I had recent two stories to related in which the end result of a couple of unfortunate sexual encounters was me being both grossed out and humbled. The "Fudge" entry of Friday was the first; the other will be my next blog installment.
But since I had another recent incident in which I was left with poop on my face (metaphorical, this time), I thought I'd round it out to a trio.
I'm always trying new recipes at home. Usually it falls to me to make dinners, because I'm the only good cook in the house, and because I keep the meals well-balanced and somewhat light. There's a baked spaghetti recipe I've been liking lately, for example—and I'm one of those people who associates that particular dish with midweek church potlucks, and always think of it as greasy and heavy and disgusting. The version I've tried, however, is mostly vegetables, and whole-wheat pasta, and just a touch of cheese. Delicious.
And then there's the dish I served the other night. It's a brown butter gnocchi dish that's heavy on the garlic. I like it because it calls for a lot of wilted fresh spinach, and because it's one of those meals I can throw together in 20 minutes after being out all day. I dashed home on Friday evening to whip it up, there was a made whirlwind through the kitchen of people eating before they went off to their Friday night activities, and then I was left on my own. So I stuffed my iPad in my bag and headed up to the local Starbucks.
It's one of those Starbucks with a drive-through, located immediately off a busy highway exit. There's more traffic through the drive-through than there is in the building itself, which is why I like it. I'm always guaranteed one of the comfy chairs, and reasonable quiet to catch up on my reading.
And of course, there's the barista there on whom I totally crush out.
He's about twenty. He has very long, curly blond hair that he attempts to keep tamped down with a baseball cap. He's got very dark eyebrows, and a clear complexion, and a skinny frame. And whenever I come in, I get a little bit of a vibe that if he's not exactly itching for me to jump his bones, he doesn't mind talking to me as he prepares my skinny mochas, and he certainly doesn't mind the tip.
"Big plans for the night?" I asked him, as I leaned on the counter and watched him play with the various espresso machines.
"Probably heading home and reading some new comics I picked up today," he told me.
I tried to ignore the fact that I was hitting on a boy who still reads comics, and gave him a suave smile. "Sounds like a wild Friday."
"Uh-huh," he said. I'd actually thought he was going to say something else, but he was staring at me.
Well, well, I thought. Maybe he's looking for another kind of wild Friday. "You can't think of anything more interesting to do than that tonight?", I asked, letting the open-ended question dangle. It wasn't overly suggestive, after all. Just vague.
And for a moment I thought he might be buying into it. He kept staring at me with a certain intensity that seemed almost . . . sexual. Like he was lost in some kind of erotic reverie. Then finally his little pink lips parted to speak. I waited to hear what he was going to say. "Dude," he asked, fascinated. "Did someone knock out one of your teeth?"
Of course, it proved that one of those leaves of nutritious fresh wilted spinach had completely wrapped itself around one of my incisors, resisting even the swish of mouthwash I'd taken after dinner. I had to scrape it off with a fingernail in the men's room.
Let's get to some questions from my readers, courtesy of formspring.me.
Do you actively seek out other women-besides the wifey-to sleep with?
I have enjoyed recreational sex with women in the past outside my relationship, and I probably will again.
My preference in recent years has been to meet with couples (whether married, or in a relationship, or something similar) rather than meet single women. There are a number of reasons for that, but the foremost is kind of big-headed; I've had a few occasions on which single women became possessive to the point of being stalkerish, and I'd prefer not to have to replay the scenario of Fatal Attraction, thanks.
Women in a relationship are usually just looking to have fun, or to bring to their relationship something it's not getting on its own. That speed suits me much better.
Do you own an Amazon kindle? Is there any chance you would be willing to publish your blog on the kindle?
I have, and I use, the Kindle reader on my iPad. I'd be curious about hearing why anyone would think a blog transcribed to a Kindle book file would have any advantage over just reading the site at its web page (aside from portability, for Kindles without fancy web access).
I recently got a job that involves me dealing with the public a lot more than I've ever been used to. I have the ability to write things down for some folks who need a receipt. Would it be unwise to slip my phone number on a receipt?
You mean, like you're a waiter or a barista? Heck, I say go for it. I've always gotten a thrill (and often a follow-up fuck) when I've gotten a phone number on a receipt.
One thing, though. You might want to make clear that you're flirtatious and interested when you're dealing with the customer—there've been a couple of times I've found a phone number from someone who barely looked at me, and I wasn't certain exactly if they expected me to call and come on to them, or whether they'd scrawled it down accidentally.
Give the guy a nice smile and your number, and he'll give you a call.
What's your favorite reality tv show?
The Amazing Race. I would love to go on it with someone who A) could drive stick shift, and B) would be willing to take on all the solo detours that involve anything cold and/or icy. I, on the other hand, have no issues with bungee jumps, high-wire balancing acts, snakes, or gross food.
Have you ever gotten a woman pregnant? And how many kids do you think you've fathered?
What is your favourite porn movie and actor?
I really, really like Jesse O'Toole of several Treasure Island movies. He's got more ink than a newspaper and about a mile of dick—more importantly, he knows how to kiss and take his time. If I could suddenly morph into a porn star, he'd be the one I picked.
Because of him, Breeding Mike O'Neill would probably be my one desert island porn DVD.
What did you get for Christmas?
My blog readers bought me NastyPig underwear, restraints, chaps, CDs, and a DVD. The best present I got from a blog reader, however, was a pair of Bose headphones that I refuse to take from my head.
What music do you like playing while you're having sex?
I'm not fond of music playing during sex. I find it really distracting.
I also don't like trying to set a mood through music when I'm enjoying sex with someone. I like making a mood through the style of lovemaking, and if Japanese techno is thudding out while I'm trying to create something intimate and sweet and memorable, it's just working against me.
Can one tell the difference between bad sex and sex with a virgin if one had no obvious knowledge?
Absolutely. Most people who give bad sex manage to bluster and talk a good game, as if they're trying to distract their partner from the obvious badness of it. Virgins who are trying to conceal their lack of experience either tend to clam up during the actual act, or apologize a lot.
I don't want to give the impression that sex with virgins is always bad sex. It's not. Sometimes it can be tender and quite passionate and very fulfilling for both parties.