25 August 2010

Team Jacob

Early on when the "Stephenie Meyer Twilight" series started to become popular, I ran to the bookshelves, came home and applied my pimple cream all over again - they are, like, totally awesome! In case you aren't familiar with the Twilight Saga, Eclipse (the second installment) introduces a second character, Jacob a werewolf, for Bella the protagonist to be torn over - the first being Edward, a vampire. Come on people: it's exactly like real-life. I am also torn: the wolf or vampire?

When I completed undergrad, I wasn't making lots of paper. To finance both my ill-perceived notion of the lavish gay lifestyle and masters' degree, I had a full-time second job which burned me out eventually, but helped me out tons. But despite all my efforts to keep up with the Kardashians, I always ended up with -$1000 every month. What was a boy to do?

Then it hit me: the idea was first introduced to me when I was browsing through the pages of a "Next" magazine (a gay-man's weekly guide to the goings-on in NYC) and it constantly crossed my mind several times after that point. I knew what I was going to do: be a masseur! I mean come on: how hard could it really be? I've had them before. I've had my happy ending. I've paid $100-$200 for an hour of fun and relaxation. So I did it . . . for a good two years. It was good money considering what I did. Am I certified? No. Did I enjoy giving a great massage and a little rub a dub dub afterward? Of course. Call it prostitution, call it sound financial moves, but I called it money in the bank. In any case, it abruptly ended when a man came up who didn't exactly look too clean and I politely asked him to leave. He wigged out and said something to the effect that I was lucky he didn't kill me right now. Scene: DeeCue face down on a cobblestone street in a puddle of blood. Whoa!

Fast forward 5 years.

I was on Craigslist again and noticed there was a guy asking for a "legit" massage. With peaked interest and made nostalgic of my days of massaging (image: old man in his rocking chair talking to his grand-kids), I answered. I sent over my statistics, stats if you will, as well as asked him what he meant by a "legit" massage. He said, "I know this is a gay hook-up site. I am straight, but open-minded and know only another guy would pay attention to what a guy would really want. I want a real and worthwhile massage BEFORE any of the gay business happens, which I am open to. But only AFTER the massage." "Of course!" I say. "I'm not like that . . ." I typed with a smirk. "Ok. Come over."

How convenient? He lived about four blocks away; it was exciting to me: any time a "straight" guy wants me to feel him up and is good looking to boot, I am there. We previously had swapped our photos in our small exchange - a must when hooking up on-line, my friends. Merely a hop, skip and a jump away and that's exactly what I did: gleefully skipped over - all I needed was my little wicker basket and red cape. I entered his apartment, walked in as directed in our email correspondences and found him face down, butt-naked, totally ripped. He left out an assortment of oils and lotions for me to use on him. I in turn dropped trou and began to feel him up . . . legitimately. I failed to mention that he was drunk. He told me while I was kneading out his knots that he had been drinking for the past few hours and that I could help myself to any beer or wine I could find in the refrigerator. "Thank you."

My fraternity days had taught me that once you break the seal, you are doomed to be at the mercy of your bladder at any point. For "Jacob," it was every ten minutes. It wasn't bad though. It gave me a chance to take a sip of wine, relax and make sure I wasn't dreaming. About what? Well, I had a crazy handsome and in-shape, obviously straight, muscular guy allowing me to rub him up and down, over and out . . . and ok: I munched on his butt and slobbed on his knob as well. He gave me the "ok" since I showed I was able to give a good massage. Hey: good work needs to be rewarded, I'm just sayin'.

He excused himself to the latrine for the fourth time, a perfect opportunity to refill my wine glass. When I tidied up the work area - his bed - I heard a rustle, but not one that would indicate "Jacob" was coming out of the bathroom. I turned around quick and heard it again. It was coming from the corner of the room. What the fuck?! If it were a dog or a cat, it would have made noise, but it didn't. I thought the worst.

"Jacob" stumbled out of the bathroom slurring, "Ready for round five?" As calmly as I could, I asked him what was in the corner of the room? "Something wants to get out - now." He put his head in his hand and said: "Man, I could get into so much trouble. You have to promise not to rat me out." I nodded and braced myself as he removed a blanket neatly spread over the top of a dog-crate. No barking, no purring. I was freaking the fuck-out silently with a slightly opened mouth. I mean, I'm not a puss, but what else would you keep in a dog-crate other than a domestic animal? When he unlatched the door on the cage, a few seconds passed before anything/anyone revealed itself. Then, a 7-month old wolf darted all over the place. WHAT?! "Isn't he cute?" Jacob asked.

I don't know if you watch Oprah, but there was this particular interview that replayed in slow motion in my mind. The "Color Purple" star invited a Connecticut woman on the show whose face was ripped off by her friend's pet chimp. Cut to me sitting on the bed naked. WHAT?! The fucker was jumping all over the place! He was cute, I'll admit that, but I don't know what it wants, where it's been, what it has. Then again, it was probably thinking the same about me, but that's besides the point. I was an innocent masseur trying to get his rocks off with some smoking hot guy and this furball pops in to bust my move. "Jacob" grabbed the little guy and started snuggling with it. "You know what? Did you know when you catch a wolf, it's yours?" Creepy; not that he said it, but creepy because he KEPT saying it. Are you possessed? Is it a fucking full-moon out tonight? Are you a member of the Order of the Wolf?

He motioned for me to pet it. I obliged as the future man-mauler had a tiny pink tongue that wanted to lick my non-threatening hand. Aw. "Can we get back to your massage?" He kissed the wolf and let it free in the apartment. Now why wouldn't you put it back in the crate? Anyway, I just smiled and kept a look-out for its whereabouts. "Jacob" plopped back on the bed face down and I slowly got back into rubbing every muscle on his uber-toned and muscular back, shoulders, glutes, and legs (melt!) all the while maintaining a side-eye on the bugger. In the midst of working on a huge knot in his back, "Jacob" let out a caveman-like grunt and distracted me and my focus on this tiny wolf. I lost him! I couldn't find him! I was quietly panicking! Where is it?!

In a moment, the tiny wolf appeared right next to us. It was a scene from the Book of Genesis: two naked humans and the naked wolf. I tried not to give off any sense of shock or panic, so I kept rubbing out "Jacob's" knots. Then it happened: the tiny wolf began to work on my knot . . . my BALLOON KNOT! The wolf was rimming my asshole! I was utterly shocked. I kept moving my butt to get it away, but it insisted on licking my chocolate starfish with it's tongue as gently as it had done with the back of my hand. I wanted to swat the pooch away, but I was reminded of that woman's free facial a la Prince Kong. Needless to say, I wasn't into the massage and "Jacob" noticed: "What's going on back there?"


Point of the conversation: Don't let your guard down.

- DeeCue

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