03 January 2011

February Came Early This Year

Happy New Year!

It warms the cockles of my heart to think about how far I've come this past decade: a few months away from being totally out of college-debt; out and proud at work and home; and using less teeth when administering fellatio - c'mon: I worked hard at that one. Most importantly I am happy that with the urging of my one former roommates, I was able to get this blog up and running; and, hopefully, with some soliciting we will have more writers from all over the country. A close second to the excitement of seeing the ball (or wig: thank you, Andy Cohen) drop and creating this blog is seeing Ignatius whom I endearingly call Mr. February since we would only hook up in that month - and only that month - every year. I love him.

He was my conquest on Craigslist. He had variations of a familiar post which included buzz words like "chill dude," "GL," and "discreet." Of course, the site is filled with posts that contain these tag-words - I'm quite familiar with the site, but his were so uniquely placed that I just knew it was him on the other side of the screen. In any case, try as I might, we would swap info, stats, body pics, but when the face pic came into play, there would be silence. Admittedly, I obviously thought he was "just not that into me," but why the charade every time I answered a post or vice versa? Wouldn't he have recognized my email address by now? I was convinced he needed some nudging, but I didn't know how.

A year later, in an effort to be honest about my looks, I took an non-Photo Shopped picture of my plump ass. Friends: I have a great tush. And once I got enough courage to take a quick photo of that sucker, he came knock, knock, knocking on heaven's door -

Ignatius: Yo, dude! I wanna fuck that ass so bad.
DeeCue: Just tell me when and where.

Ignatius made his way to my place that afternoon after the gym. Olive skin, enormous cock, and Italian with a slight, thug-like swagger. Smelling salts, please? Needless to say, I was more than elated to have him in my bed, throwing his legs behind his head so that I could munch on his newly shaven balloon knot. Once he was fully aroused and after some fellating, he threw me down on my stomach and the rest was the beginning of a beautiful, annual friendship.

I am only going to speak for myself: I love straight guys. Not "straight" guys (see codycummings.com), but straight guys (see Str8cam.com). The difference? Straight guys know what they want: pussy. "Straight" guys are curious, willing to suck, willing to stick their cock in your mouth, hole and ear, willing to bend over to get plowed - but after their plumbing is clear, still claim to really only like twat (see seancody.com).
Ignatius was the latter, but the second February I saw him, I ended up staying to talk for about an hour as he nestled in my chest proving that he was now "the latter no longer." He talked about how he needed to come out when he was comfortable. He still found girls sexually attractive, but had no problem with having sex with guys. The hook-up ended and I looked forward to seeing him the following year.

On New Years Eve, I had prepared mass texts to beat the surge of Auld Lang Syne electronic missives so all I had to do was hit "SEND" at the stroke of midnight. Of course, in my drunken state, I included Ignatius and a few others of hook-up past. To my surprise, the third time I saw Ignatius was this weekend, the evening of New Year's Day. He hit me up via text:

Ignatius: Who is this?
DeeCue: DeeCue.
Ignatius: Hey, bro - wassup? Sorry I didn't recognize ya; different phone. Want to hang?
DeeCue: Just tell me when and where.

Off I went to his place and interspersed with kissing and fellating, rimming and fucking was a sincere conversation about his coming out process/progress. He's almost there, but what's the rush?

Point of the conversation: Let someone come out on their own time; what do you care?

- DeeCue

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