Less than a couple of months after HERO died - I had an opportunity to fuck the hottest guy I have ever known. We used to always run into each other in my circuit party days and while the G - or K - or E played with my seratonin - I felt inextricably drawn to him. He was movie star handsome - but in an indie movie way - he was quiet, intelligent, confident and full of a sexual fire. He was italian - dark, thick hair and knowing brown eyes, he spoke slowly and would as soon as discuss Dick Cheney's multiple short-comings as whisper "I want you to fuck the shit out of me".

I knew him when I was still with Lucky and Lucky would allow me to flirt, even once let us flirtatiously compare cocks in a bathroom stall - but cut me short when my mouth wanted to do the measuring.

As luck - or lack of - would have it, he happened to be visiting Phoenix one weekend and casually cruised me at Padlock, not realizing for a brief second that I was me. Does grief physically change you, or was it my need to be drunk by 9pm every night after Hero's death. When we connected it was fully-charged, and I realized how badly I wanted to feel a man next to me, to pull my arms around him, slide my cock in his mouth, fuck him holding his hips as I pushed into him again and again and again.

We passed our phone numbers to each other and went on our ways.

The next day - hanging in the yard playing catch with Hope, I hear my cell phone ring - I ignore it, I always ignore it, I've become some sort of apparition in my own home - unsure if my ghostly fingers can hold the ringing phone to my face. My curiosity always begs the lesser of me and the ghost finds a way to pick-up the phone. The message is from him and he isn't shy about asking for what he wants - would I like to have sex with him this afternoon ?

My well-worn heart races, my unsettled stomach flips - I think, I'll have shot my load before I even return the call. I call him back - the conversation uses only enough words to seal the deal. I pick him up and bring him back to my house - we begin to talk and talk and talk and suddenly, I worry - oh shit this is way too much talking - nervously trying to remember how to make a move - suddenly, irrationally, I stammer - would you still like to do what you came here for ???

Before he can answer I've crossed the room, my mouth and tongue exploring his - he pulls his shirt off, I push his pants to his knee's - I take his perfect, beautiful cock in my mouth while fumbling with my own clothes - it's hot, it's fucking red hot - but I keep issuing commands to myself inside my head - "don't freak out, don't freak out - you've always wanted this - oh God he's so fucking perfect".

We move to my bedroom and I push him face down - I tease him, rimming his hole - knowing how hungry he his - and as I rise to pull a condom over my hard-on - I begin to weep.

Suddenly, I'm unable to breathe - "oh my god what kinda bastard am I - what am I fucking doing - I'm horrible, this is horrible, I haven't fucked anyone but Hero since, since...fuck, oh fuck"...

I feel his perfect, muscular back tense, this is one of those moments, sexual humility - shame...disgrace.

My dick recedes, erection-regression...the hottest moment of my life is about to become the most humilating. He looks back at me over his shoulder - he seems so beautiful - pained, confused, horny; he wants to give a shit - but I can see in his eyes, he didn't come here to see me fall apart.

Without a wasted word, I push him back down and pull his ass to my face, and with tears still streaming down my cheeks, I alternate rimming him and sucking his beautiful cock - mindlessly working my way back and forth - fucking him with my tongue, then working my tongue to the fat head of his cock - I keep thinking, if I make him cum I can be alone, I can cry alone. After several minutes of dedicated effort his knees buckle and he shoots between his legs on the brown fur of my summer-tanned chest.

I sense that we both have found relief.

I drive him to where he's staying,
I apologize,
he tells me it was hot.

He waves as I drive away, I turn up the radio to drown out the sound of my own tears.

So there I am starved - doing my least favorite activity as a single man:

Grocery Shopping

I mean seriously as a married man - it has this sweet flirtatious vibe:

Hey losers - Look I'm off the market, domestic bliss, I like the Starkist Tunafish Packets in the handy do it yourself, take-em and go packaging...him? Oh he loves the sensibly cut carrot sticks - I mean REALLY who has time to cut carrot sticks anymore !!!.

You trot around AJ's not holding hands, but we see the invisible-domesticated-partner-leash as we stand in the "single-serve" aisle, just from the gym (well actually not lately - El Flabo be Me) finding ourselves fondling the Ben & Jerry's "Chubby Hubby" while eyeing yours - you throw us that I'll scratch your eyes out and leave you for kitten milk look.

Hey, if you can't have a happy home, Momma says wreck one. Kiddin - KIDDIN...well, kinda.

So with a strut and a mince - I walk up and down the aisles thinking "This is such BULLSHIT", I mean either I'm gonna end up going out for dinner tonight, or I'll order pizza, or even maybe be thrifty (choke!) and eat the rest of the large pizza I JUST ORDERED LAST NIGHT.

Then I think ...well I am here.

So I trot on over to the liquor section - cursing to myself - Bastards! would it kill their P&L guy to go on a limb and start buying Hanger One, so slumming I grab a bottle of Level (Vodka).

Suddenly, I start thinking - Oh I might look like a drunk, get something else - get something else - so, I grab a package of dental floss - not any dental floss - but the kind that's for one time use and has a little handle - cuz, I mean really the only thing more exasperating than shaving and cutting your OWN carrots, has got to be the two-handed, dental flossing manuever we were all taught in grade school - I mean really - HOW BARBARIC !!!

Feeling more respectable,I proceed to the "Ten Items or Less Line" (and yes I AM a 10 ITEMS or LESS VIGILANTE - if I see you trying to convince the cashier that 10 watermelons are 1 item by some misguided logic that because she only has to enter watermelon once than multiply it times ten - well you got another thing coming)

With the luck of the Patron Saint of Kristi McNichols Career, I end up in line with a woman with red hair made from straw, who accidently drops her debit card; which I subsequently stept on, I mean the debit card not the hair made from straw:

Sssscuse me - I hate to be well - FRESH - but your standing on my card.

Worried and confused that this may be some new-fangled-jargon for "clitoris", I leap 3 feet ahead. Somewhere in my vagina-ladened-fear she see's something that convinces her to continue speaking to me.

She references with what I can only suggest to be a squeal of delight - think HEE-HAW, she asks me if my dental floss - is in fact "one of those pretend tooth brushes".......suddenly I would rather she asked me if I was a drunk.

The clerk interupts - my savior in bad glasses - and says "Oh no these are just floss" and have after an understanding pause:

"Sir, the booze is yours too right???"

- sister - I think - you don't even know.

I think, tonight I floss, tonight I pound my bishop and I drink to you.

Anyway - I guess that will cover my grocery shopping for the month - anyone have a take out menu ?

What is 'Luck' ?

I have always been divided on if I have it, or not.

At 34 - I have buried two boyfriends (both suicide) and more friends than I can mention, I have cried more than my share of tears, I have fallen more times than I deserve...but still my friends tell me how lucky I am, my job, my life, my family.

So what makes us lucky - the fact that we haven't ended up married to Britney ?? Or that we make as much as much as one of the lawyers anolling her last marriage ?

Where does it begin that we envy anothers circumstance and call them "lucky". Or that we see anothers pain as 'misfortune', regardless of his net worth ?

Blah, blah, blah...but really folks where do we begin to envy and where do we begin to forgive ?

Let's face it - I'm single and I'm friggin horny - This weekend I work on a BIGMUSCLE.COM entry, boy needs some sugar - or even better protein.

Music is my mistress, holding me through bad times, getting me hard when I'm fucking, and rocking my hips to the dance floor when I need to create some sweat, here's a list from my recent shopping excursion to BORDERS (yeah - an Oooooh so hip music store, welcome to my thirties!)

• Grandaddy - SUMDAY: Awesome, Reflective and Fun.
  
  
  
• KD Lang - Live By Request: Well I am a dyke at heart.
  
  
  
• Julie Roberts - Debut Album: Country is meant for the broken-hearted...nuf' said
  
  
  
• Echo and the Bunneymen - Songs to Learn and Sing: If you know it, there's no need to explain it
  
  
  
• Indigo Girls - All That We Let In: See KD Lang comments, see Country Music comments
  
  
  
• Joss Stone - The Soul Sessions: Like I said, we all need something to fuck to
  
  
• Buzzin' Fly (Ben Watt) - Volume One: Too sublime to be hip, to hip to be average
  
  
  
• Hoobastank - The Reason: This album either makes me cool with kids or means I'm a dirty 34 year old who likes (gasp!) BOY BANDS
  
  
  
• Modest Mouse - Good New For People Who Love Bad News: Just makes me dance around and laugh - naked of course!
  
  
  
• This Mortal Coil - This Mortal Coil: Homage to the days I smoked cloves, read Camus, sported a mohawk and wrote poetry
  

Ok feeling kinda stupid because my posts seem to only be showing up when I look at them in VIEW.

Jason - my thoughts are with you - your one of the few I really have spent any time with in person - and your as adorable and cool as any guy can imagine - to see you hurting, well it fuckin hurts.

My boss broke his hand and wrist while I was in LA so everything is in overdirve for me right now, had a great little post to write but fuck that - it's late, need to tenderize my meat and get some shut-eye.

Ciao.

You've got that look in your eye, Leo -- that slightly demented, fervently giddy expression I see in you every now and then. Judging from previous experience, I surmise you're about to either launch a brave quest to the frontiers of your understanding or else hurl yourself into a sticky abyss where all the demons adore you. You realize there's a difference, right? One is scary fun and the other is glamorous torment. Please go to your room, take a hundred deep, slow breaths, and meditate about what you should do next to prove how much you love yourself.

LEO Horoscope - courtesy Free Will Astrology

Ok - back from La-La-Land.

I may have done one or ALL of the things from the following list:

• Drank a wee too much
  
• Drank way, way too fucking much
  
• Had a five fucking hour delay on the outbound flight
  
• Had sex with a complete stranger while he was at work with people passing by on a busy street
  
• Fucked with a guys head
  
• Run into my ex-roomate from college who I haven't laid eyes on in 8 years
  
• Spent a LOT of friggin money at Dolce&Gabanna, Fred Segal, Traffic and the vintage t-shirt mart (though I feel fucking hot in my vintage black Sex Pistols tshirt)
  
• Realized that ALMOST 90% of the hot waiters at gay bars in LA are straight - which some how really, REALLY offends me.
  
• Went to Abbey, O-Bar, HERE and a couple really, friggin scuzzy bars
  
• Been asked (opening hit-on line) "So what makes you interesting?" - I'll have to get into my answer later.
  
• Been interviewed in a man-on-the-street interview for some documentary - where I hopefully looked smart and not fat.
  
• Spent alot of really good time with two of my closet friends in the world and then managed to cap of the weekend - by being an-uber dick to one of them (make mental note: the doctors gave you those little pills to take for a reason)