Wednesday, November 9, 2011


I was going to write up the second part to Monday's post about how the shit hit the fan, but I actually had a really fun afternoon yesterday with a close friend and I was having trouble connecting with the bad thoughts, so I decided to write this post up instead. Don't worry. I'm sure I'll get moody and surly again soon and finish that drama up.

I only met up with him once while I was in college. He was staying at a nearby hotel and I drove out for a night of fun with him. He had what can only be described as a baby face, but not a totally proportionate one. His lips were a little too pouty and his eyes just a little too close together for him to be model-handsome, but he was good enough looking for me. He was an older man, probably in his mid-fifties, but definitely not near sixty. He had enticed me by renting a room with a hot tub. Dorm showers being what they are, a tub soak was just what I needed. We decided that we would tub it and then fool around.

The sex with him is not something I remember well. I was in mid-transition to top. I had already had my last bottoming experience with Married Nick and was becoming the total top man I am today. But I was still a bit submissive back then, not having discovered my natural topping abilities yet. There was no fucking in our night together, just a lot of petting, sucking, and cuddling to spread around.

When I first arrived we did the usual hook-up small talk while we waited for the hot tub to fill with water. It was the winter, so we waited until the tub was full and bubbling hot before we started taking our clothes off. He cuddled me under his arm and we played around naked in the heat for a while, staying in the tub until the temperature dropped from hot to luke-warm and then we got out to dry off. He stepped out first and walked over to the other side of the hotel room where the towels were to get us some.

This is the part I remember the most out of the time spent with him. On his lower back, roughly where a bar crawler might have her tramp stamp, he had scars on his skin that were clearly in the pattern of the number thirteen. At first I doubted what I was seeing, thinking that I must be just reading shapes into his skin, but I got to see that part of him a few more times during the night and it was definitely a scarred number in his flesh.

I couldn't help but wonder where he got that. Was it a tattoo he had removed? It looked like it could have been, especially if the removal was recent. But my thoughts quickly spread past that. Was he scarred as part of a gang? Some incident in jail? Did he have some dark past to him that I could not gleam from his smiling face and gentle touches? As we rolled around on the bed, a section of my mind was constantly spinning wild tails of his life, reasons why he had been branded with that number. I desperately wanted to know the reason.

But I never asked. I left that night, wondering if I could or should ask him. We barely knew each other. It would be awkward. But as I walked to my car, I wish I had. I was filled with regret at having missed this man's life story. I knew a lot about his recent history, about him running a movie theater in a nearby town, and many other things. But there was so much I had not known, things I don't normally think to ask a partner, things I would not have thought to ask had I not seen the number on his back. In a way that was the first time I acknowledged that the men I have sex with might have some kind of unsavory past I don't know about. What have my past conquests had in their closets? What secrets did they hide behind unfocused eyes and twitching jaws? When I have sex, I am not just trying to fuck someone, I'm trying to experience them. And there are times when I am shown that what I get is not the full experience. We don't always take a whole person into ourselves, they don't always give their all.

Maybe that is why I have been hurt in love and relationships so much. I don't hold back as much as others do. I explore every connection, both physical and emotional, in the short time I have with my partners. I give deeply, and I try to take just as much. It is definitely something to think about.


  1. Reminds me of many years ago when I went to a guys house and while there asked what these five marks were on his back. He said 'bullet wounds' which is not an answer I would have thought of. He got them when he was younger fighting in Vietnam. Come to find out he only had one testicle, but I didn't go there to ask and he never say. I always wondered if he lost one in the war, was born that way, or something else.

  2. And there it is again. As time goes on, we regret the things we didn't do, far more than the things we did.

    There are plenty of things in my past that I wish i could undo. People I've hurt, mistakes I've made. But none of them bother me as much as the words left unsaid and the opportunities I've let slip by.

  3. Cyberi4a,

    Wow. What a cool and crazy story. I've never met a guy with one testicle (or at least a guy who admitted it). It is funny how sometimes we remember people by what we never knew of them.


  4. Kevin,

    I know what you mean. At the same time, I have to say we can't focus on those missed moments. If we do, we're just going to miss the moments in the future. I like to think of the missed opportunities as a lesson. After that I will never again pass an opportunity to become more involved with another person.


  5. I would answer any question you asked. Honestly. rjd

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