Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Four Little Drops

So I thought that we were having a good time. I thought it was really working out. He’d been available when he said he would, and he showed up to my place right on time. (Ten minutes early, even.) We’d checked each other out and liked what we’d saw. We’d rolled around on the bed and made out like fiends. We’d stripped in a hurry and explored each other’s bodies. He’d brought his laptop loaded with some porn he thought I’d like—not that I need porn, but the gesture was nice—and it was playing on one side of the bed while we’d grappled with each other on the other.

He’d gone down on my dick—all the way down—while I buckled and groaned. I’d rimmed his hole and stretched it wide with my dick. I’d watched his eyes roll into the back of his head as he huffed and hummed with pleasure during the fuck, and then at his request I’d stayed inside while he played with himself furiously after. His ass muscles clamped down on my tool like a vise, as he shot on his belly. It was a small load. Maybe four or five dime-sized drops.

Then, as I watched, his entire personality changed. From soft and pliable, he hardened. It happened over his face first. His eyes focused, the lids droops. His smile faded into something drawn and tight. The handsome planes of his cheeks and mouth became angular, angry, twisted. “Fuck,” he muttered to himself. His eyes went to the porn playing on his laptop, where some big-dicked guy was battering away at a helpless hole. “Fuck,” he repeated, shaking his head.

“Something wrong?” I asked him. I was still in that post-coital haze, glowing from that open and confident feeling I get when I’ve done everything right, and the sex has been good, and it’s been with a good guy. When I’m in that mood, I’ll talk about anything, answer any question. I’m game for any adventure, when I feel like that. But the endorphin buzz was so high that I was confused by his herky-jerky response, the way he cooled from sex demon out of hell to roughly the same temperature as that iceberg the Titanic didn’t see.

Before he slammed his laptop shut, he’d dabbed away the seed he’d shot from his hairy belly. As his other hand slammed shut the laptop, mid-movie, he thrust the Kleenex at me. “This,” he said. “I think about all the shit I do for this,” and he waved the wadded-up tissue like it was toxic, “and it makes me sick to my stomach. I mean, shit. Is this really worth it?”

I admit, I was a little stunned. I’m used to guys having those thoughts of regret, after they shoot. I used to have them myself, when I was young. I’d get that release and then think to myself, I’ll never fantasize about dick again, I swear, next time it’ll be about girls. Or, I won’t whack off any more! I promise! I recognize that regret, that let-down, what the French call tristesse. But when I had it, I was ten or eleven. This guy was four times that age.

The man who was nothing but heat and fervor when he’d walked in the door jerked on his clothing, grunted his goodbye, and then stomped out.

The thing of it is that I know how long those little post-orgasm depressions last, and I’m judging he was horny again even before he got home through rush-hour traffic. I know how men’s dicks work.

But you know, his question has rung in my ears all through the weekend. Is this really worth it?

I think about it from his perspective. The hours spent online, downloading porn he likes when he’s hard and horny. Hours spent on chat sites and hookup joints trying to find someone who’s not only available, but who’s into him, who’s into the same things he is, whom he finds equally attractive, who’s willing to meet. All the time spent juggling schedules, of driving, of finding his way through strange neighborhoods, of parking. Yeah, of course he’s going to be all worked up and horny to go when he’s waded through all that mess—and if the feeling he has after of guilt and shame is so overwhelming, so negative, that it lasts for more than a moment’s tristesse, then yeah. I’d also be looking at those four little drops and ask, Is this really worth it?.

Then there’s me. I get the old blues too, where every once in a while I ask if all the effort I put into sex is really commensurate with the outcome. And except for a few times when I’m really blue, I think it is. I remember all the amazing people I’ve met, during sex—of the men I met and fucked who became real, actual friends. I think about the fuckbuddies I’ll see from time to time who bring a grin to my face every time I think about them, and about the crazy personalities that I’d never have encountered if I hadn’t taken the chance to take off my clothes and connect.

I remember men whose names I never learned, with whom I never exchanged a spoken word, who let me in to their private worlds when we both unzipped and allowed the other to see our animal drives. I think about the wild intimacies, the whispered passion unleashed in dark barrooms and bedrooms and baths.

I think about the men who allowed their vulnerable sides to show, who asked me to give them what they couldn’t get from anyone else. I think about the men who told me their stories, both funny and sad, who shared with me their triumphs and failures and the tales they didn’t feel they could tell even their nearest and dearest.

I think about the sweetness I’ve received, and how many lifetimes of love I’ve experienced, by opening myself up to person after person during sex. I think too, about the heartbreak I’ve had, and the disappointments, and how even now, knowing how things turn out, I wouldn’t trade a single one.

Being ready to have sex on an afternoon when you’re horny and bored is one thing. Being open to sex as one of life’s many great adventures is another. It’s saying yes! to the universe and putting oneself, trustingly, into its hands. It’s being open to chance, and coincidence, and to humanity’s most mysterious, undiscovered frontiers. It’s casting oneself into the waves, and letting their warm and foamy caress wash one to places unknown.

I’m talking about it as if it’s religion. Maybe it is.

All I know is that a tiny little squirt (or not to brag, a few larger jets) are the least of what I get out of sex. And every day I am grateful for all the people, all the experiences, and all the memories it brings me.

Is all this really worth it?

Yes.

Yes.

A million times yes.

35 comments:

  1. Agreed. Simply put, it's a gift.

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  2. A very odd reaction, but the psychology of the guy to took off is readily apparent. Great post.
    Matthew Darringer

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    1. Yeah, I suppose being able to see someone's psychology in those moments is a blessing in itself.

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  3. That was really beautiful. I feel exactly the same way. Thank you for writing it.

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  4. You and that guy have different thoughts on sex it seems, but sounds like he has some other deeper issues in life for how he feels.

    But if you are going to have sex with strangers as we all have, you will learn early on that there are all kinds of people out there and not everything they do will makes sense.

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  5. That was an incredibly beautiful post, and I'm so happy I took time this morning to read it. Just the wonderfully positive nature of this post turned my grumpy morning into one where I know I can face the challenges ahead of me.

    Thank you so much for that.

    -Ace

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  6. Definitely the half-empty and half-full ways of looking at the same encounter. (Although with four little drops, he's way more than half-empty.) I hope he'll eventually work things out and come to better terms with himself and his sexuality. You can't fix what's broken for him—but your recognition and celebration of the difference is beautifully expressed.

    I'm a "yes yes" kind of guy who enjoys the adventure and possibility of "boldly going where..." (sorry—the undiscovered frontiers did that to me) myself. I think it's healthier; it's certainly happier. Thanks!

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    1. No, I don't think you can fix other people's perceptions. That's something they need to do for themselves. I write about it so that others can see the world through my eyes, though, and then figure out what parts to appropriate—or reject—for themselves. It's all good.

      Thank you, Mr. Throb.

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  7. I see a little bit of me in your post. Just a little bit of me. Yah, I'm the guy who isn't as interested AFTER I've cum as before. I know. Sometimes I am an asshole.

    But not to the extent the fellow in your post seems to be.

    That's what I keep telling myself anyway.

    Thanks for sharing. Your writing is good, and you suck me in. (no pun intended....really!)

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    1. Jack, even if you're not as bad, maybe you'll think next time and realize it's just a temporary physical response, and not let it get to you.

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  8. Rob,

    I have wondered that same thing at times..."is it worth it?" Majority of the time I say yes and of course the few times I say no always shock me since I love being piggy.

    Thank you for sharing.

    (((HHUUGGSS))) & GROPE
    VRPB

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  9. Funny, I ask that after sex with my wife!

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  10. Sounds like he was schizophrenic ....?

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    1. If that's all it takes to be schizophrenic, there are a lot of diagnosable cases out there.

      No, the guy's just human, and letting post-orgasm depression get the better of him. That's all.

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  11. When the connection happens and the heat of the moment can linger after the moment ends, then yes it is always worth it. I don't know what to say about your partner with the 4 little drops there. I have felt that tristesse as well, but not in a long time. Maybe that is because I haven't gotten laid in a long time either!

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  12. Some people never get that it's partly about the journey. If you don't enjoy cruising; don't enjoy meeting new people and the interplay of glances; don't enjoy the unique scent of another person or feeling someone else's heartbeat or the rise and fall of their chest beside you, and you aren't out to make babies, then I can see wondering if it's worth it. Frankly, the smell of another person's skin and the feeling of their heat next to me and those signs of life that come from their body going about its business beside me on the bed can be worth as much or more than the few seconds of ecstasy.

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  13. Sex is to be enjoyed, not felt guilt about...you could not have put it in better words!

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  14. Beautiful, it did require some growing up to get over the guilt though

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    1. Well sure...but when you're this guy's age, you should've grown past it!

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  15. I had sex many times with a guy like this. We met in our neighborhood, at a public rest room. And then we would see each other outside once or twice a week. He would take me back to his place and give me an amazing fuck. And as soon as he came, he would completely change into an asshole. I realize now that he was closeted, and lived with his girlfriend, and had some deep issues. But each time we met, the sex got hotter, and he got nastier after he came. But he was SO hot, and SO well hung, that I took the abuse several times. However, I turned it around, and would cum before he did, and then take off, leaving him with blue balls. The second time I did this, he asked why I'm leaving, and I told him exactly why. From then on, he was able to control himself a bit better after cumming, and we met many times since.

    Jonathan in Israel

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    1. Johnathan, good for you. You don't have to take that kind of abuse from anyone!

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  16. Funny, I just posted something similar from the other side (I had a really lousy experience the last time I got off, capping off a lousy fruitless week of cruising, but remain Pollyanna about the ultimate worth of cheap sex). Sometimes it's kinda crazy how much power I invest sex with. But I agree that it's more than just squirts, and it's sad to think that way.

    I've been with guys like the guy you describe, too. Years ago, sometime in my late 20s, I went to a bar down the street from my apartment just to have a drink and watch the crowd, not really looking to hook up at all, and was aggressively courted by a handsome, unassuming-looking little guy who *really* wanted me to go back to his hotel and screw him. I was game, and he was very cute in how greedy and into it he was; it was all very lighthearted and fun and I'd never been with anyone who was that gleefully into sex before (and few since then, really). But *seconds* after he came, he curled up into a little ball and shook and started talking about how he had to go to Confession! It was insane. I tried to hold him and calm him down but that only upset him more; I gave him my card and told him to email me if he ever wanted to talk about it before I left. He'd told me in the bar that he was closeted and had a girlfriend in Indiana, but it was all very easy-breezy on his part, so the coda to his orgasm was waaay out of left field.

    Shit's scary out there, I'm glad to be how I am about sex.

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    1. Shit's scary out there, like you said, CoolTop. And I don't think it's crazy at all. Lots of us invest sex with real power. As a society, we invest sex with power. We claim it ruins lives, we claim a whiff of it destroys childhood, we act as if it's simultaneously the best and worst thing out there, and yet we refuse, as a group of functioning adults, to have serious, non-hysterical dialogue about it.

      Some of us are just willing up front to discuss how it works in our lives. It doesn't make us better than our brothers, but it does make us more open.

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  17. I read this a bit differently, I think. To me it sounded like a cri de couer from someone who is getting older and seeing evidence of his libido/sex drive disappearing. It annoys me when I j/o if I get 4 little drops. That seems to be happening more often especially if I j/o daily. The younger me produced bigger loads (though never a gusher). If I went to the trouble of meeting a hot guy and having an awesome time and only shot 4 little drops, I'd feel embarassed, I'd be bothered that the other guy would feel short-changed in some way.

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    1. Scotrock, that's so interesting an interpretation that it took me aback for a little bit. But the more I replay it in my head, the more I'm convinced that he wasn't talking about the volume he produced, but the fact that a squirt and a few seconds of shivers was all he had to show for the hours he put into cruising and hunting for sex, and the risks of meeting new men.

      I mean, he didn't say that, but the context seemed pretty clear to me. I could totally be wrong though.

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  18. I am impressed by how open you are to vulnerability. It is not often I hear a person talk about opening up to possiblities. More often than not people are on the defense trying to avoid their emotions. I bet people are quick to share with you.

    We have similiar views. I like to let it all hang out. Get to know people and see where it leads. I have been blessed with many rewarding friendships and I have been fooled a few times also. All in all I wouldn't change a thing.

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