The actual truth of Da's sordid past

My previous entry, a halfhearted exposé of the seamy homo side of Rogers Park, has been derided as "essentially nude John Cheever". As refreshing as it is to see my heterosexual friends castigating me for a lack of explicitness about my sex life, I'm not sure what y'all're expecting to hear, since the prosaic truth about orgies--het or homo--is that they're just not all that exciting.

What did I do at BNC? I talked with some fun people, ate a little food, sucked some dick, listened to music, made out with some sexy guys, got jerked off--you know, stuff you would just do around the house on a good weekend. I once screwed a guy in a sling before I decided that was really not a good idea and instituted the "second date" rule that I see Dan Savage is promoting. At the dungeon in the South Loop, I was locked in a cage while Wizbear clothespinned me. (We would've done hot wax, but they didn't have the appropriate kind; using candles thicker than tapers can give you serious burns.)

So there are no tales of hanging from the ceiling by my nutsack while being felched and shitting on a guy in a leather mask who's eating the cum of three men while being fisted two-armed. My apologies. In fact, my fondest memories are some of the most cuddly ones--like my first encounter with Topcop, one of Skokie's finest. I don't think either of us came; we just laid on a bed together and alternated gentle lovemaking with friendly chatting. (It was probably the second or third spate of talk before he abashedly admitted to being a cop.) Or the time I ended up fooling around with a tall blond leatherman from Michigan who was quite outside my normal "type", but still totally sexy. I remember a lot of semi-acrobatic positions around a leather chair, but, in the end, I don't think we did anything we could get arrested for, even in the South. Or the time I undressed a big white-haired bear with minimal use of my hands. Again, I sucked him a bit, but neither of us actually got off.

If all I was interested in was semi-anonymous sex, I would've hung out in the gay baths or the backrooms of the leather bars. That didn't appeal. What I liked about these events was, first of all, the liberating freedom of just walking around naked around a lot of lovely naked men and, second of all, getting friendly attention from many of these naked men. Impersonal sex doesn't do it for me; I have to have the feeling that the fact that I'm who I am makes a difference to other guy. When the Viking from Michigan told me, "You're so sensuous", I was practically glowing at the compliment; by contrast, when this furry guy kept asking me, "How old are you?" I felt utterly objectified, as if absolutely anybody my age would've been equally appealing to him.

Minotaur blues

Tomorrow I have to be a working fool. I've got a presentation a week from Tuesday, but I'm going to be out of town the weekend right before, so I want as much done ahead of time. Sadly, this means locking myself in on the loveliest day of the year (at least until evening rolls around and I make a break for rollick's movie party). If I had to spend the day inside working, I'd rather run with my new idea of Antilian Minotauran. My original suggestion (since I was trying to keep work to a minimum) was to use Okhrand's Klingon, which sounds appropriately guttural and clipped. But bunj laments that he doesn't know any and so the Minotaur names he coins all have a Grecian feel. So I thought: Why not give them a Greek-derived pidgin? As if their native language were Klingonesque, but they learned broken Greek during their ancient captivity.
( Thoughts on Minotauran Greek Pidgin )