It's not promiscious if it's travel

There have been times during my previous career in the gaming industry when I traveled a fair bit for work to different conventions that catered to people in my specific field. And occasionally on those trips, I might be prone to . . . entertain, or perhaps be entertained by, a gentleman. And by gentleman, I mean someone I might have just met a few hours prior who was attending the same convention.

I never thought of them, the evenings or the gentleman, or even myself for that matter, as promiscuous. After all, we were usually in NICE hotels, and I could always track the guy down within hours should I need an affidavit of my whereabouts. He was someone that I would most likely see again in a few months at another convention. He was a professional person, much like myself. And besides, we were generally in the same age bracket and so might think of these evenings in a like way - pleasant and enjoyable, with a modicum of respect. There would be no promises of future dates at upcoming conventions, ala Alan Alda's "Same Time Next Summer." But there was also no reason to be anything less than polite the next time we saw each other.

One such gentleman, let's call him . . . well, let's just call him Gentleman. Handsome, tall, and with a belly. A belly doesn't turn me off. A grin can turn me on.

Our first evening happened together in an odd location. I kept wondering what in the world there was to do in that town, and how we ended up in that hotel. But alas, I ended up in his bed one evening. An enjoyable time was had by all. But I somehow left the room thinking that I had not had a stellar performance. I felt like I had let him down. And that thought would occur to me any time I would think of him later.

A couple of years passed and we ran into each other again in some other town, this time in a much nicer hotel. (The kind with glass elevators - always a sign of a nice hotel.) Several "boys who like boys" were in attendance at this function, and after checking in I called his room to see where all the boys were going that night.

I admit that I might have harbored the slightest hope that over the next few days we might have an encounter. But I would in no way begrudge him if his circumstances had changed and no such occured. But I was pleased when we did find ourselves in the same room.

And approximately 2 hours later, I was woken from a serious nap by the ringing of the cell phone I had been recently assigned by the employer. One of my employees asked me, "What are you doing?" and I answered honestly something like, "Well, I was sleeping after having sex." She laughed, asked her question and let me go back to sleep.

During that convention, we had the most enjoyable time together, but no more private time. I remember confiding in him that I felt like I had let him down the last time, and that I really tried to be better this time. He laughed and said he didn't recall it that way at all.

And that's exactly what he should have said.

Yahoo!

So, on Yahoo there's this article about Iran's morality police. Not that I would ever want to live in Iran, and if you look at countries like that, you can understand why we have so new immigrants here. (Because, really, aren't most of us descended from immigrants?).

So there's this photo in the article - it could be stock, I'm not sure. But there's an Iranian police man and a guy arrested for his trendy hair and shirt.

And yes. In stereotypical fashion, I thought they were both hot.

P.S. As a disclaimer, I don't usually find men from the Middle East attractive.

Loving

So there's this great article on Yahoo about the love story, and social unrest in Virginia surrounding an interracial couple, Mildred and Richard Loving. I'm sure the little blurb sent hundreds of people to Wikipedia and other sites to learn more about it. Rediscovered photo's bring the topic to light thanks to an HBO special about the couple.

Me, however? I'm so gay, so typical, that my first thought on seeing the pictures was, "Damn he's hot!"

Just Like Us!

Last night I went to a local movie house with friends to watch a fundraiser event of "Make the Yuletide Gay." You would instantly recognize a couple of the cameo performances and a few others you would sit there a few minutes thinking, "WHO is that?" until the person next to you whisper-screams, "OHMYGODTHAT'SSOANDSO!"

The movie was a bit predictable, and adorable, and cute and has some bad acting, some over the top acting, and some really funny acting. Plus it has the obligatory happy-Christmas-ending we were expecting. In short, I loved it.

The interesting thing about me watching indy-gay movies (don't they all look pretty much like they were recorded with a really good home system?) is that I always sit there and imagine me and MyFella in the roles.

Yes, I know I would probably have been more Nathan than Gun. Not that I don't think I'm more like Gun than Nathan, but with MyFella and myself I'm more Nathan. But in real life, I'm definitely more Gun ~ at least in how I try to act when I go home to my parents.

But I digress. I sit there and I think with such a smile on my face how much I enjoy my relationship with MyFella. And I like occasionally to see a portrayal of a 2-guys relationship and think, "THAT'S just like us! JUST like!"

Russia lashes out at U.S.

is the Yahoo headline, and all I could think was, "I would so marry Medvedev."

And speaking of Yahoo headlines, did you see that hottie coach whose wife changed those grades? I would be very good to that man.

"Come out, come out, whereever you are. . ."

So today, after the funeral of a very good friend, I was standing with two people who (whom?) I have loved dearly for a very long time. One of them I still see regularly and communicate with often. The other, I only see maybe once or twice a year in social settings, and always feel like "We're still friends." And then regret that we don't see each other more often.

So something got us to telling stories, and I was telling one that she had heard before, but was still quite funny, and he had not. And I was doing that "gay thing" in my head where I'm trying to plan each sentence and make the pronouns non-gender-specific so that I'm not lieing, but I'm not using "he."

And then I told myself to stop it. I looked at Sissy, then looked at Ro and said, "This story will be a lot more funny if I use the right pronouns." Then I took Ro's hands and held it while I told a hugely funny story from my . . . more rambunctious days. . . with a gentleman we'll call Parker.

And by using Parker's name and the gender correct pronouns, I went ahead and came out to a friend I've had since 1980 something. Now, he didn't gasp in surprise or say, "I always wondered" or "I always knew." He never flinched while holding my hand. He did, however, laugh to the point of crying with this true life story.

I've wanted him to know for quite a while. I'm not even sure why, no more than I see him. But it seemed important that he know. And now he does.

And he also knows I was once a slut who slept with someone just because they had electricity, and air conditioning, when I did not.

Kurt Hummel

For my birthday, MyFella totally surprised me with tickets to see Wicked. Bought, paid for, done. Just got to wait a month. I was in shock. I felt inside completely like Kurt Hummel.

"Almost like old times."

"It was good to see you out last night. Almost like old times" her text said.

If by "almost like old times" she meant me spending $20 in one dollar bills on tipping drag queens and eyeing the shirtless guys like hunks of meat in front of a wolf, then yes, almost like old times.

And I'd had that same thought as the night went on.

It was a birthday party for a friend, a beautiful young lady who has matured quite nicely from a skinny, irreverent, wild, unsettled child-woman into a curvacious, irreverent, wild, one-woman-woman. The past few years have been good to her, filling out both her body and her relationship, but unable to take the "it's my birthday, let's party" attitude away.

They chose a fairly new gay nightclub in town to which I had not been before. MyFella and I discussed it, as we had planned on having Jamie with us, and decided that since the couple came to my big 40th 2 years ago, one of us should go to hers. Or as he put it the next morning, "I said 'One of us' and you certainly volunteered."

Why, yes. Yes, I did.

I put on clothes that I thought made me look good. I was pleased when the cashier gave me back ones to use. And I marveled at my good luck to being going on a night for not just a drag show, but a pageant. A true pageant on the gay pageant circuit. Beautiful drag queens from all over the South, as far away as Dallas. And that's a fair drive from here. Heck, as big as Texas is, that's a fair drive from anywhere.

Drag queens in costume changes, or rip-off skirts revealing under-skirts that completely change the look of the costume, big wigs, short wigs, colored wigs. One drag queen sang live, not just lip syncing, very well from Indi Arie.

And then here was the birthday party complete with body shots and dirty dancing. And at least one shirtless (not as cute as he thought he was, but cute just the same) guy in the crowd.

Yes, it was a fantastic two hours. I admit it. I love a gay bar. I love a gay environment and a gay atmosphere. I love gay guys and gay girls and dance music and mixed drinks and drag queens.

And I love friends hosting birthday parties. I just wonder if I have to worry about any of me showing up on Facebook later today.

Gay Again, Gay Again. . .

Last night I went out to meet a friend for dinner. Near leaving, he asked if I would mind meeting two of his friends at a trendy little place I hadn't been to in years. It seemed like a good idea to me, and since he and I aren't especially close, I thought meeting his friends would definitely help with the conversation flow, plus give me a little insight into him.

The whole evening, the entire experience, turned into the funnest little mind-cation for me. An hour and a half of the experiences of the more carefree gays with foppish talk and cold drinks in pretty colors with the taste of vodka.

I told myself in my head, "Enjoy this." It was just a little bit of time, with talk and pictures of ex's and ex's currents, and words like "drama" and "tragic" and "girl." Funny how the passage of time hasn't changed the vocabulary of younger gays on a night out.

My cosmopolitans were over priced. My food was delicious. The two guys I met were darling. And my friend, . . . turns out he's a real person with real life stuff going on.

Now, for the next time out, I just need to find my "dressy" flip flops.

Sexuality

There was something about these legs that confused me. The black high heels, the shapely muscle tone, the short skirt pressed over a perfect bubbly butt rising up to a beautiful body. I couldn't decide if I wanted her, or wanted to be her. I spent the day with her, constantly reminded of just how beautiful she is.

Eric

He was young and blonde and beautiful, like boys around the age of 18 should be. In his case, the beautiful was of a type with some sort of styled hair, and possibly just a little too skinny, a slightly mischevious look in his eye. I had spotted him across the room, busy waiting on tables and cleaning tables, and I thought he was probably gay. I mean, with that much style in his hair, the odds were good. But then I had dismissed him from my thoughts.

Later, while my good friend and I have finished our dinner and are milling through the gift shop portion of Cracker Barrel, he's walking in my direction. Since we're near the restrooms, I figured he was headed that way. But he was looking at me and smiling at me. In the few seconds he was headed towards the restroom, he never lost eye contact with me and was just smiling.

Just as I was forming the thought in my head, "Young man, that's nice of you to flirt with me, but you should go find yourself someone your own age. . . " he came around a huge display of candy and . . . . held my phone up like Vanna White turning a letter on TV.

It made me feel young again.

I know that sounds corny, but it did. It made me feel all excited inside.

Me and MyFella had just walked in a store and MyFella said, "That guy just winked at me." I said, "Who, the guy in camo or the employee?"

MyFella, "The guy in camo."

So MyFella walked off to shop and I hovered near the front just to see what the fella looked like. As he finished checking out, he picked up his bag, looked towards me, winked and walked out.

I rode that excitement for about an hour.

Prince William is engaged to be married. . .

thus putting me yet further away from life long ambition of being Queen. It's OK, really, I tell myself. He was far too young for me anyway, and I wouldn't want to be hounded by the paparazzi for the rest of my life.

Still. . . . I'm pretty sure I'd look stunning wearing a crown. And let me assure you, I would wear it every opportunity I got.

Stereotypically gay . . .

I stopped last night at a quick stop on some highway in what definitely seemed like rural Mississippi. Behind the counter were 3 kids who all looked like high school seniors to me. Two girls, one boy. The boy had as much sass in his stance as in his hair style and exuded gay vibrations. I couldn't help but think, "I bet this firefly lights up his little hometown."

Then today I was having lunch with MyFella at a local restaurant when he pointed out the postmaster. Oh, my my. I'd say middle 30's, dressed in very nice black slacks that fit him well (fitting perfectly over a nice butt) and a pull over white shirt. He had dark hair, a very pleasing profile and a bit of a goatee. This man was handsome. Not overbearingly so, just the right amount of good looking with the right amount of good, well fitting clothing. I couldn't help but thinking if I lived in this town, I'd be going inside the post office to mail every single letter I write.

"It was like 10 years ago"

or better titled "What he doesn't know would . . ."

I was out the other night. A friend from my hometown had texted that he'd be at a divey joint listening to a band. So I went out to meet him around 10p.m. The friend has recently helped me get a job and I thought it would be nice to hang out with him for a bit.

I've passed the joint dozens and dozens of times and never paid it any attention. It's small and clean and definitely a dive. The electricity was shot, so without air until the local power people came, the band didn't play and folks hung out outside.

One of the guys with my friend is a local to this big city and lives just a few miles away. In fact, he lives 4 doors down from my best friend G. I know this because when I decided to leave, this guy asks for a ride home. He was beyond drunk. And beyond annoyed at our mutual friend over typical bar drama. But anyway, I figured that given our similar ages and living location, we probably had some mutual friends in town and he seemed nice, if drunk. But really, he was just asking for a lift home and wasn't out of the way.

So we're in the car, stuck at the train tracks, when he rubs my leg and says, "Let's see it."

H.E.Double Hockey Sticks. Not 2 minutes have passed it seems like and drunk guy is hitting on me. I mean, I'm flattered and all, but really. No. I declined. I drove him to his house and dropped him off.

I'd like to think that even if I wasn't 40 and with a long time boyfriend that I would not be impressed with a stranger in my car saying "Let's see it." But certainly with a boyfriend, I'm not interested.

But it was a little funny, you know. It was a lot like when I moved to town . . . what 10, 11 years ago?

MyFella wouldn't get it at all. And he'd be ticked off to no end. But there's nothing to be ticked off about. Some guy hit on me and I declined. I hate to admit it, but there was the shortest moment when I was flattered (slightly, he was wasted after all) and it seemed like I was young again (for just a moment).

But that was 10 years ago.

Chick Filet

I don't understand the bizarre amount of traffic at the Chick Filet. It's been open at least 6 months now, if not a year. And the traffic is non stop. Part of it may seem non stop due to the weird traffic pattern the store was forced to create by the local heritage lovers to save a retaining wall from an old church building. But still, I can count, and the cars often are non stop around the building.

I decided to walk over and treat myself to lunch using a gift card, and every table in the room had customers and every cashier had a line. Bizarre.

But since I had nothing but time I went ahead and stayed. And for my patience, was rewarded with this beautiful sight in front of me. Pretty guy, great butt.

Thank you, Chick Filet.

Beauty

Now, this creature is beautiful. But not near as beautiful as his confidence and outfit would leave you to believe. MyFella and I guessed he was from Ole Miss and in town with his girlfriend, hence the yellow shorts with the perfectly white shirt and the name brand shades.

From the bumper sticker on the car, we guessed the wrong college. But same stereotype of students there.

I wish I could have gotten a better snap of him.

Oh well.

another crush on an actor

And now in the latest addition of a string of gay crushes, Sam Adama. You could be my Capricorn lover on any planet.

Levi Johnston,

you disappoint me.

Don't get me wrong, you've got more gutso than I to go in Playgirl even partly naked, or mostly naked, or all naked but not showing 'the goods.' But still, that photo set just didn't do it for me. I mean, surely you know that Playgirl should really be called Playgayguys, right? Well, anyway. I wouldn't kick you out of bed, but somehow I was expecting more. More definition? More personality showing? Sure, sure, I expected more of 'the stuff' but I get it, didn't want anything that would embarass your kid later. But still, you look a lot better with clothes on. I mean, seriously, dude. You look better with clothes on. With clothes on, I got to imagine a body that was lean and ripped. With clothes off, you're just hairless and young. Pretty, yes. But no more so than thousands of other guys your age.

Waiting for these pictures and finally getting them reminds me of a quote from Star Trek:
"Having is not so pleasing a thing as wanting. It is not logical, but it is often true." ~ Spock

Hotel Horny

I've had so much travel sex on business trips over the years, that I somehow start to get horny just walking in a hotel.

There I was today, going in a hotel right here in town for a meeting with a lady I've known darned near a decade, and I just naturally got horny. Strangers, hotel clerks, the sound of a hotel bar, it all adds up and makes me horny.

And right by the lobby phone, there's this guy. I wouldn't say he was the best thing ever, but I was horny and caught myself blatantly looking at him and checking out his. . . appearance, let's just say.

He had on a wedding ring, pressed khaki pants and tan colored dressy cowboy boots, and some type of nylon golf pull over thing. His legs were spread wide and I just couldn't help but find it appealing, that wide leg spread of his with those pressed khaki's and cowboy boots. Mmmm mmmm.

And if the damned Blackberry didn't make a loud noise every time I take a picture, there'd be a pic of him on here. But I have looked all over the settings and can not for the life of me get that sound to turn off!

I shoulda bought an iPhone!