Work Hard, Play Hard

Great night at the Bike Stop last night. It was a good crowd. There was a sounds demo (take that, NYC!). Several familiar faces. And I scored.

Ananuther inter'stin' development. I ran into a guy whom we'll call Pierce. When I lived in Phildadelphia ('88-'90), I once went to a reading at the University of Pennsylvania of a book about the Nazi persecution of homosexuals during the Holocaust. Afterwards, this guy came up to me and asked me for a date. He was a really good looking guy, and so I gave him my number.

This would be Pierce. He called, we made a date. We went out to dinner in Chinatown. Afterwards, Pierce walked me home, and I invited him up. Up to this point, it was a great date. We talked. We laughed. Pierce was a hot man, and apparently he was hot for me. So far, so good.

Upstairs, we talked some more. And then we started getting intimate. Pierce had an amazing dancer. The clothes started to come off. We moved to the bed. (Well, at that point in my life, we're talking about a mattress on the floor...)

And then, Pierce discovered I was wearing a cockring. He jumped out of bed as though he had been stuck with a hot poker. He totally freaked.

While punching his arms through his shirt and putting on his pants to get the hell out of here, he started explaining... it was bad to go so far on the first date... why was I wearing a cockring...? was I using sex to avoid intimacy...?

He blurted that he was in a 12-step program, Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous. I represented something akin to spiked punch served up to a recovering alcoholic.

He was gone in less than a minute.

"Gosh," I thought, "that guy has issues."

He never called me again.

But wait. There's more.

So I move to New York, and after several years, I started dating the man who would become The Ex. Not too long after we met, we were spending a Saturday together. We got back to The Ex's apartment from grocerty shopping or something, and the phone rang. The Ex answered, and talked for a little while. All smiles and winks, he explained that he had met a great guy and we were dating and it was going really well. And then he said my name. Thus followed silence on The Ex's end of the line, while he listened with a concerned look on his face.

The Ex was talking to Pierce. The Ex, also a Philadelphia expatriate, had dated Pierce for about a year before he moved to New York.

When The Ex and Pierce got off the phone, The Ex and I had "A Talk." Pierce had given The Ex something of a gypsy's warning against me. I was bad. I was overly sexual. I had a problem but didn't realize it. Get out! Now!

I told The Ex my side, about the date, and about the cockring. The Ex had had a tricky time with Pierce when they were dating. Pierce apparently had slept around on The Ex rather compusively, and it was The Ex breaking up with him that had apparently propelled him into Sex and Love Addicts anonymous.

Small world, huh?

Alas, The Ex decided to pursue dating me anyway.

So there was Pierce last night. He remembered me pretty quickly after I told him my name. But apparently, his memory was sketchy. I tried to jog his memory. While he was feeling me up, I said, "I'm not wearing a cockring tonight."

"Wanna borrow one of mine?" he asked, indicating the one hanging off the epaulet of his leather MC jacket. And then he added, "Well I am."

Huh.

Things change, people change.

Well, actually I don't believe that people do change. The leopard cannot change his spots, as my saintly white-haired grandmother used to say. I've found this pretty much to be true.

So what's the deal with Pierce? Was his 12-step program a corrective and now he's struck a healthy balance, seeing sex as fun, but putting it in perspective? Did he perhaps take refuge as so many people did during that time of plague and death and uncertainty in 'the Rooms' but has now reconsidered whether the addiction model is really applicable beyond the scope of actual chemical dependency? Or, did he fall off the wagon and last night I ran into him in the middle of a bender?

Well, after not getting a lot from me beyond an indulgent smile, Pierce decided to try his luck elsewhere and moved on.

I sat. I wandered. I smoked another cigar. I flirted with this unbelievably hot bear who works as the doorman on Saturday night. Flirting with him definitely put me in the mood for some bear. (Like I wasn't already.) And what should come within range but a big, beautiful bear?

Cool! I woofed. He came back around, and very quickly, we were necking furiously. He was visiting from DC. We repaired to his hotel, where I got my kitten punched big time. He was really hot, and man! could that man throw a good fuck!

Just what I needed after a hard week of work: a nice hot sweaty fuck session with a hot bear.

So all in all, a good night.

And today, I'm off to NYC, heading to Diabolique's apartment. Perhaps, before I head home, I'll stop in to the Dugout. It's a beautiful day here in Bucks County, and watching the sun set over the Hudson with the woofy men at the Dugout might be a pleasant way to wind down the weekend.

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