Why Ralphie?

Of all the boys I've fucked, there is none who I love more or am frustrated more by than Ralphie.

Fuck You, Ralphie.

That was an overreaction. It's an overreaction now. It was an overreaction when I texted it to him Sunday morning shortly after midnight. And I knew that. Still, I sent it to him because I was pissed. And because he deserved it.

A few weeks back, Ralphie let me know that he would be back in town for his school's fall break and his birthday weekend. And that he really, really wanted my cock.  I was thoroughly excited by this news.

Between school work, rugby, and apathy, I've basically stopped chasing after sex recently, so I was looking forward to getting it on.

We talked briefly Friday night as he was driving home and he told me he would come over Saturday night. Definitely. Probably. Kinda, sorta, maybe... depends on his parents, yadda yadda yadda. He'd let me know.

Saturday night rolls around.  I had spent the day playing rugby, followed by a nice hot shower and a nice long nap.  I knew he was having dinner with his family around 6ish, so around 8:30, I fired off a text asking how dinner went.  No reply.

A half hour later, my roommates asked me if I wanted to go out partying with them. I sent Ralphie another text, asking point blank if he was going to come over.  Still nothing.

Around 9:40, he sent me a text saying he had just gotten out of dinner, but wasn't sure what was happening for the rest of the evening.  I replied saying alright, and asking him to let me know when he would be free.

Two hours later, I still hadn't heard from. I had spent all of Saturday evening waiting for him, and he hadn't even deigned to give a straight up yes or no.  I called once or twice, nothing.

I texted him again, a simple "?"

He replied "I'm watching a spooky movie now. I'm going to fall asleep probably. It's not *that* scary."

"So you're not coming over?"

Nothing.

I wait. I call him. Nothing.

I text him again "Either text back or answer your phone"

"No not tonight"

"When were you planning on telling me this?"

Nothing. I wait 20 minutes, silently stewing.  He knew I had been waiting all night. I had told him.  He must have known for most of the night he wasn't coming over. He never bothered to tell me. Not until I prompted him over and over again and after I had already wasted the entire evening waiting for him did he let me know he wasn't showing up.  Was it carelessness? Just an indifference on his part towards me? Or was he being malicious?

The more reasonable part of me wanted to point out he had spent all evening with his parents, it was silly to think that he might free enough to reply, let alone to hang out. I should have just gone out partying.

I ignored that inner thought and though I knew it was a bad idea, I started typing on my phone:

"Fuck you. If you didn't want to come over, the least you could have done is told me.  That would have taken less effort than ignoring me.  Instead, you spent the past two weeks telling me, in detail, how much you wanted my cock this weekend, and led me to believe you wanted to come over.  At no point until 20 minutes ago did you tell me you weren't going to come over.  I spent this whole Saturday evening waiting for word of your imminent arrival. I called you, I texted you, and you gave me just enough meager replies to keep me waiting.  Why the hell did you do that?"

After that, I facebook messaged a friend, explaining to her that I was pissed and inviting her to go get drunk with me and shout at ducks or something.  She declined, but did offer me some comfort.

I jacked off, spilling the load I had planned on spilling on Ralphie on my chest, and then climbed into bed.


The next morning, I awoke to a text from him, explaining that he was with his parents all evening and he wasn't going to rudely interrupt them just to talk with me.  I apologised, asked if he was free to talk.

We did.  He's coming over tonight, Monday night, at 9 pm. Or so he says. If he doesn't... fuck. I'm dropping him.

But the thing that irritated me the most was that this actually hurt.  I've broken one of my cardinal rules. I've become emotionally involved with a fuck buddy. An adorably cute, sarcastic, sardonic, all around enjoyable fuck buddy, but still. I don't do drama. Or, I didn't. And now, apparently I do.

Why I should stop drinking

It's been a while since I posted.  At first, that's because I was fucking Ralphie and emotionally I felt myself getting involved, which made me hesitant to post.  Then, Ralphie left, and I started getting wasted with far too much frequency.

Here are some notes from those lost weeks of drunkenness:
-On August 17, I celebrated a friend's birthday. His 21st, in fact. Since he's half-french/half-australian, he's been drinking since he could walk, but since we're in the states, he can now legally buy alcohol. Right, so with him and a group of friends, we hit the bars, and luckily, we weren't carded. Probably because it was Wednesday night and we don't look like teenagers.  Ralphie texted me while we were drinking. I invited him to join us, but he declined. He did indicate that he wanted to come over though. Since it was only a few night before he had to leave, I agreed.  Relatively early, at 11 Pm, the party broke up, and I drunkenly biked back home with a friend while singing Flobots - Handlebars acapella.  Ralphie arrived, we climbed in bed together, he told me I reeked of drinking. Which I did.  I was near blackout drunk at that point, and I struggled to perform well, but apparently, I performed adequately. Although, he did have to suck me off to get me hard.

-August 25.  That Thursday, my friends wanted to go to Babylon, the local gay club, to watch the drag show.  They let in 18 and up, but only serve drinks to 21+. Being the only one in the group under 21, I pre-gamed.  Specifically, I had 4 shots of vodka so cheap and strong it could be used as paint thinner, then some beers and ciders. And I did it under half an hour. By the time we made it to the club, I was smashed. I held it together long enough to get in, and had a good time, which is saying something. I hate Babylon. I made a post about the last time I visited back in February that I never posted.  I should, because I hate dancing and I hate Babylon, but I was drunk enough not to notice. A friend took a picture of me, sweaty, drunk, mastering the 1000 yard stare. Good times.

-August 27. Saturday night, the rugby house threw its first party. Which was mostly just rugby guys, their women, and some extra friends who tagged along.  As the night wore on and the drinks grew stronger, we all started wearing hats, which had appeared from somewhere.  So, as I was sitting there, drinking a cup of whatever was in the gin bucket at that point (probably sprite, vodka, and gin),  a tall lanky fellow wearing a bright red pimp hat and holding a bamboo pipe, pointed at me, and looking into my soul with wild crazy eyes, he majestically intoned "Good sir, would you care to blaze with me?"  And I said "sure."  So, standing outside in the warm summer evening, still wearing ridiculous hats, we lit up and smoked.  Shortly thereafter, the party began winding down. Tall McPimphat asked if I would care to walk back with him, as we were quite far from campus.  Since I lived on the other side of campus from the rugby house, I concurred, and hatless, we headed off into the night.  Somehow or another, I believe on his suggestion, we found ourselves in the middle of a cemetery.  Realizing that there are only three types of people who invite you alone into a cemetery, I asked him "Are you gay?" He wasn't. Since he didn't want to hook up, that left only axe murderer or just crazy.  Eyeing him, I thought I could take him, so I politely asked him not to axe murder me, and we continued along.  At this point though, enough alcohol had sloshed its way through my body to warrant a piss.  As cemeteries lack open public facilities in the middle of the night, I anointed one Chris Griffin, or Cliff Giffords, or Griff Cliffords grave with my piss.  May he rest in peace, as he has since the 1980s. Or the 1960s. Or the 1890s.  I don't really remember.

-September 1st.  Another rugby party.  This time, upon leaving, I elected not to go through the cemetery.  Partway home, I lay down on the sidewalk just to rest a bit, since I had previously consumed yet another gin bucket.  Security found me there, and after some fun but polite and coherent drunken antics, they politely drove me home.  Once home, my roommates and I went out to our favorite diner, where I got a philly cheesesteak and we talked with out favorite waiter. Crashing in bed later that evening, I realized: I drink too much.

Why I can't do this anymore

I haven't updated this for the better part of a month, and honestly, it seems like updates are probably going to come to an end soon.  However, leaving off without any explanation is unfair to whatever few readers I may have, so I guess I should explain.

This blog is my public sex journal. It's a collection of the sexual adventures I have and the fantasies of the sexual adventures I want to have. Some people are embarrassed when talking about sex. For most, it's a largely taboo subject. For me, though, the physical aspect of sex was never something to be ashamed of. I find it exciting, thrilling, invigorating. Stories of sex and sports are the same to me, filled with the nitty-gritty details, and the best draw me in to make me feel like I'm part of the action.  In the stories I've written here, both true and fictional, I hope I've described them in such a way that the reader feels like he was me, or at least there with me, and the fucking and kissing and grinding that goes on are part of his life too.

All that said, I'm a private person when it comes to my emotions and feelings.  For the most part, I've kept the physical aspect of sex separate from the emotional.  I've fucked some 19 boys at this point, and if I had fallen for everyone of them, or even a few of them, I'd be an emotional wreck. I know how to keep emotions and sex separate. Or at least I thought so.


Ralphie came back. A week ago, he climbed back in bed with me. The same Ralph who is reminded of his sister's death when he sleeps with me. Who told me a few weeks back that he couldn't sleep with me anymore. Who I held tightly in my arms when he told me that. Who I realized after he left that I actually cared for him.

I spent a day missing him, then I moved on.  But now he's back. Three times in the past week alone.  And I can't talk about fucking him. And I'm not emo enough to write four hundred posts about feelings. So, until this blows over, I'm not writing for awhile.

Partying as a Third Wheel

My apologies for not posting in the past month. After I finished recovering from surgery, I made it back up to upstate NY, and immediately found myself buried in classes, work, and boys.  All in all, it's not bad. I'll discuss them one by one.

First up: Classes.  The plan for this summer was to take two math classes, back to back.  I missed half of the first one due to health problems, but upon my return, I took the final exam I had missed and ended up with a B in the class. I consider that to be not bad, though it seems like everyone but me gets straight As.

The second math class, I missed the first week of while recovering, and upon my return was immediately handed a test. Needless to say, I failed the test, but I've kept with the class in hopes of bringing my grades up.

Second: work.  My job is awesome. I work in an underground lab with monkeys. Literally, monkeys. We have four of them and we've named them Calvin, Hobbes, Batman, and Joker.  I only get paid $8 an hour, but I get to do insanely cool with research with an amazing professor. Plus, it turns out the department I work in is filled with nerds who party hard.  Last week, I went over to a Professor's house for a party and saw that Professor do a keg stand in his backyard. Last night, I went out partying with two friends, a straight white boy we'll call Ryan and a straight Asian girl we'll call Ellen.  Ryan works in my lab, Ellen works in the lab next to us. Since we all live within a few blocks of each other in the student ghetto (conveniently located within the actual ghetto.  Seriously, we're all afraid of getting shot.), Ryan and I headed over to Ellen's house where a party was going on, drank some tequila and played some Never Have I Ever, went to another party, and then finally broke into the local public pool at about 1:00 Am and went swimming.

Ellen is a sexy, nerdy, fun girl.  She's thin and pretty with a tattoo of a feather disintegrating into birds above her right hip, she handles her tequila well, she's incredibly intelligent, she's a senior applying to med school, she likes fucking outdoors, and  she has the hots for Ryan.

Ryan is an awesome guy about half a foot shorter than me, also a senior applying to med school, has a girlfriend, and enjoys talking to Ellen.

I have the hots for Ellen.  The end result is Ellen spent the evening trying to get with Ryan, Ryan spent the evening talking with Ellen, and I spent the evening trying to get with Ellen and feeling increasingly like a third wheel.  I canceled plans with Joe to get shot down by Ellen. Ugh.

Third, boys. Ralphie is no longer a fuck buddy of mine. No longer will I have the pleasure of him crawling into bed with me, begging "Easy, Tiger" as I fucked him. See, the most recent time he was over, which was about two weeks ago, I think, as we lay in bed enjoying pillow talk the topic of cars came up. He asked my why I don't drive much, and I told him the story of how I fell asleep behind the wheel when I was 16. Three times, over the course of two weeks.  Those were terrifying, and my mom hadn't been too keen on me driving after that. Frankly, neither was I.  So, I got used to using public transportation, realized that not having to pay for gas or insurance was awesome, and now, over three years later, rarely drive.  That's when I noticed Ralphie silently weeping on my shoulder.  It turns out his sister, a few years ago, was killed when a driver fell asleep behind the wheel and rammed into her car.  The drive walked away. Ralphie's sister... wasn't so lucky.  After that, after I cuddled him some, he told me he didn't think he could sleep with me again.  He couldn't help but think of her now that he had associated me with her death.  That, I could understand. After we got dressed, he sat on my lap and I held him tight in my arms.  Usually, I don't get emotionally invested in my fuck buddies, but Ralphie was nice, sarcastic, sardonic, cute, and adorable in bed.  I didn't want to let him go.  Other circumstances, I might have even asked him out given enough time.  But that was that. He left, life moved on, and by the next day, I was over it.

Final story, and then I need to head out:  There's been a massive heat wave these past few days, and on Wednesday night, it was too hot to sleep.  Max texted me, told me he had air conditioning, and asked me to fuck him. Never mind that he was 2.5 miles away, that I had work in the morning, that my bike was recently stolen.  It was too hot to sleep in my room, so I sprinted the 2.5 miles there, showered, crawled in bed with him, fucked him in his wonderfully cool, air conditioned room, and drifted off to sleep with him in my arms, the sweet, cool air, drifting over us. Morning come, I ran back home, showered, changed, headed to work.  Gotta love life.

There Will Be Moaning

In a little under 11 hours, I will go under the knife.  Following the whole hospital incident last week, my family and I decided I should get my tonsils out. I returned home in the wee hours of Tuesday morning, grabbing breakfast with my dad in a little diner that we've been going to since I was little around 7 in the morning.

After coming home, where my mom crooned and sighed over me about worried she was and all that, and where my dog pounced up on me, smiling and wagging her tail and being absurdly cheerful as only dogs can be, my mother and I went to the ear, nose, and throat doctor.

One quick look at my tonsils and he scheduled a surgery for the next day.

Tonight, as I was staying up and fearing for the morrow, I got a message from Ralph: [my home city]? you alright, tiger?


I replied I was getting that I was getting my tonsils out and would be back in about two weeks.  He gave his condolences, and then described everything he wanted me to do to him after I get back, which proved for some pretty hot reading.

Ralph: (1:02:19 AM) first thing we do when i come over is we take off my pants and pop in the curvy dildo you've got
Jack: (1:02:41 AM) I like
Ralph: (1:02:41 AM) after that idk we stand there, compare cocks. marvel at yours
Jack: (1:02:59 AM) always my favorite past time
Ralph: (1:03:11 AM) you can keep a hand on the base of the dildo, moving it around, pushing it in and pulling on it
Ralph: (1:03:12 AM) etc
Ralph: (1:03:26 AM) then i suck your cock for a while
Ralph: (1:03:32 AM) in a some cool positions
Jack: (1:03:43 AM) very hot
Ralph: (1:03:57 AM) like you sitting on the edge of the bed, me kneeling on the floor sucking on it
Ralph: (1:04:18 AM) or my laying on my back on the bed, with my head at the edge of the bed and you feeding me your cock
Jack: (1:04:32 AM) see if you can deepthroat it?
Ralph: (1:04:39 AM) at least try
Ralph: (1:04:49 AM) if not it'd be hot to just lay it all on my face
Ralph: (1:04:57 AM) really drive the point home that it's a biggy
Ralph: (1:05:05 AM) slap it on my face
Jack: (1:05:25 AM) sounds like fun
Jack: (1:05:29 AM) I look forward to it
Ralph: (1:05:46 AM) me too
Jack: (1:05:52 AM) I notice that none of your ideas include me fucking you
Ralph: (1:05:58 AM) i'm getting there
Jack: (1:06:06 AM) I know you are
Ralph: (1:06:21 AM) so all this time i've got the dildo in me, and my ass is relaxing
Ralph: (1:06:50 AM) i should be pretty damn loose
Ralph: (1:07:09 AM) at least loose enough for you to just go in with me on all fours
Ralph: (1:07:29 AM) just go in, for the soviets it was called 'shock therapy'
Jack: (1:07:51 AM) just plow you into the bed
Ralph: (1:07:52 AM) hurts at first, but you get used to it sooner and it's easier in the long run
Ralph: (1:08:14 AM) i'll just have to bite the bullet and let you plow all the way into me
Jack: (1:08:30 AM) you make it sound terrible
Ralph: (1:08:44 AM) you'll like it
Jack: (1:08:45 AM) you'll be moaning like a whore the entire time, I promise you
Ralph: (1:08:49 AM) i'll like it too
Ralph: (1:08:51 AM) oh yeah
Ralph: (1:08:55 AM) there will be moaning

To Hell and Back Again

Ralph lay there, covered in my cum. It dripped down his slightly raised left shoulder and down his chest and stomach.  It dripped from his left cheek, where a large splotch had caught  him. It stuck in his shaggy brown hair and some of it clung to the wall beyond him.
"I had no idea you were a shooter."
It was an understatement.  I had just fired a week's load of cum at Ralph like he was the canvas of a Jackson Pollack painting.  I rolled off from where I had been straddling his legs and lay next to him as he mopped up my cum with my discarded shirt. "I'm still horny," I said. "I think I can do it again, want to see me try?"