Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Little Flaws

One of the things to which I’m still unused, after living for six weeks in my new home, is crossing the state line on a regular basis. But I live in a place in which, if I turn the wrong way in the middle of the night during a groggy pee run to my bathroom, I can accidentally find myself stepping from Connecticut to New York without knowing it. I’m just not accustomed to it. In Michigan and in Virginia, or even in my very distant childhood homes in Georgia and North Carolina, we had to drive for a good hour or more to reach a border. It was an accomplishment—not something that sometime happened accidentally when trying to find that little Mexican restaurant on that street by the river.

(Admittedly, in Detroit, it was possible to travel ten minutes south and head into an entirely different country, which is even more of an accomplishment. But I rarely did it because the border crossings made me stressed.)

It’s a lot easier to head for the Home Depot over the border than it is to the one closest in the state; if we head out to the movies, I have to remember to check times in the Port Chester and White Plains theaters. Likewise, when I’m cruising online I keep forgetting that in addition to the fifty-or-so-mile sprawl I consider to my east, I need to look even a couple of miles over the border to the west as well.

So I was a little surprised, that Sunday morning, to find myself in the hills along the Hudson river, knocking on the door of a ramshackle, but quaint, home in the middle of a mountain town thronged by cyclists from Manhattan, looking for local color and cool canopies of greenery the city couldn’t afford them. When the door open, a shirtless man greeted me and pulled me inside. While his enormous dog sniffed and beat its tail against my thighs, the man pushed me roughly against an old wall stripped down to its original horsehair insulation and kissed me, deeply.

His lips were soft, and warm. His tongue probed deep into my mouth, and I found myself surrendering to him. We hadn’t spoken a word yet. We’d talked enough online, over the course of the previous week. He’d told me all the things he was into, and all the nasty things he wanted to do with me. The guy was a cock-oriented service pig, he told me, but at the same time, very aggressive in his approach.

I was good with that.

I let the guy manhandle me in the middle of his hallway. The entire first floor, as far as I could tell, had been torn down to the studs in preparation for some major renovation. There were entire floorboards missing, so that I could see straight down into the basement. The house had the elegant bones and charm to spare of a Depression-era construction, but seemed a little difficult to maneuver around.

My new buddy finally pulled away from our long and passionate kiss. He was a good looking fellow—older than I, goateed, gray-haired, spectacled. The sort of man who could go very easily from a sharp suit to a pair of jeans and a tank top. “You’re really handsome,” I remarked.

He met my gaze square on, and in a dreamy, romantic sort of voice, said, “You’ve got a lazy eyelid.”
The remark lifted me right out of whatever sexual reverie I might’ve fallen. It’s true; one of my eyelids hangs ever so slightly lower than the other, something of which I’ve been particularly conscious since one of my optometrists asked me, “Have you suffered a stroke?” NO I HAVEN’T. Jeez. It’s not like I walk around with one lid wide open and the lashes of the other scraping. It’s a difference of a fucking millimeter.

“Really?” I asked, not all that happy. “That’s what you’re leading with?”

He made some kind of lame apology and laughed it off, to the point at which my irritation at being made so self-conscious faded a little. I followed him upstairs, where we stripped down in the steamy bedroom and started to make out some more. The dog, in the meantime, followed; he hopped up on the king-sized bed. Once it was obvious he wasn’t planning to get down, we let him recline and snooze at its foot.

“You’re a really good kisser,” I said, after a while.

He stared squarely over my eyes. I thought he was going to thank me. “You know,” he said at last, “right before you came over, I had one of those crazy eyebrow hairs that was super-long, too. I trimmed it.”

“Fuck,” I said aloud, sitting up and grabbing for my left eyebrow. I started to scoot off the bed.

“I’m not saying you have a crazy eyebrow hair,” he protested, too mildly.

Yet somehow I knew he was. By then I’d reached the guy’s dresser mirror. I didn’t have a crazy long eyebrow hair. I did, however, have a single eyebrow hair that sometime while we’d been grappling against the wall, had become pointed slightly down instead of to the left. That was it. “You’re driving me nuts,” I told the guy. “Any more physical defects you want to comment on? Get ‘em out of the way, maybe, all at once? Thinning spot? Pasty white skin? ”

He thought I was joking, and laughed. “I didn’t say they were bad things.”


Maybe I was just grumpy from having tiny flaws spoken aloud (you didn’t see me saying anything about his big belly, after all), but I didn’t have much fun for the rest of the morning. I’d gone in expecting a lot of cock-oriented service—his speciality, supposedly—and didn’t get a damned thing. He didn’t suck my cock. He didn’t eat my hole or work on my balls. We made out. I ate his butt and stuck my dick insider, and then was treated to him telling me not to shoot (“Why trade all this pleasure for five seconds of orgasm?”) . . . until he shot without warning me, and then hopped off. “Sorry, dude, but once I’ve shot, I’m done,” he apologized.

Yeah, I was decidedly grumpy.

I was lying face down on the mattress, checking my phone, when I felt a tongue between my butt cheeks. I relaxed a little as it licked with determination, enjoying the sensation of its warmth against my hole. Then, with a start, I realized it was the dog.

What’s it say about an encounter when I had more pleasure from the guy’s mutt?


  1. funny,funny shit...the dog!!!!thank you so much for starting my day off with a laugh.

  2. You should visit Australia...the states are so big here you can drive three days and still be in the same state.


  3. That's funny shit! I'll take your lesson to heart, because I sometimes let crap like that fall out of my mouth.

    Note to self. Keep eyelid and eyebrow talk to myself until after the first encounter.

    Luckily, I don't have a dog.


  4. With a trick like that -- you'd be better fucking with Trade. What an asshole to have you in bed and only to nit-pick. Obviously his loss.

  5. 8:51 Anonymous,

    Oh, it's my pleasure (or lack thereof).

  6. J.,

    And the roads probably aren't as broad, either.

    Sometimes driving across the width of Pennsylvania feels like driving across Australia.

  7. Jack,

    Yeah, wait until AFTER the guy's shot. Please.

  8. Oh man I have been in that situation before. I feel your pain. If the guy had hopped off and taken off like that I would've left my load right on the sheets in his bed for him to find later on!


  9. Sounds like the dog had more manners then the owner.....lol

  10. I honestly never noticed you have a lazy eyelid. I do too, but I've had it since birth (when I was a baby it hardly ever opened and my parents called me "Pop-eye"). And I'm incredibly shocked that someone was able to get you naked and be anything but impressed. Dude, my memories of you turn me on. And I'm not saying this just to make you feel better either.

    And as far as the state thing goes: In Ohio I was constantly going over the boarder into Indiana because it was only a 45min drive to Fort Wayne, where a lot of guys were. But then again, I also crossed in to Michigan twice for you. And in Maine, the nearest bookstore to me once the Barnes and Noble closes is in New Hampshire.


  11. Tom,

    I don't know. Sometimes it's better to save the load for someone else.

  12. Cyberi4a,

    And a better tongue, too.

  13. Ace,

    Thanks for making me realize I am a hermit who never leaves his house. That's basically it, for me!

  14. Man! The drought in Connecticut (and thereabouts) is seriously severe if you didn't bolt after the eyelid and "wild hair" comments!

    On me, it's my left eyelid and it shows in every photo (you've ever seen) of me. My ophthalmologist even suggested blepharoplasty surgery. Uh...whatever happened to little flaws adding...character?!

  15. Rob, GREAT essay, and I trust you recognize, at some remove, the comic potential in it. I still don't know as much as I would like about your literary oeuvre, but that scene would be MONEY in many a novel.

    But I hope you get an eyeball-rollingly intense orgasm with a deserving guy very soon, buddy. :-)

  16. Sometimes driving across the width of PA is like driving through the 50's inAlabama.

    You, my friend, cannot seem to catch a break. Have you thought of adding "bossy inconsiderate faux-bottoms need not apply" to your profile?

  17. Come up here, Mr. Steed, and you can wander around between New York, Connecticut and Massachusetts in the space of an hour and less than maybe 60 miles total travel. After you've overloaded on boundary crossings, you can relax with any of a variety of entertainments I'll arrange for you at a moment's notice.

    Except a dog, I'm afraid. My pack is gone.

  18. It's good to hear you're getting some action. Quality has got to improve! I'm terrified that guys are looking for those little hairs and flaws, usually have the manners to keep them to themselves though, I hope. The dog sounds flawless!
    The whole state line thing seems to vary from person to person. Some here in Chicago will go all the way up into Wisconsin for dinner but can't imagine going as far south as 35th street. Good luck and thank you for the laugh.

  19. Some people are just socially awkward and blurt out whatever trivial thing comes to mind. I think it's more of a tick than anything else. But yeah, I can see how it would be a total bone kill.

    Ah, people's pets. I like dogs and cats and usually they like me...too much.

    I'm 30 minutes from Wisconsin, but there are only a few bridges that cross a rather wide river to get there. So it's unlikely to find yourself there by accident, unlike New England where state lines can cut through neighborhoods, and in some cases, houses too.


  20. Mr. Throb,

    I was SO HORNY. And I'd driven twelve miles!

    You know, ever since it was first pointed out to me a few years ago, I've kept an eye out, and just about everyone has one eyelid that's a little lower. Stupid dumbasses, making me feel badly about it.

  21. John,

    I suppose I should've emphasized that the dog was licking at me for a good thirty seconds before I realized it wasn't its owner. I'm such a dolt.

  22. RedPhillip,

    Was your pack trained? Goodness, sir. I'm shocked.

  23. Justlikedads,

    I used to know people from Madison who'd travel down to Chicago for dinner. That I can understand, but the reverse?

  24. That cracked me up! What a good dog, though.

  25. My pack trained me as much as anything. They were not partners in sex play, much to the disappointment of men who misinterpreted the line in my profile where I said, "Love dogs, live with #." I protected them from perversions, and those who practice them. Like that Alsatian, or that Dane around the block.

  26. JFBreak,

    Almost better than the owner!

  27. RedPhillip,

    I hope you know I was speaking facetiously. I also once had a profile photo in which I was posing with a friend's lab, and the number of emails I got from men who wanted me to get them knotted was pretty eye-popping. It made me think about my profile picture props. God forbid I pose with a baseball bat. Or a gerbil.

  28. No worries, dear Breeder. I knows we's just funnin' each other.

    Pose with the bat and the gerbil and you'll have guys stalking you up and down I-95.

  29. RedPhillip,

    I can actually picture a kind of nude pose, like Michelangelo's David, with a gerbil on an upturned palm and a baseball bat in the other hand. It would be all kinds of awesome.

  30. Particularly since you're so much better endowed than the David it would be an image of awesome awesomeness.

  31. Man, you were going there to have a great time and you didn't have any, or just the make out in the beginning. That wasn't nice of him to tell you those things, i would be pleased to have you there that everything else is a bonus.
    We all have flaws, and i know that i have a few and don't want people to tell me about them.
    I would have been made too if somebody would saythings like that to me, i heard them enough already from people who don't know me and i find that hard to take sometimes. When people say nice things to me, i feel overwelmed by those kind words because i'm not used to that.
    Thank you again for the great post man.


  32. At least there was no hidden camera. (Nor was there reason to believe that the owner was watching his dog in action.)

  33. Rob,
    I've taken a break from your blog, not because you moved, but just my life being hectic. I am currently in Munich on Vacation, and while I didn't experience the physical comments you did (or if I did, they were in German!?) -- I've now been to two Munich saunas in two nights and feel like I must have a sign on my back "Avoid has plague" -- Tonight in a sauna LOADED with men of all ages and types, I didn't get a single person to suck me. I had more fun in the bar, meeting a nice young guy and chatting for 30 mins than I did in the whole sauna.

    Consider it a combintion of geography and phase of the moon / tides, etc

    Your luck will turn, and your ability to seize the moment will bring you back to having fun soon !

    Best Wishes,


  34. 3:30 Anonymous,

    You never know. I might end up on gaybeast.com yet.

  35. Jim,

    No one gave you permission to take a break! I don't recall doing so, anyway!

    Yeah, sometimes the saunas are just like that—I think it's a phenomenon that's particularly enhanced when there are a lot of people about, and men think they have all kinds of choice . . . and end up making absolutely none.

  36. At second blush, I see the point. Maybe there was something practiced, even formulaic to Grandaddy Greybeard's act. Doggy Dearest was there from the start, making intimate contact with you. Let us hope that Grandaddy just retreated to where he could watch Doggy tongue one more trick. (If you insist, I will monitor the URL you gave. LOL!)

    Of course, one wonders if Grandaddy trained Doggy to tongue him first and foremost.