Well, so much for spending more time blogging and being industrious and shit. I guess I needed time to be a slug, or whatever you want to call being completely lazy, but I'm checkin' in for my Sunday catch-up. If you don't hear from me until next week at this time, I'll just apologize now.
The Big, Gay Christmas Party
Went to Rich and Dave's for their Christmas party. Jim (meaning: me)was very excited. So excited, I ran out to the Clothing Store For The Portly And Piggly and bought a "festive" shirt for the occasion. The fucker looked great on the rack: a faux suede long sleeve shirt in a deep shade of burgundy. When I fingered the bitch, it was very lightweight and YUMMY to the touch. I took it to the dressing room and even tried it on. It looked good on me and felt FANTASTIC! The fuzzy, buttery texture of the fabric brushed across my pecs and turn my headlights on immediately. With any luck, I'd be passing by hairy, horned up Santas all night as I made my way back and forth across the house to the buffet table, and this shirt appeared to be the perfect invitation to get my attention with a simple tug. I could only hope. Sold!
So, that night, I get dressed and don the garment. Yay! Atta boy, Jimbo. I jump into my truck, and make a stop at the liquor store. I had been asked to bring some soda and ice. Some Diet Coke, a six of Budweiser, and a bottle of Crown Royal later, I'm at the check out stand asking for ice. Sorry, they don't sell ice. What the fuck? Okay, I'll make another stop at another store. I take my bag full of drink out to the truck and as I'm walking, I notice that, hey, I'm kinda warm in this shirt. I shrug, and blaze over to the nearest convenience store for some ice. The inside of that store was really hot, someone had the heat cranked up. My pits started to melt. The ice was at the back of the store. I grabbed a bag, heaved it up onto the checkout counter, pulled my debit card out, and found out there is a three dollar minimum for using plastic to pay. I went back to the back of the store and grabbed a second bag. I'm kinda cranky now.
I leave the furnace that is the store, lugging the ice and mumbling a curse or two, and hit the cool night air. It's about 60 degrees out and it feels great. This is Texas Winter. Don't hate. I walk with my elbows out, trying to avoid pit stains on my new, festive shirt. Fuzzy, warm, and inviting can turn into sweaty, sloppy, and stinky on the turn of a dime.
When I get to Dave and Rich's, the front door opens and I'm greeted with a hot blast of air. Uh oh. The house is full of friendly, furry fuckers and Jim (yes, meaning: me) is so excited and nervous and warm that the flop sweat POURS off of him. It drips off my forehead into my eyes, off the end of my nose. My pits are pouring funk down my sides and it's collecting at my belt. My burgundy shirt is becoming a burgundy sponge with each passing second.
Dave, God BLESS his soul, figured it out pretty quickly.
"Hey, nice shirt."
"Thanks" I replied.
"Looks kinda hot."
"Yes," I said in a low voice. "...I'm dying." I hoped no one else heard me.
"Let me go get you one of my t-shirts. We're about the same size. I'll be right back."
He comes back from the bedroom with a wonderful "vintage" Budweiser t-shirt in brown, gold and rust. All Hail Dave!!! I run into a back room, peel off the Saran Wrap sonuvabitch that was trying to suffocate me, towel off with it, and pull on the t-shirt. Every pore on my torso gasps in relief. I check my reflection in a picture on the wall. I was overdressed before, anyway. This looks good! My nips return to their fully up and locked position. Jim (meaning: ME!) is ready to party!
Yes, much kissing and hugging and groping and tugging was occurring. Not just me, people! The liquor flowed, fabulous food was everywhere, and very friendly men were being very friendly with each other.
Please don't misunderstand: nothing sexual was happening. A peck on the lips, a snuggle into the neck, a pinch of the nipple, a rub of the butt cheek, sure. But no sex. I know, 'cuz I was watching for it. At one point, Bubba dropped his pants to showoff the tan line across his ass, but he hiked them back up in two seconds. That was it for skin.
That's what I love so much about Rich and Dave parties: The focus is always about fellowship, NOT about hookups. These two guys know more sweet, wonderful people than can be believed. I happily wandered around the house, introducing myself to new faces and shaking hands like a politician. Not a bad apple in the bunch.
I got hit on by a very drunk guy who tagged along with another friend. One of those drunks who gets louder the drunker he gets. He was harmless, but I spent the better part of the end of the party wandering away from him and trying to hide. Still, it was good for my ego, to be chased around a bit.
I left just after midnight, alone, having met a handful of new friends, and swapping phone numbers and email addresses with a completely HAWT San Antonio daddy whom I had lost contact with several years ago. He kissed me and my knees buckled, I swear. We'll see where THAT leads...
I've been invited to a New Year's Eve party, hosted by the same couple that invited me to a birthday party last summer that I missed due to my attendance at Pukeapalooza 2006.
I seriously doubt that I'll be buying a special outfit for that occasion.
[Late Edition Addition: By the way, remind me to tell you the story sometime about going to the local leather bar on Sunday of last week and walking into "Lesbian Night". Very weird.]