Para cambiar, seré honesto. Me inspiró la honestidad de los lectores de Mirko (see link to the right), y por eso he aquí la dura y sucia verdad:
1. primera vez…..?
. 19 con mi mujer… después, 26 con un chamaco.
. Preguntenme la historia: me gusta contarla.
2. alguna mujer?
. La primera, y hasta ahora, la única.
3. días de la ultima vez…?
. Este fin de semana.
4. que preferís? activo o pasivo?
. Activo
5. mucha previa…. o poca?
. Todo en moderacion.
6. posición favorita?
. De lado, o el sentado sobre mi, frente a frente.
7. oral o anal?
. anal
8. cuantos te bancas en una noche?
. Duración depende, cantidad límite hasta ahora es 5.
9. clásico o innovador?
. Clásico.
10. beso negro?
. Claro—dependiendo de detalles que dejare a la imaginación.
11. q entre sola…. o ayudas?…
. De las dos.
12. dulce y romántico, o hard y ordinario?
. Romántico, aunque duro, dulce, u ordinario.
13. juguetitos sexuales?…
. Nunca lo he hecho… pero mas de una vez vaciamos el refrigerador.
. I’m a big fan of condensed milk.
14. luz prendida o apagada?
. Apagada, pero no en la oscuridad—tal vez velas?
15. lugar mas “raro” “osado” “intranquilo”
. Afuera, en las montañas, viendo la ciudad, sobre una roca
16. trío?
. LOL… lo mas, fuimos 8. :-)
. Los detalles no son publicados, pero no me da pena contar en plática.
17. de día o de noche?
. Cuando caiga.
18. con medias o sin medias?
. Como Dios me trajo al mundo.
19. hasta ahora…. “el amor de tu vida”?
. No le digan, pero se llama Ricardo.
20. preferís chupar? o que te la chupen?
. Que me la chupen.
21. fácil… o accesible?
. lol... accesible. (?)
22. rubios o morochos?
. Todos los gatos en la oscuridad…
. Suelo decir que no discrimino por color: hay mejores motivos.
23. lubricante o babita?
. “Babita”? LOL!!! Ok… babita.
24. dps de….. dormir juntitos abrazados… o….”bed and no breakfast”)
. Me encanta dormir bien enpiernado: antes, entremedio, y después.
25. mejor lugar para ser besado?
. Jardines Botánicos de Huntington Library en Pasadena.
26. alguna vez activo?
. Solo activo.
27. intentas una vez y si no entra, insistís? o desistís?
. Insisto.
28. gritas?….
. No, pero no me quejo si tu lo haces.
29. acabas y?.. me importa un pedo si terminaste o… te hago terminar ¿?
. El chiste es terminar los dos.
30. te va lo prohibido?…
. Hasta cierto punto.
31. acabas y? salís corriendo al baño, te quedas y disfrutas del momento?
. No solo el momento… buen rato… tal vez hasta se repita antes de ir al baño.
32. te jode estar todo chanchito en la cama o salís a limpiarte.?
. Habrá que limpiarse antes de dormir, pero para mientras, no hay apuro.
33. coger o hacer el amor…?
. Hacer el amor, por fuerte, energético, atrevido, o apasionado.
34. te gusta besar?
. Si me gusta, me encanta—y por horas.
. Si no, ni un poquito.
. Depende de con quien.
35. te gusta disfrazarte?
. No. (see 18 above)
36. alguna fantasía?
. Tal vez un poco aburrido, pero no; sugiéranme alguna y las considerare.
37. q miras primero en un hombre?
. La sonrisa. Maldita magia capaz de calmar tormentas y quemar montañas.
38. avanzas o dejas que te avancen?
. Tiene que ser mutuo. Muestro interés y respondo cuando interés es demostrado.
39. me darias de nuevo? A Mirko? Cuando quiera… :-)
40. te gustaria q te de?….
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Y tú, ¿Quién eres?
So, copying other people around here, I went somewhere and had my brains scrambled.
When they that do the scrambling were done, what fell out of my head looked like the pile above.
Anyone care to translate what this means in realistic terms and plain old english?
MMMMMMMkay...
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Fort Bragg
So my friend was coming to see a play (Same Time, Next Year). Perhaps you remember the movie with Alan Alda and Ellen Burstyn. To be honest, it makes me uncomfortable. I don't know why the idea of unfaithfulness makes me so uncomfortable. It bothers me. The whole movie, i'm fidgetting and scratching; the whole play, I was doing the same.
So, my friend's going to the play. She invited me. I'm sure you understand that watching the play being performed for the first time where the movie was filmed was too good an idea to pass up. Plus, I was getting a little sick and tired of the dulldrum of everyday life. So, Friday at 9:00pm, I got in my car and started driving. It was a hot night in the valley (San Fernando Valley), but going over the hill, the air cooled significantly. There was a breeze. There were a million other people coming with me, but they all had the sense of moving faster than a turtle, so it was ok--I don't mind the traffic, I mind driving slowly.
The air got warmer just as we reached the bottom of the hill. However, that's when the smell of cow crap started, and it didn't end till I was about to turn to cut across from the I-5 to the I-101 so I could head up to San Francisco. Now, under normal circumstances, I'd have gone up on the I-5 to the I-580, cut across Oakland and right into San Francisco--but there was this sign saying the bridge would be closed. Once I finally made it around (not quite twice the distance, but a bit out of the way anyways) I found another sign that said the bridge would be closed on Labor Day weekend. Nice. Thanks!
Now, that was far enough, as far as I was concerned, but I was going further, and I wanted to see the sun rise over the lovely beaches I had seen on Mamacita's blog (see link to the right). So I drove on--all night, even--till I got to where I was going. The picture above I took only this morning. I had no energy left for blogging yesterday, after the insane drive a three-hour nap and rushing over to the play.
The air is insanely clean here. I feel like sticking my nose in my exhaust pipe so I don't get addicted. And despite the beauty, friendliness of the people here, and all that jazz, I'll be heading back to civilization soon enough. Sitting at Starbucks now, an island of familiarity in this otherwise pristine ocean of white faces, I am reminded how much I love glass, concrete, pavement and steel, the noise of traffic and two in the morning, the whirring of machinery constantly at attention, awaiting our every wish. I am a environmentalist in the sense that I'd be well-served to see nature in only the briefest of visits, leave it unmarked and undisturbed, and round up most humans into their own reservations, to be let out only short periods and only after extensive training in the matter. I realize, however, that there are rights you might think you have to live in this nature--not realizing perhaps that your presence there is detrimental to the very nature you seek to join.
Be that as it may, I am here now, and nobody seems to be leaving, so I will leave. I've been here enough. It's not that I didn't like it--it's just that I'm done with it. I wonder what heaven looks like. I wonder if I'll get this bored of it this quickly.
Turns out I still haven't found what I'm looking for...
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Una Noche Como Anoche…
Siempre he dicho que el teléfono es para comunicación solamente, y no para conversación. Los que quieren plática deberían usar el teléfono para decirme donde verlos; un cafecito, un te, un jugo, y horas de plática pueden seguir. Lo que me molesta mas es la haraganería implícita en decir “quiero saber de ti y que tu sepas de mi, pero no mereces el tiempo o esfuerzo para verte en persona.” La única excepción aceptable es cuando la distancia o algún impedimento físico previenen el viaje, o recibir visita. Tal vez no es así, en realidad, pero eso es lo que pienso yo.
Con el tiempo, he entrenado a todos que así es. Mis amigos—pocos que son—y mis familiares saben bien que al llamarme deben simplemente decir el punto, hay un intercambio de información pertinente, una que otra pregunta respecto a mi salud y la de ellos, saludos a los parientes, besos, abrazos, apapachos cuando sea apropiado, y bye. ¡Simple! Sencillo.
Who could ask for anything more?
Pero no siempre es así. Lo bueno de las reglas son las excepciones, los pequeños eventos en los breves momentos que nos dejan saber que el mundo sigue mas allá del horizonte que hemos construido. Anoche fue una de esas noches.
A las 7:42 PM, Ricardo me mando un mensaje al teléfono, diciendo que me hablaría cuando saliera del cine, a donde había ido con su nuevo novio. Yo pensé que llamaría antes de las 10:00 PM. Aburrido en casa, salí a esa hora rumbo al bar con ganas de tomarme un par de Heinekens y jugar un poco de billar. Quince minutos después, me habló. Resulta que el novio fue a visitar a su familia, dándole a Ricardo tiempo para llamarme. Bueno, a pesar de un pequeño enojo por haberme hecho esperar, decidí platicar con el un rato. Lo que esperaba era que me dijera que quería ir a Starbucks (o Peet’s, si hay uno por ahí: Hmmmm!). Ricardo vive a una hora de distancia, pero nunca he tenido ningún problema con manejar esa distancia por una buena plática, y si hay algo que él tenga de bueno es su plática.
Llegué al bar a las 11:00 PM, no por la distancia, sino por haber dado tantas vueltas mientras platicábamos y mientras encontraba donde estacionarme—el lugar es popular, y estacionamiento en cualquier lugar de Los Angeles a esa hora de la noche es prácticamente imposible. Me estacioné, me salí del carro y empecé a fumar mientras platicábamos. No me invitó. Hablamos de él, de su familia, de mi familia, de sus amigos, de mis amigos, del trabajo, de la escuela, de los cambios que hemos visto individualmente desde que quebramos hace varios años. Hablamos de la operación que necesito y por que la he pospuesto tantas veces. Hablamos de todo, y terminando todo volvimos a empezar.
A las 12:00 de la medianoche, después de varios cigarros, decidí no entrar al bar, pues no tiene caso considerando cuanto me estaba gustando la plática. Salí otra vez en mi carro, rumbo a casa, pero tomé la ruta escénica, y llegué a la 1:00 AM, todavía platicando con él.
Diré, con toda sinceridad, que aún así no me gusta hablar por teléfono si hay posibilidad de una buena plática con un café. Pero siendo lo que fue, fue buena noche—y últimamente no he tenido muchas.
Con el tiempo, he entrenado a todos que así es. Mis amigos—pocos que son—y mis familiares saben bien que al llamarme deben simplemente decir el punto, hay un intercambio de información pertinente, una que otra pregunta respecto a mi salud y la de ellos, saludos a los parientes, besos, abrazos, apapachos cuando sea apropiado, y bye. ¡Simple! Sencillo.
Who could ask for anything more?
Pero no siempre es así. Lo bueno de las reglas son las excepciones, los pequeños eventos en los breves momentos que nos dejan saber que el mundo sigue mas allá del horizonte que hemos construido. Anoche fue una de esas noches.
A las 7:42 PM, Ricardo me mando un mensaje al teléfono, diciendo que me hablaría cuando saliera del cine, a donde había ido con su nuevo novio. Yo pensé que llamaría antes de las 10:00 PM. Aburrido en casa, salí a esa hora rumbo al bar con ganas de tomarme un par de Heinekens y jugar un poco de billar. Quince minutos después, me habló. Resulta que el novio fue a visitar a su familia, dándole a Ricardo tiempo para llamarme. Bueno, a pesar de un pequeño enojo por haberme hecho esperar, decidí platicar con el un rato. Lo que esperaba era que me dijera que quería ir a Starbucks (o Peet’s, si hay uno por ahí: Hmmmm!). Ricardo vive a una hora de distancia, pero nunca he tenido ningún problema con manejar esa distancia por una buena plática, y si hay algo que él tenga de bueno es su plática.
Llegué al bar a las 11:00 PM, no por la distancia, sino por haber dado tantas vueltas mientras platicábamos y mientras encontraba donde estacionarme—el lugar es popular, y estacionamiento en cualquier lugar de Los Angeles a esa hora de la noche es prácticamente imposible. Me estacioné, me salí del carro y empecé a fumar mientras platicábamos. No me invitó. Hablamos de él, de su familia, de mi familia, de sus amigos, de mis amigos, del trabajo, de la escuela, de los cambios que hemos visto individualmente desde que quebramos hace varios años. Hablamos de la operación que necesito y por que la he pospuesto tantas veces. Hablamos de todo, y terminando todo volvimos a empezar.
A las 12:00 de la medianoche, después de varios cigarros, decidí no entrar al bar, pues no tiene caso considerando cuanto me estaba gustando la plática. Salí otra vez en mi carro, rumbo a casa, pero tomé la ruta escénica, y llegué a la 1:00 AM, todavía platicando con él.
Diré, con toda sinceridad, que aún así no me gusta hablar por teléfono si hay posibilidad de una buena plática con un café. Pero siendo lo que fue, fue buena noche—y últimamente no he tenido muchas.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Another Saturday Night...
Play Careless Whispers.
When is the last time you told someone “I love you” for the first time?
Sitting in the dark is something I do often for the sake of entertainment.
I like the smell of good incense burning two rooms away. It is not so subtle as to be missed, nor so strong as to be intrusive.
I went to dinner with Carlos two nights ago. I had just worked a 12-hour day, after two 10-hr days, and I was tired! But I went. He felt like going to get pizza at this place near where he grew up—it was a long drive, and we talked of useless things, and I enjoyed our conversation greatly. Just after the fall, I thought it great we could still talk, still enjoy an hour’s worth of conversation on the way to cheap, second-rate pizza in the south bay. We ate; we talked; we drove back. I went home still thinking that when it occurred to me I never loved him—and so I started wondering when it was the last time I loved—and, more to the point, when I loved enough to say “I love you.” Because there is a threshold, a point before which we cannot get ourselves to say the words and after which we cannot hold them back.
The neighbor’s headlamps flash across my living room as he turns into his driveway and suddenly I realize the incense has ran out and my tea has gone cold. Though there are four of us living in this apartment, and I love the noise and the feel of simple human habitation, and really love the rare moments of solitude when they come.
They’ll be here soon, so now it’s time to sleep.
Soon, it’ll all change, and I will back to solitude. We must all go our own way at some time. Much like a break up, any separation entails the breaking of old ties. Daily “good morning”s turn to monthly “how have you been?”s and surprising run-ins at the bank or the store. It is never the same… but then, things never are.
When is the last time you told someone “I love you” for the last time?
Good night.
When is the last time you told someone “I love you” for the first time?
Sitting in the dark is something I do often for the sake of entertainment.
I like the smell of good incense burning two rooms away. It is not so subtle as to be missed, nor so strong as to be intrusive.
I went to dinner with Carlos two nights ago. I had just worked a 12-hour day, after two 10-hr days, and I was tired! But I went. He felt like going to get pizza at this place near where he grew up—it was a long drive, and we talked of useless things, and I enjoyed our conversation greatly. Just after the fall, I thought it great we could still talk, still enjoy an hour’s worth of conversation on the way to cheap, second-rate pizza in the south bay. We ate; we talked; we drove back. I went home still thinking that when it occurred to me I never loved him—and so I started wondering when it was the last time I loved—and, more to the point, when I loved enough to say “I love you.” Because there is a threshold, a point before which we cannot get ourselves to say the words and after which we cannot hold them back.
The neighbor’s headlamps flash across my living room as he turns into his driveway and suddenly I realize the incense has ran out and my tea has gone cold. Though there are four of us living in this apartment, and I love the noise and the feel of simple human habitation, and really love the rare moments of solitude when they come.
They’ll be here soon, so now it’s time to sleep.
Soon, it’ll all change, and I will back to solitude. We must all go our own way at some time. Much like a break up, any separation entails the breaking of old ties. Daily “good morning”s turn to monthly “how have you been?”s and surprising run-ins at the bank or the store. It is never the same… but then, things never are.
When is the last time you told someone “I love you” for the last time?
Good night.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Leftovers
God made man last.
Not because he was saving the best for last.
She was just making do with what was left.
Not because he was saving the best for last.
She was just making do with what was left.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Volver
Can you believe it's been so long? I feel as though it was just yesterday I was here last, but looking around, I see much has changed. Some friends are gone, while new ones take their place, not that old friends can be replaced—but life is busy and as full as it can be it gives me little extra time for more. More... More is the ethereal, curious, most elusive thing I'm always seeking. More is the fuel that seems to drive me further and further on this road.
But more does not always lead down a straight path. Onward, yes—but is that the same as forward? I am too tired to ponder this right now. From time to time, all I can do is put a foot in front of the other in this eternal act of falling, balancing, trying, dancing that we call walking.
From time to time I come to that proverbial fork in the road and I just take it—not always to follow the road less traveled by—not always quite deciding—and always wondering if this is the right path or maybe, may be that one was.
And all the forks have led me round and round back to this place, through caverns measureless to man, to this sunless sea. And on this soulless beach where we now find each other once again. I am a bit embarrassed you should find me lacking my usual ebullience, waiting pointlessly for an answer, even from the echo, to my lonely cry—but a wind blew out of a cloud and it seems there shall be no one here to look upon my works. None, perhaps, but you, and you will not despair, but rather walk with me.
And in the end, come full circle to the womb that made me, I shall cherish most the warm embrace of those arms that, outstretched and yearning, through my travels, awaited my return.
But more does not always lead down a straight path. Onward, yes—but is that the same as forward? I am too tired to ponder this right now. From time to time, all I can do is put a foot in front of the other in this eternal act of falling, balancing, trying, dancing that we call walking.
From time to time I come to that proverbial fork in the road and I just take it—not always to follow the road less traveled by—not always quite deciding—and always wondering if this is the right path or maybe, may be that one was.
And all the forks have led me round and round back to this place, through caverns measureless to man, to this sunless sea. And on this soulless beach where we now find each other once again. I am a bit embarrassed you should find me lacking my usual ebullience, waiting pointlessly for an answer, even from the echo, to my lonely cry—but a wind blew out of a cloud and it seems there shall be no one here to look upon my works. None, perhaps, but you, and you will not despair, but rather walk with me.
And in the end, come full circle to the womb that made me, I shall cherish most the warm embrace of those arms that, outstretched and yearning, through my travels, awaited my return.
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