So with some undeniable closure in regards to Joseph and my spell of depression lifted, I spent this past week getting forty hours of practice, cleaning the house, and getting myself back to the gym. I made a complete one-eighty, and even managed to save a school of orphans from the twelfth floor of a burning building.
Hahaha! I do have a sense of humor after all, don't I? You have to admit, though, that I had you going right up until the orphans. I can't even think of a place with twelve floors around here...
No, I've had an addiction to break and some idleness to unravel, the offspring of the deep funk I'd allowed myself to fall into. The anime does indeed help me with my Japanese, but it's a difficult thing for me to moderate. Thankfully I've had some assistance in conducting a detox, but my formerly provident lifestyle won't come without a price. I'm working on it.
I had an experience this last week that made me appreciate the good, sane guys that I've managed to connect with, as few as they are. But I don't want to focus on that, but I'll tell you what I told him: "Why would I have STDs?"
On the other hand, I had a very positive yet appropriate experience that was groundbreaking for me, which happened just earlier tonight.
Now, a warning is fair. I'm here to be frank and honest, and the following may very easily be arousing for you, especially if you're a guy who experiences same-sex attraction. This may be disconcerting for those who are "straight", as our society is not conducive to this sort of thing nowadays. But I will use modest language and correct terms.
I met up with a guy in reply to an ad he'd posted on Craigslist a few weeks ago. We grabbed a bite to eat at the restaurant below his apartment to talk, mostly so I could determine if I could trust him. You see, he was looking for someone to exchange massages with, something I really wanted. Notwithstanding the many things I strived to do to recover from my vigorous trips to the gym, it would often take days for me to get over the delayed soreness. Although I felt like we were on the same page as far as boundaries go, I didn't contact him for a while, as I had stopped frequenting the gym for several weeks, and poor weather further discouraged superfluous driving. However, I managed to eke in an hour's worth of a workout within the forty-five minutes my gym had before closing Saturday night.
And I've been feeling it.
So I made arrangements with him for tonight. Conducting an auto-assessment, I had about seven thoroughly sore areas, several of which were large muscle groups.
Of course, I'm on my guard when I get there. He insisted on massaging me first. I was garbed with my garment bottoms and a towel by the time I laid on my stomach for him to get started. Some background about this guy: Kevin (another pseudonym) is just a year older than me. Although he has no religious background and has been in a relationship with another guy or two, he was raised in Utah, which seems to be significant to his character.
Anyways, he started with my back and shoulders as we talked all the while. He did a good job, especially considering the condition that affects his grip.
The fifty deadlifts I'd done on Saturday made my hamstrings the next obvious target. However, my garment briefs would be a bit of an obstruction. Not to mention that I sheepishly mentioned that my glutes were also sore.
For those of you who do not know the names of all your muscle groups, the glutes are, well...your hindquarters? No...your personal seat cushions? No, that doesn't cut it either...
Let me tell you straight: they be the butt.
He seemed unfazed by this, and since I knew I needed it (you should have seen me every time I tried to stand up today), I made the only reasonable accommodation there was to make:
I lost the towel and briefs.
He then proceeded to give thorough attention to the areas I had indicated, and proved me right to deem him trustworthy, as he did not at any point make any sexual move at all. Now, even before this, using the word "aroused" would not be sufficient to describe me. However, at this point, there was absolutely no hiding an erection, especially since he was thorough working my hamstrings from the inside of my legs. But the entire time, he was completely respectful; there was no grabbing things that weren't meant to be grabbed, or sticking things where they weren't meant to be stuck. He frequently checked to make sure he wasn't crossing any boundaries. And if completely undressing in front of Kevin wasn't enough, he had me turn onto my back to target the areas of my hamstrings he couldn't reach before. And we were able to laugh off my manhood's attempts to impress him! I eventually got dressed and did exactly the same for him.
And it all felt so good! This definitely wasn't an exercise meant to entertain--there was a clearly defined purpose which we both benefited immediately from; I was able to disassociate arousal, massages, and being so exposed and vulnerable from sexual acts. We bonded a great deal, talking about everything from politics, high school, and family to boundaries, Joseph, professions and working out, all while laughing away our insecurities of what was right in front of the other. It was incredibly healing, and not just because I don't look as handicapped as my cat when I stand up.
There was once a time when it was not only socially acceptable, but encouraged to bond with other men in such an intimate way, both entirely platonic and deeply enriching.
I wish more guys would be more open to this sort of thing. That might be too much to ask from Joseph, but if there's anyone else out there...
Needless to say, I'm looking forward to seeing Kevin this weekend.