NB: This was a week or two ago. I didn't post it right away, for a number of reasons. But now...
The other evening I had a date with Jefferson.
Jefferson emailed me a few weeks ago, after he came across my Craig’s List ad. He sent me a brief note with a link to his blog. I checked out his blog and was completely floored: it was about the dirtiest thing I’d ever seen. He’s a divorced father of four, in his early forties, and apparently all he does is have sex with multiple partners and take care of his kids, though not at the same time. He’s a good writer. All the sex was erotic, the orgy conversations were funny and I was astounded.
I wrote back to say “!” – I thought his writing was great, but I found his depth of experience and number of partners intimidating. I didn’t expect to hear back from him, but he did respond, enclosing a photo. He also used the word “gosh,” which put me at ease. An insightful guy – he could see I am a sucker for what Michael Chabon terms a “dainty lexicon.” His photo showed him to be lanky and blond.
I was so flattered to be the subject of his pursuit. Though of course that doesn’t really make sense, since it appears that Jefferson is not averse to pursuing a fair number of men, women and some transsexuals in the five boroughs. I am a little ashamed to say I was thrilled that a celebrity was interested in me.
I thought I’d like to meet Jefferson – I wanted to see what someone who has huge amounts of group sex looked like in the flesh, as it were – but decided I wouldn’t sleep with him, since he didn’t sound like a safe bet. I noticed that in all of his entries he made a point of mentioning wearing a condom, but it was clear he had sex with a number of men, which I think is dangerous, and is on my list of stuff to be wary of.
Anyway, we wrote back and forth, flirty but not at all explicit emails, which is just how I prefer things to be. Eventually we agreed to meet for a drink on Saturday evening.
When he turned up I was, again, totally surprised. Cute, definitely, but I never ever would have would have picked him out of a line-up as the Man Most Likely to Host Orgies. Come to think, who would I pick out of a line up for that? Hmmm, Jonathan Rhys Meyers, circa Velvet Goldmine, I expect. Anyway. Jefferson was nice, and smart, and older than the men I usually hook up wih. But I loved the idea of being named in his blog! Apparently I want to be a star fucker.
We talked for a few hours, about things like whether or not I might consent to go to bed with him, the nature of submission, and how, when he was a child, he was told that being gay meant you masturbated over a bowl of cornflakes.
“Submissives really have all the power,” Jefferson explained as I gulped down my gin and tonic. “They hold the safeword, and the dominant does all the work.”
“Yes ... Have you ever read Anna Karenina?”
“Well, you know how Levin proposes to Kitty? And she turns him down at first? There’s this whole discussion about it. Basically, all Kitty can do is say yes or no, but by saying yes or no, she wields a lot of power over Levin. She holds all the cards. She can’t do much with the cards,” I admitted, “But Levin can’t do anything without her say so, either.”
We considered that. Later, I thought, being dominant is like playing the queen in chess: you have all the powerful moves, but your status isn’t actually that important. Only the king, whose movements are totally circumscribed, is of import in the outcome of the game. Being submissive is like playing the king.
By the end of the date I was pretty keen to sleep with Jefferson. He’s cute, very easy to talk to, nice, complimentary. There’s something to be said for older men. It’s so easy to feel comfortable with someone when he makes it clear he thinks you’re hot. Or takes pains to let you think so, at any rate.
After several gins and tonics, I was comfortable enough to tell him a bit about my experiences (including my big experiment with Jordan), and we talked frankly about what I might like, how his sex life sounds high risk to me, and how terrified I am of contracting HIV. But the more we talked, the more I felt like these objections could be overcome. Perhaps it was the alcohol. He was so funny and friendly and picked up on my physical standoffishness. He didn’t even brush my hand. It was late in the evening when he briefly touched my cheek. At that point I was pretty lightheaded. “See, thanks!” I slurred. “I mean, I appreciate that you waited until I’d had three drinks before you touched me.” I wasn’t being sarcastic: when he finally did get around to making contact, I was comfortable.
He had plans for later, but he leaned over and whispered in his soft Southern accent, “I’m trying to decide whether or not I have time to take you home and fuck you before dinner,” he said. I burst out laughing. It turned out that Jefferson had to meet with one of his girlfriends for dinner later. “I don’t want to keep you,” I said. Also, I wouldn’t like to think that he would be watching the clock the whole time we were together. Reading his blog, it’s clear he is on a really tight schedule.
“Let me look at my schedule,” he promised. “Is it OK if it can’t be this week?
“No, take you time,” I said, flattered. “I’m sort of amazed you might be able to fit me in at all.”
“Well, I want to see you soon,” he said. “So maybe next week.”
“OK.” We got up to leave.
At the corner we faced one another purposefully. “Well, it was so nice to meet you,” I said.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he warned.
“Yeah, yeah!” I said, in a “Of course, go ahead,” voice. So he did. It was funny. His kiss was very light, his lips soft. We made out. I nipped at his lip just a little. Then we bid one anther goodbye, and headed our separate ways.
Later, I got a very nice note from him. That’s Southern manners for you. Then he offered to have an HIV test. Which was even nicer.
So we’re fixed up for Tuesday, though we’ve agreed that this time we’re not going to have sex since, as I put it,
"I like the thought of getting all worked up, and of being denied (this one time, anyway) -- that's actually quite pervy, isn't it?"
And he agreed.