Cold Feet

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BLM: The Decision

This is a repost of something I wrote for BLM, originally posted on January 25th, 2013. 
Enjoy!
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I've known my whole life that I'm attracted to men, and women, but more so men. As a kid, going through my dad's extensive porn magazine collection, my favorites were Penthouse because they showed pictures of men.  Penthouse letters were even better.  I've known my whole life, at least that part of my life worth remembering.  But I never acted on it (until recently).  For most of my life, the most I had ever done to explore this side of my sexuality was to write about it.  I wrote in my own private journals about the boys I had crushed on in High School.  And I wrote x-rated short stories. I wrote to men I found on online.


You would think I would be a prime candidate for one of those situations where boys fool around with each other.  But no, I never sought or was presented with the opportunity to explore, unless you count an extremely awkward experience with a neighborhood kid when I was 5.  No tomfoolery in the locker room, no fun on camping trips, no sleepovers.  I am shy.  My whole life I've been shy.  I don't know why.  It is not necessarily a trait common in my family.  Maybe it was because I was constantly moving around growing up, so I never had a steady group of friends.  Maybe it was my homosexual side causing insecurities.  Maybe it was my heterosexual side confusing my homosexual side.  I just don't know.

I can't tell you the exhilaration I felt when I made the decision to finally explore that side of myself.  Keep in mind, I had no plans, no opportunities, and I was married and in love.  All that changed was my resolve and my determination.  Just that decision alone got my heart pumping. Every time I thought about what I had decided to do, my heart started pumping.  I reconciled my mixed feelings on longing, guilt, and fear (at least for the moment).

Technology certainly played it's part.  The advent of new mobile apps such as Grindr made it extremely easy to find guys.  By the time I downloaded Grindr, I already had a couple of ongoing, online, conversations with men I found in other parts of the world.  Chatting online was my release.  Sexting, emailing, etc.  But these guys were safe, because they were at least hundreds of miles away.  There was absolutely no chance of accepting an invitation to hookup.  Grindr changed that.  When I began chatting with guys on Grindr, they were in my own backyard.  The invitations were real. I really could just slip away for an hour or two and fulfill my fantasies.  Even still, I was on Grindr for months before making the decision to act.  The conversations were more exciting, because the possibilities were more real.  I didn't actually think I was going to act on them though.

The day I made the decision to act changed everything.  Every chat on Grindr had the added excitement of a real opportunity. Every invitation got my pulse racing, and my dick throbbing.  I remember one guy, who was working at a bank next to the grocery store where I was currently shopping, begged me to stop by for a few minutes before going back home.  That chat forced me to hide my erection behind the shopping cart the entire shopping trip.  I downloaded other apps, Growlr and Scruff.  I began responding to ads on craiglists a little too.

I didn't meet the guy at the bank.  Those of you who followed my blog know that even after I made the decision, it still took me quite a bit of time to muster up the courage to actually act.  I enjoyed riding the wave of my new found thrill, chatting with real possibilities.  Every time I left my house, to go to work, to go to the store, I turned on those apps to see what real possibilities were out there.  Just making The Decision to act, not now, but at some point in the future satiated my desires.  Even if just for a short time.

Bathhouse {IUbR}

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BLM: Losing Control

This is a repost of something I wrote for BLM, originally posted on January 18th, 2013.  
Enjoy!
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For the first time ever, I was concerned about losing control. I couldn't have been more than two feet behind him. I was sitting in one of those uncomfortable chairs they have in conference halls, sitting around one of those round tables that seats about 10 each. Our chairs were turned, towards the front of the room, at an angle that put the guy in front of me literally between my legs. And I was worried about losing control. I was worried that I was going to forget myself and reach forward to wrap my arms around his waist. I saw myself nuzzling my nose and lips into the nape of his neck as I ran one of my hands down to his crotch. Then I mentally slapped myself, to keep from being made a complete fool.

I was attending a business meeting in another state. In all, 30 or 40 of us were there from all around the country. These were my colleagues, people who held the same position as me, and I've never met any of them. The meeting was scheduled to last for two days, and I arrived in the city the night before. I spent a little time in my hotel room looking up online some of the people I might be meeting. I came across a photo of a guy on LinkedIn that caught my eye. The guy was hot! The photo was obviously professionally done, much better than the usual profile pic. But that's not what made the guy hot. It was the dark hair, blue eyes, chiseled jaw, slight smile. I could tell he was tall, though probably not as tall as me. I like 'em tall. He was my age, which honestly is older than what usually catches my eye. But I never really thought that I would meet the guy. I didn't have any clue as to who was going to be at this meeting. But a little wishful dreaming never hurt, right? 

I was dumbfounded when he walked into the meeting hall the next morning. He looked every bit as good as his profile photo. It took me a minute or two to realize I was staring, but I don't think he noticed. After the initial shock I was able to collect myself and regain a little composure. Then a little while after that, I was actually able to push myself outside my comfort zone.  I walked up and introduced myself. He was polite, shook my hand and all the normal stuff. Parts of me started to stir when he smiled. He had an awesome smile.

He had a tagalong, another guy that followed my guy around every where he went. Tagalong was good looking too, in his own right, but not anywhere in the same league. My guy (Yes, for the duration of the trip he was "my guy") obviously knew he was hot, but he didn't come off as stuck up or full of himself. He just had an air of confidence, he knew he could have anything or anyone he wanted. In my fantasies, he had everyone he wanted. In my fantasies, Tagalong even got a little action too. 

Despite my crush, I behaved. I behaved throughout that day's meeting. I behaved at the NBA game later on that evening. I did not behave, however, in my dreams that night, and I was struggling to behave myself the next morning. I was sitting there in the middle of a room filled with people, and I had to interlock my fingers together to keep from "accidentally" giving him a shoulder message. I had to keep shifting my focus away so that I wouldn't accidentally pull his head back and kiss him on the mouth. I doubt I made any impression on him. I was just another colleague in the crowd. I never got the impression that he liked to play with men, except that Tagalong was always just a little too close and a little too happy. I could just be projecting, though. I've never struggled so much to control myself before. I've never been so afraid of doing something completely stupid. Sure, I've lusted after friends and colleagues before, and fantasized about a few. But this was the first time in my life I feared losing myself.

I'm ashamed to admit that I still look at his profile picture from time to time. And I am sure that he knows it, because this particular social media service reports that information.  I wonder what he thinks of that. The future will hold many more chances for me to make a fool of myself, I am sure. We are colleagues after all, and despite that we live and work on opposite coasts I can come up with many excuses to interact.

Imagination Unrestricted by Reality

I have this recurring fantasy that takes over every time I lie down.  Well, not every time, just when I lie down on my stomach, in the nude, which is my preferred way to sleep.  I lie down, naked, with my arms slid under the only pillow.  I have one leg stretched out straight, and the other pull up so that my weight is shifted slightly to one side and my ass checks are spread slightly.  Every time I do this, the same fantasy takes hold.

First, I feel pressure on my shoulders as two oiled up hands begin to massage my muscles.  My arms are raised above my head, so my shoulder muscles are flexed.  The two hands begin to knead those muscles, and I begin to realize how tense I was.  Then I feel weight on my ass and lower back as the owner of the two hands lays his body on top of mine.  As he does so, he straightens out the one leg that I had pulled up.  So now I laying even on my chest and stomach, with his full weight pressing on top of me.  I don't care, I am enjoying the immense pleasure his hands are giving my shoulders and back.  I realize, slowly, that there is something trapped between my ass cheeks.  He'd managed to rest his hard cock along my crack before pushing my leg down.  Now his cock is resting snugly there, like a hot dog in a bun.  My own cock begins to come to life, pressed firmly between my pelvis and the bed sheets.  Without thought, I begin to grind my cock slowly into the bed, at the same time tightening the grip my "buns" have on his "meat".

Still, I don't care.  I haven't even given a thought as to who the man is, or what my wife who is almost always lying next to me might be thinking right about now.  I don't care, the bliss I am feeling from his tender but firm massage is like a drug.  His hands have slowly explored my shoulders, my neck, all of my back.  It is as if I have never known the touch of another human being before.  All I care about is his hands, all I could wish for would be another pair.

Even the best drugs eventually wear off.  Fortunately, when some semblance of consciousness returned during the massage, it was met with the equally pleasurable feeling of his hips slowly grinding against my ass.  His motion forced my own hips to grind harder into the firm bed.  His cock was rock hard, sliding up and down inside my crack.  I still don't know who this is, nor do I care.  I can tell that was more endowed than the average man.  I can tell that his cock is as oiled up as his hands were when we began.  My own cock is pulsing, sending shivers up to my skulls and down to my toes with the rhythm of our hips.

His hands take a stationary position on my shoulder blades as he leans in close.  I can feel his breath on my neck and just behind my ear.  He leans in closer and I can feel the stubble of his chin rub against my skin.  He whispered into my ear something soft, something that I could not quite make out.  I asked what he said as I felt his hips raise up slightly.  He repeated himself, still softly, into my ear, "Hang on to something, I am going to FUCK you now!"

With that, his cock found my hole and slid inside with one masterful stroke.  I quickly grabbed the sheets with my hands, and bit the pillow to stifle the scream.  I didn't care if my wife was really lying next to me, but something in me didn't want to cry out.  I felt something between a loss of consciousness, sharp pain, and immense pleasure all at the same time.  I was both ready, and completely unprepared at the same time.  He slid is cock into my ass, to the hilt.  Paused for a brief moment as he and I both caught our breath, then began his assault.  One hand he slid under me and grabbed by pec.  The other he moved to support himself on the bed.  He picked up his pace, increasing speed with each insertion.  I'm still biting the pillow, and I've pulled the fitted sheet away from the corner of the bed.  The pain subside, and a wave of ecstasy overwhelms me as he finds his pace and rhythm.

I couldn't say how long this lasts.  I always snap out of it before he finishes.  I come back to reality, realize that my wife is lying there next to me as if nothing happened.  Although I am sure that she has noticed my grinding my hips on more than one occasion.  Sometimes, I get up and "nonchalantly" excuse myself to the bathroom to relieve some pressure.  Other times, more often than not, I re-enact the scene.  Only this time for real, and this time I am the man on top.

BLM: Yeah, I crossed the line

This is a repost of something I wrote for BLM, originally posted on January 11th, 2013.  I decided to repost it here, well, because I can.  Enjoy!
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Something strange and wonderful happened about a year and a half ago, I decided to grow a pair.  I made a decision that I was not going to live life without experiencing the one thing that I most desperately wanted to experience.  It was around that time that I started blogging.  I was so pumped up with determination, the only thing that brought me down was knowing that I had to keep it a secret form everyone I knew.

You see, while I finally mustered up the courage to correct something fundamentally wrong in my life, it was not a decision I could be publicly proud of.  It was not even something for which many of you, the readers that I love, would commend me.  I had decided to step out on my marriage, to cheat, with another man. I had decided to get me some of that cock I dreamt about.  As messed up as it sounds, I was excited about it.  I would even go so far as to say that I was proud of my new found guts.  So proud that I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, "No longer will I be afraid of putting myself out there! No longer will I be afraid of taking risks to get what I want!"  Never mind how stupid and dangerous the risks, or the trust I will violate in the process.

So, yeah, I crossed a line.  I wrote about it in my blog, Bi Crossing The Line. I am not here to advocate that any other man do the same.  I have no excuses or justifications. I began writing about it, publicly but anonymously, in June of 2011.  I wrote about it because writing clears my mind and provides catharsis.  I wrote about it because, though I felt I finally had the balls to see it through, I needed encouragement.  I didn't realize it then, but now I see that I made a commitment to some imaginary readers in my very first post.  That was the added little push to ensure that I didn't back out at the last moment.

I learned something valuable about myself through this experience.  First, that I am capable of so much more than I even imagined.  Second, that the best way for me to accomplish something is to say it out loud.  Or, in this case, write about is publicly.  It is not enough to make a promise to myself because I learned how to let myself down gently a long time ago.  No, I need external pressure, I need someone else to hold me to my commitment and to call me out on my bullshit.

When this opportunity to write for BLM came along, I couldn't let it pass.  For too long I have told myself that I should write more on my blog.  My recent lack of posts has had a much more profound effect on me than any effect I imagined it having on my readers.  I have a chance at reaching a much larger audience, and I have a commitment to write on a regular basis.  Thank you, BLM.  And thanks to this community of bloggers and readers that I have come to enjoy.

I've Been Busy

No, I know, I haven't posted a whole hell of a lot this year.  I didn't post a lot last year either.  The excuse I tell myself is that I've been busy.  It has been a crazy 20 months, a lot has been going on.  I've gone from hating my job and being bored, to unemployed and being stressed, to a new job I'm not exactly qualified for and being stressed for completely different reasons.  Meanwhile, my family grew, we lost our home, and we've moved to a different city.  Yeah, a lot has been going on.  So that's why I haven't blogged a whole lot. Okay?  Well, maybe that's not exactly right.

The new job is stressful.  I have taken on responsibilities that not only are new and different than what I am used to, but are not exactly a match for my personality and behavior.  You see, I am not an aggressive person.  I am not a dominant person.  On a DISC analysis, I would rank as a "High S".  S is for steadiness. High S's are known for being patient, predictable, consistent, deliberate, steady and stable.  My second descriptor would be I, I is for Influencing.  Main characteristics for my "I" are trusting and sociable.  Basically, I like to serve, I like to be helpful, and I am trusting.  I actually like these things about me.  But, my new job is in sales.  Worse than that, my new job is in managing sales reps.  Characteristics that are helpful for people in my line of work are demanding, driving, ambitious, determined, aggressive, competitive and venturesome.  These are characteristics of a High D, D is for Dominance.  Characteristics that describe my dominance are conservative, calculating, hesitant and low-keyed.  Can you see where I might have a problem?

I am an intelligent person.  Perhaps, without sounding condescending, I possess slightly higher than average levels of intelligence.  With such, I am convinced that I can be successful in any role that I decide to take on. If that requires adopting characteristics that were outside my comfort zone, so be it.  I am still as convinced of this today as I was 8 months ago when I took this job.  What I did not account for, and this is what is really starting to bother me, is the effect taking this job would have on my mental state.  Everyday, as I slowly realize that success in this job are going to take longer and more work than I anticipated, I get slightly more depressed.  Everyday I start to consider a little bit more the idea of throwing in the towel and doing something else.  I know that I can be successful.  But given all the other challenges that I am currently enduring, do I still really want to be?  Failure, even the idea of failure, is contributing to my depression.

I thought things would be different at this point in my life, in my marriage.  Given more than 10 years of marriage, and almost another decade of courtship prior to that, my wife and I should be able to endure anything that comes our way with ease.  Right?  Why, then, is it so difficult to have a simple conversation about budgeting our money?  Why, then, can't I tell her that I do not agree with her reactions to things that our dog does, or to the things that our son does?  Why is communication so fraking difficult?  I want so much for my family.  I do not want to live where we are living longer than we need to.  I do not want to continue living from check to check, worrying about how we are going to pay the rent.  I want to provide everything the world has to offer for my son.  I want my family to be comfortable, where our only worry is how we can best help our neighbors, friends and family.  Why can't I express any this with any eloquence to my wife?

A midst all of this, there is still my secret.  My bisexuality is not a secret from my wife, but my willingness to act on it is, my history of acting on it is as well.  All of our struggles have pushed this part of me to the back burner, but it hasn't turned off the flame.  The reality is that I am too busy and too stressed and too depressed to do anything about it. I went down this road, crossed this line, with the idea that one day I would be able to live this part of my life, too, out in the open.  Maybe not to the general public, but to those I care about the most.  To my wife.  We were supposed to be on a path to a healthier relationship.  We're not, and I am not sure what I can do about it.  Certainly, I must bridge this communication gap.  How exactly do I do that?  The realization that my ideal state is that much further away, perhaps completely out of my grasp, is contributing to my depression.

I write this post today not to explain my lack of blogging.  In the end, I write for me.  One thing that I have learned in life is that writing gives me clarity.  Sometimes, it even gives me therapy.  I am not asking for answers, although I have found many in this community and for that I will always be grateful.  I am not asking for anything.  I am only using this space to bare a piece of me that needed to be bared.