Last year’s Valentine’s was great. I had just started dating Andy and we went with a bunch of friends to the SF Valentine’s Day Pillow Fight. We laughed, we cried, we smacked people with down pillows… it was just super. In fact, Andy even put together this snazzy video of our exploits:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tNdEv5crtjk&feature=channel_page]
But I digress.
A year later and happily single once again, I wasn’t sure how to spend Valentine’s. In fact, I became incredibly self conscious about doing ANYTHING on February 14th alone. Suddenly everyone seemed to have a date to everything, and there I was having flashbacks of being the chubby, unpopular kid that no one wanted on their soccer team; having to go up the ski lift with the instructor when I was 9 because no one wanted to be my buddy …
… wallow, wallow, sniffle…
And then the phone rang. It was my friend Michael calling to invite me over for Valentine’s.
Before I continue any further in the story, Michael has to be explained. The guy is a TOTAL character. He’s a Princeton grad in electrical engineering, who left his job in the culinary department at Google about a year ago to pursue the life of a slacker (or hippie, as he prefers to be called). And frankly, it’s quite impressive. He somehow manages to pay his insanely low rent (<$400) by doing a variety of odd jobs: selling olive oil, catering, running mail around town, waiting in line at the passport office, a brief (and thank god, unsuccessful) attempt at making edibles for the dispenseries and a variety of other, likely shady and barely legal activities.
This is also the man that is pursuing a polyamorous lifestyle with his fantastic girlfriend, Aislynn (seriously, I love her). She’s a professional dominatrix and Michael is the ultimate submissive. They totally make it work.
Along those lines, Michael has been trying to get me in the sack for months: he invited me to some post-Thanksgiving sex retreat in Santa Cruz and most recently was trying to get me to go on a couples retreat again for Valentine’s, before that fell through. His success is, well, not happening, but I appreciate his effort and enthusiasm. Really, I do.
All this mixed and muddled together makes Michael is a ton of fun. He is also one of the best cooks I know. And while I was a bit surprised to hear he wanted me to come over for Valentine’s with him and his girlfriend after the sexscapade weekend went bust, I’m not going to say no to homemade ravioli.
As I arrive, Michael and Aislynn are putting the final touches on the ravioli and he casually mentions that there are two other couples coming tonight. It once again seems a bit strange that I am the only single person there, but I shrug it off.
Michael immediately puts me to work in the kitchen and then pops out for a moment, in search of something he wants to show me. And here’s where things get interesting:
He comes back into the kitchen and is holding a book akin to The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Tantric Sex. He begins to flip through it, while explaining that maybe after dinner we can go through some of the exercises with the other couples (all of which, I now learn, are poly)…
Hold on just. one. minute.
WHAT?
I thought I was here for ravioli. I didn’t know I was going to get roped into some 6 way tantric Valentine’s eve cluster fuck.
I express my skepticism over tantra and my (lack of) desire to appreciate it with at least 4 strangers, but Michael is a very passionate guy. And so he dismisses my concerns and continues to try to show me one of the easier and more meaningful tantric moves.
He approaches, places his hands on either shoulder and begins to move his hands slowly down my collarbone and over to my arms and down to my fingers. Of course this is all whilst I am holding a chunk of parmesan in one hand and a grater in another, so whatever significance this ‘technique’ may have is entirely lost on me as I consider whacking him over the head with the cheese grater…
I hold myself back from my fleeting, dasdardly plan and instead bark, “stop touching me”.
That seems to get the message across. Michael desists, let’s go of my arms and agrees that now is probably not the right time to teach me tantra.
And so we continue cooking.
The other couples arrive about 20 minutes later and they’re absolutely delightful. The food was fantastic, I got to try Michael’s homemade spiced vodka and the roasted fennel was out of this world.
Lesson learned, I’ve always heard there’s no such thing as a free lunch, and I guess it’s true. But I certainly wouldn’t change a thing 
So a couple weeks ago, I decided to head to my favorite little coffee place, Blue Bottle. The location in Hayes Valley isn’t a store, but merely a kiosk, with one teeny tiny table to stand at and one hell of a line. No matter though, it’s well worth the wait…
…and boy did I wait. I was standing at that table waiting along with another guy standing across from me. Due to the unbelievably compact nature of Blue Bottle, that left us LITERALLY INCHES apart both staring in opposite directions, that given our proximity, felt like we were looking in each others’ eyes.
So I said hi.
Now as most friends know, I’m a gay man trapped in the body of a straight woman. So when in the course of our conversation this guy actually bent over and showed me his ass as part of his “why gay men love straight guys demonstration”, I was hooked.
So he asked for my number and we agreed to meet up in a week. Of course I knew he was younger than me… I thought maybe 24 or 25, but hey! I’m only 28! Where’s the fire?
Well over the course of the next week, I began having doubts. I mean he did look _really young_. I reassured myself, “He couldn’t POSSIBLY be under 21.” No no no. Don’t be silly. We’re not even sure people under 20 exist. Impossible.
Well we ended up going out and from that date I learned a couple vital things:
1. He is 20
2. I did not actually have a brain aneurysm learning this
He’s sweet as pie, but he can’t drink, go to Kinky Salon or DNA Lounge with me. AND WHERE DOES THAT LEAVE OUR RELATIONSHIP? We’d have to talk … And to a 20 year old? I don’t think so.
… but if I really dig to the heart of the issue: I don’t even know if he’s still a virgin or not.
So where does that leave us? Well it’s left me with a new buddy, of sorts. Someone to pass along jokes to, drunk text message (HUGE bonus in my book) and perhaps hang out from time to time.
It’s also left me realizing I might just be a cougar in training….
And that’s totally cool.
It’s not always easy figuring out what to write on Sexistential Crisis. Sometimes I have a story lined up, ready to blog about
…and other times the stories just form themselves out of a series of unrelated events which collide together in one sheer moment of sexistantial hilarity. This would be one of those times.
A few days ago my friend and mentor, John, suggested I pick up a favorite book of his. I’m always looking for recommends, so I filed the suggestion to the back of my mind, to be retrieved at a future date when I was at the bookshop.
On an entirely unrelated note, I happen to be taking a photography class and decided today was the perfect day to takes some pictures in preparation for my homework assignment. I took a leisurely stroll through Hayes Valley, snapping photos as a I went, making my way towards the beloved Blue Bottle.
Whilst meandering, I happened to see Bibliohead Bookstore — what an opportune moment to finally get
that book John recommend!! How perfect! Of course I can no longer remember the name of the book, having been lost in the dark recess of my memory, but I’m sure the bookseller will be able to help me figure this one out.
I enter and happen to run into my co-worker Peter who is also meandering and we chat for a bit before I can locate the bookseller and find my next book.
Finally I meet the bookshop owner, Melissa, and she begins trying to help me figure out the name of the book (considering there are 190,000 new titles published in the US every year, this is no small feat). Anyhow I’m at a total loss, and can recall nothing other than the author being male and that it’s not Victor Hugo. You can imagine how helpful this information is.
I was about to give up and go home, but then it hits me! I had actually put the book in my Amazon shopping cart. So I ask to use their computer and Melissa and I stand anxiously over the monitor as I see there are two items in my shopping cart. Yay! Mystery solved!
I click on the shopping cart and this is what appears:
First off let me just say that is the best price for the Bend Over Beginner Kit in town. Good Vibes is selling it for $99
Secondly, where is the book John recommended? I am still trying to figure out this conundrum.
But more importantly, the bookseller looks like she’s just been ass raped and I don’t tend to help the situation when blurting out, “I don’t think you sell anal plugs, do you?” … never mind my coworker who is lurking on the other side of the counter witnessing this exchange. Total disaster from so many dimensions and all for one book (which btw, I still do not know the name of).
Fortunately, I think I managed to smooth things over before heading out to finish taking pictures, but it just goes to show you that you’ll never know what happens when you walk out your front door. You might think you’re on a photo assignment and before you know it you’re talking about pegging with a bookseller. Just one of those days.
So two of my best friends in the city are Derek and Lucius, henceforth known as My Gays. The gays are 28 going on 70,
teh geys
both anxiously awaiting retirement and spend most evening shut in their house, petting their cats and not having sex.
The gays and I have a history of pranking, teasing and insulting. It’s how we say, “I love you”… or, “I loved you before you tried to give me oral gonhorrea, and now I just kindof can’t stand you”. They’re afraid of my vagina and I’m afraid of Derek’s chest hair. Frankly, the guy’s is so hairy we decided that if he ever wanted pasties all we’d have to do is shave the hair around his nipples.
The Wall of Shame
The Gays have constructed a wall of framed and signed pictures of stars from the 80′s (seriously, it’s the gayest thing I’ve ever seen in my life). They’ve got in the range of 30 “celebrities” (by the loosest possible definition): Sally Jessie, Bob Barker, some of the Golden Girls, Delta Burke, that Tutti woman from the Facts of Life and the list goes on.
As you may have picked up in my previous post, we have something of an obsession with Sally Jessie Raphael, who is in fact their favorite celebrity on the wall of shame. So several months ago, when the gays asked me to cat sit, I took the liberty of removing Sally Jessie’s picture and putting the lone frame on my bedroom wall. It took them a week to figure it out.
They returned the favor a couple months later when I was out of town and took care of my cat, leaving lewd message all over my computer.
It’s our thing, ya know?
So Derek and Lucius were once again out of town this weekend and I was called in to cat sit. And I decided to up the ante a notch:
There I am, nestled between the Gifford chick, Tony Danza, a couple of old dudes and Barry Bonds? (seriously, I don’t even understand WHY they have Barry Bonds on the wall. That’s just crazy talk).
I had to cover up their picture of Penn and Teller with my own, but I’ll keep this post updated as to when they figure it out.
As is my ego…
Here’s how this all started… I don’t consider myself short at 5’7, but that does not stop me from having numerous issues trying to reach for coffee cups from the office cupboard. In fact, the cabinets are so high, that often I am forced to contort my body into a slightly pornographic position, thrusting my leg over the countertop, just to give me enough leverage to inch my body up and grab a cup.
As you can see, this is not particularly attractive… but it is pretty darn funny.
And with that my new website was born:
www.lauraintheofficehotornot.com
Cause really, what’s better than the cracked out, visually abrasive, poor ass version of hotornot.com?
Really though, I have to give props to Jeff for throwing this site together in his spare time. See a collection of the best (and worst) shots of me in the office and “vote” on what’s hawt and what’s nawt. W00t!
I’m not afraid to admit that I love Craigslist. I’ve found both my apartment and job there, my swing dancing and drawing classes and I’ve met a few interesting people through their personals section (I’ll save those stories for a future blog post, in particular, the man with the personals ad entitled: “Mutant with Misshapen Head and Nude Man in Turban”).
See, CL personals are my crack. There’s no mincing of words here (unlike other dating sites). People are clear about what they want and have nothing to lose in the process. After all, it’s anonymous. It’s rare that I respond to an ad, but goddamn, are they fun to read.
(On a sidenote: In the past, I have been known to respond to CL M4M casual encounters with a picture of Sally Jessy Raphael and a subject line that reads: “You can’t say no to this shit!”. Apparently even horny gay men COULD resist those red frames. But I digress)
But what I really want to talk about, is Missed Connections. These are generally phrased like, “I was riding the 22 and I saw you sitting at the other end of the bus, holding your nose as the homeless man with the trashbag defecated in the seat next to you. I never got the chance to say hi because I was overcome with asphyxiation but you were dreamy”
The NYE Missed Connections, however, are in a league of their own. I can’t make this shit up. I came across three gems, that I feel write this entire blog post on their own:
Third Place: Looking for the sexy tranny with fake tits who I shared a cab with – m4w, 25, SOMA
You met me outside the bar as you and your friend were leaving and started kissing me and we shared a cab to your cousin’s place. We messed around in the closet and then took a cab back to the bar/club. Never got your number, if you read this please reply
This actually just sounds kinda hot. Lucky man.
Second Place: “You Were Buying Lube and We Felt Each Other” – m4w, 32, cow hollow
You were dressed in a short skirt NY style and your hair smelled nice. I’m still tingly all over from your nipples brushing me as we “accidentally” touched in the lube aisle. When you looked at me that way over your shoulder I was in a daze so I think you thought I wasn’t interested. Well sometimes it’s hard to move in a new direction when you feel like that! If you want to let’s meet up and get to know each other over a milkshake or something. Send me a pic.
Two things to note:
1. If you’re buying lube you’ve got someone in mind to use it with. And it’s not you.
2. Meet for a milkshake? What? You’re talking about brushing nipples with some chick lubing up and you want to do something wholesome like get a milkshake? I think you wanna make a milkshake in her pants *snap*
First Place: The blonde that I fingerbanged on the dancefloor of 1015 Folsom — m4w, 31, SOMA
At 1015 Folsom’s NYE celebration, probably around 12:30 or 1 AM, I was standing by the men’s room on the first floor and you, while dragging your friend with you, casually grabbed me and took me to the large, smokey dance room. There, we danced, and started kissing right away. After a while, you started to stroke my crotch and led my hand up to yours. You wore a short white dress, which made things very easy. After a few minutes of rubbing your clit through the fabric, you stuck my hand under your panties, and I proceeded to finger you. For I don’t know how long, several minutes I know, I alternated between fingering and rubbing. We didn’t try to be sneaky about it in the least bit. Neither of us cared if anyone noticed what we were doing. It was ecstatic. I couldn’t believe it was happening. You tried to get your hand down my pants, but had some difficulty with my belt. I wanted desperately to feel your hand around my cock.
Then you ditched me. You turned around, grabbed your friend and walked off. I tried following but you immediately started dancing with the first guy you could find, making it clear that you were blowing me off.What did I do wrong? Were you expecting me to take you to the men’s room and fuck you in one of the stalls and got fed up with waiting? I admit that I wasn’t thinking too clearly because this is the first time a beautiful woman got so “frisky” with me on the dance floor and I was feeling euphoric, but the thought of taking you somewhere more intimate did cross my mind. I noticed you with other men later in the evening, getting just as grabby, but it looked like you went home all alone.
This morning, all I can think about is what else I could have done. Mainly, taking you to the restroom, bending you in front of a toilet and fucking you, not caring who all knew it was happening, just like on the dancefloor. I doubt you’ll ever read this, but if you do and ever want to get together and fuck in a men’s room stall, or anyplace else, email me. I’ll be more aggressive the next time.
Honestly, I don’t even know where to begin. A few things come to mind:
1. Girl in question is now peeing fire.
2. I’m going to make an educated guess that this chick has HSV-2, genital warts, mysterious vaginal discharge or a delicious combination of the above. I bet you do too.
More proof that CL is much more entertaining than TV.
Yesterday a bunch of friends and I did the unthinkable: we defiled gingerbread houses. We iced, hot glue gunned, candied and sugared the best gingerbread whorehouses I’VE ever seen.
I spent the morning dragging running around with Andy buying supplies in the East Bay… and why the East Bay? Well because they just know how to do brunch over there (or so Andy tells me). After a pit stop at Mama’s, we raided Whole Foods and a Spun Sugar before heading back to Babylon on the Bay.
Here’s a pictorial recap (for a full recap and to see the finished products, see my flickr set):
My very own Burlesque Gingerbread Lady
Andy Makes Gingerbread "Pie"... bahahaha!
Blue balls
"Hoes" melts into "Hofs" house... hmmm...
Back in October, Per (my German “work-hubby”) and I spent two weeks going city to city (Toronto, NYC, Berlin), meeting with customers, speaking at events and just hanging out.
So one night we decided to go to this bar in the lower east side, Milk and Honey. Regaled for its top notch drinks, I was intrigued and before leaving SF made a point of marking it in my moleskin. After must confusion and misdirection, we finally arrive at the address I’d marked down, only to find ourselves in a sort of dodgy alleyway staring at a nondescript steel door.
We’d come so far to find this bar, only to be confronted with a totally baffling situation. Was this really the right address? At my behest, Per went to open the door. It didn’t budge. After some rather insistent knocking, we heard the lock click, and a moment later the door opened, and we walked into another world.
Milk and Honey is Manhattan’s equivalent to Bourbon and Branch. The only difference being that it’s much more low key and much tinier. We took our seats at the bar and were offered the most delightful libations.
And after a while, the gentleman sitting next to me, nudged me and commanded me to try his drink. I obeyed. He was right, it did in fact taste like perfection.
Toby introduced himself and then began to wax poetic on this particular bar, why it was so wonderful and in no uncertain terms, “the best bar in the world”. I, of course took issue with such a statement, and therein began our discussion. Toby also liked to make this really loud grunting noise to express a plethora of emotions approximately every two minutes. Happy? “UGH” (clenching his fists and thrusting his hips into the air), Mad? “UGH!!”, Enthused? You get the idea. However, through it all, it was clear Toby had extensive knowledge of the bar cultures in most cities around the world, which led me to believe he was a either: a raging psychopath, off his mind on cocaine, a high powered world traveling executive or… a raging alcoholic.
Well I was wrong on all accounts. Toby is actually, Toby Maloney, as I Iater came to find out, one of the most renowned mixologists in the world. Through the course of the evening, Toby took
Per and I to bars in the Lower East Side, having us try particular drinks on each menu, asking us to really challenge our palette to recognize the notes and tone of each drink.
We drank at the best bars in Manhattan and never paid a dime. Toby was like a god and we were the chosen people. Everywhere we went, people knew Toby and refused to charge him, or his friends.
At the end of the evening, I made a deal with Toby, a native of SF. We agreed that in a month from our meeting, when he would be in town, I’d take him to my favorite bar (he’s never been to Bourbon and Branch).
He’ll be hearing from me, and maybe we’ll go for a drink– assuming Toby remembers any of what happened that evening; when we met him he was already on his 8th or 9th bar of the evening and when we left him he was still going for more.
And that’s New York.
Always up for an adventure, I was thrilled to hear that the local dungeon had a monthly knitting group. Tired of meeting women in other groups that just weren’t moving at the same speed as me, I thought this could be a good way to get my knit on, meet some interesting ladies and probably come out with a good story.
And boy did I ever.
I show up at the dungeon, knitting gear in hand, meet April, the woman who puts on this knitting circle and am introduced in rapid succession to about a half a dozen other ladies.
So I sit down at the knitting table and get my knit on. Mind you, this wasn’t actually a knitting circle–everyone is actually crocheting. Fending of my disappointment at realizing this, I figure there must be some conversation I can at least feign from the experience.
Come to find out that everyone at the circle is very well acquainted. It becomes apparent that April is a Domme and many of the other ladies (if not all?) were her submissives.
Okay… kinda weird…
They begin talking about a recent event they’d attended for the opening of another dungeon. As part of the deal, April’s dungeon did an objectification scene at the opening party.
And here’s where things get funky.
Turns out that the objectification scene was done with two of the subs at the table, being dommed by April. Of the various conversation threads, I pulled together two vital pieces of information:
1. The subs were dressed at ladybugs
2. The domme ripped out the tampon of one of the subs and smeared it in her face.
Wait. What was that? The dom ripped out the tampon of one of the subs and smeared it in her face?
That’s right. So imagine my surprise/revulsion/confusion over this. I am at this point, brought to complete silence, because really, what the fuck do you say after someone tells you they smeared menstrual blood all over a woman dressed as a ladybug.
Somehow I keep knitting. The ladies keep talking and laughing it up at which point April turns to me and says:
Now I don’t want you to judge me, but I almost did acid while I was at that party.
Ok, so now you’re blowing my mind. Did you see that? That was my brain exploding.
Because in the scheme of things, acid would have been the most normal thing you could have done that evening. That would have at least signaled to me that you had some shred of godonlyknowswhat in your core. So no, no judgement passed.
At this point I have no choice BUT to go back to the knitting group next month. Unless of course they get wind of this post and try to impale me with a pineapple or something.
But even that would make a good story.
… when the guy that dumped you three months ago unwittingly responds to your CL personals ad (which is anonymous, of course) looking for luv…
bahahahaha!
