13 February 2012

The First Rule . . .

I got beat up.

Don't be alarmed; it wasn't a hate crime. And it wasn't even for the last DIL3000 vibrator either. No, ma'am and/or sir: I voluntarily got beat up. Wait a second, I put up a good fight for someone who has NEVER been in an all out brawl - EVER, so technically I wasn't totally beaten to a pulp. Explanations are in order.

On an off-moment of an afternoon, I entertained the Grindr conversation of a guy I used to talk to on Manhunt. We never got very far on that venue since I wasn't into what he was: rough play. What it consisted of, I wasn't too sure, but I knew I didn't like it rough . . . back then. Back then, I liked the cuddling, the giggly-glances, and mutual masturbation. Fast forward to five years later - with a blog I needed to research for and a mind wide-open - I hit up an oh-so familiar profile picture who turned out to be JP, same as the Manhunt guy of five years prior.

After much back and forth, we planned to meet up at his place for a little naked play fighting/wrestling with the promise of a little suck and tug in the end. My only stipulation was that I didn't want my face to be touched or slapped, let alone punched. It may have been a funny moment when Tyler Durden aka Edward Norton's alter-ego started to nose-bleed in front of his boss in his cubicle of employment, but that ain't how the real world roll. My ass would be fired for conduct suspect and unbecoming. Can I get an Amen? Besides, the moment I walked past the threshold of the office, rumors would start flying - guaranteed.

In any case, a few "What are you a pussy?" and "Fag" remarks, I convinced him that everything else being game was good enough. And I got the invite for later that evening. I called my bestie to tell him about it. He said: "You are fucking crazy. Don't do it." For the sake of curiosity and the blog, I went against his wishes. In order to make sure I was pumped for the occasion, I went for a run and lifted some. My friend called back again, but this time in a panic and asked what I was doing: "Training for tonight." He laughed, but got serious and tried to talk me out of it. No dice.

A few hours later, I show up at JP's place. Pleasantries were exchanged until he led me into his room which he cleared out in preparation for our match. We undressed and he talked about the day while doing so. He said "oh" and headed for the door as if he had forgotten to turn off the over that was baking the Apple Brown Betty, but it was to shut the bedroom door. When he turned around, he gave me a two second look and then started to grapple. I was in shock and taken aback. Which in turn is where I ended up. "Point," he said. Then he got up. He looked at me again, but this time I was prepared. We locked into a grapple and then I freed my right hand to punch him repeatedly in his side. Like nothing, he flipped me over. "Point."


Well, an hour passed and point after point was taken by him. 15-0. I sucked. Which, in turn, he told me to do. He was so turned on that after about five minutes of fellating, he nutted on my chest. I'm that good, people. As I gathered my belongings, he returned to his cordial and hospitable self, asking if I wanted a glass of water before I left. We also talked about how we went to the same gym and who else he has wrestled in town. Initially, I was pleased with my visit with JP, but as I walked away from his apartment, I thought: "I am sore and didn't get off. Fuck."

Point of the conversation: It's never worth the fight.

- DeeCue

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