what New Year's resolutions have u made? asked the Blue Light Special.

not to send Christmas cards ever again telling people that i have fallen in love.

how did it come to this? . . . the afternoon before he had arrived with a shopping bag full of holiday leftovers, East German towels of an impractical size and the news that even before Thug Lover had figured out where the headphones had come from he said he really wanted a cordless pair . . . i decided what i'd like to give u for Christmas i announced a little scorpion tattoo on your inner thigh or butt . . . so i'll always remember where i got it he said . . . exactly, i want to mark u for life.

of course we also wasted a lot of time online but then we did go to Probe, a new dance club, after i made him dinner . . . i don't want to pay so let's get there before 11 p.m. he insisted . . . free admission means we go Dutch i guess but if he expected me to pay his coat, he was disappointed . . . it felt kinda weird to be out with him in public . . . he had worn his bright red Hamburg jacket which made him hard to miss or the fact that his companion was a generation older than the mostly 20something crowd.

a couple of sleazy guys i recognized from my brief run on the circuit spotted us sitting together on the banquette . . . they probably wonder what i'm doing here with u i said, pleasantly surprised that he leaned into me and didn't object to my hand lightly touching his back . . . we even danced together after he had fortified himself with a lemon vodka and tonic . . . the bartender didn't have a clue about how to make a Macintosh i apologized and when i repeated your explanation he said he didn't have any apple juice. nothing with the Blue Light Special is ever easy.

neither of us had a very good time . . . we both spent a lot of time observing the crowd . . . the Blue Light Special got cruised a couple of times but being seen with him didn't give me nearly as much satisfaction as sleeping with him . . . i longed for bed and was relieved when he decided not to check out the Park because of the blowing snow, though we did make a brief detour into xl and headed straight for the must-see bathrooms . . . he loves nothing better than playing tour guide to a longtime New Yorker . . . these were on Sex and the City he said excitedly.

u look very tired he said when we got home around 2:30 . . . i am i replied without telling him i didn't much like the club scene even before turning 40 . . . give me drugs and a circuit party any day over a bunch of bridge and tunnel guys who wouldn't know what to do without HX or Next . . . meow.

the Blue Light Special barely looked up from the computer the next morning when i began reading to him from the Times about the tsunamis . . . bistudpa@aol.com had driven both of us into a frenzy with his unbelievably hot pics, but i had retreated first to the dishes and then to the couch when he avoided answering our first logistical question . . . get ready to waste another day, i thought, my irritation beginning to build.

everybody on AOL is a fake or on drugs he declared with disgust . . . duh . . . sixpack is much better . . . we spent close to an hour trying to find a portal that he had heard about once in Germany . . . the search led us to his favorite gay porn sites and i began to wonder if there was a reason he didn't have a computer hooked up at home as we spent another half an hour looking at naked men . . . what u are describing sounds a lot like BigMuscle.com i said more than once why don't we create a profile for u there?

we did, using a selection of the digital photos i had taken . . . the Blue Light Special refused to post a cock shot and balked when i suggested adding his stage name and some biographical information . . . this should be all about the body. who cares where they live or what they do? . . . it didn't take long for him to receive a couple of short messages or several guys to add him to their "i like" list.

he quickly sensed the vicarious thrill it gave me to see the reaction he was getting . . . why does this get u so excited? he asked coquettishly . . . i'm only trying to help u i responded . . . and help myself, too, i guess . . . although i don't really want to lose him, i don't think we have much of a future either . . . but as long as he keeps calling me and coming around, i don't have the strength to resist him, even on his terms.

perhaps he picked up on my passive aggressive dumping tactic . . . as my mood grew darker, so did his.

what's wrong with u? why aren't u smiling at me any more? he asked . . . i told him it was more about my end-of-the-year blahs and employment concerns than him or us but he knew i was lying and began to lash out at me.

how do i know that u are not going to sell my photos? he asked sullenly . . . how do i know u haven't lied to me about your HIV status?

it doesn't have to end like this i answered, stunned by accusations that seemed to come out of nowhere . . . if u like i will delete all the photos i took of u right now. and i haven't lied to u about my HIV status but if u believe that i have u might as well leave right now. i would never do that.

early on, i told the Blue Light Special that i liked him because he kept me on my toes . . . why are u getting so upset? he asked i didn't react this way when u accused me of using drugs.

u are right, and i apologize for that . . . i apologize too . . . and then we agreed how each of us was manipulating the other . . . i pout to get sex and he uses sex to leave me happy . . . weren't most heterosexual marriages based on this dynamic prior to women entering the workforce in massive numbers?

actually that's the wrong analogy . . . the Blue Light Special really wants to be my mistress . . . don't U think he's acting like the classic showgirl? . . . creating lots of guilt-inducing drama to induce a spasm of generosity?

we moved into the bedroom where, lying on the bed together, he began fucking with my head, big time . . . poppers have become a routine part of our sex life . . . during our photo session, i had suggested that we use his bright blue bottle as a prop because it contrasted so well with his cheap red sunglasses . . . when this is gone, our relationship will be over he said . . . i thought he had been teasing me . . . i didn't make that mistake today . . . he pulled the bottle out from his bag of tricks and held it up, noting look, it's still half full . . . or half empty, from my perspective i observed before asking are u threatening me?

if the Blue Light Special fails as an actor he still can work in the theatre as a prop master . . . he dipped back into his bag and withdrew a smiley face on a yellow plastic ball that had been distributed as a promotion by Thug Lover's employer . . . during one of the first delirious weekends we had spent together, he had held it next to his face and grinned . . . of course i captured the moment in a photo and after he left for Southampton that morning, i took my camera to Central Park to capture an already perfect late fall day and color it with my infatuation . . . occasionally, as i reviewed each crisp new thumbnail of New York City in full holiday gallop, i scrolled back to his smiling image . . . it brought tears of joy to my eyes, something i had confessed to him previously as proof of my love for him.

like many of the more sensitive gay men of my generation, i once thought Joni Mitchell was channeling me . . . i've never forgotten her refrain from "The Same Situation" on Court and Spark:

you've had lots of lovely women
now u turn your gaze to me
weighing the beauty and the imperfection
to see if i'm worthy
like the church
like a cop
like a mother
u want me to be truthful
sometimes u turn it on me like a weapon though
and i need your approval.

but now, as the Blue Light Special brandished his bottle of poppers and smiley face, i quite suddenly didn't need his approval . . . he must have seen the change in my eyes because his mood shifted again and he became almost tender . . . no doubt U are asking isn't a tender German oxymoronic? . . . i suppose it probably is but he certainly possesses the acting chops to play tender as persuasively as Thomas Haden Church in Sideways . . . i think maybe u have cracked my cold heart a little bit he whispered, softly kissing my mouth . . . if u were going to sell my pictures or u are HIV positive u probably wouldn't have gotten so upset when i accused u just now. maybe i'm beginning to trust u a little.

(hmmmm, does this mean that because he didn't get angry when i accused him of being a friend of Tina's, i now should conclude that he is?)

his tenderness had the desired effect . . . in an effort to hasten his temporary departure and prove my trustworthiness i moved back to the computer screen . . . i'm going to delete all but my four favorite pictures, ones u could send to your mother i said do u want me to delete your bigmuscle profile too? . . . only my name he said nobody else uses their real name . . . so we substituted a nickname but then he spent another half an hour trying to figure out how to get his profile more exposure . . . everytime he asked me a question, i responded in monosyllables, sinking further down in my chair.

when the Blue Light Special said ok i must go to the gym now i thought he must have finally gotten the message . . . he carefully packed his bag of tricks, and put on his bomber jacket and baseball cap but instead of kissing me goodbye he grabbed my crotch.

he had a hard look in his eyes, one i'd never seen before . . . he pushed me down in front of him as if he were a hustler and i was a desperate cocksucker . . . when i resisted, he went down on me . . . i decided to go with the flow even though both of us knew exactly what he was doing.

this guy is good, i thought, as he unzipped his pants without unbuckling his belt and took out his hard cock . . . he remembers that i told him how giving him a blow job with his clothes on turns me on more than when he's naked . . . i took him in my mouth . . . he pulled me up after a couple of minutes, kissing me hard and then dropping his pants before leading me into the bedroom.

he removed poppers, lube and condoms from his bag and put some porn into the VCR before laying back on the bed and assessing his client's needs . . . i shook my head when he made a move to put on a condom . . . so instead, he greased his butt while i put one on and then fucked him with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer hitting an anvil . . . at one point he even put on his sunglasses . . . he came twice but i wasn't through fucking with him.

did u like that? i asked did it feel any different? did u notice i how hard i got? . . . yes he said . . . that's because i did it without feeling. remember how i told u i could fuck for hours if i didn't care about the person i was fucking? well tonight for the first time i didn't care about u because u were acting like a hustler. that's the role u were playing wasn't it? isn't that what keeping your pants on at first and wearing the sunglasses and keeping your bomber jacket on was all about?

i really should learn to keep my mouth shut . . . the Blue Light Special seemed nonplussed but he recovered quickly enough to retaliate . . . didn't u hear what i said when i came the second time? i said i was coming in German. i only do that when i get lost in the sex. i never got lost before. even when u thought we had a connection, i didn't have one until just now. before, i was working.

working? doesn't work imply compensation of some sort? i asked, deeply wounded . . . yes, i do it for the applause he answered.

not long after i took the photo of the Blue Light Special holding up the smiley face, i sent it to him . . . did u notice the shadow in the background of the picture? he asked in an e-mail response what do u think it means? . . . i hadn't examined at it that closely, but when i did he was right, there was an interesting shadow.

it looks like a couple of crossed swords to me i replied . . . very phallic in any case.

who knew then that this would pretty much say it all about our relationship? . . . two nights later he walked jauntily through my door, uninvited, and said hello my love as if nothing had ever happened.

the Frankfurt Banker is finally at a loss for words and i'm still hooked.

Thug Lover keeps asking me about u said the Blue Light Special when he arrived Thursday night . . . i was in the middle of baking cranberry bread, one for the friends i would join on Christmas Eve, the other for him . . . he told me i have to start calling him if i'm not going to be sleeping at home . . . it sounded reasonable to me but his gossip clearly had a subtext.

later, he sat on my white leather chair, brooding about all the work he had to do over the holidays . . . quite a change from his high spirits just two days before . . . not only had he been hired by to cook a couple of geese on Christmas Day (mine is already well done), but he had to prepare a traditional East German meal the night before for Thug Lover and his friends . . . i didn't really understand what he was whining about: use of his culinary skills would earn him some badly needed income and assure his continued rent reduction in Pavonia Newport.

don't worry, it will all be over in a couple of days i soothed while the Frankfurt Banker accused him of being a spoiled child . . . and if it gets too unbearable u always could live here i said, as offhandedly as possible . . . u don't have enough space for a roommate he replied . . . i've got almost as much space as u have now in Pavonia Newport, but i'm not looking for a roommate. it would work only with a boyfriend.

there, i said it, a soft offer was on the table . . . his demurral didn't surprise me . . . it also came as a relief.

given his mood and my desire to complete some last-minute gift preparations prior to catching a late morning train to suburban New Jersey, sleep took priority over sex . . . i got up early to burn and label a couple of CDs (U2's "How To Dismantle an Atomic Bomb" and Eminem's "Encore" plus a mix featuring my favorite tracks from The OC) . . . by the time i had finished Blue Light Special still hadn't awakened so i put on the soundtrack from The Thin Red Line . . . who died? he asked when i rejoined him in bed.

i love sleepy chit chat in the morning . . . so far ours has mostly been about me interpreting the Blue Light Special's dreams but he wasn't volunteering any today . . . what better time, then, to probe your holiday lover about his country's past than while listening to Hans Zimmer's haunting soundtrack for a World War II film? . . . how did u first become aware of Hitler? i whispered.

the Blue Light Special turned slightly to give me a startled look . . . c'mon tell me i urged, wondering how he would handle the question . . . my curiosity had been piqued a couple of nights earlier after i pointed out a short story in the fiction issue of The New Yorker titled "The Girl from Hamburg" (he wears a bright red zippered jacket with the name of that city printed across the front and lately i've been clipping Germany-related articles for him from the Times so we have something to talk about besides sex) . . . when i told him it was about a Jewess who's impregnated by a man who hides her from the Nazis he asked what's a Jewess? . . . yeah, right, i'll bet u have no idea what zyklon B is, either.

my great grandparents first told me about Hitler. they were very conservative, from the south. they had a favorable impression. they hated Americans, too. i used to spend my summers with them but i found out early not to always trust their opinions. a Turkish family with a boy my age lived not too far away from their farm. when they found out i had spent the day with a dark foreigner they told me i couldn't see him anymore. i did anyway, of course, i just hid it from them. but it wasn't until kindergarten that i began learning how bad Hitler had been for Germany.

i didn't quite know what to make of his less than ringing condemnation of Der Fuhrer but he didn't add anything when i drew an analogy about how some Southerners grew up in the post-Civil Rights era with great grandparents who still favored segregation . . . so we got up and ate slices of the cranberry bread that i had baked for him . . . then he started complaining again . . . i told Thug Lover that we stopped celebrating Christmas in my family once my brother and i turned 18 but he told me he's expecting a gift from me. he wants a pair of headphones.

it so happened that i had a pair of expensive, barely used Pioneer headphones in their original packaging . . . here give him these, i offered . . . they're 25 years old but hey retro is in and they still produce great sound . . . are u sure u don't want them anymore? he asked after listening to Bowie sing "Let's Dance" at high volume . . . yes, just so long as he doesn't throw them away when he finds out where they came from or how old they are . . . i'll tell them i bought them in Chinatown he said . . . i have to go there anyway to pick up the carp for his dinner.

i barely could contain the spluttering incredulity of the Frankfurt Banker. . . have u gone mad? why are u enabling his relationship with Thug Lover? . . . this time i had an answer for a change: because i'm happy with the way things are. i'm not really ready for a full-time relationship with someone who still prefers to think of himself as a fuck buddy even though we're spending almost as much time together as newlyweds . . . the present situation works to everyone's advantage so far as i can tell.

it sure seemed that way Christmas night even though he hadn't given me the goodbye look back i always crave as the subway doors closed behind me in Penn Station when we parted Friday morning . . . i hoped he would call to wish me a merry Christmas when he was through with his cooking gig for an antiques dealer in Tribeca . . . it didn't look promising as the hour grew later but then the phone rang around 11:30 p.m. . . . perfect timing, too: as it happens Hugh Grant and crowd were demonstrating in Love, Actually--last year's overstuffed Christmas turkey-- that l'amour IS all around . . . all U have to do is look, especially during the holidays.

i'm such a sucker for cheap romance.

often u hear only what U want to . . . like in "Forbidden Love" when Madonna whispers a phrase that doesn't appear on the lyric sheet i always thought she was sending a safe sex message by saying protection is the greatest aphrodisiac but more than a few friends have insisted that rejection is what really turns her on.

to wear a condom or not to wear a condom, that is the dilemma . . . i'm negative and i believe the risk of infection for a top is relatively low despite recent reports to the contrary . . . sure, it's possible, especially if your dick is chafed (ask friends of Tina how it gets that way) or U are suffering from another STD but this hasn't been the case for me . . . which is why i haven't had much guilt or fear about occasionally going latex-free when i'm on top.

on the other hand, until i met the Blue Light Special, i never understood how a negative bottom, even one in a reputedly monogamous relationship, could be tempted to bareback . . . but the first night we were together, all the rules changed for me . . . when i tried to fuck him he asked do u have a condom? . . . i like to see how far somebody will go before they assert their right to life . . . the Blue Light Special passed with flying colors.

or so i thought . . . we soon had a conversation about our HIV status . . . we both said i'm negative but can U ever really know? . . . after all, i haven't been retested in 6 years . . . so when the Blue Light Special climbed on top of my unsheathed dick, he threw me for a loop . . . if he was willing to take a chance with me, shouldn't i be willing to risk my life for him?

i may be "schnell verlieber" but quick to trust is another matter entirely . . . although i let the Blue Light Special enter me briefly during DJ Tiesto's "In My Memory," the Frankfurt Banker wouldn't shut up . . . i used the discomfort of getting fucked for the first time in years as an excuse to ask him to withdraw . . . he didn't hesitate or object; nor has he done so on subsequent occasions when i have insisted that he wear protection.

it ain't the greatest aphrodisiac, that's for sure . . . quite the opposite, in fact, as i learned Tuesday night when the Blue Light Special showed up, his usual couple of hours late . . . he had come from his regular Tuesday afternoon "date" on the Lower East Side where a Brazilian friend had stuffed a shopping bag full of his freezer overflow . . . the A train wasn't running, i had to take the local, it took forever he said excitedly as he unpacked and taste tested frozen cheeses and pasta sauces that definitely had seen better days . . . excuses, excuses . . . after he worked out his abs on the floor of my bedroom, he asked if he could take a shower . . . hmmmm.

would u like a cocktail? i asked while preparing dinner in the kitchen . . . he had changed into a sexy blue bathing suit he had purchased at Revolutions, a gay clothing store in Hell's Kitchen . . . on sale he said flashing the winning grin that i have begun to associate with discounts or the possibility of sex . . . i wasn't wrong, either . . . after a single sip of his gin & tonic we were off and running . . . i leaned him over the stool near my refrigerator and rimmed him until the kitchen timer rang . . . time to toss the zuchinni, i said while he pulled out condoms, poppers and lube from his bag of tricks and set them on the other stool . . . here let me show u how to do that he said grabbing the frying pan handle in a demonstration of his cooking expertise . . . that helpful gesture, more than the intense fucking that i gave him, made it feel like we were a couple . . . remarkably, i also managed to serve a pretty tasty meal, too . . . he complimented the moistness of the chicken breast, cleaned his plate and asked for more brown rice . . . i felt the same way about his butt.

i didn't think i could be any happier when i climbed into bed, even tho we had spent the next couple of hours trolling the AOL M4M chatrooms . . . here it was, three days before Christmas, a time when i'm usually fighting the appeal of premature death, and i was sleeping with a guy regularly for the first time in nearly 10 years . . . do u have a t-shirt i can wear? asked the Blue Light Special . . . sure i said u can take any one in my underwear drawer, the one organized by the Frankfurt Banker. . . he got the joke, pulled out an olive t-shirt and joined me, bottomless, lying on his side, facing away.

i snuggled in closer to him, remembering that he had told me a story about how he loved getting fucked on his side . . . my erection throbbed against him . . . he licked his hand to lubricate his butt, already moist from my two prior visits . . . my dick slipped inside him effortlessly, very hand in glove, and i slowly, gently brought him to his second orgasm of the evening . . . for years i've been telling anyone who will listen that i get all the intimacy i need through my friendships as often as i have insisted that i can't tell the difference between fucking somebody with a condom or without . . . being with the Blue Light Special has exposed my bravado and finally proved that i'm no different than anybody else when it comes to love and sex.

did u come? he asked . . . no, i told u, i never would come inside u, even with a rubber . . . then he tried to fuck me without a condom but i wouldn't let him . . . nor did i let him go the raw route the next morning and when it seemed for a moment that the condom he was wearing had slipped off, i'm sure he saw the panic on my face.

u probably aren't the only person he's let fuck him without a condom insisted the Frankfurt Banker.

after he unrolled another, he fucked me harder than he ever has before, almost as if he were angry.

is there anything more corrosive to a relationship than lack of trust?

treat people the way U would like to be treated . . . that's my philosophy.

trolling for a threesome online with the Blue Light Special--from the creation of a profile to the give and take of chatting--provided a fascinating, if horrifying glimpse of his true self . . . first, he insisted on lopping five years off his age . . . then he turns out to be one of those guys who can't focus on a single chat and sometimes waits minutes in between responses . . . without the promiscuous use of smiley faces, his Teutonic sense of humor seems cruel . . . worse yet, he expects everyone to send their pic first and if he doesn't like what he sees he would prefer not returning his at all . . . don't u have any pictures of ugly guys we can use? he asks.

his way of dealing with the PNP and bareback scene differs from mine, too . . . why can't we tell them we're into bb and just put on a condom before we fuck them? who cares if they use drugs when they get here? we don't have to.

yes, i am sitting next to my worst online nightmare for hours at a time . . . so now, in addition to feeling like we're poster boys for beauty and the beast (my role, relatively speaking) and the routine frustration of trying to hook up in an M4M chat room, i have to monitor his netiquette and make sure he doesn't send our pictures to anyone who has rejected me in the past (although i am tempted to do so just to have the satisfaction of turning them down if they're suddenly hot to trot with the Blue Light Special . . . like they say, revenge is a dish best served cold and while i prefer polite rejection to game playing, i can't deny it hurts when someone i find attractive types sorry, not a match).

agreeing on a suitable prospect reduces our chances even further . . . the Blue Light Special can afford to be pickier than me which means that he's more focused on how they look than the level of their interest or availability . . . give me a reasonably attractive eager beaver any day over some photogenic hunk with attitude . . . he's also more willing to engage in prolonged chat with someone who sends a hot pic and who says he's interested but evades the logistics of hooking up . . . u are very pragmatic aren't u? . . . right u are, fella . . . your command of the language is a lot more impressive than your hook up skills in this environment! . . . how did u ever land Thug Lover?

our search for a threesome has taken us into the real world, too . . . while doing my laps during a lunchtime swim at Columbia i noticed the Blue Light Special emerge from the pool and follow some well built under grad when he headed for the locker room . . . later, he explained i thought i might be able to check him out in the shower . . . his aggressiveness shouldn't have come as any surprise but i couldn't believe he would try to pick up somebody after i had just paid his admission fee.

a dark, hairy guy with a slight belly in the sauna independently corroborated the Blue Light Special's appeal . . . he literally looked right past me and sat down between the two of us when he entered . . . his physical unattractiveness made it easy to pretend for as long as i could stand the heat that i was an anthropologist observing the mating habits of 30something homosexuals . . . the tension between them kept escalating as the Blue Light Special occasionally glanced down at the blue towel that barely covered the Greek's crotch.

how long do U think the Blue Light Special stayed in the sauna with the Greek after i left? . . . long enough to get his name and an invitation back to the guy's apartment for a threesome that didn't include me . . . he stopped confiding this information when the Greek joined us in the shower though his erection didn't diminish . . . i left them alone a second time, determined to ditch the Blue Light Special permanently if he hadn't joined me at my locker by the time i finished dressing . . . very slowly.

so did u make a date? i asked when he beat the clock . . . no, of course not. i didn't like him very much . . . did he know u were here with me? i pressed . . . no, why should i tell him that? . . . to clarify things perhaps? . . . the guy probably put two and two together, however: he walked past us as the Blue Light Special weakly assured me that he would never hook up with a guy when we were together without my involvement.

he's an actor, he probably believes what he says when he's saying it . . . i turned to grin accusingly at the Blue Light Special a couple of nights later during Sideways when Paul Giamatti defends his friend to Virginia Madsen after she has learned that he's getting married to another woman in a few days even though he's been fucking her friend and telling her that he adores her child and hopes to open a winery with her . . . his body language changed immediately . . . earlier he had asked what are u doing? when i draped my arm around the back of his seat but now he moved away from me in his seat and crossed his arms in front of him . . . we walked home arguing about the movie which he insisted had been done better by the French in the 60s . . . the story is probably too American for u and besides u aren't old enough to really get it i countered . . . we went to sleep without having sex.

nor did we have sex when we got up . . . by this time it had become ball bustingly apparent that a threesome was the Blue Light Special's preferred form of trysting after years of picking up men with Thug Lover . . . was this his way of having his cake and eating it, too? . . . he claimed repeatedly that he didn't have sex with Thug Lover anymore and that he wasn't supposed to bring people home . . . that's when the Frankfurt Banker chimed in with so maybe u are simply providing him with a playground . . . . albeit one whose amenities suffered in comparison to those that now occupied forbidden territory in Pavonia Newport . . . u need to get a jailhouse fuck bed he urged after having to stop, not for the first time, in mid thrust, to prevent a vase of pussy willow branches from toppling off my headboard . . . that way u can grip the iron rails behind u. they're good for other things, too.

we wasted much of a Saturday afternoon and evening cruising for sex online . . . i got so frustrated that i suggested we take a stroll to the Ramble . . . he changed into a pair of white corduroy pants with patched pockets that he said he had been wearing since the early 90s (my kinda guy, my closet is like a clothes museum), a baseball cap and a bomber jacket . . . this outfit that made me want to rip off his clothes and fuck him on the spot . . . instead i suggested that he show me which paths, benches and hot spots he favors when he's by himself.

sex addicts with a fondness for the Ramble must think alike . . . his route was almost identical to mine though our pace differed . . . u must slow down he said as if i didn't know how to cruise properly . . . a group of Hispanic guys muttered approvingly as we walked past . . . hey that one with the cute butt looks like Justin in Queer As Folk . . . i guess i'm not the only one who appears 20 years younger under a waxing moon.

there weren't many people about but just as we were about to give up, Triple Stogie had claimed his usual spot . . . let's stop here i suggested nervously . . . we sat at one end of the bench while our quarry completed a lengthy cell phone conversation . . . he keeps looking over at us the Blue Light Special observed . . . take your cock out and i'll go down on u and we'll see what happens i responded but he ignored me . . . should i suck his cock? he asked . . . i don't think he'll let u . . . nor did he . . . when the Blue Light Special got up and made his move, Triple Stogie waved him away . . . i only like to watch he said . . . that would have been my cue for the two of us to start having sex, but the Blue Light Special just sat there, jerking off with Triple Stogie until i got up to leave.

no sex again that night though the Blue Light Special stayed up a couple of hours longer than me trying to hook up with some guy in Brooklyn . . . and when he finally did come to bed, he insisted on slipping Nights In Black Leather, the only porn i owned that he hadn't yet watched, into the VCR.

while i baked bran muffins Sunday morning, he took his place at my computer and started his quest all over again . . . very Groundhog Day . . . after washing the dishes and reading the newspaper i watched him with mounting irritation . . . maybe if i go into the bedroom and look at the porn he brought along in his bag of tricks he will join me . . . bad idea . . . not that i'm any connoisseur, but unattractive "stars," poor lighting and Scream scenarios just don't float my boat especially when they produce not an erection but a blow-by-blow critical commentary from the man i want to fuck . . . the strategy did succeed in freeing up my computer, however . . . maybe our luck will change if i work the keyboard myself.

two hours later, with the day completely wasted and still no prospects in sight, i'm eager for the Blue Light Special to vamoose . . . this hasn't been our usual pattern . . . usually he stays over Sunday nights and we stay in bed most of Monday, but tomorrow i have my second interview for a major job.

the Blue Light Special picks up on my mood change . . . it was interesting to watch u in the park last night i said when he lay down next to me on the bed . . . i didn't expect u to try to go down on Triple Stogie, at least not so eagerly i said . . . but u wanted to sit down next to him and he had a nice cock. what did u want to do?

he already knew the answer his question . . . we finally had sex, as intense as ever, which restored my good humor over the objections of the Frankfurt Banker who screamed CAN'T U SEE HOW HE IS MANIPULATING U?

but just as the Blue Light Special was about to say goodbye, not long after he accepted, without comment or thanks, $15 to buzz my hair (exactly what my gorgeous but straight barber from Tajikistan charges, including tip), i stuck my hands in his front pockets and found condoms, lube and poppers . . . they're from last night he quickly explained before removing them and stuffing them back into his bag of tricks which i notice he never lets out of his sight . . . that means u had them when i showed u the hidden staircase east of Belvedere Castle, the place where i put the moves on u last night . . . yes, of course he replied . . . i brought them in case we found a threesome.

how silly to expect that he would waste them on sex with me . . . why is the Frankfurt Banker always right?