I'M BACK


Pic by my friend I love and adore Jim Herrington

He flips me over. That`s the two minute signal: the moment he starts fucking me from behind, I know I can start a countdown from sixty. When I get to zero, give or take a few seconds because, of course it's not an exact science, he's going to pull out and cum all over me. " Please, let him not ejaculate on my sheets. I just had them washed yesterday." I don`t care how much the papers say that prices have gone down with the economic crisis, I say it's bullshit, and it`s in the small details that we see it every day. Take my dry cleaning for example: it is getting more expensive every time. Or is it just the Chinese lady over there who's grown weary of getting semen stains off my sheets? Then she'd be raising the prices in the hope that I lower the amount of sheet staining sex I'm having. It never occurred to me that there could be a direct correlation between the amount of cum and the amount of money she asks of me. Note to self : ask her about the cum to money ratio next time. Next time will most likely have to be tomorrow if he does spill on my bed, because I have a date. I happen to know for a fact that no man likes to fuck in the sperm of another man. It`s like arriving in what you hope to be a virgin territory, a Terra Incognita, and finding that a flag is already there, and that the land has already been claimed.

Ten minutes after he in fact made a mess of my bed, we`re lying down, and there is this quietness that fills the bedroom; this overwhelming silence that screams: " it's time you get the fuck out of my bed ! " but he just stays there, soft and sweaty, and there's nothing left to do but talk. I don't know about you but I usually find that the only decent subject for a post-coitum conversation is Love. This time, he breaks the silence first
" I love you ". He doesn't love me.
" I love you too baby". I don't love him either.