A good day overall. I paid bills, met up with Special Guy and went to see an amazing installation of Medieval and Renaissance Spanish Religious art at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, then had therapy, had dinner with Special Guy, went to Crunch for a workout (back, I love doing back, I walk out of there looking like Jean-Claud Van Damme), then went to the 30th anniversary party at Ty's. And that's a lot!

There was an incredible San Sebastian by Rafael and an El Greco of the Death of St. Joseph that almost brought tears to my eyes. And, some great Ecce Homo pieces. Just fantatastic. Therapy was good. Real good. Dinner with Special Guy was sort of odd. When you're in love with someone, you are either blind to their shortcomings or else forgiving of their shortcomings because you love them. But, having been intimate with someone, and finding out their allllll of their shortcomings, and not having the benefit of rose colored glasses, it just get's a little annoying. Capisce? But anyway, it was a nice time.

Hated Crunch. What are the chances of getting a handjob in the steam room? Nil. They don't have a steam room. It's also pricey. Like $100 a month. You'd think for all that money they would be able to keep all their lockers in good working order. But the thing that really sunk them was this stoooopid mural they have. It's just so bad. The onloy reason that I was sort of interestedin the place is because a really hot guy I've talked to on-line goes there. And, he said that he usually can pick up some hot boy, take him home, collar him, beat him around a little, and introduce him to the wonderful world of watersports. Well, there was definitely no eye candy there tonight. Maybe one guy. But most of the pickins' were along the lines of 'pretty,' and well groomed. Not my favorite flavor. Everyone there could get a job at the GAP just by walking in the door.

What do I mean by that? Years ago, when I was living in Philadelphia, I briefly dated this guy whom I called Gregory of Fort Lauderdale. He was so great in bed. Total pig. And did he have a look. Alabaster skin and blue black hair. He could look like a movie star from the Forties if he wanted to go for that. But he didn't. He wore tight black tee shirts, tight black Red Label Levis, boots, big silver skull rings, a dangly cross earing, reallly long bushy sideburns, and, not infrequently, mascara. Anyway, Gregory had been fired from the GAP. When you work there, it's a policy that the clothes you wear are (in the memorable phrase) "GAP or GAP-like." Gregory was accused by the store manager of not looking GAP or GAP-like. He pointed out that he was wearing a black tee shirt from the GAP, and black jeans, and... like... the GAP sells black jeans. Nope. Didn't cut it. So to the extent that I have a type, that would be it: would never be able to get a job at the GAP. So, I guess it's NYSC after all. I'll take care of signing up tomorrow.

Ty's was fun. Well, no it wasn't. I mean, I love that bar. I play softball for them. The manager, John, is soooo good to the team. Incredibly supportive. One of the bartenders plays on the team, and another is the team manager. And it's pretty much a bear bar, and we like that a lot. They totally did it up for their 30th Anniversary. So where did things go awry? Well, Game Three of the World Series was on, so my focus was on the screen. During the commercials, I was scoping this guy, 5'7", sort of a beard, black leather MC jacket, flagging left with his keys. It was more of a "Hail Fellow and Well Met" sort of scope. After all, he's a Top; I'm a Top. What are we gonna do? Play Parchesi? But he saw me seeing him and pretty quickly I had my tongue massaging his tonsuls. But then he erred. Gravely. First of all, he was drunk. I don't have a lot of tolerance for drunk. Especially when I'm not because I'm the designated driver. Mutual drunk sex can be fun, but when only one person is sloppy, it just doesn't work. And then, this little inebriate asked permission to work my tits. I said 'sure,' but told him to go easy as I just had them pierced. I might as well have asked him to grow six inches while I watched. Finally, not reading my cues ("Ow! I said 'Go easy,' Dammit!"), I put him up against the wall and said, "Listen, if I have to spend a week cleaning pus out of my piercings I'm gonna come looking for you." And then he made the fatal error. He responded by saying, "Really? And what are you going to do when you find me?" When he said this, he sounded exactly like Fenton Pangborn. Fenton was a character actor from the Forties and Fifties who would play officious and flirty hotel desk clerk. Far be it from me to be condemning of fay behavior, but I just don't want Fenton Pangborn swinging from my dick under any circumstances.

And one other thing. I've had this sort of odd feeling lately. I thought up what I think is an apt name for it: Top Fatigue. I wanna get laid, but it just seems like so much work, having to orchestrate everything. But at the same time, I don't want to bottom and let someone else do all the work. If I could sit on my sofa watching 'Rebel Without A Cause' while my bottom assembled my cross, tied himself to it, had someone come in and flog him while I paused the DVD, and also had that someone take care of the aftercare, I'd be cool with that. Top Fatigue.

And, I especially want to get laid because Schlitz didn't call today. All I want is to bed that hot man when I'm not exhausted at 4 am. That's all. But, I think if I had some disruptive interference of pounding some (never-gonna-work-at-the-GAP-lookin) hot boy into the mattress, I'd be able to deal with the apparent inequity in the desire to have at it again, me and Schlitz, a bit more philosophically.

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