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Archive for June, 2010

I was meeting up with my ex girlfriend, the screenwriter, today for coffee when Cooper Fiennes texted me asking if I wanted to meet up and watch the Brazil-Chile match. Curious for them to meet each other, I told him to join us at my favorite cafe. She had heard about him and he, likewise. About 20 minutes later he walked in and she stumbled over herself for the first moments. She has deep-seated insecurities which makes meeting new people incredibly awkward for her.  He excused himself for the restroom and she was able to express her “oh my god”s and “holy shit”s regarding her impression of him. Once he arrived back at the table she was able to relax and speak comfortably with him.

Prior to C.F. , Screenwriter Girl had the best body of anyone I had been with. Unfortunately, her reasons behind the pristine physique were resulting from serious childhood sexual abuse trauma. A need to feel physically strong, since she is an emotional cripple. I care about her, but how do I say this? I was NEVER in love with her. She needed too much rescuing and I was already lost.  C.F.actually commented later on this. He said that there was something in her eyes that showed her traumas to the world. Even after she has gained physical strength, she has been unable to feel safe and heal. Her body is not a tool for fun and sport, as it is with C.F., this is their difference. Cooper Fiennes relishes sport of all types for how alive it makes him feel. The more his body aches, the more he pushes and challenges himself, the more alive and vibrant he feels. It’s incredibly sexy. Screenwriter Girl is trapped in her body, Cooper Fiennes uses his as an instrument of freedom.

I realized that the match had begun nearly twenty minutes prior and we really needed to get out the door and find a pub close by with food and the game. It was destined to be a good game, both teams are historically strong players with great coaches, so it could go either way. We left the cafe and said cheers to Screenwriter Girl and headed down the street. The Irish pub around the corner had air conditioning (THANK GOD!) and we found a seat right below the flat screen. 0-0 with a half hour in. We ordered some ciders, some food, and settled in. He pulled my stool closer to his and proceeded to act like a 14-year-old boy the entire match. You know, the “I poke you cause I like you” game? I love that he actually explains certain aspects of the game to me, things such as why there is a difference in the calls made by the English refs versus Spanish refs, what constitutes a yellow card or a foul, etc. He does it without my asking. While I have always liked International Football, I have watched it without knowing much about the game besides the obvious: ball goes into net equals goal. Dating C.F. has MANY benefits, apparently!!!

Brazil squashed Chile 3-0. It was a great game, but Chile could have played stronger. Not wanting to brave the heat, which was still nearly 35 degrees celsius/ 94 degrees farenheit , we had the waitress switch on Wimbledon for twenty minutes. Roddick had his ass handed to him by Yen-Hsun Lu and Capriati was rushed to the hospital for an accidental overdose. Between Capriati’s issues and Aggasi having been a meth user, who knew that Tennis could be so full of illicit behaviors?! It always seemed more refined some how. I guess when Tiger has a harem, Agassi smokes the pipe and Capriati abuses prescription pills, there is no such thing as refined sports anymore. Public figures are public figures and they all are susceptible to demons that fame can bring.

We wandered out, immediately wilted in the heat and decided to grab some ice cream for the stroll back to the train station. On the way he poked me no less than 30 times, and we stopped in 5 stores with air conditioning just to cool off for a few moments. We grabbed one more iced tea at Starbucks and sat chatting before parting ways on the street.

Meanwhile, I have been starting my period all day and annoyed that I couldn’t get a piece of ass if I begged. I’ve decided that hard to get is my new alter ego. If either of these boys want booty, they gotta work for it and jump through hoops, cause I’m not gonna be so easy anymore, damn it. Sigh, even if it means that I end up so sexually frustrated that I develop carpal tunnel from masturbating.

Tuesday posts are web syndicated by www.thenewgay.net  Check them out for awesome queer news and culture!

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I feel like I keep getting the ball near the net, but the goal just isn’t happening! I understand that both of my boys are busy, busy men, however, aren’t the men usually the ones that are chasing the girls for a piece of ass? How am I desperate for sex on the night before my period (translation: horny horny, horny and snuggly.) and with two men on my belt and yet, I’m stuck alone eating garlic hummus and fresh tomatoes and feeling mopey cause I’m not getting laid tonight? For one of their credits, Cooper Fiennes just moved into a new sublet this weekend and is wrecked, with an early morning start at work tomorrow. Type Geek though. Hmm. I’m not sure what to think of him. He rides the line of tepid or warm, mostly tepid though, with an occassional jump into hot, hot heat. The night he got back from Europe was hot. Thursday, was like married sex. He crawled into bed while I was brushing my teeth, under the covers, night lamp on beside him. I come into the room and undress my self, which is fine by the way, BUT, I like the whole undressing thing and the carrying on over the covers, the slowly shedding clothing and having to find it the next day. We are still casual, shouldn’t it be like that?

Type Geek and I took a day trip together on Saturday out of the city, hell, out of the state. We perused cute little waterfront towns and walked board walks. We played some bad pinball and worse Donkey Kong Jr. and had a wonderful dinner on the way home. I thought for sure that I would get laid, if not at night, since we were both tired, then perhaps in the morning. Except, while waiting for me to grab stuff from my house, he decided he was just too tired and asked if it was okay if we raincheck. Raincheck? All last week were rainchecks. Sigh. I know he’s attracted to me, I know he’s interested, but really? Rainchecks? How hard to get does he want to play? I’m already there. He’s already got me in his bed. Maybe it’s my turn to play a little hard to get. Harumph. I hate feeling forced to play games, but jesus christ, a girl may like you to buy her a nice dinner, but a girl also likes a good fuck too. maybe I need to make myself a little less available.

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Top 5 things lesbians never (or rarely)  have to deal with:

  1. Abraded chin from 5 o’clock shadows
  2. Projectile ejaculate (wear protective eye gear)
  3. Getting woken up because their partners “morning wood” nudged them
  4. Copious amounts of torso hair
  5. Emergency contraception

Condoms fail apparently AND the stakes aren’t really ones I want to gamble with, so, I found myself at CVS at 10:45 pm asking the pharmacist for some emergency contraception. At least there was never any risk that my ex girlfriends could get me pregnant.. or accidently shoot sperm in my eye.

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Cooper Fiennes got a visit from his wife on Sunday. I mentioned this, right? That he is technically married? She left him for a myriad of her own reasons, mostly it seems, she just wasn’t in love with him the way he loved her. It wasn’t his decision and he misses her madly. We talked about his love for her one night while we were taking a break during sex. We both believe in the hearts ability to expand so that it loves multiple people over a lifetime. That love doesn’t cease to exist for someone merely because the relationship is now over, or the status is complicated. We believe that the more one loves, the more capable or love one is.

I don’t expect to hear from him for a few days. I believe he needs some time to mourn. She is moving to NYC, a dual citizen, she has that freedom. Her trip to see him on Sunday was one to discuss logistics such as the sale of the car, the financials, the signing of the divorce papers once one or both travel back to Barcelona. Their physical location makes the divorce harder because it needs to be filed in Spain. Each day he goes without the split being finalized, is a day he is unable to fully move on.

I made myself available in anyway that could be helpful. I told him that if he needed a friend later in the day, a lover, or just a silent fuck, let me know.  He texted me in the early evening letting me know that he had opted to play soccer for 3 hours in the heat after she left, that he was emotionally spent and exhausted and just without words, but that he would resurface soon. I’m not concerned. Our situation is one without the emotional complications of a traditional relationship. We merely are, what we are. Until that is an issue or complication, we are happily floating in our little sexually charged private world, away from the trappings of what if’s and if only’s.

I have been meeting a lot of divorcee’s this last 6 months. Are there more people getting divorced or is it just that I have hit the age group where people who married young are suddenly running for cover? Had I married my ex fiance, we would be divorced by now. She was a train wreck. thank god for small miracles.

This week’s web-syndicated post is running a day late due to technical issues with our syndicater www.thenewgay.net . They are back up and running smoothly now, so check them out for more great queer coverage!

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The texts started coming in while Cooper Fiennes and I were having a late lunch. Type Geek and I had plans that evening. Originally we were going to join his friends 40th birthday celebration after the charity function, however we decided that INSTEAD of charity function sounded much better. The drama of those charity people had been too much.The next text message mentions that if I’m late, text him and he’ll come out to me. I told him, I would be there early & extra hot.

A few minutes later  C.F. informs me that we are now going back to his place to shower and fuck. DAMN IT. The look of shock on his face when I declined, priceless. As much as I WANTED to be able to, NOT being able to felt really good. Leaving him wanting me was an awesome feeling. Sigh. Cooper Fiennes walked me to the train, kissed me frustratingly on the platform and we parted so I could make my date on time. I did send C.F. a breast/bra flash photo via text though after I arrived on my side of the station. He looked so pathetic across the way. Like a little boy who found out there was no Santa Claus. He flashed me his trademark smile as he saw it come through his phone just as his train arrived.

Okay, now the cards were stacked against me. My trains were running on delays with signal switching issues, then a bus that was pulling off just as I walked out of the station…aarrgh. Somehow I was able to get home, rinse off quickly in the shower, run a razor haphazardly over my legs and slip on my hot dress, sequined heels, and grab some overnight essentials in less than an hour. I also took the dog for a walk around the block.  Amazingly, I make it to the restaurant with 5 minutes to spare … when I get his text. HE is running late. Turns out that the only other person as chronically late as me…is Type Geek. I should know this by now. He has been late for several of our dates. I should no longer rush, unless there is a time sensitive reason.

I’m pacing outside the restaurant, awaiting his arrival, fretting about what meeting his friends means, and texting him suggestively. He says that there is no guarantee that i will get laid that night. WTF is that?! He does have to leave early the next morning for a Father’s day event across the state, but really? Fine, I decide to tease the hell out of him then. I went into the bathroom and exposed my panties to the cell phone camera, then while outside again, I flashed my breast for the camera. I’m getting laid damn it! I had a sure thing lined in C.F. and now, Type Geek, after already owing me a few morning sexcapades and a make up for the time he fell asleep and forgot to unlock his door, I’m being told that I MIGHT NOT get lucky? Are you serious?! I’m kicking that man’s ass.

He finally shows up to extreme accolades over my appearance. I DID tell him that I would be there early and look extra hot. After a short hello and peck, we walk into the restaurant together. Meeting the friends for the first time of someone you are dating is always a weird experience. Its a vulnerable position if they know you are fucking because you don’t know what said date has told them about you. Also, you don’t know if it means the other person is getting serious with you. With C.F. , his friends don’t know the details of our friendship. They just know that I am around sometimes. I assume that they have their suspicions but we don’t over share since his friends are his colleagues and his colleagues don’t know the extent of his split with his wife. Type Geek’s friends are diverse and older, his two closest and longest friends of the group are also very gay men, which now explains his total non-issue with my past. There were 8 of us total at dinner. I liked 4 of them very much. The other two were odd in their tone with me. They were surprised by my age, assuming I was ten years younger, and they spoke to me in a dismissive interrogative way. It’s an odd thing that women can do with other women if they feel challenged or uncomfortable. My comfort with the group and ability to integrate quickly unnerved them. We had spicy Tikka Masala and a seared Tandoori Lamb, plus copious cocktails. Type Geek isn’t known for being a heavy drinker, a few glasses of wine make him feel buzzy, so I was surprised to see him have 3 vodka martinis, a glass of pinot noir, and the espresso vodka shot we all took. This is going to be interesting as the night stretches on.

The restaurant turns into a nightclub after dinner and we stay. We remained in the banquette seats of our original table and watched the crowd change.  The music was awful, the crowd was worse. Then, a nightclub hostess tried to kick us off the banquette because, as she said, she had just sold the tables for bottle service. This is the point when the woman who arranged the dinner & paid the tab for all 8 of us commented, “excuse me, but I think I just bought this table for $1,000 so, we aren’t moving.” I then calculated in my head the costs of everyone and gasped. Yes, indeed, she did spend roughly $1,000 for this birthday event. Nice friend. No, we aren’t moving. Except, the music started to become too much, the crowd, too trashy, and we decided we wanted something “classier”.

Within ten minutes we had arrived at one of the most hardcore gay nightclubs in the city. The video screens all played “gay for pay” porn in HD and the club stank of adult video store movie booths, but, the music was better. Then T.G. had a beer, then a whiskey. The night really spirals down from there. I had asked if he had ever been cock curious and he said no, not really. There had been a fleeting consideration marked by quick dismissal back in high school. The guy? One of his friends here tonight. That friend gets told the story and then suddenly I turn to see them kissing. Ten minutes later everyone is on the dance floor except for T.G. and I. We are leaning against the bar and suddenly he looks at me strange and says, we should go, now. Officially wasted.

I left T.G. at the bar while I found the boys in the melee on the dance floor, they came over to say goodbye and grab their shirts which were in my purse. When the boys and I head back to T.G. he is sliding down into a seated position on the foot rest of the bar. They attend to him while I turn to talk to his other friend, the woman who paid the dinner bill. Next thing I knew, his head was in his hands and the boys were shaking their head and telling me he was sick. I didn’t see the vomit happen, but I knew then, I was NOT getting laid that night.

We got him out of the bar and into a cab. At his house I was able to get him undressed, teeth brushed, and convince him to get two aspirin and a glass of water into his body. I placed a bucket by his bed, just in case. Cool damp cloth on the back of his neck, head and bare back… and then I told him, wake me if you need me.

I awoke in the morning to find him with his face buried under the once damp cloth. Did he remember much? Not really. He was mortified, it wasn’t that bad I told him. Truthfully, it wasn’t. He was the most composed of any drunken vomiter I have ever witnessed. Hell, I’m not that composed. He didn’t remember kissing his friend, which I had a feeling he wasn’t going to remember. Sigh. I fed him more water, more aspirin and then by 1 was able to get him vertical, showered and feeling human with a cup of coffee in him. He was going to be 5 hours late for Father’s Day brunch. Woops. I then took off for brunch with Assoc.Prod/Musician guy since we haven’t hung in a while and I wanted all the dirt on his new girlfriend.

For the remainder of the day, I couldn’t get this out of my head:

I felt a rush like a rolling bolt of thunder
Spinnin’ my head around and taking my body under.
Oh, what a night!
(Do, do, do, do, do. Do, do, do, do, do, do.)

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Saturday was a day of anxiety for me. I had committed to a series of events months ago, which after getting deeper involved in their production, I was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the women who were trying to put it on. There were multiple levels of unprofessionalism which weaved together to create an environment of which I eventually had to back pedal out of. I finished the few things I had been committed to, however I stopped taking on new tasks and became an attendee, rather than an organizer. However, with the event days away, some things needed to be finalized in regards to my last tasks, such as the sound for the DJ. The DJ, by the way, was to be Type Geek, in a favor I was very thankful for. Well, the women behind the event forgot to order sound and rather than make a quick phone call to order said sound, they had a panic attack, told me they just couldn’t deal with it and that they were at at the meet and greet and were too busy, but that they were swamped. Hmm, that is usually what PRODUCING an event translates to… much stress. I’ve done it, and there are ways to succeed and fail in it. Opting to socialize rather than deal with the 5 minutes needed to make a phone call and order sound to ensure your event a success, is probably the right way to fail. Now, with that said, in addition to the large evening event that Type Geek was assisting with, I was participating in an afternoon festival to celebrate the cause. Except, the women wouldn’t answer my questions about how the morning was going to run. In one moment I was told I was not allowed to drive into the park, the next, I was told I could, but then it was never answered to me WHERE I was to drive in and whether there was a location/set up map. As of 1:00 am the night before, I still didn’t know. I started to have anxiety. Should I even attend. I had decided that I wasn’t attending the evening’s event because the women had chosen to exclude my auction items, my award to the guest of honor, and my DJ, all in a thickly passive aggressive manner. Add on that I still hadn’t found anyone to help me at the start and end of the festival by watching my booth while I picked up the truck or parked it.

Cooper Fiennes works close by the park and offered to help me, even though he had drunk more than his fair share the night before with his friends. I assured him that IF it was a bother, don’t do it. His response was,” If I don’t help you, who is going to? You need help”. That was true. We met at the location at 9:40 am. The event was to begin at 11. I unloaded and went to return the truck, however, I ended up stuck behind a tour bus that was too large for its turn and wasn’t able to return to the site until 10:25. I surveyed the damage before me, only the tent was up. We had the shelves assembled in about ten minutes and even though I was later than I had hoped, the entire tent was set up by 11:20.

At this point I expected C.F. to go home and nap or go to work and get some writing done for a talk he has the following Tuesday, instead, he stays. With the combination of the abrupt gusts that knocked down a shelf and tossed product through the air, the oppressive heat, and the realization that the women had placed my booth far away from others, ensuring my foot traffic was sporadic , at best, the day could have easily turned emotionally ugly for me fast. Instead, C.F. saw my frustration and anxiety with the entire situation and made the decision to provide comic relief and friendly support the entire day. I kept telling him to leave and he kept changing the subject. I apparently did NOT know what I needed and he did, so he stayed. When the wind would almost upend my tent, he would grab the airborne end and anchor it to the ground, all while giving a come hither look and dancing against the pole with a smirk across his face and a wink. His jokes of parasailing were welcome distractions from the reality that my financial take for the day, would equal my rental car costs. I could have stayed home, since I made zero money, however, I had fun with him and we were clothed even.

After the event was over I took the 20 minutes to drop my things at my house and then met back up with him for a late lunch of sushi and iced coffee. He had been adorably bratty and playful all day. Sitting at Starbucks, he looked at me and said, very matter of factly, “So, now, we go to my house and shower and have sex”. The only thing better than having him ask, was my telling him I couldn’t. I have a date with Type Geek. Since he and I aren’t attending/working the evening party, he asked me if I would attend a birthday party for some old friends. I assumed, wrongly so, that Cooper Fiennes had plans with his friends. It is nice though, for him to realize that I am NOT always available, NOT always able to have sex with him at the drop of a hat. He thought I was kidding. I kissed him and had him walk me to the train. We were on opposite platforms, heading opposite directions. I discreetly tucked my camera phone down my shirt for a breast and bra shot which I then texted to him. He smiled from across the platform and boarded his train.

Now it’s time to go home and get ready for my date. These two men in my life right now, well, they rock.

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I heard the most hysterical song today. With a nod to, and the deepest respect for, the Arctic Monkeys, I reprint these lyrics from their song Flourescent Adolescent:

You used to get it in your fishnets
Now you only get it in your night dress
Discarded all the naughty nights for niceness
Landed in a very common crisis
Everything’s in order in a black hole
Nothing seems as pretty as the past though
That Bloody Mary’s lacking a Tabasco
Remember when he used to be a rascal?

then later:

Flicking through a little book of sex tips
Remember when the boys were all electric?

Now when she tells she’s gonna get it
I’m guessing that she’d rather just forget it
Clinging to not getting sentimental
Said she wasn’t going but she went still
Likes her gentlemen to not be gentle
Was it a Mecca Dobber or a betting pencil?
 

Jesus Christ, I hope I don’t become so ho-hum about a great shag in the future. I hope I can still get great shags in the future. How depressing. I need to go listen to Bruises by Chairlift. It makes me happy. Even though the lyrics are a tinge sad, there is a bittersweet quality about it that I adore. Maybe because it’s strawberry season right now? Maybe because I would love to have such a silly crush. Here is the video for Chairlift’s  Bruises.

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