She was friendlier with Lizzie than with me, and Tommy doesn’t like her at all. She was on the girls’ tennis team freshman year and she also thought the coach was smoking hot. Lizzie still keeps in touch with her.
John Doyle: A hot, fun guy who also played on the tennis team with me. We were all friends with him but none of us kept in touch with him after college—on purpose. He’s now married to a sweet moron.
1
The Real Thing
Guys always ask me if the shit I write is real. And, well, yeah it is, mostly. I mean the sex is based on real encounters; the characters are all based on real people; the contexts of the stories are pretty much real; and the places it’s all set in are real. But to protect the not-so-innocent, and to keep myself out of a courtroom, I’ve got to change a bunch of shit around and make it so that the average reader can’t easily recognize who I’m talking about; or more important, who I am. So some people’s characteristics might be interchanged and some circumstances a little flip-flopped, but the important shit is real.
I’m not all ashamed of my sex life or anything but we live in a society that pretty much frowns on my lifestyle. I’ve got a real-life job that I like and want to keep, and a family I’m pretty close to who really doesn’t need to know the explicit details of my sordid sex life, and so I need to protect my privacy. Then there’re all the lunatics out there. I mean I’ve watched enough ripped-from-the-headlines Law & Order episodes to know about all the crazies in our world, but until I started keeping this blog, and getting a shit-ton of insane stalker-like e-mails from guys, I never realized how real-life crazy so many fuckers were. For real. So basically I’ve tried to mess it all up enough for the truly guilty to get away OJ-free.
Now, on to the book…
2
Me
Hi. So here’s the thing. I have a lot of sex. A lot of really good sex. But there’s more to me than just that. But that’s kind of why you bought the book: the sex, I mean. So let’s just cut right to the chase. I’ve got this blog and in it I write about my never-ending quest for great cock and maybe for a boyfriend as a side effect. Well I always knew that I liked to get laid a lot—and that I was pretty lucky in that department—but I never realized just how different I was until I started the blog, The Great Cock Hunt. All of a sudden it got really popular and all these guys started reading it and sending me comments and e-mails and shit. It got kind of heady for a while and it was fun and the hunt just carried on. The blog became this detailed journal of my quest for great cock, but my life isn’t totally one-dimensional (although some people have accused me of that), and so I write about my friends and my job and shit like that too. But mostly I write about sex.
The thing is, when it comes to sex, my goals are short term. Most people expect me to be looking for “the one”—that great guy who I can settle down with and love until I’m like old and don’t even know I’m drooling. And, well, part of me wants that too. I think. But at the same time, going out and scoring new tail all the time is fun too. I used to have a guy, a regular boyfriend and all that, so it’s not like there’s something majorly wrong with me. I’ve got all the basic pre-reqs: good face, in shape, pretty-hot-gym-going kind of body, more than half a brain, and can carry a conversation and all that. It’s just that I get all wrapped up in the having sex part and, well, that’s easier than actually emotionally bonding with someone and putting myself out there and risking getting hurt. Again.
Okay, let’s take a step back. Here’s me (the Google version anyway): I’m a single, just-hit-thirty-and-freaking-about-it, very handsome—but definitely not a ten—guy who lives in Manhattan. I’ve got a pretty good job, make some nice dough, and come from a pretty supportive, loving and comfortable family. I’m in really good shape physically, but it’s not easy. I work out all the time and I have to try to watch what I eat. I mean, I’m not like a no-bread Nazi or anything, but if I skip a week of the gym and have lots of cake, I’ll notice it in my stomach. I work with a trainer and someday I’ll have the body I want, but maybe never because I just can’t stay away from chocolate chip cookies. They’re like my crack. And because no matter how ripped I get, I have trouble thinking anything is good enough.
I try to be a pretty good, honest and upright guy. I don’t like to play a lot of games and I try to be as up-front as I can. I’ve got neuroses like everyone else and I totally will walk by someone I kind of know and not acknowledge them; but that’s more out of insecurity—me figuring they’re going to do it to me first—than anything else. I try to stay away from hard drugs but smoke pot pretty often. I just love it. I don’t call myself a stoner anymore because that’s like so college, or Seattle or something, but I haven’t gone a week without weed since like…well, um, ever. Occasionally I’ll do some coke but usually I try to lay off that crap. I’m definitely a drinker and I like to have a good time. I can hold my alcohol pretty well but I’m a totally cranky bitch when I get majorly hungover.
I’ve got a few really close friends and a lot of what I call tangent friends. You know, they’re like friends of friends, people I’ve met and see every once in a while, or hook-ups, but they’re not the kind of people I’d call up and tell my problems to. My closest friend is Lizzie. She’s my best girlfriend, my Grace, and I’m her Will (except I’m not as neurotic and I have a better body than he does; and I’m not a lawyer). Yeah it’s gross but we’ve basically been through everything together. We’ve seen each other naked, tried deep kissing, traveled together, showered together, and all that too-close-for-just-friends crap. Like I can pick my nose in front of her and she can fart in front of me and neither of us would care—that kind of close. She’s single and needs to meet a good guy. She’s a total catch: pretty, smart, in the know, and loaded. What more could you ask for?
My other close friends are Tommy, Nick and TJ. Nick and TJ are like a pair. We’ve known each other forever. We went to high school together and have been friends ever since. They’re like my rocks, my touch-base-with-almost-every-day kind of friends, but they’re not my out-partying-and-slutting-it-up-all-night friends. Sometimes they are, sometimes I can get them to play, but usually they’re home. And now Nick has a boyfriend so it’s been a big see-ya-later for a little while. But Tommy: now he’s my party-boy partner in crime. We’re like the cock crusaders. Tommy makes me look like a virgin. You know that famous, old basketball player who had sex with like more than twenty thousand women—Wilt Chamberlain, I think? Well, Tommy’s on track to top the dude. And I don’t mean in the fuck-up-the-ass sense. Tommy’s a total slut with barely any morals and the ethics of an Enron executive. He plays hot games with guys and is into just about anything: threesomes, foursomes, sex parties, orgies secretly videotaping people, raunchy porn, you name it. If my life was a cartoon and I had good sitting on one shoulder and evil on the other, TJ would be the good and Tommy would be the evil and depending on the day Nick would probably be on top of my head hovering between the two. Lizzie would be at the manicurist in this scenario.
Porn is like my other best friend. I love porn. If my parents wouldn’t totally freak out, I’d love to be in the porn business. I don’t think I’d be a porn star, I’m way too shy for that, but I’d love to produce movies or something. I always say that when I’m older and have some money to burn that porn is going to be my side project, my mid-life crisis. Like my dad got a car that goes so fast he’s afraid to drive it, I’ll make a movie so hot I’d be afraid to see it. I’m not like an addict or anything; I just dig it. And I just don’t understand why so many people get their panties all in a bunch about it. It’s just sex: relax!
Another of my passions—and this one you could probably call an obsession—is straight guys. Maybe it’s the whole safety factor, like I can’t really have them, or maybe it’s just the unattainable challenge, but nothing gets me harder than a sexy
