Notch 52: Travis and Frank

A few years before, I had met a coworker’s friend, Travis, a little guy who had a cheerful personality, a handsome, ruddy face, and a red beard that I thought was totally chewable. Even though we had known each other for years, Travis and I had never spent any time together. Many times I thought he’d be fun to get naked and twist into amusing positions.

Now it was August, hot, and I was on another Adventuring camping and canoe trip, this time with Peter. Travis was on this same trip, too, and brought Frank, his current boyfriend. They set up their tent nearby while Peter and I set up my mine. Travis told me later Frank had been dating a woman but that didn’t work out so now he was giving a try to dating a guy (Travis). I was fascinated; I’d never met anyone who was bisexual or was at least brave enough to find out for himself who he might be. Or love.

We four spent the afternoon collecting some branches from dry, downed trees for a campfire that evening, splashing in the river near our camp site, and checking out the other campers arriving and setting up their tents. The entire Adventuring camp site eventually grew to a long line of tents of maybe forty people, mostly men, and (thank you, Goddess) mostly shirtless in the hot August afternoon.

That evening after dinner and a few beers, Peter and I stretched out on blankets with Travis and Frank in front of our fire, slightly drunk and slightly sleepy, gradually huddling together as the fire burned down and the air got chilly.

It was getting late when Peter said good night and crawled into the tent. I wasn’t sure how “together” Travis and Frank were, but I still thought that Travis was pretty hot and wanted to play with him. I made a guess that I knew Travis well enough to see what would happen if I draped one leg over the both of them. Apparently that was the right thing to do because Travis and Frank responded by putting their arms around me.

We began with just a little cuddling, taking turns kissing or hugging, or playing with our beards, or feeling up the nearest body part. The fire had burned down very low and because it was night, I didn’t feel particularly self-conscious even though other campers who occasionally passed by could see the inchoate heap that was us.

Travis, Frank, and I began playing in earnest, reaching up under our clothing or tugging each other’s pants down around our knees, all the while lying (mostly) quietly on the blankets on the ground under the stars.

It was really quite nice to be there with these two guys and the low fire. I laid on my side, kissing Travis and feeling Frank’s dick, or kissing Frank and feeling Travis’ dick. We shifted around some and when I was on my back, they moved onto either side of me, all of us stroking our dicks. After more than a few minutes of all this male togetherness, we were heated up enough to jerk off all the way.

We wiped off and laid there in a tangle, feeling the warmth, then exchanged quick goodnight kisses and crawled into our respective tents. I’m not sure how much we kept Peter awake but he was breathing heavily and didn’t stir as I laid down. As I drifted off, I wondered if I should have checked to see if Peter wanted to get up and join in our man tangle.

The next morning the camp gradually came to life. Peter and I ate a quick breakfast and headed off for the day’s canoe trip, followed by Travis and Frank.

I saw Travis occasionally around town for quite a while and he was always friendly and talkative. He didn’t say anything about Frank, and I wondered if they were no longer seeing each other.

Notch 51: Oliver

Just about every week, for a few months, I started going to Remingtons, over on Capitol Hill, usually on those evenings when they offered free line dance lessons. I was pretty much a crappy dancer, but I went with friends who danced while I checked out the men, or occasionally did a turn around the floor in a clumsy two-step. (But I am a good waltzer, did I say?)

Once or twice previously I had noticed a tall, slim guy with big round eyes, a close-cut beard, and a pretty smile whom everyone including me thought was totally adorable (and a fireman, but I don’t think he was). Unknown to me, and quite flattering, was that Tall Slim had also noticed me.

Several weeks later I happened to run into Tall Slim again, this time at the DC Eagle. We remarked that we’d seen each other at Remingtons, which struck me as rather romantic.

He introduced himself as Oliver.

Oliver and I chatted a bit and exchanged email addresses but didn’t spend much time together at the Eagle that evening. We traded emails a lot over the next couple of weeks until I invited him over for dinner, which was merely an excuse to get together to have sex. I think we both knew it.

We sat on the couch after a dinner of my mom’s baked chicken, and I was struck again by how gorgeous Oliver was with his big, beautiful eyes. We kissed a few times. I paused during whatever we were talking about, took Oliver’s hand, and led him to the bedroom.

In our previous emails we had talked a little about what we liked for sex. It turned out, to my great interest, that Oliver was into bondage: tying guys up or being tied up as a form of erotic sex play. I had been increasingly interested in this, too, having spontaneously played a little tie-up way back with Brad Sir and more recently with Peter.

I was aware that tie-up shouldn’t be done carelessly but is used thoughtfully to enhance erotic feelings (even just simply tying a partner’s hands behind his back with a bandana can be very sexy). From what Oliver described in his emails, it was clear he was experienced and played safe.

So as Oliver and I headed to my bedroom, we talked about who would tie up whom, and we decided that I would be the one to get tied up. So, I stripped to my shorts as Oliver watched, silently, still fully clothed. I felt very exposed as I removed my clothes under his gaze, knowing that was part of it. I laid down and he tied my wrists to either corner at the head of the bed (with ropes I had attached there a few days earlier, you know, just in case), leaving my legs free. He blindfolded me with my bandana and the room got quiet.

I felt him sit down on the bed next to me and waited. I knew he had some experience with bondage play but I really didn’t know what to expect. Lying there blindfolded and naked but for my boxers and him still fully clothed greatly heightened my sense of being exposed and vulnerable and I quickly got an erection.

After a few moments of nothing, I felt his hand begin slowly moving up my leg, not touching the skin, but just grazing the hair. He ran his hand lightly over my crotch and down my other leg, still slowly touching only the hair, then returned up the inside of my thigh and down the other thigh.

He paused as if to admire his handiwork, then grasped the lower edge of my shorts and tugged. I lifted my hips as he tugged my shorts off, the last vestige of my (don’t laugh) modesty. I laid there completely naked as he finished the job by tying my ankles to the corners at the foot of the bed, leaving me spread-eagled, my eager dick at full, erect attention.

Oliver returned to lightly skimming his hands over the hair on my stomach, chest, armpits, and beard. He alternated that with lightly brushing his fingertips against my skin, swirling around on my chest and legs and balls. It was never enough to tickle but enough to leave me wanting very much to be touched more, and firmly. He was very good.

I noticed also that he was avoiding touching my cock altogether, which felt like it had had gotten soft again. Oliver got up off the bed once or twice to take off some clothing, and I thought (blindfolded, remember) about this naked man leaning over me while I was tied, how he would be able to satisfy his own stiff cock while forcing me to endure the frustration of mine. I could feel the warmth of his body near mine as he moved.

Along with anticipating the ropes for the bed, I had guessed at a few other things we might want to use. I had picked up some lube for us to jerk off with, also a couple of clothespins I found in the basement. Not needing any explanation, he clipped those on my nipples, only to remove them after several long minutes before flicking and rubbing my sensitized nipples, I’m sure, just to make me wince.

In the meantime, my cock had again grown stiff and demanding, but it happened so gradually that I had hardly noticed until I felt a cool strand of my pre-cum land on my stomach. I was starting to feel like I needed to cum very much and told Oliver, but he only paused and said gently that it was too bad, and I was just going to have to wait. To torment me further, he traced a fingertip over my balls and tickled his way up the length of my dick, making it jump up.

Then he got more active, burying his face in my crotch, his tongue burrowing into my groin and lightly licking my cock. He sat astride me and leaned forward, licking his way up my stomach, across my chest and in my armpits, which made me giggle and pull against the ropes. He was very good.

I felt Oliver clamber over me and straddle my hips, not holding back but now running his hands firmly around my chest and shoulders and armpits, his dick bumping against mine. By now I wanted even more to cum, if that was possible. I asked him again to please let me cum, though I was half-afraid asking would only make him deny me longer. He didn’t speak but I heard him pick up the tube of lube and then felt a cold glop land on my hot, stiff cock.

Without warning, he grasped my cock firmly, spread the lube, and stroked me tightly, hard and fast. I gasped and moaned with the sudden rush of pleasure. Just as suddenly, he let go, making me wait while he rubbed his own cock. After lightly touching my cock once or twice, just to tease me, he started masturbating our cocks together in one hand.

I heard Oliver gasp, and it took me too only another stroke for me to cum, which gushed out of me onto my stomach in a huge puddle, mixing with Oliver’s hot load. I laid there, my orgasm still pulsing, having the odd feeling of having been both permitted and forced to cum. Totally controlled. Wicked. When I was through, Oliver tortured me for a moment by stroking my post-orgasm cock, making me gasp and beg him to please, please, stop. (My post-cum cock is incredibly sensitive, did I say?)

After a few minutes more of lying on top of me and finger-painting on my stomach with our cums, he untied me and rubbed my tired arms and legs to get the blood flowing again. We went into the bathroom and showered off, and I asked him if he wanted to sleep over. He said he couldn’t and got dressed and left.

We played again twice more. I tied him to my bed and did to him pretty much what he had done to me, with the blindfold and the body-hair skimming. I also tickled his toes which I found out later he hadn’t liked at all. After that I went out to his house, and he tied me ass-up on his weight bench and spanked me a lot before making me cum.

I ran into Oliver every so often after that. Even though he was friendly, he seemed to have lost interest in me as a play partner and we didn’t get together again. However, I remembered his technique of just barely touching body hair and used that many times on lovers interested in trying tie-up.

Notch 50: William

After I had known Peter for a few weeks, he invited me along to a party near Baltimore. He didn’t describe the party very much ahead of time, except to say that it was an all-male nudist event in someone’s home and many of his friends would be there. I had been before to a couple of gay nudist parties and they seemed pretty much like any other party, with people standing around, holding drinks and chatting, except there’s a penis everywhere you look.

At first this party seemed the same as those other ones. We undressed and put our clothes in the paper shopping bags our host thoughtfully provided, got ourselves drinks, and chatted with the other guests.

But after a while we noticed guests began disappearing down to the basement, so Peter and I followed them. The basement rooms had been set up for sex play with mattresses, benches, condoms, lube, and towels. Men had coagulated into duos or groups, touching or groping or sucking on the nearest cock. It was a little like the balcony scene at the WUST Dark Dance, but with throw pillows and track lighting.

In one dimly lit room a very handsome young guy, looking somewhat drunk, stoned, or both, laid naked on his back on a gym weight bench, his legs up in the air. He was being fucked by line of men, variously stroking themselves to maintain their erections, none of whom I could see wore a condom (maybe they put one on when I wasn’t looking).

Weight Bench was obviously enjoying his success in getting serviced by the queue, steering each successive cock into his ass, then lying back as he got bred, his legs waving on high (so to speak). I’d never seen a gang bang in real life, and rarely on a big gay porn screen. I thought it was a little scary, but people make their choices.

Peter and I stood watching the naked orgy massing around us. Despite the atmosphere of arousal getting me aroused, I wasn’t sure quite what to do. I wasn’t about to join the fuck line for Weight Bench.

Then Peter waved over his friend William from Baltimore, a cute guy with a goatee and who seemed to take an instant liking to me, smiling and sliding one hand around my waist, pulling our hips together. The three of us ended up kissing and feeling each other up until William and I went off to a corner to do more feeling up and jerking off while Peter, apparently now my wing man, disappeared. It was sort-of fun, partly because the room was so unprivate and partly because William was cute and he was really getting into playing with me.

After making each other cum, William and I split up and I went back upstairs and sat on the couch (on a towel, as once instructed about nudist etiquette), not really watching whatever was on the TV as other guests pulled on their clothes and left. I didn’t notice when William left. Peter found me and we got dressed and left before it got much later.

I occasionally saw William around DC and he was friendly enough, but didn’t show any further interest in playing.

Notch 49: Peter

On most weeknights the DC Eagle is relatively empty, mainly because most people have to get up and go to work the next morning. However, one Wednesday night in early February, the Eagle was as crowded as a Saturday night, filled with bears who had turned out for a Best Beard contest. As devoted, bearded-man admirers, I called Mateo and off we went, hoping that the contest would attract some fresh bears for us to cruise.

We got to the Eagle just as the contest was starting, so we headed right up to the second floor. We got beers and watched the men milling around us, then did a slow wander around the bar. Eventually we settled near the back where we could hear well enough to talk yet still see the little stage that was set up for the contestants.

Before long I noticed an unusually handsome, muscular guy with deep eyes, almost as tall as me, and a closely trimmed but thick black beard and gorgeous dark hair standing near us. He wasn’t paying any particular attention to us, but I ditched Mateo anyway and sidled over to say hello.

He introduced himself as Peter and seemed unusually friendly, smiling without any of the aloof attitude I might have expected from a man so very handsome and all alone in the Eagle.

As we talked more, I noticed Peter’s strong jaw with a slight underbite, deep frank eyes, exceptionally callipygian, and a generous smile… so fuckin’ hot. Eggs-for-breakfast hot. He was witty and spoke with a slow Southern drawl, he said, from growing up in Georgia. I was surprised to learn that Peter had lived in DC for several years and went to the Eagle often but somehow we’d never crossed paths despite having common interests like handsome bears or biking.

As I stood there staring (or trying not to) at how-do-you-like-your-eggs Peter, there was some background announcement about the beard contest and Peter suddenly pulled away. He was in the contest! I was disappointed to lose him so soon and wondered if I would find him again in the crowd. As I tried to keep an eye on Peter on stage, Mateo came over to find out who was the hottie I had been talking to.

The various parts of the contest dragged on through the introduction of each contestant, the probing questions and the witty answers, the beard display and discussion, and so forth; until the judges called an end and huddled to make their decision. Having come offstage, Peter reappeared near me at which I was delighted, and immediately got his phone number in case I lost him for good in the crowd.

We chatted again for only a few moments before the contestants were called back to the stage. Peter finished second, runner-up to a guy who had combed his beard and sideburns so they stuck out sideways which, in my opinion, wasn’t nearly as handsome at Peter’s. I forget what Peter’s runner-up prize was (a beard comb?).

Now that the contest was over, Mateo wanted to leave as it was getting late and we both had to work the next day. Peter wanted to stay at the Eagle longer with his friends, so we said good night and I stole a quick hug. But all the way home I kept thinking of handsome Peter. Yes, he was handsome and sexy, but I wanted an actual date, like, a nice dinner out, something more than to just to get him naked though I wasn’t about to rule that out.

So I duly called Peter the following evening to see if he wanted to have dinner on Friday, but he was already busy. Same for Saturday. Same for Sunday.

This wasn’t going well.

The following week I called again and asked if he was free on Friday. He said he already had plans on Friday night for, of all things, going out to the Naval Academy in Annapolis to watch cadet boxing―and did I want to join him and his friends?

Boxing.

This wasn’t going well.

I accepted immediately but also with some apprehension, picturing Julie Andrews at the boxing match in Victor/Victoria, spattered with blood and vomiting. But for some reason the Annapolis trip got canceled and I was relieved to be off that hook.

After several days of more telephone messages and missed calls, Peter and I finally met for coffee after work. He was just as handsome in daylight, and I kept trying to read his eyes for any sign of interest in me.

It wasn’t until about a whole month (patient, moi?) after we first met that I finally managed to get Peter over to my house for dinner, along with a few of my safe friends (read: already in relationships; my friends are sharks). Peter lingered after the others left and I asked him if he would like to spend the night, and he accepted.

This was going better.

I really did have some respect for Peter seeming to not want to rush our acquaintance into sex. I’d felt the same way many times myself, longing for a relationship instead of just another orgasm. Nevertheless, I was excited to finally get Peter all to myself. He had soft velvety skin that was stretched tight over his muscles on his smooth chest.

He kissed aggressively, sticking his tongue immediately into my mouth, but I managed to get him to take that a little slower. He had a slim but long dick and he practically purred, his arms around my neck, when I touched, tickled, or stroked it. He loved having his nipples tweaked, and came with only a little additional stroking, and so did I. We fell asleep, and after he left the next morning, I could smell his body on my sheets.

We continued to see each other and experimented with various ways to have fun. Once I tied his wrists to my doorway pull-ups bar and teased him by v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y pulling his pants down over his hips and round ass until his stiffening cock bounced free, leaving him naked and in a standing position with his arms up over his head. I fetched a wooden spatula from the kitchen and smacked his ass a few times, and buried my face in his groin, my mouth wet all over his defenseless dick and balls. While exploring Peter’s crotch with my tongue, I also discovered I could make him writhe and gasp by merely wiggling my tongue hard in an apparently very ticklish spot on either side of his balls. He wasn’t otherwise ticklish (I tried) but I was amused to discover his secret spot. Ya can’t go wrong wrapping your tongue around another man’s balls.

On another visit, I tied Peter’s wrists to the head of my bed, blindfolded him, and slowly teased his cock until he was so hot and worked up, I thought he would pop with the slightest firmer touch. It was fun having Peter’s body to play with. I loved being sexy with him. I loved holding him as we fell asleep, feeling safe and secure.

In addition to sex, Peter and I started going out regularly and saw each other through spring and into summer. We got together for a couple of camping trips, met for dinners after work (he was totally adorable in his suit and tie and sheepish grin), or spent weekends at my house (I made breakfast martinis when we didn’t have to drive anywhere).

Peter was a pip and I loved being with him. He was funny, smart, imaginative, and loved to tell stories in a way I totally could not. I felt he made me in new ways. He could also be playful, often sneaking up behind me to slip his hand down my pants or whipping my cock out to suck it at obviously un-sexy moments, like, while I was changing a light bulb. Peter made it sexy.

By July I realized I was starting to like Peter a lot. More than a lot. And felt he liked me back, so much so that I was seriously thinking I had found someone I might want to live with. But when I raised the possibility of him moving in with me for real, he explained that while he liked me, he had never dated anyone as long as me and didn’t feel ready commit to a live-together relationship.

He added that he still had some trouble admitting even to himself that he was gay (I could relate) but I don’t remember if I talked about it further with Peter. Peter still wanted to be friends, but I’m afraid our relationship withered a bit. I felt increasingly frustrated though we continued to see each other.

By the end of October, I told Peter I didn’t want to see him for a while, to take some time to sort out my feelings for him, and then maybe I would be willing to try to be just friends if he still wanted. He got a little upset and teary at that, which I had trouble understanding given what he had told me before. I thought about how I had once read advice to marry someone who is able to cry, for they trust you with their thoughts and feelings.

Early the next year Peter and I gingerly got back together as friends, and he seemed really glad to hear from me, and got a little teary again. One weekend I helped Peter move to a new apartment in Maryland, but after only a few weeks that turned out to be temporary and on short notice, Peter had to move again.

So I invited Peter to move in, this time as my housemate. He put most of his stuff into storage until he could find his own place and as I had only one bed, Peter slept with me. I loved having him there again and being able to hold him every day. I fell in love with Peter all over again. Cue “My Romance” by Rogers and Hart—doesn’t need one thing but you.

But my feelings remained unrequited. After a couple of months, Peter moved out, going back home to Atlanta for a new job and to be near his getting-old mother. The morning he left, I pretended to be asleep and ignored his quiet good-bye, as it was my turn to get a little teary. I missed Peter for quite a long time.

We occasionally emailed or called for a few years and I visited him once, but like so many others, we lost contact and I let Peter go.

Notch 48: Alex and Mitch

I thought I ought to get the newly available Hepatitis-B vaccine and called the clinic in Virginia where I had been going for my periodic HIV tests. After testing negative for previous exposure to Hep-B, I went in for the first of three shots.

At my appointment for the first shot, I was thrilled to discover the nurse was a very cute bear, slim and muscular, and with a great chest and a great ass, at least based on the curves I could see under his scrubs. Gazing happily, I rolled up my sleeve for Nurse Bear to, er, prick me. His name was Alex, which I carefully noted as he signed my medical card. But I was disappointed when I returned weeks later for my next shot, and the one after that, to find Nurse Bear Alex was no longer the nurse on duty. Darn.

Over a year later, I was away on another weekend trip in rural New Jersey, with seven other friends and their friends. This time we decided to go for a bit more luxury and rented someone’s off-season vacation home with a hot tub, rather than a rustic cabin with a creaky loft.

Also of key importance, at least to me, was that Nurse Bear Alex was coming on this trip, too, coincidentally an old friend of the trip organizer. I was looking forward to meeting Alex again even though I had since learned he had a lover-partner-person.

After the eight of us arrived at the house and settled in, we had dinner and eventually gravitated to the hot tub to enjoy a naked evening outdoors. I was not disappointed when Alex (and his lover-partner-person) climbed into the hot tub with the rest of us, Alex’s beautiful, wet body glistening in the dim porch light. I kept looking over at him, hoping to catch his eye, but I got nothing.

Ah.

After getting all hot-tub warm and sleepy (Oh my god, it was already 1 a.m.), I climbed out, wrapped a towel around my waist, and went back into the house ostensibly to go to sleep. But still hoping to catch another glimpse of Alex naked, instead I laid in wait on the couch in the living room, still in my towel, as the others wandered through. Eventually Alex came in wrapped his towel. That chest. That ass. We chatted for a minute and then he headed off to his bedroom. Darn.

But after a few minutes Alex, still in a towel, reappeared next to my couch. As he stood over me, I held out my hand, intending to pull him down on top of me. But he pulled at me first and so firmly, I had to either jump up or fall off the couch.

Oh.

Still firmly holding my hand, he led me across the room into a side bathroom and shut the door, reminding me of Bobby Bear. Alex whirled around and grabbed me in a big hug, stretching up to kiss me. Our towels fell off like magic and suddenly we were running our hands over each other, stroking our cocks and gripping our balls. His bare chest felt as wonderful, as thick and muscular, as it had looked under his nurse scrubs. I rubbed my hands hard over his taught skin, stretching his nipples back and forth.

By now I was schwung and Alex went down on me, licking and sucking my dick and massaging my nuts like a handful of golf balls. He mouthed my cock briefly and I could feel my pre-cum rising. But I wanted my turn, too, and finally got him back on his feet so I could have my turn on his stiff dick. He leaned back against the sink, his body compact enough for me to suck on him while continuing to feel my way around his chest, armpits, and back, or sliding my fingers around his butt and up between his legs.

We continued kissing and feeling each other in the bathroom, until Alex took command and jerked me off all over the carpet. We wiped up as much as we could, then he went off to his bedroom and I to the one I was sharing with someone.

The next morning people got up slowly, rummaging around for breakfast or sitting sleepily on the couch in the living room in front of the fire, hoping someone would hand them a cuppa. I got the brilliant idea of bringing Alex and his partner, Mitch, a wake-up cup of orange juice as an excuse to walk in on them. I threw on a pair of shorts, hurriedly grabbed some juice, then knocked lightly on their bedroom door. Two voices called out, and I entered and shut the door behind me.

They were on the verge of getting up but smiled and reclined back into bed when they saw my gift. I handed them the juice and hoping something more would happen, sat down on the bed next to them. Mitch, whose body was almost as developed as Alex’s, gently pulled me down onto the bed between them and we began to cuddle, caress, and stroke each other.

I forget exactly how it happened, but I ended up on my back without my shorts, Alex and Mitch both blowing me, or me sucking on both their cocks at once while they made out. It was my first experience in three-way and it was fun and friendly.

After Mitch and I had cum, he pulled on some clothes and went to find breakfast. Alex laid back down on the bed and I spooned myself in behind him, my arm around his chest, listening to him breathe as he got drowsy and fell asleep. I must have dozed off as well, because suddenly I was alone in the bed and Alex was just coming out of their bathroom.

We three didn’t have sex again that weekend although I kept wanting to cuddle more with them. I was still new enough to this variety of casual sex and didn’t understand how they could seem so interested and then so not, since they had moved on to having sex with other men in the house. Maybe I should have been flattered that I was the first one they (Alex) chose as well as a repeat; but I also told myself I was silly for thinking about it.

After that weekend we made a few attempts to stay friends. They were nice guys, but we didn’t strike up a lasting friendship.

Notch 47: Bill (or Jim)

Every January, a leather club in DC holds the Mr. Mid-Atlantic Leather contest, also known as “M-A-L,” the largest such event in the DC area and the culminating event of “Leather Weekend.” One year, some friends and I had bought the entire weekend package including admission to all events, brunches, and receptions at the DC Eagle or other bars, as well as to the leather contest itself (in which contestants in various states of undress hold forth about honor and brotherhood with an earnestness that would embarrass a Klingon).

This year, however, I didn’t buy the weekend package but instead went only to the (free) Eagle on MAL Friday night for what I knew would be some good cruising of many hot men, many from out of town, also known as “fresh meat.”

I did the usual stroll around the bar through the darkness, holding a beer, saying hello to a few friends and checking out new faces and bodies in the crowd. Because it was Leather Weekend, most people were in their best peek-a-boo leather garments of some kind, some laden with metal plates or spikes—dressing in weapons—but usually with large areas of hairy, muscular skin showing chests or asses and often both.

I paused for a while to talk with a friend, and his friends whom I didn’t know, and noticed that the shorter of the other guys was rather cute. As we made introductions, the cute one said his name was Bill (or was it Jim; I forgot by the time I got around to writing his name on my list).

As we four talked or glanced around at new arrivals in the bar, I kept looking over at Bill (or Jim), trying to see in the dim light if he was really as cute as I first thought. Specifically, I was trying to see if Bill (or Jim) might be a “how do you want your eggs?”

Let me explain: A twenty-footer is a guy who looks good twenty feet away in a dark bar, but closer than that, and nope. “He was nice but only a twenty-footer.” A five-footer looks good but only up to five feet away in a dark bar. But a how-do-you-like-your-eggs guy is so good looking no matter how close you get, you want to see him in the morning over the wonderful breakfast you’d make gladly for him. Got it?

And therefore, you should be flattered, and maybe a little turned on, when anyone, anywhere asks you, “How do you want your eggs?” Remember that.

Anyway, Bill (or Jim) had deep eyes and wavy hair and struck me as good-natured. After a while I wandered off to make the rounds again, finally leaning against the wall in a different part of the bar, absently watching the endless porn video, still hoping a hot bear would happen by.

Bill (or Jim) perhaps followed me, because he appeared at my elbow and started chatting me up hard. He said he was an Eagle regular, but I was surprised I had never run into him before. (I myself wasn’t much of an Eagle regular though you might not know it by how often I mention going there.)

It was getting late and I was starting to feel tired and ready to go home. Bill (or Jim) offered to give me a lift as I lived in his direction home.

We got to my house and instead of just getting out of his car, I asked Bill (or Jim) in. We sat on the couch and chatted and within minutes we were making out. We turned off the light and headed for my bedroom. I got him naked, and I pulled him into bed. Bill (or Jim) turned out to have a good body and he was very cuddly though he liked to kiss too hard.

We didn’t do anything sexually unusual that I remember but I got the feeling that with further encounters he might be into somewhat rougher play, like maybe letting me tie his hands up to my doorway pull-ups bar.

The next morning we had some juice—I didn’t actually make eggs—and Bill (or Jim) left. We traded a few phone messages for a while but didn’t get together again.

A few weeks later I happened to see Bill (or Jim) at a dance, but he didn’t seem particularly interested in chatting. I decided not to chance his name.