it should have been obvious right from the start . . . who hangs out in the Pig Pit, a lovely pine bower just yards away from the Great South Bay but well-hidden from the pedestrian traffic running back and forth between the Pines and the Grove, early on a Friday afternoon? . . . but there he stood, butt naked, beckoning me in towards the makeshift playroom: cum-smeared mirrors with front and back views of a white plastic chair crusted with green mold and enough DNA to keep the CSI guys busy for the next nine seasons . . . his look: straight out of the East Village, though it turned out he lived in Brooklyn . . . dark, hairy, penetrating brown eyes with a long goatee in the middle of his chin, an Art Nouveau floral tattoo extending from his shoulder down his upper right arm, erect nipples, and loosely laced combat boots . . . he went down on me briefly as soon as i took out my cock before asking wanna fuck me? . . . yeah, got a condom? . . . he pulled one from an orange bag chock full of sexual paraphernalia, including Jungle Juice, Eros, a yellow tub of Boy Butter and what appeared to be a green dildo of stallion proportions . . . this guy came prepared for something more than i thought i was prepared to give him.

but after a half hour of thrusting and some steady, seriously kinky commentary (i’ve got this buddy he wants to tie me up naked, shove a baseball bat up my ass and then leave me at Shea Stadium), uttered as he occasionally looked up at me in the mirror and punctuated only by his regular popper-snorting, neither of us was near orgasm . . . in fact, he wasn’t even hard and kept his hands cupped over his genitals most of the time . . . we took a break when some ugly voyeur showed up with a camera phone and used the interruption to exchange some personal information, bonding over the fact that we both had grown up in military families . . . i used to protect my mother’s flank in Brindesi. she was fair like you and grew up in Charleston and had this sexy walk and the Italian sailors tried to pinch her ass when she took me for a walk. i was about five, at just the right height to look directly into a man’s crotch it was my first erotic memory . . . these details spilled out of his mouth with little regard for the normal rhythms of conversation . . . it was my birthday yesterday and i was determined to get some really good sex it’s always a mistake when u set your expectations high isn’t it? i did a little acid so things are still pretty intense are u on the down low? . . . he actually waited for an answer but when i told him i didn’t have a lover he picked right up again . . . do u want to come back to my place i want to feel your back against mine when u fuck me after i shower it has a separate entrance . . . more babble, mostly about tantric sex, as he dressed slowly, pulling on clothes he must have been wearing when he left the city . . . as we walked out of the meatrack toward the Pines i caught a whiff of his breath, olfactory confirmation of his admission that he hadn’t gone to bed yet . . . this guy i picked up earlier in the dark was too drunk to do what i wanted sometimes u make choices based on desire he added . . . been there, done that i thought though my primary motivation for embarking on today’s adventure was to keep out of the maid’s way.

we didn’t use the separate entrance . . . he described the house as relaxed . . . perhaps he meant in the way that the skies are calm after a tornado . . . i had to chart a course through the luggage and clothing strewn everywhere in the small living room . . . his two housemates, who seemed to have just gotten up, belonged to the same edgy, sartorial club and must have rolled their eyes at my preppy tennis shorts and golf hat with a Jackie Kennedy button . . . they knew what was up, however, and within seconds of some mumbled introductions we disappeared into a small wood-paneled room dominated by a double bed, unmade, and decorated with black and white photographs of male nudes . . . i’m sorry it isn’t darker he apologized, leading me into an uncluttered bathroom with a double shower, a large skylight and color scheme made famous by Howard Johnson: aquamarine tiles and orange towels . . . once we had soaped each other’s bodies, he removed the head from the hand-held shower and inserted the flow directly into his ass, holding the warm water there for a few seconds before eliminating it . . . if his impromptu enema had been brown or filled with solids, i probably would have left then and there, but the liquid seemed clear enough . . . he gave me a towel and told me where to hang it after i had dried myself off . . . he brought his own back into the bedroom and laid it on the rumpled yellow sheets which didn’t look quite as clean as his intestine . . . i want u to know that u can take anything from me and that i will thank u for it he said as he pulled the Eros, condoms, poppers and Boy Butter from his bag and put them within easy reach on the night table . . . should i take some Viagra? . . . sure . . . are u into percussive sex? he asked as he began to service me . . . then he demonstrated how i could pull back a little just before hitting him to make a loud sound while reducing the force of the blow . . . i think i followed his instructions correctly but i didn’t have the nerve to ask . . . i was afraid that talking too much about what he wanted me to do would make it much harder to satisfy him . . . i already was having trouble enough knowing that his housemates, who were watching TV and playing a weird mix of music that included Arabic trance and k.d. lang, could hear every slap to the back of his head . . . call me faggot when u hit me, ok? i really like that call me a dirty faggot.

have u ever fisted before? he asked examining my hands . . . i don’t think he believed me when i said yes but he asked me to lean my back against the headboard and removed the lid from the Boy Butter tub . . . i don’t like it when i can feel any tension in your arm. keep it languid he instructed as he applied the white grease to my hand and his ass . . . then he got on all fours and moved his butt within reach of my extended arm . . . remember, a couple of steps forward and then one back as i get used to your fist . . . it took some slow, gentle maneuvering mostly on his part . . . he literally swallowed my forearm with his anus, moaning thank u, thank u . . . despite the strong curve of his butt and his powerful haunches, the visual did nothing for me . . . calling him faggot did even less . . . i can’t be sure but i think i lost my erection even before i noticed that the liquid dribbling out of his ass on to my upper leg looked like the color of Campbell’s tomato soup . . . you’re bleeding i warned . . . don’t worry unless it’s dark red he assured as i gently began to withdraw, absolutely determined to retreat.

i have to pee i said as he used the towel to clean himself, the bed and my leg . . . he followed me into the bathroom and kneeled in the shower stall directly across from the toilet . . . have u ever done this? can u? he asked as he turned me around and put his mouth over my semi erect penis . . . talk about an unsentimental education . . . i decided to give it the old college try mostly because our encounter thus far, while certainly intense, had not introduced me to the new experiences i have begun to crave . . . surprisingly, my urine flowed but it was almost as if i hadn’t pissed at all . . . no sound, no yellowing of the clear water in a toilet ball . . . i guess i must have though . . . he finally released me . . . thank u, thank u.

back in the bedroom he asked do u want to cuddle? . . . more than anything i thought if only to prove that we have something other than our sex addiction in common . . . but he couldn’t stop himself from sticking to his kinky script which began with a rant about a phenomenon he described as “cocktail fisting” . . . u are the first person to have fisted me in a while. i stopped going to parties because it was all about technique. the bottoms would go from one top to the next and then compare notes. it was too dispassionate. i wanted to feel a connection with somebody. even the guy with the best technique, he lived on the Upper East Side, i couldn’t get into him because he insisted on polite chit chat while he fisted me. i decided to play the brat at one party and kept moving around on all fours to make it more difficult for him to talk. but when i get into somebody i don’t have many limits. i let this guy carve my lower back with a scalpel one time.

suddenly feeling like a character in a Dennis Cooper novel made me lose my erection for good . . . do u want a chip of Viagra? . . . i shrugged and he stuck one in my mouth . . . do u want something to drink? . . . when i nodded yes he took a swig from his plastic cup and i allowed him to squirt a sweet liquid from his mouth into mine . . . that would be as close as we would come to exchanging saliva . . . kissing definitely hadn’t been on his agenda earlier and it certainly fell off mine during our second visit to the bathroom . . . i declined his offer of a little acid explaining that i had to deal with a house full of people in an hour or two . . . are u negative? he asked while we waited for the drug to make me functional again . . . i am . . . that’s ok. i’m not . . . i figured u weren’t. i was surprised when u let me fuck you with a condom but i guess i understand why. u said earlier u are versatile because that doubles the chances u will be able to find good sex. i feel the same way about sex with positive guys. so long as i’m safe what difference does it make? . . . he responded to this information with a story about bringing a negative bottom to an orgy . . . i got so angry when i found three of my positive friends trying to fuck him without a condom after telling everybody his status . . . Madonna says protection is the greatest aphrodisiac i observed . . . or is it rejection? no matter how many times i listen to that whispered lyric from “Forbidden Love” i can’t tell.

with my dick out of commission my brain finally began to assert itself . . . all this talk of allowing me to take from him whatever i wanted left me feeling like a tool, albeit a willing one . . . still, i couldn’t stand for him to think that i wasn’t hip to his game . . . let’s be truthful i finally said . . . u have been the top all afternoon, telling me exactly what u want . . . my deliberate provocation must have made him decide to change the dynamic . . . he started by skillfully eating my ass which gave me more incentive to pleasure him . . . by the time he moved his mouth to my cock, positioning his head between my legs and moving his buttocks suggestively, clenching his cheeks and making steady eye contact, i was rock hard and my slaps to the back of his head had grown more frequent and much more enthusiastic . . . the energy finally seemed to be flowing between us instead of only one way . . . but when i was ready to shoot he stopped me . . . wanna fuck me again?

so of course he had known exactly what he was doing . . . after i sheathed my dick for the third time that afternoon he asked me to wait a minute . . . he removed a mirror from the wall and placed it at the head of the bed so he could watch himself get fucked while he snorted poppers and continued his kinky commentary . . . deja vu, except this time he finally came . . . i have to pee i said shortly after removing the condom . . . he followed me into the bathroom . . . much to my relief he took a shower this time, a fairly long one . . . i interpreted this to mean that our encounter had come to an end and returned to the bedroom to dress . . . don’t laugh he said as he pulled on a pair of peach Moschino briefs . . . after some polite chitchat, which included an acknowledgment that i hadn’t reached orgasm, we exchanged numbers . . . can i go out this door? i asked hoping to avoid seeing his housemates . . . he walked me to the gate . . . what are u doing later? do u eat meat? . . . i do . . . i’m making a pot roast tonight with ingredients i brought from Whole Foods . . . i cut the conversation short before he could invite me to dinner.