Random Rim Jobs
I swear. True story.May 29, 1991: A Diary Entry (Part 1)
Posted on June 23, 20101:15 AM
I was telling Henry how tired I am of thinking ’cause it hurt and I was saying how everyone’s basically the same but then for some reason I think guys are totally different. Or actually I don’t remember exactly what it was and Henry said he wishes he had thoughts like that – something about all the answers not being right there so I get frustrated and that’s why I don’t like thinking anymore. But the way he said it. It was like he was revering me – like “wow how neat” and “you are so neat” (I, of course, prefer the latter.) It’s funny ’cause we’re slowly but surely getting to know each other. I’ve never done this with anyone else. Not this more than friends type of thing. Erica (Sorry, she’s my only reference.) and I went so fast we were friends, sort of, we had sex, a lot, we built a relationship, however shaky and fucked up but so far this thing with Henry is slow and nice. We’re getting to know each other before we even get really physical but we had to kiss for it to get to this level that we’re at now but the “revering” type talking is what started Erica on the road towards love not that that’s where he’s going shit if I only knew it would make everything so simple. But I like his mystery. But do I really like him or did I just latch onto him because I wanted someone to latch onto – to talk about. But I think dream about him too it of course started off as a looks thing but beautiful people hang around beautiful people looks are something our children are going ooops would be so cute but I’m not sure what I would name boy #1 cause I think it would have to be a boy but that’s me giving up part of me I would like a girl or boy but a boy so he could deal better with our first. Why but I don’t know we can’t see the future and I’m glad. That’s something no one can ever do – is see the future. Life is like an adventure who knows what’s gonna come next. I was wondering if I should ask Henry who’s going with us to the mountains (he’s never been camping – isn’t that sweet?) but I’m afraid cause if he was planning on it being just the two of us and I asked like there were gonna be people with us he would take it to mean I didn’t think we were gonna be alone and to make me feel more comfortable but of course I want to be alone with him so we can be alone the type of couple that is one way out in front of everyone and another alone together and I don’t just mean sex either I mean talking feelings. Like the couples you see that’ve been together since high school but they really know each other. Wow I guess every relationship is like that in one way or another.
No Go
Posted on June 22, 2010
We all know that summer is concert season. I saw this advertisement on BART indicating some upcoming concerts in the Bay Area. (Please forgive the photo’s quality, as the train was moving when I took it.) Here are six musical events I will not be attending this or any other summer.
I do like some Iron Maiden music. My step-sister and I had the cassette of Seventh Son of a Seventh Son and listened to the shit out of it. Now, thanks to the Viking, I have access to all of their albums. That’s enough. A concert with Iron Maiden fans does not sound fun.
The Warped Tour. I’m too old and pale to take in an all-day music festival. I’m also not cool enough. Or have enough tattoos. I’m fine with that.
The Mayhem Festival. I’ve seen Rob Zombie back in the day when he was playing clubs, probably the early 1990s. I’m over him, and I have no interest in any of the other bands. Also, too old, not cool enough, not enough tattoos. Rockstar and Jägermeister, two drinks I have NO interest in drinking, are sponsors.
I think Toby Keith is a country musician. No thank you. Not even interested enough to look him up. Not going.
I would stab myself in both ears with ice picks before I’d go to a Rush concert so I wouldn’t have to actually hear that horrible voice. If I’m feeling the need to torture myself I can listen to recorded Rush – the Viking has ‘em.
Don’t know who or what Paramore is. I don’t know if not knowing makes me cool or dorky. I don’t care.
I wasn’t into Slayer or Megadeth back in the 80s. Not into them now. The crowd would be sad rockers who are pissed that they had kids with their high school sweethearts. No thank you.
Finally, Jimmy Buffett. I have no interest in going to Margaritaville or eating a cheeseburger in paradise. Or hanging out with people my parents’ peers.
I swear. True story.
Chicago: June 21, 2010
Posted on June 21, 2010[Continued from "Chicago: June 20, 2010."]
It was my last day in Chicago. The day was bittersweet because the Viking and I would have to part ways. He was coming home in three days anyway, but we would miss each other nonetheless. We’re goofy like that. He’ll get tired of me soon enough.
I decided on the trip that I don’t like king-size beds. They are way too big for me. If I’m sleeping in the same bed as someone chances are it’s because I want to share a bed. A king bed makes it feel like I’m in the bed alone, which is fine, but only when I’m in bed alone. When I share a bed with someone I want to be able to reach out and actually find a body. (Preferably a live one.) I’m not much of a cuddler, but I still want to be able to feel a body if I’m choosing to share a bed.
I packed my suitcase. We had strewn our clothes about the room, and the toys had been put to use. It was nice that the Viking was staying in the room so if I forgot anything he could bring it home. I didn’t forget anything in my huge suitcase. I was required to overpack because of the size of my suitcase. The Ex and I had bought a set of luggage before we went to Thailand the first time. When the Ex moved out he took the smaller pieces and left me the largest piece. Now, unless it’s just a quick jaunt, the only suitcase I have has to be filled. For this trip, the rope and toys took up the space, but the bag has to be checked because of the size.
These days the stupid-ass airlines charging for checking even one bag is just bullshit. When I arrived in our hotel room and opened my suitcase, I noticed the contents had been rearranged; the flogger was on top whereas it had been under my clothes when I packed. On top of everything was a “NOTIFICATION OF INSPECTION (NOI).” Apparently if I had any prohibited items they were turned over to the proper authorities. I’m glad they don’t think sex toys are “Hazardous Materials.”
After packing, the Viking and I went out in search of food and shopping. We ate at Big Bowl, which apparently prides itself on using seasonal, local produce. Yay, I don’t have to feel like I’m compromising my inner hippie in the Midwest. Lunch was really quite good for a somewhat gimmicky (albeit small) chain restaurant.
Then we went shopping. I’m not a big shopper. I mostly get annoyed, and when it comes to shopping for intimate apparel, depressed. The Viking wanted to go bra shopping with me, I think mostly because he wanted to see my boobies in a different setting, but I didn’t want to do that on vacation. Vacations, after all, are supposed to be fun, not demoralizing.
Chicago has one of just a few of the Lego® stores on earth. We walked into one of those vertical urban shopping malls and climbed a few escalators. We knew we were close when in the well of the escalators there were figures made out of Lego blocks. There was a giant spider and a big rat, made out of Lego bricks. We went into the store, where there were many, many different sets. There was also an area where individual blocks could be purchased individually. While the individual bricks looked pretty, I couldn’t think of what to make with them. I want to make some fun, funky jewelry with Lego blocks.
The Viking bought me a couple of the sets from the Architecture series.
I’m going to have a lot of fun putting these together. I really like Lego. I’m a childish nerd.
There were stations where one could put together sets of three Lego people. Their headgear, heads/faces, torsos, legs, and up to two accessories could be picked individually. I had an idea considering Pride was coming up, so I got a set of three custom people.
We took our booty back to the room and fit the Lego sets into my luggage. The Viking escorted me all the way to the airport, which was very much appreciated considering Chicago train stations have stairs, not escalators. It would have been very difficult for me to carry my heavy-as-shit suitcase.
After the Viking dropped me off I went to my gate. Luckily, close by was a bar where I had a couple of drinks. While drinking them I began to play Plants vs. Zombies. Then, as I entered the gate area I saw someone I know. Someone I know from San Francisco. It’s a small, small world.
We talked, but unfortunately we weren’t seated near each other, and the good ol’ days of easily being able to change seats are over. But my friend texted me before take off and offered to buy me a drink. Thank you very much.
The entire flight passed very quickly because I was killing zombies the whole time. Once at home I saw that my baggage had again been inspected. This time my Hitachi Magic Wand had been left on top of the other suitcase contents.
I had a great time in Chicago. It’s a nice place to visit. Would I want to live there?
I swear. True story.
Chicago: June 20, 2010
Posted on June 20, 2010[Continued from "Chicago: June 19, 2010."]
When I woke up in the morning I was feeling much, much better. We took a cab to Jam, in West Town, for brunch. After putting our name in for a table, we walked around the neighborhood a bit. The neighborhood was cute and arty, with some nice graffiti, like this creepy zombie dude.
From the looks of things, Chicago is a dog- friendly city, which of course Isis and I require. We saw several pet-related businesses with cute, punny names. Like Urban Out Sitters. And Spotland Yard, which unfortunately appeared to be out of business.
But the best discovery by far was the bar/liquor store combination. “Oh, you’re cutting me off? Ok, I’ll take a bottle of cheap vodka to go. Thank you.” Cheap vodka because the bar/liquor store we went to was very divey. Of course I like me a good dive bar.
The conveniently located dive bar/liquor store came in handy after we were seated outside in the courtyard adjoining the restaurant. It was brunch so of course I wanted mimosas, but Jam doesn’t have a liquor license. They had fresh squeezed orange juice though. I popped into the the dive bar/liquor store for some cheap “champagne” and we were set.
Jam’s courtyard was shaded and cool. Sunday’s weather was also significantly cooler than Saturday’s had been so the outdoor seating was rather nice. The courtyard had a bunch of really interesting sculptures. One was a tower of Tonka Trucks that had been allowed to get weathered and rusty. Another looked like a horse made out of canvas. It didn’t look creepy at all, I promise.
These looked like cattle shells. Or something like that.
Brunch was really good. Really, really good. First, we shared an appetizer portion of French toast served with rhubarb. Y-U-M. I had a take on eggs benedict with pork belly and pea hollandaise. It was really good, but I thought the bread they used was too thick. I ended up slicing it in half laterally so each bite could contain just a 
bit of bread, egg, pork, and sauce. The Viking had a Spanish omelet. Both were tasty. I go on so because I really liked the place, as you can tell by this photo. Or maybe it was the mimosas.
With our bellies full we walked towards the train. Before we go to the train we saw a sign that indicated that downtown was only 2 1/2 miles away. That’s an easy walk, especially when everything’s flat. We walked through some pretty run-down areas, with a lot of boarded windows and medical supply stores. Not much was open. It was a Latino neighborhood, which reminded me of the Mission, only not nearly as lively. We even passed a street vendor selling tacos.
I thought it was great. In San Francisco we have a taco truck right outside our building. The Viking, however, didn’t like that the neighborhood was so run down. He definitely had a point. I want to feel like I can walk at night alone in whatever neighborhood I live, and with so many empty places, it seems unlikely there.
We walked into the city, and after a stop at an Irish pub for fortification, walked to Navy Pier. The folks that run the architectural river tour were nice enough to allow us to transfer our reservation from the night before. We sat on the deck of the boat in full sun at the hottest time of the day. To combat the heat, there was a bar on the boat. Thank you vodka and soda. All of them were very refreshing.
The tour was packed with information. Both the Viking and I declared our love for architecture. We’re going to look into a more detailed architectural tour, maybe focusing on particular styles. Chicago is a great city for architecture. It’ll be fun to explore further. The Viking tends to like Neoclassical buildings while I like Art Deco a lot.
We walked back to our hotel. On the way we decided that we would have a quickie before we had to meet friends of the Viking’s for dinner. We walked faster. I did, however, have to stop to take a picture of this fun sticker/graffiti combination.
Once in our room, we had a very fun, very quickie. Thankfully we had time to shower before we had to walk to the restaurant because between all the walking all over the city and the fast and furious fucking, we were sweaty messes.
We ate at a Brazilian place. The kind with a salad bar and lots of meat. Lots and lots of meat. One of our group was herself Brazilian so other than the meat and salad bar, we also had a variety of side dishes that non-Brazilians don’t know to ask for.
Dinner was good, but unlike the Brazilian places elsewhere, they did not have any chicken hearts. I like chicken hearts, they remind me of my white trash childhood. According to the floor manager, they are not allowed to serve chicken hearts. None of us at the table could figure out why, if they served chicken, they could not serve all of the chicken. We thought maybe it had to do with the city’s ban of foie gras, that a law might include all poultry offal. (The ban ended in 2008.)
After dinner the Viking and I went to the bar on the 96th floor of the John Hancock Center. Due to one of those damn support beams keeping the building
up, we didn’t have much of a view from our seat. I used the ladies’ room, which had a great view of the city skyline and Lake Michigan. I told the Viking to go to the bathroom so he could take in such a beautiful view. The men’s room, however, did not have windows at all. Gender discrimination!
Then back to the hotel for zombie killing. I’m really into Plants vs. Zombies. However, I am no gamer. Look, I made my own Zombatar. Isn’t she cute?
I killed some zombies, we watched some tv, and napped some. Don’t worry, we’re not uptight. We did some fucking. We put both the flogger and the njoy Eleven to very good use. The Eleven is so fucking great. Makes me come with it’s big coldness. And the flogger feels just lovely on the buttocks.
I left Chicago the next day, so the story is obviously to be continued.
I swear. True story.
Chicago: June 19, 2010
Posted on June 19, 2010[Continued from "Chicago: June 18, 2010."]
I’m used to Isis waking me up very early, about 6am, so I tend to wake up at that time no matter what. Before I had a chance to go back to sleep, the Viking and I were cuddling. And then it was hot because I was silly enough to have packed flannel pj’s. I took off my pj’s not as in invitation for sex, but so I could go back to sleep more comfortably. The Viking, however, had a different idea. Once he got going, things felt really good and I couldn’t think of any reason to stop him.
We went back to sleep for a while. We purposely didn’t put down the window shades for fear we’d sleep too late, so when the Viking woke me up, again feeling amorous, I knew by the light coming in the window it was close to time for us to get out of bed anyway. But not before the Viking and I endeavored to give me a very nice orgasm.
We finally got up still pretty early and took the train to Lincoln Park. We went to the Bourgeois Pig for breakfast. I had very delicious French toast and an iced coffee. I’m not a big coffee drinker. Back when I worked at an office, I’d get a fancy, sweet, milk-laden coffee drink around 10:30am, just to stay awake. Very, very rarely I’d have more than one coffee in a day. Since I’ve not worked in an office in a while, I’ve not had much coffee at all.
After breakfast we walked around the neighborhood a bit, through a park where there were dogs and families, and then to a farmers market. The neighborhood was cute, perhaps a little too cute; I need some grit in a neighborhood. The farmers market was in the parking lot of a school, and had a reasonable variety of vendors. Staying in a hotel and eating out for every meal, I was missing fresh produce. We bought some tomatoes, some peaches, and some strawberries. The peaches were especially tasty.
Then the Viking and I walked around, checking out the neighborhood. It was a hot and humid day, as would be expected in mid-June in the Midwest. I had sunscreened, but I still insisted we walk on the shady side of the street when we could. We did a lot of walking. It was all flat, so it was easy. We walked up into Lakeview, mostly because I wanted to see some blatant homosexual behavior in Boystown.
I’ve lived in San Francisco for ten years. I like that same-sex couples are comfortable to publicly display affection, and I can’t live in any city in which that isn’t the case. We didn’t see any grab-ass, but we did see manly salons and a poster for a transsexual beauty pageant. Good enough.
I also couldn’t live in a city that didn’t have cool graffiti. On our walk on Saturday I saw this nice tidbit. It wasn’t until recently that I noticed cool graffiti at all. That is thanks to my friend Ramona, with whom I’d be walking around in San Francisco only to have her stop and take pictures of scribblings I’d previously not noticed. There is some cool graffiti out there, and Chicago is no exception.
We walked around the neighborhood looking for places where the Viking could replace his recently departed belt. One shop was too hip for his purposes; there were brightly colored and studded belts, no dress belts. Finally, we settled on Marshall’s. When we walked in, I realized I’d not been to a Marshall’s in probably over ten years, and at the most five times in my life.
The Viking got a good belt at Marshall’s and then we walked back outside into the heat. I’ve done Southeast Asia in the summer, and I’ve done non-coastal California in the summer; I can do the heat. But I really did want a drink, a nice, cold drink.
We saw a place that claimed to serve terrific margaritas, but I wasn’t really into having alcohol yet. Mark your calendars, people. So we went to a Starbucks where I ordered a “Caramel Frappuccino Blended Coffee,” which is apparently what they’re called now. I remember when they were just Frappuccinos, but the cashier called out not only “Frappuccino” but also “Blended Coffee” as if that was really important.
We walked to the train and returned to the hotel where we showered and changed for dinner. We had planned an early dinner so we had time to go to the architectural tour on the Chicago River at dusk. It was once we were in our room that I began feeling weird. I was shaky. My stomach made some very audible gurgles. Hmm.
I realized that two coffees in one day was way too many for me. I was spazzing out due to too much caffeine. The Viking suggested we leave for dinner early 
so we had time to walk around, which might help alleviate my feelings of restlessness. We took a cab to West Loop where we walked around and saw the French Market at the Metra Station. I love a city that encourages public transportation.
We walked in the direction of our dinner destination, past the Batcolumn. There are few monuments in the world that aren’t phallic, and a giant bat sticking straight up is certainly phallic.
It was still very early for dinner, but we could see a street fair in the distance. It was the usual street fair with loud music by mediocre local bands, local food vendors, and vendors of silly things like severely over-bedazzled novelty tank tops. We got some chips and guacamole, which was pretty tasty. (That’s saying a lot, as I’ve won a guacamole contest.)
While we ate our chips and guacamole we saw a wild bunny. It was a little, hoppy, rabbit apparently scared by all the activity. A dog chased it as far as it could considering the constraint of its leash.
We also saw that we were near the Oprah Store. I didn’t even know there was an Oprah Store. I have no interest in ever going to the Oprah Store. And I’m certainly not going to watch a live taping of the Oprah Show. I don’t like Oprah and I don’t give a shit about sports. I certainly hope Chicago has other things to offer.
We went to a fine sushi dinner, which I wasn’t able to fully appreciate because the coffee was doing a number on me. I was shaking and my stomach was flopping about. Not pleasant.
We were scheduled to go to the architectural river tour, but with how I felt there was no way I would be ok on a boat. So after a trip to the drug store, we ended up spending the evening in our hotel room. The Viking was very nice and took very good care of me, including getting me a Subway sandwich around midnight.
Don’t worry, we had fun the next day. [To be continued.]
I swear. True story.
Chicago: June 18, 2010
Posted on June 18, 2010[Continued from "Chicago: June 17, 2010."]
The hotel room had very effective shades so it was easy to sleep well into the day. I am slow to get up on the best day, and without the cue of sunlight I moved very slowly. By the time we made our way to our breakfast spot, it was lunch.
It was Friday afternoon in a part of town with a lot of office workers; our chosen restaurant, Xoco, had a long line. The line provided us plenty of opportunity to choose which of the several tortas we wanted. When the Viking and I eat out together we always choose something different from each other so we can taste more things. We got a torta with chorizo and another with short ribs. They were both tasty.
We walked to Millennium Park. The landscaping was lovely with plenty of trees and flowers. We rushed past some sort of family friendly area to the outdoor concert venue. It looked damn cool. The Viking told me there are free concerts on most days. On that day a symphony was practicing. Well, a symphony plus a chorus, plus four “opera” singers. I don’t know a lot about classical music, but I do know what sounds pleasant. We sat down in the shade that fell on some of the affixed chairs facing the stage.
We decided it’d be a lot of fun to go back for a concert in the park and have a picnic on the lawn. The sound is good all across the lawn due to the design of the venue. A picnic with a good soundtrack? Sign me up. I love picnics.
After a leisurely walk over the freeway via the park’s sinuous walkway, we made our way to the Art Instiute of Chicago. It is huge. The breadth of the collection is overwhelming. The collection includes pieces from ancient Southeast Asia, Greece, Northern Africa, and the Middle East; mid-century Europe; and modern America. I get overwhelmed at huge art museums. Given the opportunity, I’d take in a museum’s collection one era at a time, one gallery at a time.
My favorite things tend to be furniture. 
I really loved this mirror frame and desk combo. I loved that they weren’t symmetrical, that they had Moorish influences. I think they were Italian in origin.
Because of the huge variety of work at the Art Institute of Chicago we didn’t get a chance to see everything before the museum closed at 5pm. We left through the old part of the building, onto Michigan Avenue. The lions in front of the entrance were wearing Chicago Blackhawks helmets in honor of their Stanley Cup win. Apparently this is a tradition in sports-crazed Chicago.
By the time we left the museum it was raining. I’ve lived my whole life in California, where it does not rain in the late spring or summer; this year was an anomaly because it rained in late May. My whole life rain was associated with winter and cold. So rain in mid-June when it’s not cold was a novelty.
We didn’t have umbrellas but figured we didn’t have far to go and it wasn’t cold anyway. We walked back to Millennium Park. By the time we got to the park it was no longer sprinkling, it was raining. It still wasn’t cold, but my soaked-through clothes combined with the breeze made my nipples hard.
We happened upon a very cool fountain that was meant for people to splash around in. There were children and teens, and even some staid adult-types doing just that, though considering it was raining they needn’t have bothered. The Viking and I really liked the fountain, but weren’t about to get even wetter.
The rain continued. I remembered the Bean and wondered if it was close. Thanks to the wonder that is the iPhone and GPS, we figured out that we had passed it before but amazingly hadn’t seen it. The rain continued. We made our way to the Bean, which was serving as a shelter from the rain for a number of people. It’s pretty damn cool, and looked lovely with rain dripping down its shiny surface.
It kept raining. Soaked through, we went to the hotel and got ready for dinner. Dinner was decent. Our waiter had just taken the LSAT and said he wanted to go to law school in California, preferably at Berkeley. Yeah, I wanted to go to Boalt, too.
The Viking and I were smart enough to bring umbrellas so when it was again raining when we left the restaurant we were prepared. It was raining even harder than it had earlier in the evening. We stopped in a nice restaurant/bar for a drink, thinking we’d be able to wait out the storm.
We found a spot at the bar and ordered drinks. I ordered some sort of fortified wine, which I proceeded to spill on the chick sitting next to me after just one sip. Oops. I immediately apologized and offered to pay for her dry cleaning. She wanted to know what it was I spilled. Uh, some sort of fortified wine. I’m really sorry.
She ran off to try to get the wine – which was not of the red, staining variety – out of her skirt. Her ugly, ruffled, patterned, tiered, mini skirt. It looked like it had been hiding out since the 80s. She was not happy. She was the opposite of happy. I told her date I was very sorry and that I had offered to pay for her dry cleaning, but that she seemed inconsolable. I felt for the guy because it was clear that uptight chick would not be giving it up to him. My clumsiness probably didn’t help to that end.
The bartender had refilled my glass by the time I turned to the Viking to tell him that we needed to get the fuck out of there. The chick in the ugly skirt was really pissed and I had no interest in dealing with her further. We downed our drinks, the Viking threw some money down, and walked out – very quickly. Maybe I should have left my email address with her date ….
Up again went our umbrellas, but they weren’t doing us much good; the rain was coming down very hard. We ran toward our hotel. The wind kept blowing our umbrellas inside out, and it was impossible to miss major puddles. The Viking’s umbrella sacrificed itself in the storm. The Viking’s jeans were so heavy with water he had trouble keeping them on (his belt had broken before we went to dinner) as we ran.
Once back in our room we got out of our wet clothes and into bed. The fucking was fun. The fucking with the Viking is always fun. We went to bed pretty early because we planned to get up early to go to a farmers market.
[To be continued.]
I swear. True story.
Chicago: June 17, 2010
Posted on June 17, 2010I had had a suitcase open, available for random thoughts to be packed; tossed in on whim. I put in all the rope. I threw in the flogger; we’d not yet used it. Of course the two njoy toys. Of course. And the Magic Wand. Then some clothes. Ended up being both more and less than I needed.
I was packed. I checked in online and paid for my one (!) checked bag. I was ready. I was excited. I hadn’t traveled in a while, and despite the airport bullshit and the sitting squished in a tiny space, I was looking forward to going to Chicago. I had been only one time before, eleven years prior when my step-sister lived in Lafayette, Indiana.
After she and her boyfriend graduated from UC Davis, they moved to Indiana, where he had been accepted into a Ph.D. program in chemistry. The three of them – Jay had a son, Little Jay, to whom my step-sister had been a mother since he was four – moved to the Midwest. It was while living there that they got married, and had two daughters.
It was when she was pregnant with her elder daughter that I visited. I stayed for just a few days; my family knows the fine art of the short and not-too-too-bitter visit. While there I went to [Step-Sister's] baby shower. It was a lot of very nice, but very Midwest, white women. Too tan, hair too “done.” Makeup. I did not feel in place in any way.
We also went to Oak Park, Illinois, where Frank Lloyd Wright had lived and designed quite a few houses in the neighborhood. We went through the full tour. She had never heard of Frank Lloyd Wright, which I thought was so odd considering we’d lived in the same household for some years. But there were just a few things that had never occurred to her. There are many things about chemistry that don’t occur to me, and that’s what she knows, so I guess we both have our areas of interest.
I took BART to the airport, the sky train to the terminal, and queued up to drop off my checked baggage. I had trouble figuring out the machine where I checked in, and figuring out which of the several numbers on the boarding pass I was to enter to get to my records. I finally did it, dropped off my luggage, and then met Jules Verne.
Jules Verne had offered to take care of Isis when I was gone. He has a big yard in the Oakland hills that Isis would love, and he misses having a dog. He has a dog, only half of the year. His ex-girlfriend had sued for joint custody of the dog. That is such the problem of people with money. He misses his dog when he’s not around so he volunteered to care for Isis whenever I was gone.
I met him in a restaurant just past security. He was drinking a mimosa and eating French toast. Yum. He ordered me a drink. Jules Verne and I drink together. That is one of the many things I like about fucking him. He’s a drinker. I’m a drinker. It’s fun to drink together and fuck in all sorts of dirty, nasty ways. It’s fun hanging out with him.
He’s young, but I forget because we’re hanging out, having fun. The conversation is usually about sex and flirty and fun. He’s so young that I would not want to be around him and his friends. I’d be annoyed and embarrassed and sorry I was fucking him. He likes dance music. He likes to get girls drunk and fuck them in the club bathrooms. He’s been kicked out for such activity since I’ve known him.
We got a few mimosas. I helped him eat his French toast. I gave him my house keys. I told him where to find things that Isis would need. I know she’s a good dog, so I wasn’t worried that much. And I trusted him.
I ran to my gate and got on the plane just after they called out my name over the speakers. I had a middle seat, which I knew, and in which I wanted to sit for as short time as possible. I sat between two men, aged at opposite ends of their third decades. I realized on that flight that there is nothing that is safe for others to look at on my computer without explanation. My wallpaper is from Kink.com. My blog is called Random Rim Jobs.
The story I was editing had something along the lines of, “OH FUCK, I LOVE TO CUM, AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH.” It was in all caps, and the vulgar spelling – which I would have changed to C-O-M-E – made it clear even at a glance that it was sexual. I mostly listened to podcasts and slept. Out of fear I’d not get up on time, I didn’t go to sleep at all the night before.
After a blissfully uneventful flight I met the Viking in the baggage claim area. It is so fucking pleasant to look at someone and know he is genuinely happy to see me. That makes me so happy.
We took the train into the city. Compared to BART and Muni, the L’s stations are small. They also have a lot of narrow stairways. I feel for people in wheelchairs. My goal will be to stay out of a wheelchair while in Chicago.
After going to our hotel room and freshening up, we went to a tasty Thai restaurant that interestingly didn’t serve any pork. The menu did not otherwise appear to be Muslim, but maybe it was. With bellies full of food we went to our room and slept for about ten hours. I can sleep, it’s one of my specialties.
We had a good time the next day.
[To be continued.]
I swear. True story.
