On Guests Uninvited

So after a great day playing softball and tooling around NYC yesterday, I get up late, have a cup of tea and a protein shake, and hop in the shower. I love unrushed Sunday ablutions. I do a body scrub, a facial scrub, hose out my hole with the Shur-Shot, nice close shave of my face and scalp, body moisturizer, face moisturizer. Went and picked out something to wear today. Settled on my cargo capri pants (ya gotta see'em to understand, bought them at I. Goldberg's, some army in the world actually sends its soldiers off to battle in cargo capri pants), tight gray shirt, and my Wesco's. The loggers, not the custom harness.

And then...

*sigh*

The Wants showed up.

I hate that.

Things were going just fine, until in the door came the Wants.

Want to be able to not have to sweat to afford Inferno. Want to get to the beach. Want a job that pays me enough money to live on (I sent in a resume to a place in community development agency in Philadelphia on Thursday, everybody keep their fingers crossed.) And then, of course, the one that takes up the most space: Want a man to share my life--or significant parts of my life anyway--with.

Yeah.

Y'see, I formulated a plan of sorts. I decided to give it a try. If that Guy From LA wasn't available for much more than a twice a year Edge play session, that didn't mean that it would be impossible to find someone who was, right?

Could I replace the Guy From LA?

And I actually didn't have to think very hard to come up with a few possibilities.

Possibility #1: I've actually known him for years. How we met might warrant a retelling. Years and years and years ago (okay, maybe not that many), newly sprung from my relationship with the Seven and A Half Year Awful Relationship, I headed to the LURE. And there he was. This big guy, full leather, smoking a cigar and drinking from a can of Bud. I mean, he hit all those archetypes dead on. I had seen him a couple of times before. And he made me weak in the knees.

He was flagging everything on the left, so I did my best (which was pretty bad) to present myself. Standing in front of him, hands behind my back, head bowed. (I know, right? I know better now.) But miraculously, he took the bait. Approached. Did this great wordless breathing down my neck thing. I was rock hard. Asked, I think, what I was up for. (A question that I've never been good at answering when posed by a Top. Still haven't figured that one out.) He said something like, okay, well maybe I'll catch up with you later.

So I went to look elsewhere, hoping that I'd end up going home with him.

And that same night, I met my buddy whom we'll call PissPiggy. This stunning looking Italian guy from Brooklyn. He was all pig, and thus so much more approachable. He and I got to know each other, and there was immediate report. He's tough not to like, sunny and open disposition, and a beautiful smile that says he's up for anything.

But, it turned out that PissPiggy wasn't quite available that night. Y'see, he had already agreed that tonight, he belonged to none other than the fantasy sadist I had talked to earlier. Huh, I said, I talked to him. Oh cool! said PissPiggy. And he had a plan. Involving the three of us.

So PissPiggy, Sadist, and li'l ol' me bundled into PissPiggy's car and headed for Sadist's place on the upper upper East Side.

Once there, Sadist began putting the two of us through our paces. That was the first night that I ever drank piss. But then, Sadist started taking out his various implements. He pretty quickly realized that PissPiggy could take it (and wanted more) and I couldn't. So, PissPiggy was chained spread eagle on the bed, and I was ordered to "stand over there."

And then, at one point, Sadist handed me his flogger. He ordered me to beat the pig on the bed.

Now, this was the very first time I had ever held a flogger in my life. Ever.

I swung it around a few times, getting a feel for it. Then I started rhythmically bringing it down on PissPiggy's thighs and chest (knowing almost instinctively to focus on the muscley parts).

And, it was like I came to life. I liked it! I really liked it!

Sadist took note. "Enjoying yourself, aren't you, pig?"

I grinned, "I could really get used to this, Sir!"

And the rest, as they say, is history.

But a few years later, whom should I meet at Inferno but Sadist. He recognized me immediately. Asked what I was up to. I explained that I had found my calling in wielding singletail whips. He laughed. "I created a monster!" he said.

Okay. So why am I thinking of him now?

Well, I was totally unprepared to give Sadist what he wanted way back then. In those novice days, I guess I just wanted to be tied up or something. I had no idea. But now, I'm... uh... seasoned. And I have developed a definite taste for the kind of Edge play that Sadist likes. And, on his worldleathermen profile, he notes that he's open to finding another "bruder Top" for "something more than a weekend." Huh.

So that bears exploration, no?

Possibility #2: He's this really hot guy from the World Wide Internet. We've talked a few times online. He's in NYC, too. More details than that, I don't know. And as Lolita once famously advised me, "The internet doesn't mean shit; you gotta smell'em."

So how's it going?

Not well. Whenever I've gone up to NYC these past few weeks, I've called both of them. Sadist has been on vacation or traveling for work. Number Two always seems to be out on Long Island attending his niece's first holy communion or something.

Just recently, I noticed that phone messages I left and email I've sent hasn't been returned. Maybe they're both real busy.

Or maybe they're unavailable.

Anyway.

Enough of the wants. The rain has let up (oh joy, another rainy summer, so good for the roses). I'm gonna head to Starbucks in Doylestown, to sit on the porch, enjoy my latte, smoke a cigar, and dig into a book.

And maybe, maybe, some local leatherman who has somehow heretofore escaped my attention will stop at Starbucks to enjoy the afternoon, and there I'll be, all decked out in my capri cargo pants, smoking my cigar, that great ink of mine, all moisturized, and with my hole squeaky clean.

Hey! It might happen!

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