guys who might like a nice massage with a happy ending. Yeah, that shit totally gets me going.
Right now, at this point in my life, I’ve got two major straight-guy relationships going on. I always seem to have one; even back when I thought I was straight I’d say some of my male friendships were questionable. But whatever; we’ll get to some of those. Right now I pretty regularly meet up with this dude Gordon. He’s single with a girlfriend—they’re engaged (but by the time this thing gets published they’ll probably be married)—and totally gay-curious. He comes over for totally one-sided sessions where he likes me to get him off. Over time he has let me go further and further with him—but always with no reciprocation. Which is fine with me because that would ruin the fantasy. The minute he asks to blow me or begs me to ride his ass, he’s history. (Maybe…)
My other straight dude is Hot Sales Guy. Oh God, I love him. He is just my perfect physical ideal. He’s not the smartest guy in the world or anything but he’s so damn sexy that I’d almost consider dying to have a go at his body. He totally makes me mental and I think he knows it and I think he gets off on teasing me a little. We work together and go on business trips together and we’ve had a few fun encounters but nothing actually sexual. At least not while he’s been awake…
So even though I say that I like to hook up all the time and that I’m not looking for anything serious, I try to get into serious things and try them on for size sometimes. I just don’t always do it with the best people. Case in point: Reese. He is this absurdly beautiful, conceited asshole who I met and hated instantly. But after dating for a little while—because, you know, it makes sense to date someone you hate—I kind of started to like him. Then I liked him more and more. We got pretty close, dated a lot, and he was great in bed. Not only was he so beautiful but he was kinky and got into some light bondage and shit and that got me cranked. But he treated me like crap—used to blow me off a lot and then one day up and disappeared. I found out later that he moved in with his ex-boyfriend but, well, whatever.
Then there’s King Kong. He’s a guy I hooked up with back when I was dating Reese but didn’t really start dating until after Reese was over. Sometimes I thought he moved too quickly and then I wondered if I was just slow, but he had the biggest dick. He was totally nice to me and he treated me generally well (until the end—but isn’t it always that way?) but there wasn’t much of a challenge there and sometimes I thought he liked me too much. My friends thought I was crazy to even look at another man but, well…there’s my problem. The grass is always greener and all that crap.
Anyway, things didn’t work out with King Kong in the end. Even though I totally blame him, it was really both our faults. His more than mine, don’t get me wrong, but I was still a little culpable. It’s been hard getting past him. Lizzie says it’s always like that: you never realize how much you actually loved someone until he’s gone. I’m sure like every pop star known to man has written a sappy song on the subject, but I think it’s kind of true. So, like taking medicine that tastes like shit every day but that you eventually get used to and fail to taste any longer, I’m moving on from King Kong.
But in the end, King Kong, Reese, Lenny, and God knows how many other random dudes I’ve dated in between, were all nothing when compared to Jack. I think—usually secretly—that at the root of all of my relationship bullshit is Jack. We went to college together but didn’t really know each other at the time. He was a few years older than me and was friends with the older brother of a guy I hung out with. But the year after I graduated we met up at a Homecoming weekend thing and totally got into each other. He was absurdly smart and cultured and sexy as hell. I fell in love with him like instantly. I think it was the first time I was really totally in love. I was completely in love with every ounce of him. I would have settled down with him, put on an apron, and had a fucking family if he wanted. But he didn’t love me back. He led me on pretty well, he told me he loved me, and we tried to make a relationship happen—or at least that’s what I thought we were doing—but then he dumped me. I was crushed, destroyed; I had never before experienced sadness that real. But I survived and I fucked my way out of the misery. Then like a year later, we ran into each other again and we tried to date again. I hadn’t forgotten him for a second and was still so in love; my feelings were so raw. My friends all said I was crazy; they said I was an idiot and they were right: he dumped me again. It didn’t hurt as much the second time but it kind of hardened me a little. I don’t tell people this and haven’t even really admitted it to myself, but I still love him as much today as I did then. I don’t know if it will ever go away.
In the beginning…
Anyway, this whole Great Cock Hunt thing started with these e-mails that Tommy, Nick, TJ, and I used to forward around to each other. We called them the Morning-After E-mails and we’d send them the morning after being out together describing—sometimes in graphic detail—the dudes we hooked up with. They were funny and hot at first and more than once I’d find myself closing my office door on a Friday morning and taking my cock in hand while I read about Tommy tying up some stockbroker and riding his ass like a rodeo star. But like all good things, it came to an end. Kind of. It’s just that the guys all kind of got bored and lazy about sending theirs out. But I was so into it. It was like cathartic and erotic at the same time and I really liked it. So instead of being the only one to send the e-mails, I started this blog.
I guess I was a better writer than I thought because thousands of dudes started to read it. I mean like a ton of fucking guys. All of a sudden I was getting e-mails from sexy, hung studs all over the world wanting to hook up, to just be e-friends, or whatever. It was surreal. I became like an authority. Guys who were just coming out would e-mail me asking for advice and guys who were thinking of bottoming for the first time would ask me how to deal with the pain and how to keep their assholes clean. It was kind of amazing. I got more and more into it and then some book publisher e-mailed me and asked if I’d be into writing a book about it all. At first I was like, I’m no Jackie Collins, I can’t write great literature. But they persisted and I kept thinking about it, and, well, here we are.
So back to the beginning: like I said, I get a lot of sex, and this upcoming long weekend is sure to be a trip down cock memory lane. Lizzie, Tommy and I have a college reunion this weekend. This will be our second big reunion since we graduated: I can’t believe we’ve been out of school that long and that we’re that old but it’ll totally be interesting and fun—at least we hope. And, of course, I hope we’ll get some tail. At the very least I’m sure a lot of hot memories will be jogged. And since I don’t really know how to write a book, I’m just going to chronicle my trip like I would for my blog and go from there.
Here goes…
3
The Rich Kid
I had left work early and was heading home to pack for the weekend, which I feared could take forever, and then Lizzie was coming to pick me up and then we were picking up Tommy and hitting the road; it’s like a four and half hour trip when you drive fast. Anyway, I was walking into my building and ahead of me was a guy just coming in from a run. From down the street I couldn’t quite make out the jogger, but I thought it might be The Rich Kid, my neighbor Jason from upstairs. We’ve been known to hook up from time to time and he’s kind of hot and well, he looked good in a tank top damp with sweat and loose shorts.
Jason is this spoiled young guy whose parents bought him a place in my building when he graduated from college. He’s some trustafarian (trust fund baby) who hasn’t really worked since I’ve known him but thinks that his photography hobby is his career. He’s like twenty-three, very handsome, but WASP-featured like crazy: straight blond hair neatly cut, creamy white skin like a J-Crew catalog model, clear blue eyes, angular face with prominent cheekbones, and a totally arrogant chin. He’s about five feet, nine inches, walks with perfect posture, and was trim and fit when I first met him but he’s been working out and has added a little bulk since then. When I first saw him,
