans. His feet were bare. I was sitting on the bed, fully-clothed, gathering the papers I had been working on (estimates, workorders) into a shaggy but organized pile. He had been in the studio earlier, working on the Rainforest Desk with a semi-oblivious intensity. (When I had asked him if he wanted Chinese or beef Stroganoff for dinner, he told me, somberly, that he had forgotten to buy beeswax.) I would not have been surprised if he had worked most the night and slept in the studio. But even though he was half-unexpected, I was ready with an idea for him (an idea I had been mulling over since I had read this.) I stuffed the pile of papers into a folder and skidded it under the pillows.

"I've never done this before," the Fiend confessed.

I was astonished. "You've never jerked off in front of somebody?"

He shrugged. "I've always had something better to do, when I'm with somebody."

"You never played ring-around-the-rosy with the Lunch Bunch?"

"Le Cirque de Jerque?" He grinned. "No, I didn't get a chance to take part in that event. I jacked off a couple of the guys, and they jacked me off.... maybe I took a few minutes to demonstrate a technique.... but I've never done a show."

(Le Cirque de Jerque, if you haven't guessed already, is what members of the Lunch Bunch call a circle jerk. It can be a formal or impromptu affair, but either way, it has only one requirement, and only one rule: Everybody must have a dick, and everybody must play. It's the only event where the presence of our female members, and voyeurs, is discouraged. The Fiend was a member of the Lunch Bunch for only four or five months, 'bout three or four years ago. That was before he met Blaine. Who whisked him off to Savannah, Georgia, after a whirlwind romance. I was head-over-heels in exclusive monogamy with Peter when Erik was an active member of the Lunch Bunch. He and I became friends at that time, but we didn't come to know each other in the deeper intimacies of the Lunch Bunch's usual shenanigans.)

(By the way, and at the risk of stating the obvious, conversations as noted in this diary are approximations of what was actually said. I try to achieve a certain amount of verisimilitude, but that's as far as I'll go. I could tape all my conversations, but I think that would take this whole enterprise to a psychotically silly level. And I'm dancing on that edge already, just by writing this damn thing.)

"So this is like your first time, for this," I said to the Fiend (getting back to our story.) "I'll have to remember the anniversary." That made the Fiend smile again. Have I told you how winsome, how beguiling, how delightful, is the Fiend's smile? (Shit, you sure can tell that was written by a fool in love.) He undid the second button on his jeans. And the third. And the fourth. And....

He was unbuttoning my jeans, actually. They should've been too big for him, since I overtop him by almost four inches and outweigh him by almost 30 pounds. But they didn't look too baggy because they were a pair of my riot jeans, which fit me tighter than paint. (Yes, I know nothing can possibly fit tighter than paint. It's a hyperbolic metaphor. Go with it. Believe that these are really tight jeans.) My riot jeans are more an act of defiance than a pair of pants. They're my Fuck Urban Fashion Pants, scorning the saggy clownishness of Really Big Pants. They're my Fuck Family Values Pants, mocking a morality that hides the penis from children, yet encourages them to witness half-a-million homicides by the age of 14. They're my Fuck Comfort & Practicality Pants: I wanna feel all wrapped up and bound; I wanna feel seams pressing red weals into my flesh; I'm in the mood for CBT. They're my Fuck False Modesty Pants, my Truth In Advertising Pants: Let's show everybody everything I got, fore and aft. Hide nothing. Reveal All.

Basically, they're my Fuck It All Pants. Which makes them seem similar to Fuck Pants, but I think the rationale might be quite different.

But as I was saying, my riot jeans fit the Fiend comfortably. All buttons undone, he slips out of them easily enough. They slide down his legs with his underwear. The Fiend's preference in underwear is catholic; on any given day he might be wearing boxers or briefs or a bikini or a thong or a jock or etcetera. Or nothing. It's a blessing to have a boyfriend who's easy to shop for.

It's also a blessing to have a practically naked boyfriend, anytime, anywhere. Have I told you how fetching is the Fiend's nude? If I could have only one word to describe his body, I would use the word lissome. But of course, I'm allowed to use other words, like svelte, lithe, graceful, elegant. But I don't mean to give you the impression that he's a slender reed, because he isn't. His muscles are taut and solid, but also sleek and feline. I may be taller and brawnier than he is, my musculature is more dense, more defined, and I can lift more weight than he can, but I don't feel I can overpower him physically. At least, not easily. He knows he can toss me about, a good bit, when he wants to. I'm just a big pussycat. He's pantherish.

And his cock ain't a slender reed either.

<~>
Ap�sl�min ida corbalan� 'lse nesgla ugar�-cham sa cru ogrulho bat�oltha al�mv�sde.

last eleven:

Resurrection - Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Arts and Letters -
Friday, June 17, 2005
Domestic Obsessions -
Tuesday, April 5, 2005
The Kindness of Strangers -
Tuesday, April 5, 2005
Gone -
Saturday, April 2, 2005
Coming Back, Little By Little -
Saturday, April 2, 2005
Effing Around -
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Explicably Yours -
Wednesday, February 9, 2005
Things Too Innumerable To Mention -
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Mr. Armstrong -
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
The Pope in Our Kitchen -
Saturday, October 2, 2004



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Sa r'ji�o oss�vel meninonceiv �o poshik m�'�nch uscantebatahla o�r musiu o�r muiko.
Copyright � 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005 by gcs

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