Waiting the sick out

Like I said yesterday, I was sick last week. The kind of sick that for the first few days was just a little more tired than usual and some odd muscle aches that could have been chalked up to over-exertion at the gym but blossomed into a full-on feverish total-body festival of pain anchored by a complete collapse of my digestive tract. At least I never barfed. Man, I hate that. Once the worst of it had passed, the achy mildly feverish clammy and baby kitten weak stuff hung around. For days. And days. Besides the physical issues, the entire experience left me feeling emotionally wrecked. Nasty stuff.

In the midst of everything, as Belle was in New York, I felt an irresistible urge to rid myself of the Steelheart. I staggered out of bed and went to my bag where I (usually) keep the emergency key. But it wasn’t there. I turned the bag inside out looking and cursing and probing all the little nooks and crevasses knowing it had to be there and expecting to feel it at every second, but it wasn’t to be found. Then I stumbled back to the bedroom and looked in my drawer, then back to the living room to look in my little change/junk/headphones/European coin bowl. No dice.

URGH.

Not happy, though I did have enough sense to know that once I was well again the idea of being totally trapped in the steel would likely be kinda hot. But at this point, it was the total polar opposite of hot. Icy death cold, it was. And it bummed me out.

Then I remembered. I took a different bag to LA with Drew and I know I had the key with me then though I never used it. I found that bag (which I thought I emptied) and there was the key. Whew. Fucking whew, I say. I took the device off and promptly failed to have anything like an erection for 96 hours.

Belle got home by the end of the week and then Saturday rolled around and it was something like three weeks since we had sex. But I didn’t want any. I was the least sexy feeling person in the world. But Belle did so we did. More or less. I did my nipple sucking and clit fingering thing and she had an apparently nice orgasm and, as hard to believe as it was, I had a boner so she invited me aboard. I think we fucked for about 32 seconds. Between me getting lightheaded from the exertion and her wincing from her still-tender horse-abused ribs, it was hardly a Penthouse Forums moment. But I got the penis wet.

We did a little better the next morning, but I still would have been perfectly satisfied not having sex. Besides the physical weakness, I just didn’t have the urge. But, again, she wanted it and that’s what it’s for, so have it we did. I was again invited to fuck her and was able to get to the point where I was almost going to come, so I stopped. But I still felt like I was about to come. But I stopped! But I still felt like I was going to come so I continued to be adamantly and very intently STOPPED. But it didn’t matter. Maybe eight or ten seconds after, I kinda sorta came anyway. Three undulating slugs of the stuff, all run together and shooting on their own with little muscular prodding. Like, it just sort of rolled out of me. Not just a squirt. This had intent behind it. Like an orgasm developed sentience and self-will and told me to fuck off. Belle thought it was fascinating and I thought it was awful. It felt like 60% of an orgasm. Kinda fun, not great, without much of the post-orgasmic chemical bang.

At some point over the weekend, I told Belle Drew was coming on Monday. I felt bad about this because besides being not really in the mood for sex in general, my mood for the kind of sex I have with Drew (you know, teh gay sex) was less than zero. My whole life, the bisexual part of me that finds men attractive and sex with them stimulating has ebbed and flowed. For the most part, since I’ve been seeing Drew, it’s flowed during his visits and the times when it was ebbing, it wasn’t ebbing dramatically or enough for me to be unable to perform. But this time, that shit had ebbed so far out to sea, it was barely visible as a little speck way off on the horizon. This was an old school ebb and I wasn’t just disinterested in sex with a guy, I felt like what it must be like to be straight. Just…ew.

This is not, it should be noted, a reflection upon Drew. It’s how I feel about all men at the moment. It’s the kind of dramatic swing that drove me crazy as a young person. How could I be so fucking turned on by men on a Tuesday and repulsed by them on the following Friday? WTF? And I say “repulsed” but that’s too strong. I’m not repulsed by Drew. He’s a friend, etc. But touch him? No thank you. Stay right over there.

And yeah, that made me feel terrible. He comes all the way up here, leaving Axel behind and taking away from their limited time together to see me and that all by itself can freak me out. But this time I wanted nothing to do with him as he wanted to do with me. We could still share a meal and talk and all that, but I felt a bright white line around me. Do not cross. Poor Drew.

Twenty years ago, I’d be all like, “Whew! Finally got that boy thing out of my system! Man, what was that all about?” Now I know it’s a cycle. The moon will come back ’round. And Drew knows, too. So he was relatively understanding and demonstrated the patience one in his position must have when seeing someone like me on the side.

At one point in talking to Belle about this, I said something about his expectations and how I had tried to temper them and this and that and eventually said something like, “You know, it’s not like I’m in a relationship with him.”

And she shot back, “You are in a relationship with him!” And of course, she’s right. I am, of a sort. Not the usual kind. But it is one. As creeped out as that leaves the currently ascendant dumb straight guy part of me, it’s 100% true.

So this trip was, from a sex standpoint, a bust for him. And, as I’ve said, I feel bad about that. But, as I’m sure he’d say, it was still a good trip and it was nice to have a chance to talk about all the things it’s hard to discuss when there’s a dick in my mouth. At some point, I’ll be ready for him again. In the meantime, I’ll try and stop thinking about how squicked out his stubble felt on my neck as he hugged me goodbye.

Prior to his arrival, Belle made me go back in the Steelheart. I didn’t want it and thought if Drew hadn’t been coming that I’d whine and wimper and try to beg out of it. But he was coming so I had to.

In bed, I said, “I really don’t want this thing on me.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.

“It doesn’t matter what you want anyway.”

Swoon.

And then, “You know you’ll be feeling all subby and thanking me for locking it on you in a few days. Don’t you?”

Grrr. “Yes.” Sigh. “Yes, I do.”