Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Merry Christmas, Lover

u r a artist, lover?? read the text message I got, shortly before Christmas. My fuckbuddy, the muscular Puerto Rican who works as a furniture mover, texts me several times a day. Usually his notes are brief and perfunctory, expressing a need for my dick deep in his hole, or telling me how much he loves me and needs to see me. For the first time, however, he’s asked me what I did for a living. I tell him.

i am artist 2!! he writes back. i go 2 school 4 art in PR. And, lover I want 2 show u my art.

I tend to get on well with artistic types of all sorts, whether they’re painters or poets or photographers or decorators or hair dressers or dancers. I find myself attracted to temperaments that are passionate and express themselves creatively. I can’t prove it save anecdotally, but I’ve always felt that the lovers I’ve had with deep artistic streaks have often been the most passionate in bed; they commit to sex in the same way they commit to their crafts, with joy and excitement and an often total abandonment to pleasure.

And I’d had nothing but pleasure in my encounter with the mover.

It’s Christmas Eve. I’d been to a church service in the afternoon, and had a long, quiet evening ahead of me. Then I get the text from him. my sister is home cannot host, it reads. It’s followed by another. i have present 4 u tho my love. can u meet?

We arrange that I’ll drive over to his apartment complex, park across the street, meet him there. He’s already waiting when I drive up the steep hill that bears his street address and park the car, being careful to put on the emergency brakes. He’s a gray figure in the dusk, barely visible against the brick wall of the parking garage. He peers through the gathering dark at my black car, then beetles over and lets himself in the passenger side door.

“Lover,” he breathes. I admit to a certain thrill at being address so familiarly, after only one encounter with this built little sparkplug of a man. Then his lips are on mine as the internal car lights fade. His mouth is cold, but tastes sweet, like mint candy. His mittened hands run up and down the front of my leather jacket, then down to the warm spot between my legs. His next words are a barely-whispered sight. “Oh, lover.”

“I’ve missed you, baby,” I tell him, as I stroke his hair.

“I can’t stay for long,” he replies, only now looking around to make sure we’re not being watched. “My sister. . . .”

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “It’s nice just being able to see you.”

“But I want to give you this. I made it for you.” He’s been carrying something in his hand that he’d placed on the car’s floor when he jumped in. I’d vaguely noticed it, but since it was wrapped in a brown paper bag, I assumed it was a bottle of liquor.

And lest I be accused of racial stereotyping, I’d like to point out as hastily as I can, that it was also shaped like a bottle of liquor. He put the package in my hand. “In San Juan, where I grow up, I go to school to be artist,” he told me. “For you, I make this. For you. Just for you. On Christmas Eve.”

For a moment, it’s tough for me to breathe. Any gift is an honor. A gift made especially for me is a fucking thrill. “Gosh,” I say, because it’s my go-to phrase when I’m speechless. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Open,” he says, gesturing to the package. “Happy Christmas, love.”

I grin, and nod, and pull down the brown paper. . . .

. . . and I find myself faced with the ugliest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s like—well, I don’t know how to describe it, exactly. It was as if he’d taken an empty wine bottle, covered it in papier-mâché, and then while it was still sticky and wet, attached desiccated jellybeans in a random fashion all over the exterior.Then he’d painted the entire thing orange. Not a nice rust color, or a warm, homey orange. Hazard orange, or construction cone orange. Around the neck hung a sprig of artificial holly from the dollar store. The exterior is lumpy, and rough, and I can see the impressions of his thumbs on the surface.

“Do you like?” he’s asking. He’s anxious to hear the answer.

“Well . . . wow!” I say. The boner that had been bulging in my pants was slowly deflating. Because honestly, all I could think was, Holy fuck what the hell kind of art school TAUGHT YOU TO DO THAT?

“I am so glad, lover!” he said, almost bouncing up and down in the front seat. “So happy to make you happy.”

I’m trying to resist the urge to look around and see if Ashton Kutcher is going to come out and inform me I’ve been punk’d. “Just the fact you went to so much . . . so much trouble is the sweetest thing in the world,” I tell him, honestly. “Thank you.”

He grabs me again, this time so hard that I have to clutch onto the bottle to keep it from flying. The papier-mâché crackles slightly from the pressure, and leaks orange dust onto my console. He gives me a ferocious kiss that begins warming my groin again. Then, with a peck on the cheek, he’s opening the door again. “You make me too happy,” he tells me. “Merry Christmas, lover.”

Then the door closes, and he’s scurrying back to the warmth of the apartment building. I watch him go, bottle still in my hand.

The orange bottle has occupied a place of honor on the floor of my closet, ever since. But don’t get me wrong. How could I dislike any thing made for me especially, by someone who treats me so nicely? It might look like an orange wart, or a kindergarten teacher’s worst craft-time nightmare. It might flake paint like a Republican congressman flakes dandruff. It might even have a faint stench of vino and it’s possible that the paint has never completely dried.

But in the spirit of Christmas, I love that ugly-ass thing.


  1. great story man, very nice, and for you to treat him so kindly, Happy New Year, I Look forward to reading more.


  2. As hard as I was laughing (and it was pretty hard and much needed) I was genuinely touched by the story. I don't even think I'd be able to make what he did....I can drawn some pretty badass chemical compounds though (biochem degree). :-)

  3. Perfect start to the New Year... A real LOL !!

  4. I was looking for a picture!


  5. I hope that was what my beau felt when I gifted him my hand knitted toilet seat cover!

    You're such a sweetie as is The Mover.That tale was very O'Henry!

  6. No different from any parent who had looked at what their child make at school and brought home, you have no idea what it is but think it's the greatest thing ever.

    And my mother has a couple of boxes of crap in the hall closet I made in grade school to prove it.....lol

  7. eeeyyy!!!!! esas botellas más que una expresión artística, es una expresión cultural en culturas latinoamericanas, no sé cómo la pudo hacer él, si será fea o no... pero en latinoamérica muchas mujeres que dedican sus vidas a las "manualidades" las hacen y creanme que son una digna expresión artística ;)

  8. This post reveled a lot about you in ways I can try to describe. I first cried, then laughed. I read more, laughed again, laughed out loud, then finally cried... I don't know you, but I wished I did. You have a very special gift my friend that most would love to have, if not kill for. The true gift of love. Thank you!

  9. If you knew the strange things I've seen people do with the wine bottles that get emptied when the place I work at has a wine tasting, you would think his papier-mache thing was downright spectacular. Or maybe not. In any case, the fact that he made it himself for you says a lot to me.

    This post reminded me of when I wrote you that poem. Made me feel all warm inside.


  10. Both hilarious and very sweet. Text him a picture of it sitting squarely in the middle of your dining room table.

  11. I agree with ErieBear. This thread is useless without pictures!

    Great story and I loved that you thought you might be an Ashton Kutcher punk'd victim.

  12. RedPhillip,

    It's a little like the love of an affectionate golden retriever. But absolutely.

  13. JBS,

    I guess I did the kindest thing possible. Thanks for thinking so, anyway. Happy new year!

  14. Matthewrx,

    "I laughed! I cried!" You give me good reviews.

    Your skill sounds useful. Can you make invisibility pills?

  15. 9:38 Anonymous,

    Thanks for laughing, my friend. Happy new year!

  16. Adventures,

    If you think a non-sexual tale about a Christmas story is hot, my actual sex entries must leave you a puddle on the floor. Thanks!

  17. ErieBear,

    I can see why you'd want that, I honestly do. I think it might be mean, though. Plus I don't want to be responsible for making the veins in your eyeballs burst.

  18. Countess,

    Can you knit me one of those?

    And I hope you notice I didn't accidentally delete your comment with my fat thumbs today.

  19. Cyberi4a,

    Yeah, but this guy is definitely not my son. I'm entitled to prolonging the WTF? moment.

  20. 12:06 Anonymous,

    If you say they're worthy, I'll believe they're worthy! :-)

  21. BlkJack,

    Did this entry reveal that I'm a reluctant hoarder?

  22. Ace,

    I used to have a friend who would collect empty wine bottles so she could melt them flat and turn them into cheese trays for all her friends. They were the ugliest fucking cheese trays I ever saw in my entire life.

  23. Loki,

    You know, that's not a bad idea. I'll be leaving a trail of flaked orange paint between the closet and the table, but it might be sweet to do.

  24. JFBreak,

    There should be a Sex Punk'd show on some cable channel. Let's get right on that.

  25. Your motoric skills are impressive. No innuendo here of course.

  26. Great story. I have to confess, I think you're more highly evolved than I am, or perhaps just kinder, because I think I probably would be peeling rubber and heading for the hills to be confronted with that much intensity so soon after a first meeting. Glad it's working for you, though, buddy. :-)

  27. :-) I can always relate in some way. My little 4 year old godson came running up to me the other day with a finger painting- I've no clue what it is but the simple fact that he made it and was so proud of himself made me proud of him. It the first time anyone has made me something- its going in a frame :-). As for invisibility pills- def on my to do list because I'd like some too at times.

  28. Reading the description of the present and your response had me laughing. Hearing how much he loves you by calling you lover warmed my heart.

    Thanks for sharing all of your experiences with us!

  29. Hi Breeder,

    I've been reading your blog for a while. It's fantastic! Keep up the great work.

    I have so many questions I want to ask. I apologize in advance if some of my questions are already answered here in some of your stories, but I haven't had enough time to read all of them.

    Here they go:

    I'ver read how you fuck tops. If a top that gets fucked is still a top, and a bottom that fucks, is still a bottom.... and considering you started your sexual life as a big time bottom...how do you define a top and a bottom? and please don't give me the smart-ass answer that for you everybody is a bottom, so your definition is that you're a top and the rest of the world are bottoms :)

    A lot of the stories, most of them, involve sex with submissive, low self esteem, want-to-be-controlled bottoms. I understand that's part of the thrill of a certain type of sex. Would you be able to have sex with a partner that was your equal? or the lack of sense of power and entitlement would make it harder for you?

    How have you managed to stay DDF and clean during 35 years of "risky" sex? It is a honest question, not a judgment call. I truly want to know the trick. I want to use it!

    You are an artist. What kind? Can your art be seen, listened to, read (apart from here), tasted, worn, lived in, all of the above? Where can we experience it?

    It seems (and I emphasize it SEEMS), like you spend a lot of time thinking of, setting up and having sex with people other than your wife. You are an artist too. Where do you find time to do all this? Another honest question... also want to know how to use the trick

    Guess these are enough questions for now.... until next with more

    Love your blog!

  30. I am wondering if this is one piece where you mean for the reader to identify with you -- to feel as you did. (In others, the reader seems more an invisible observer.) For me, there was something eye-moistening about the mix of feelings brought on by the car scene. My not-so-inner aesthete was embarrassed and a little horrified by the Mover's artlessness. But another part of me was deeply moved by his sincerity and spontaneity. Like the season's hackneyed, yet somehow charming Little Drummer Boy, this really might be all someone of his means could give.

    As part of your Human Comedy, this seems a compliment to the first or second Spencer episode, where Spencer was beginning to have special feelings for you "against" his "better judgment". Now it is you who may have reservations, easily enough shared. The hardest decision I ever had to make in love was to detach from a man who doted on me, but who deserved a happiness I could never give him.

    The mover cannot be your artistic or intellectual equal. But ah, what a beautiful heart seems his, in a world where beautiful bodies can harbor such ugly souls.

  31. I loved this story--I laughed out loud and it still makes me smile when I think of it. You seem to have such a kind heart and are so great at writing. I only wish I could write things as funny as you do (texting the landscaper).

    I have read all (I think) of your blog over the past 6 months and now really look forward to reading each new entry.

    I wish you a mild winter up there in the NE from down here in Virginia.


  32. Hi Rob,
    That was some post man, i was laughing a little when i read it but after i regain myself and tought ok, it is a gift made by somebody that cares about you. Glad that you took it so gracefully even if it was ok. When you said that you like it and that you see his face illuminating has been your gift to him. You made him feel great that day. I knew you were a kind and loveble man, you cannot do any arm to somebody who cares for you. You are just amazing my friend. Thank you for that post.


  33. Hi mate, I was laughing my ass off when I read this entry. I've read a few of your blog post but this post had me decide to go through all of your blog entry in time to come. You have probably have heard this many time from uncountable comments that you receive everyday, but I'm gonna say it anyway. That you are gifted in writing and you wrote beautifully. Well structured, superb organization, splendid choice of words. I've never thought sex and literature could mingle so well together. Reading you blog could bring me so much pleasure. Keep up the good work mate. Looking forward to read more of your post. =)


    1. Kenny,

      I am never going to object to more of your kind of comments. Thank you.