I’ve been away from work sick the past two days, feeling miserable and trying to fight off evil bacteria. Mark dropped by last night to eat chinese food with me and keep me company. I always ask him to tell me stories, because he’s done so many interesting things and met so many interesting people. My favourite stories are always the stories from the days when he went to bathhouses. (Anyone who knows Mark will be able to imagine him telling this story as they read it):
So I’m at a bathhouse and I’m fucking some queen in her tacky room and all of a sudden she pulls away and runs out of the room. I feel something warm on my leg! I look down and I smell it and there’s shit on me. That tacky queen shit all over my leg! The fucking queen shit all over me! Her shit was running down my leg!
I love Mark.
During the day I’ve had plenty of time to myself, so between naps I’ve been browsing porn sites. Today, I ran across the most honest personal ad ever:
Not a great talker, have been hurt too many times to want to go through the relationship shit again. Find it hard to ‘open up’ with people! ISSUES! But hey I’m only looking for sex!!
He also happens to be extremely hot.
This afternoon I caught myself thinking, “I want to move into a house with Mark, renovate it to the hilt, and spend the rest of my evenings sitting on the porch with him watching people walk by.” Then I thought, “Oh no. That sounds like something an old man would say.” Then I thought, “I have to blog this!”
Avocado-green 1960s-70s earthenware plates: $1.00 each
CBC News reports that Judge Miriam Goldman Cedarbaum has ordered Martha Stewart to begin her prison sentence by October 8:
U.S. District Judge Miriam Goldman Cedarbaum recommended that U.S. prison officials send Stewart to a prison camp in Danbury, Conn., or Coleman, Fla., the two camps Stewart requested … An Oct. 8 start to her prison term means Stewart would be free by March, although she must still serve five months of house arrest.
Meanwhile, ink expert Larry Stewart (no relation), who is accused of lying during Martha’s trial, goes on trial himself this week. I sure feel safe now that Martha’s in prison. Don’t you?
Porky Adam cancelled our Friday date citing too much work, so we ended up going to lunch yesterday instead.
I met him at his cubicle, just like last time. When I arrived and knocked on his filing cabinet, he turned in his chair, looked at me and smiled. Big fat cheeks. “Hey man. Let’s go!” I extended my hand for another handshake. Nice, big, meaty hands. We smiled at each other for an awkward second. His cheeks puff up so beautifully when he smiles. “Let’s go,” he repeated.
He wasn’t parked far from the entrance, which probably means that he arrives at work early. His car was an annoying two-door something-or-other, so I had to squeeze my way into the front and search for the handle to adjust the seat for more leg room. As I reached between my legs to adjust the seat backwards, he put his hand on my thigh and rubbed it.
“Ya got big legs.” I felt like I was in that episode of Degrassi Junior High where Wheels hitchhikes and gets groped by the driver. Instead of jumping out of the car like Wheels, I sat up, turned towards him, and reached over to pet his thigh in response. He let me squeeze his fat thigh a bit, then grinned at me and pulled his hand away. The fat cheeks again. “Let’s go, man.” His phrase of the day.
I didn’t stop looking at him the entire trip. He talked about hockey all the way to the restaurant, and I had to tell him that I don’t really care for hockey. He seemed disappointed. By the time we arrived at the restaurant and sat down, I was dreading spending an hour with him eating. What would we possibly talk about? Would we talk about the food the entire time? Or, even worse, hockey?
We placed our orders. Hoping to keep conversation from turning towards hockey, I asked him about his vacation. (He went to a resort in Cuba with the wife. It was sunny and there were lots of flies.) In return, he asked me how my weekend was, and I gave him my standard answer of “too short.” Nobody who asks how one’s weekend was actually ever really cares to hear the answer. Our food arrived, and he perked up and thanked the waitress. The conversation stopped and we ate our food silently.
After a few minutes of silence, I decided to attempt to fill in the conversational void again. For someone who seems so talkative, he wasn’t doing much of the work keeping the conversation going. “So tell me more about your wife.”
He told me all about her. They met through friends, they’ve been married for several years, and they don’t have any kids. Oh, and they’re getting a divorce. Unfortunately, he hasn’t told her yet. I started to ask the question I really wanted to know the answer to.
“Does she know…”
He interrupted me in mid-sentence and looked down. “She doesn’t know about me and guys.”
I looked straight at him. “So … you’re gay then?”
He stared at his plate. “Yeah.” I was surprised. I’d have figured he’d say that he’s “bi,” not gay.
He fiddled with his fries. “She doesn’t know.”
More silence.
“Am I the first person you’ve told that to?” He nodded, chewing on his food. I was sweating and used a napkin to wipe my brow. “Listen,” I continued, “I don’t know what you’re looking for, if you want a friend, or …”
He interrupted me again, this time in a stage-whisper. “Can we talk about that later?”
“Listen, I didn’t…” I trailed off. I could tell he’d just shush me again. “Sorry. Sorry.”
We ate the rest of our meal in silence. He perked up again only when the bill arrived. He took out his credit card to pay, and I told him not to do that. I took out my wallet, and he insisted. I let him win the argument.
He got talkative out in the parking lot. “Dave. I like you, man. You’re so hot. I’m just lookin’ for some fun. Is that cool?”
My mouth was dry. “OK. Yeah. That’s cool.”
He unlocked the car. “I really like you, man.” He beamed, his fat cheeks puffing up.
I didn’t know exactly how to respond, so I settled for a lame “Thanks” and a “You too.”
He nodded, his fat neck squishing. “I know.” Arrogance or perceptiveness?
We drove back to the office. He says he’ll call me.
Seen on a personal ad on a bear site: “Versatile but prefer bottom due to hungry hole.”
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