It is almost 2 weeks into September. The sun has set earlier in the day. There is a faint bite of chill in the air. My windows are open, letting the cool evening breeze in. I am wearing my PJs as I write this. The humid summer seems to be giving in to the damp of fall. But my thoughts are not into the oncoming season. It lingers on the ending of the last.

I spent a part of Labor Day weekend out in Cherry Grove on Fire Island. Hans, my friend based in Seattle, came over for the Alegria circuit party. (His bf, Scott, based in San Diego, arrived later.) There was some time for Hans, Tim, my bf, and myself to catch some sun out in the Grove.

We stayed at the Bates Motel, er, the Belvedere. It’s an old castle that they’ve turned into a hotel. Though old, this isn’t old enough to have escaped the garish design aesthetic of a homo mad for the roccoco. I told Tim about how Liberace puked this whole place out. He said it was Liberace’s mother.

Our room had 3 lamps, all different, one tattered in its shade and one battered by time, that you could almost always only find in flea markets. There was actually a nice study set – a heavy oval table with 2 deco chairs upholstered by metal bullets with opal vinyl. There was a wooden pedestal mounting an ivory bust of what looks to be a Greek boy. Oddly, there was a shell collection framed in wood and mounted in glass. Below it was a moss green study chair. All these were only in our room. It hit that point of eclectic and pushed it over to garish. It began to boil over to grotesque in the living room (that’s off-limits to the public but could be seen from a landing.)

But Tim liked it. I painted a pictue to him of how the Grove was the West Village and the Pines was Chelsea. I told him how people say hello in the Grove and barely give you a smirk out in the Pines. There are drag queens lipsynching to Lulu in the Grove. In the Pines, you only hear technobeats that dictate the cadence of muscleboys rumbling on the dancefloor. Tim preferred homey. He liked the Belvedere. He liked the Grove.

Seriously, I also liked the Belvedere over the Botel. It was homier. It has a hot tub. It has an observation deck. It may be grotesque, but it has flavor. It has taste that’s palpable. The Botel is simply a cold, lifeless venue where the rooms are nothing more than basements with a bed. The building in itself is simply a box of faded blue that seems ill at ease being right in between the restaurants and right by the Low Tea place. The Botel is tasteless, to say the least.

But I like the Pines. I know it doesn’t strike one as homey but it was my home last summer. If memory serves me well, then I had a good time. Somehow, I also like the live-and-let-live attitude the people have out there. Not everyone will say hi to you but, also, not everyone will besmirk you. Usually, people leave each other alone (unless they’re hitting on you.) I like that and can relate to it. Needless to say, the boys are hotter. I always like eye candy when I’m out there.

Luckily, we actually got some hot eye candy in the Grove. This was, notably, a hot tub sighting.

There were these 2 hot boys playing with this one not-so-hot guy. I actually initiated the conversation about us playing with them and Tim seemed hesitant at first not because he found it odd for us but because he felt we weren’t invited. It was an interesting turn in this relationship. We moved closer anyway. We never got into playing with them but it was still hot to be in that boiling tub on that unseasonably cold summer night and have a cum bath (apparently) as we negotiate the murky waters that is our relationship.

It became even more calculating when Hans arrived (since Tim and I came into the Grove a day earlier.) It was interesting watching all three of us do in the tub.

The first time was in the afternoon after soaking up on 2-for-1 Pinot at the Tides. We ended up chatting with Mike, this NYer (who turned out to be my neighbor!), a quite short dark-haired white male who really was quite indistinct-looking but who had a nice uncut cock. I knew Hans and Tim were playing under the water and I thought that was really hot. Then, Hans left to nap. Tim and I were left with Mike. Soon, Tim was playing with Mike and I was tugging on Mike too. Apparently, I encouraged this behavior when I told him that I loved to watch. (I can’t remember if I told him that during the tub bath or before it.) But, anyway, we were warm and had to leave so all 3 of us exited the tub.

The second time was in the evening after dinner. There was a bigger crowd this time – the older, buff, indistinct-looking white male. the very chatty white male with a belly (who left soon after) and the flabby Latino male with piercing eyes. Hans was in between Tim and I. It was quite quiet for the longest time and I knew that Tim and Hans were (again) playing under the water. A little while after, the Latino boy comes in and thrusts his dick in front of their faces. First, Hans goes for the blowjob. Then, Tim goes for the blowjojb. Then, Hans again. The Latino boy eventually finds himself in the older white male’s space – and room as I saw them do later on.

I was quite unprepared and perturbed by the image of Tim sucking the Latino. There was something about Tim and Hans playing under the water discreetly that I found titillating. It was such a fantasy of mine before this whole trip to see them get it on. Hans told me that he found Tim cute and, more importantly, that he got along with Tim – which is so much more than could ever have happened between him and Carter. (In hindsight, I’m sure Tim found Hans attractive too if not most articulate since he made a comment that night about how I liked “articulate white boys.” Also, the fact that they played together shows that they’re interested in each other.) Knowing that they were jerking each other off and realizing this when I reached into Hans’ dick and it was hard as a rock was hot. (It was also hot when Hans turned around and I met Tim’s finger around his butthole.) It was a quite different feeling when I was confronted with Tim blowing the Latino. I was intitally shocked, then, I found it bemusing. It really wasn’t a matter of right and wrong since we were not exclusive (as we never even had the conversation about that anyway.) It was nothing more than a matter of the expected and the unexpected. I was just not expecting him to blow the Latino but he did. I was shocked but I settled down after getting used to what I had just seen. It was also interesting how he suddenly came over to me after what was just a 5-second blowjob but what seemed even longer. He mentioned how he found it weird “doing it in front of me” and that “I looked disturbed” and that he was doing this anyway “because I loved to watch.” I understood how he found it weird. It was all so unexpected (but considering that we met in a sleazy bar, I quess I should have been more prepared.) I knew I looked quite perplexed since I didn’t know what to make of it at the time. But what was interesting was when he seemed to suddenly imbue that whole act with a selfless moral – he seemed to imply that he did it more for me than he did for himself. He certainly looked like he was enjoying it. I certainly wasn’t enjoying the sight of him blowing the Latino since besides being unexpected, I was uninterested in the Latino. Maybe it wasn’t as much more of a moral rationale as it was a lateral tangent on what was a swirl of events in that tub.

Here I am again facing the question of exclusivity. I had tried the open relationship with Carter and, obviously, it didn’t work for both of us. I don’t feel the need yet to define my relationship with Tim right now but the recent events push me to think about that angle of it. I remember Joanne, my colleague (whom I call my straight gf) at work, making a comment about how he wasn’t the one if I still felt the need to look and play around. Who is the one anyway and how do you know if he is? The one is the one you’re with at that exact moment in time and space. Do I wish to commit exclusively to that one?

How important is sex? I’ve always believed that sex is integral in a relationship. Who you get it from and how you get to it are all important distinctions that complicate the process if both partners are in an open relationship. Sex is,ultimately, about fulfillment. How should one be fulfilled? How often? How many different times and from how many different persons?

Who do I go home to? Is that enough? That was what Carter always emphasized in our many few moments of discussion over our relationship – that I was the one he went home to at day’s end.

Coming home to me should be fulfilling. A coming home is tantamount to coming/cumming. But I kinda find that unacceptable because I want to come/cum. My dick wants to spurt spooge in the most orgasmic manner possible. I want someone to make me come/cum as well as someone to come home to me. Those are two different realities and to construe one as being the other is a mindfucking cop-out.

“I’m naked and I’m far from home,” Freddie Mercury sings in Save Me right now. I love that line. (I think he’s such a genius.)

We only stayed in the Grove for 3 days but I felt like we were there for much longer. There were so many things that happened in the tub, at the very least, and out of it. (Then, again, this weekend vacation was tons better than the Southern Decadence weekend Carter and I spent in New Orleans so many years ago which turned out to be a psychofest.)

Funny story: I luv go-go boys so we went out to the Tides for go-go boy night. There was Jeremy, this kinda flabby guy in a Ginch Gonch underwear who claims to be straight and studies at Oxford. Just when I thought I’ve heard them all, I always get stumped by a new one.

Just when I thought I’ve seen them all, I suddenly get shocked by a new one. What matters is not that I remember but that I recollect.

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