Dang.

What a kick in the stomach. Just met up for coffee at Starbucks with an alleged Sir from Trenton, New Jersey. I guess 'Trenton, New Jersey' should have been my first clue. But down at MAL, I overheard a pretty hot man in the cigar tent say he was from Trenton, New Jersey, and I guess somewhere in my synapses I was hoping that despite the jpeg this guy sent to me, MAL guy was who would be showing up at Starbucks.

Anyway. Full of lies. Wearing a cheap stained shirt. Living in a rented room. White sneakers. And worst of all, awful breath. I mean, just sickening. First thing when I got home I washed my face. All the way home, I was smelling it on my stache. Oh. And he described himself as a 'great kisser' and seemed intent on proving that. Again and again and again and again.

Eeeeeeeew.

He mentioned to me while we were sitting there at Starbucks that one of the services he would be looking for his boy to provide would be to 'make his feet feel good.' Given the state of his mouth, I can only imagine what the state of his feet would be. I almsot lost my latte.

I mean... da fuck.

There is like nothing going on here in the hinterlands Sir-wise. What is up with that?

I feel like just sitting home all weekend. Not a good idea. Weekends are precious, and if I did that, I'd be regretting it all next week. A hot Sir from NYC who claims he was scoping me out ferociously at Folsom Street East told me that we should 'definitely meet and soon.' I proposed coming up to NYC this Saturday, and in response got an email along the lines of 'okay. let you know.'

I mean, where do these guys get off?

Running through my mind has been a nagging thought: maybe my standards are just too high? Maybe I'm falling into the trap of searching for an idealized, and therefore non-human Sir, and the human beings proposing themselves for that post will inevitably fall short.

Nope. You wanna know the standard I'm applying? The yardstick I'm using? That would be me. I was (and am, and will be again) a good Sir.

Let's break that down, shall we?

• I take care of myself. I realize that as M. Sartre said, 'Appearances are evil, but they're everything.' No boy wants a skinny Sir. So I hit the gym. And I do my best to look good. It ain't rocket science.
  
• I don't rush things. I realize that for any boy, doing a scene or taking a collar is a Big Step, and one that should be considered thoughtfully. A boy is not some sort of sexual public park, open for anyone to come on in and plop down on the grass. A boy's heart is a carefully guarded citadel.
  
• I take care of a boy. I pay for dinner. I buy him a beer. If the situation calls for it, I make sure he gets breakfast the next morning.
  
• I appreciate the boy. I am the soul of gratitude. And rightfully so. No boy owes me anything. It's a gift he gives. That's what makes it beautiful.
  

Anyway.

Singletails is becoming pretty gripey lately, no? Sorry about that. I'm actually pretty chipper lately. I'm feeling good. I had a great day at work today. Loving my job. Loving the work. Feeling blessed in many ways. Clear and solid.

Just wish I could make this Sir thing work.

---