Quick Update

Just back from Houston for another freaking fill of the lapband. Half a cc this time, I shit you not. I go back in four weeks for another half.

The great news is that I've dropped 5 pounds in the last two weeks. That takes me to 55 pounds since this process began. It's been slow-going after the initial loss from the liquid diet, but I appear to be picking up some momentum. All credit goes to the treadmill, that Machine Of Death, of course.

Speaking of which, my surgeon noticed my blistered toes on my left foot, while I was up on the exam table. He admonished me when I told him I hadn't seen my primary care physician about the condition of the foot. See, I kinda ripped it the fuck up when I forgot to bring a pair of socks with me to the gym last week and I worked out in shoes without socks. Yes, I am a Dumbass.

I've got some seriously blistered areas that need to heal. Not a good thing for a diabetic! So, I called and made an appt to see the doc while stuck in Houston traffic on my way home to Austin this afternoon. I'll see him tomorrow morning at 10:30AM.

But, back to my success, please: FIVE MORE POUNDS! YAY!

I love you all, both individually and collectively, and not in a sexual way (unless you want me to).

Sunday MopUp 05/25/08

I Gots Company!

Can't really talk this week, as I have a houseguest. The Chubby Avenger is down from Dallas and hanging out at Casa Del Jimbo for a few days. He hasn't ever really spent any time in Austin, I am being a tour guide. We're having fun. But, there is ONE thing I wanted to mention...

WTF, Dudettes?

Was working out yesterday at the YMCA, and a woman got on a treadmill a few machines down from me. We could see each other in the mirrored wall in front of us. The woman was very fit, obviously an accomplished runner, cuz she was WORKIN that treadmill, but I was completely distracted because she was working out IN A MINISKIRT!

Ladies, seriously, what in the hell is up with this? Surely it is inappropriate workout attire, yes? Is this a person who WANTS to attract attention, sexually, to herself? I have to tell you, I was transfixed, staring at her large muscular thighs, striding relentlessly. I could not help but watch as the little flap of material that she was trying to pass off as a skirt bounced and danced about her crotch. Yes, I'm gay, but I sincerely wanted to bend her over the arm rails of that treadmill and lick her sweaty parts. She caught me staring, and beamed at me with pride.

Bitch gets off to turning on old, fat fucks in the workout room? Good grief! Seems pretty desperate to me, a hot woman like that needing to show off in such a way.

And, it reminded me how much I miss cunnilingus.

Who knew?

Dick-less Video

(entitled such onna counta Dick Small not being able to watch and all...)

Meet Travis and Jonathon and view their latest "Red State Update" on the California GayMarriage issue:



These guys are a HOOT! Check out this one...if the above wasn't gay enough for ya:



I'm gonna see if I can subscribe to them, because this stuff just makes me roar.

Okay, one last one. Since it's about Bears and all:

Sunday MopUp 05/18/08

Can't spend too much time yapping today, friends. I got places to go, people to do. Let me try to spit out what has been going on in Jamesville this past week. I call it my Sunday MopUp, and it's sanitized for your protection (language excluded).

Jim-Nastics

I am becoming more confident on the treadmill. That's not to say that I don't have to COMPLETELY pay attention when on the bitch, but there have been no further accidents and I am enjoying myself.

I have pushed my time to a full hour - that's SIXTY minutes, people - on it, at the lumbering and pathetic speed of 2.5 mph. And I am doing this 5 times a week. I sweat like a whore in church, but it's not too much for me to handle. I'm pretty proud of myself at this point. After a full hour on the treadmill, I rinse off in the shower and then crawl into the hot tub for about 20 minutes. Seems like a good idea to soak my chaffed thighs for a bit. Oh, tmi? Sorry.

Back To Houston

Had my second fill of the lapband on Thursday. Drove three hours to Houston, waited an hour to see the doctor, only to get the whopping sum of 1cc of saline added into the band. I'm frustrated. I have to go back the Thursday after Memorial Day weekend to get another cc. Let's remember that each trip requires that I take a day off of work, drive three hours there, three hours back, and about 70 bucks in gasoline.

I still am not feeling that "full feeling" after eating, which means I have to keep going back until I hit that point. I'm trying to use this time to ratchet up my exercise routine and keep my focus there, but I'm pretty pissy about this process. I want what I want when I want it. Think that attitude is why I am in the condition I am in, in the first place? Yeah, me too.

The Return Of DQ

I haven't seen the young man since our "date" just over two weeks ago. I've been busy at work and, I have to admit, I needed some space. But, after these weeks, I am ready to see him again, and he is on his way over right about now. We'll spend some time messing up the bed and then, when he goes home, I'll strip it and start the new week with fresh sheets. I might even take him out for a bit of dinner after our romp. We'll see.

Here It Goes Again

In telling my story about falling off the treadmill, a coworker reminded me of the OK GO video from last year. I know everyone has seen it by now, but it was fun to look at it again, now that I am so aware of how treacherous the fuckers are. So, I thought I'd post it again. Enjoy!

Sunday MopUp 05/11/08

YAY! It's Sunday! The coffee is kicking in, the laundry is washing away, my iPod is syncing up, and I feel a productive poop looming in my future! Welcome to my Sunday MopUp. Be sure and ask your server about the Hard Nipple Discount. No coupon required!

Gym-y City

When last I left off, I had taken a swan dive off the ass end of a treadmill at the YMCA and twisted my back, an ankle, banged up my shin in about three places, and probably screamed like a little girl as I thought I was falling to my death (can't really be sure about that last part - just a hunch).

Well, the next day I was back up on that horse and was determined to conquer any further fear of the thing. My lesson from the fall was to not allow anything to distract me from focusing on what I was doing: left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot... always being aware of where they are falling upon the tread, making sure I don't slow down and creep to the back of the machine. If the iPod offers a tune that is not to my liking at that particular moment: tough tits, mister! I vowed to never attempt to DJ and exercise at the same time. Cuz, let's face it, walking and chewing gum is a trick I never really mastered.

I did fine the next day. And the next.

[deep sigh of relief]

So, Friday night I head to the gym right after work. If there is a "slow" night at the Y, it's on Friday night. I guess everyone goes out and parties that night, drinking up all those calories that they spend the entire previous week burning up. To each his/her own. Point is, I nearly had the place to myself.

When I went into the locker room it was empty, but I heard a shower running in the communal shower room, just off the locker room. The shower area is separated from the locker area by a big, tiled area (for drying off), and a glass door. The intention is for you to shower and dry off in these areas, so that the locker area (carpeted) remains mostly dry. Through this glass door you can see into the shower area from the locker area and vice-versa, however the door in between tends to fog up pretty well from all the hot water being used to scrub those sweaty bodies down. As I passed by this glass door, I glanced into the showers. All I could see was a hairy, beefy butt through the foggy door, as someone was standing under a shower head and was largely out of view.

Nice ass! I said to myself. And this informed my decision as to where to choose my locker for that day. I picked a locker that afforded me the opportunity to stand and dress in front of it and still be in the line of sight of the shower door.

Now look, I want it understood that I do NOT go to the gym to hook-up. In fact, I chose to get a membership at the YMCA because it is so UNcruisable. The gym of today is the gay bar of the 80s. It is where the hot, gay guys go to meet and hook up. I have had many conversations with homos who tell stories of hot man-sex in the steam room and the shower and the locker room and the handball court and the swimming pool of nearly all the franchised gyms in this town. Those fitness clubs that are open 24 hours? Wanna guess what is going on in there in the middle of the night?

Me, I'd rather work out with the blue-haired women and the Mexican families and keep my mind on what I am there for: the Work Out. Who needs the rejection and the judgement from a bunch of perfectly sculpted bodies with elitist attitudes? No thanks.

That being said, however, let's face it: I'm a gay man and one of the motivating factors in getting my fat ass to the gym is the opportunity to lay eyes upon naked men. I admit it, okay? Trust me here, I don't stare or even make much eye contact, I'm not overly friendly. I am careful not to be inappropriate in ANY way, but in any and all events, I am completely aware that I am surrounded by naked flesh, and I LIKE it. If you think I've never had the fantasy of a hot locker room sex scene, you are friggin' nuts. But it's just a fantasy.

So, positioning myself in the locker area so that I can get a fleeting glimpse, here and there, of a hairy butt getting soaped up is about as cruisey as I would ever get at the YMCA. Never a look long enough to arouse me (God forbid!), but certainly a little visual reminder of why going to the gym aint that bad an idea can't be a horrible thing. Right?

Well, I find a good place to set up shop and begin undressing. As I am taking off my street shoes, I glance in the direction of the shower again. This time, the hairy buns have changed into a full man. The guy had stepped into the center of the shower area and was facing out. The Full Monty.

I immediately averted my eyes, but in that nano-second my Gay Terminator brain could determine the following:

*Young guy, mid-to-late twenties

*5'7" to 5'8"

*Tiniest paunch of a belly. Weight guesstimate: 170 pounds.

*Full head of jet black hair, longish by today's standards. Thick eyebrows, bordering on uni-brow. Coarse chest hair on his pecs, hair around his navel. Treasure trail leading to his crotch. Cock that looked like the faucet of my bathtub. Nice!

* Thick, tree trunk legs, covered in dark, wet fur.

As I was running and compiling this analysis, I was back to undressing myself.

As my work shirt came off, I looked up momentarily again. To my shock and amazement, he was still standing in the middle of the area, still looking out in my direction. But this time, he had begun soaping and lathering up his crotch. He was making big, deliberate circles in and around his crotch. Things swung and flopped as he worked.

I looked away within two seconds. My mind began racing.

Holy SHIT! This guy is showing off for me! He is looking out into the locker area, he MUST see me here, and he is posing and displaying his cock to me!

The speed at which I was undressing/dressing slowed down considerably. Hey, I told you that I can't do two things at once! I needed to think this through! Instead of pulling clothes off and cramming them into the locker, I began folding my clothes and placing them into the gym bag. I needed time here. Was what I thought was going on REALLY happening?

I looked up again. Still, with the cock washing! His legs were spread a bit and he was getting WAY back there, from the looks of it. The fucker was ALL frothed up. Soapy, bubbly goodness!He was still in the center of the room, away from the shower head, and facing directly into the locker area. Directly at me. I gulped hard, began to perspire, and looked back at my locker.

Holy SHIT! This can't be an accident. I can't be reading this wrong! Look, it's Friday night, the place is a morgue. Maybe this kid knows that the best time for hot GymSex Fantasy Fullfillment for Fat Fuckers is Friday night at the YMCA. What should I do? Maybe I should make eye contact, just to let him know that I know he knows that I know!

I looked up again, and he was still there, the soaping exercise had moved up his chest and he was lathering his pecs. He seemed to be swirling lather around his nipples, staring out at me.

I looked at him, fully. I held his gaze for ten, maybe fifteen seconds. I nodded at him, smiling.

He didn't respond in any way whatsoever. He just kept rhythmically soaping up in a circular fashion and staring out at me. It seemed to me that his cock was engorging a bit. Dude, it was impressive, his cock.

What the FUCK? Maybe this guy is just a tease and he wants to freak me out or show me what I can't have.

-(Gay guys can be like that. Look at me! Look at what YOU'LL never get!)-

Or, maybe this is some kinda sting operation! Yeah! Maybe he's trying to get me to make some kind of move, and then arrest me, or have me thrown out of the facility! He's just taking a shower, for cryin' out loud. Maybe he's an undercover cop on Shower Patrol! What should I DO?!?

I looked up again and this time he had his back to me, still in the center of the shower area, and he had begun soaping up his ass crack. Up and down, he scrubbed into that crack. Deep into that crack. Slowly, methodically. I was HYPnotized.

This time I had to look away for fear of getting hard. I looked around the locker room, I was still in there all by myself. Not a single other soul was around. How easy would it be to just strip down and walk into the shower? Pretty easy. I could just soap up and get next to him and see if he starts talking to me. Chatting while showering is something straight men rarely do with each other. Strictly business, the communal shower, ya know...

Jim, I reminded myself, you are here to work out. Exercise. You are not here to hook up, or have Hot Gay Sex in the shower with a stud with a cock the size of a kitchen appliance! Knock it off and get into the gym!

I looked again. He had vanished off to one side of the room. Obviously, it was time to finally rinse off. Maybe he had given up on luring me into the shower and had lost interest. I finally pulled my work out shorts on and looked into the shower one last time. No sign of any part of him.

Fine.

I fired up the iPod and headed to the Equipment room. Completely deserted. Just me and four treadmills, five stationary bikes, a rowing machine, some ellipticals, and a bunch of weight stations. I turned on a treadmill and started walking.

As I walked, I kept wondering about that guy.

He took forever to soap up, maybe he needed to rinse off longer. Maybe he stepped back after rinsing off and was disappointed to see that I had left. Maybe he thinks I wasn't interested. Sure, I smiled and nodded at him, but maybe that wasn't enough of an acknowledgement. He had, after all, been helicoptering his genitals in my direction, maybe I didn't respond strongly enough...

Yes, folks, this is life in my head. Aint it pathetic?

I decided the thing to do was to give him a few minutes. Give him enough time so that he simply MUST be out of the shower, dried off, and in the locker area. Then I would just act like I needed something out of my gym bag, return to the locker room, and see if he says anything to me. If he doesn't, I just fumble in the bag for a second, then come back out here and get on with my work out. No harm, no foul. Let's give this fantasy one last chance.

So, twelve minutes on the treadmill later, and I bolt off of it and head back to the locker room, patting and fumbling with the pockets of my shorts, like I was missing something.

As I approached the entrance to the locker room, I noticed a guy sitting on the bench, just outside the entryway. He hadn't been there earlier, But immediately my gaydar went off. This guy had the total gay gym rat look of the type that you find in the 24 hour facilities during the off-hours. You know the look: perfect haircut, product in place, Nautica t-shirt, ripped off sleeves, showing a tribal tattoo in a band around a bicep, five day growth of beard, perfectly trimmed and framing his chiseled jaw. This guy was checking his watch and looking up and toward the locker room. In other words, he was the boyfriend of the Shower Stud and he was waiting for his man to get dressed so that they could get to the disco before the drink specials ended for the night.

I was disappointed to be sure, but still wanted to know if I was reading Shower Stud correctly or not, so I continued into the locker room to see what would happen. When I stepped in, I found the Stud standing at the row of sinks along one wall within the locker area. He face was lathered with shaving soap and he had about half of his face done. When I walk in, he smiled big a me.

I walked to my locker and opened it up, jubilant.

He smiled at me! I KNEW it! This guy was flirting and showing off to me! I wonder if he knows the boyfriend is waiting just outside...

I heard the other guy come into the locker room and say, loudly:

"Charlie, are you okay? Is everything all right? We have to get going pretty soon. Everyone is waiting for us at the Wing Stop. you don't want to miss your CHICKEN WINGS, now do you?"

And Charlie, the Shower Stud, replied:

"Look, Robbie! I am SHAVING all by myself! I TOLD you I could shower and shave all by myself now! I am doing a GOOD job!"

Uh huh.

Robbie said "Yes, Charlie, you are doing a VERY good job! But hurry up now, we've got to get going! We have to have some dinner before the bus takes us back to the school. Remember to shave WITH the grain of your beard. Yes, just like that! Can you even see what you are doing? You can't see ten feet in front of you without your glasses. Where are your glasses, Charlie? Did you lose your glasses?"

"I see Charlie and I see Robbie!" the Shower Stud pronounced loudly and gleefully. And then he fell silent again as he concentrated on shaving WITH the grain of his beard.

I closed my locker and headed back to the treadmill, shaking my head. I had been trying to cruise someone who was mentally retarded.

I got back on the treadmill and began to walk. I was scolding myself.

That what you get for trying to turn the gym into a sex club, you idiot! What is the rule? NEVER cruise at the gym! Never. Ever!

And that was my mantra with each step :

Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never...

And I walked for 45 minutes before I stopped for the night.

Workout Update

I've added treadmill to my routine now. Just a little walking in place, right? What's the big fucking deal, huh?

Tonight I pulled a "George Jetson" and fell off the back end of it. Yes, backwards and into a rowing machine that was behind me, minding its own bidness. I ended up on my face six feet behind the treadmill.

Thank God no one was directly behind me. I would have killed them.

My left knee is a little twisted, my left shin is slightly swollen, and I think I wrenched my lower back.

Good times!

Sunday MopUp 05/04/08

The coffee is already coursing through my veins, the laundry is well past the unmanageable stage, and I'm pretty much dressed for jumping into the truck and heading to the YMCA for my dose of "I Fucking Hate To Exercise!" for the day. But first, I must get past the weekly recounting of the banal dribble that makes up my existence - otherwise known as my Sunday MopUp.

Date With DQ On Friday

We met here at my place, where he brought an overnight bag with him (seems drag queens go NOWHERE without several change of clothes. Just in case{insert eyeroll here}).

When he arrived, I was upstairs in the shower. He came in and pulled the shower curtain back and watched me clean up, which was kinda hot. I invited him in, but he refused, having just gotten out of his own shower at his house. After I toweled off, I asked him if he would do me a big favor and give me a little "trim" in my nether regions. A bit of manscaping, if you will.

Now, I'm all about hairiness on men, but keeping your bush under control is all about hygiene, in my book. The less hair there, the less opportunity for stinkage to accrue. Uh oh, look who has gone and gotten all gross right off the bat. Sorry.

Anyways, who better to attend to a little sculpting of my topiary than a guy whose expertise is the shaving of body hair? Isn't this me embracing who DQ is, and trying to integrate our lifestyles a bit? Also, I thought it would be a great way to have an intimate moment without it turning completely sexual. And, my friends, it worked.

He happily took my clippers and buzzed me, fondling and caressing me as he worked. Okay, he kissed it here and there as he focused on the job at hand, but it never disintegrated into actual sex.

It was fun. It was sexy. It never turned into sex, but I DID insist that he be naked as he did it. Just to up the Tease Factor. I think it was a nice way to start off the evening. It made him fidget, it made me laugh, and I've got a better looking crotch for it. A win-win situation. I jumped back into the shower for a quick rinse afterwards, while he put his clothes back on.

He announced he was hungry and we decided to hit a restaurant. I wanted steak, but the steakhouse was PACKED, so we drove into the countryside in the direction of where I planned to spend some time with him for the evening and looked for options. We came across a Chili's and decided to stop.

Now, all during the drive, the conversation was about his performing as a drag queen. Kids, I shit you not, I was not the one continually bringing the subject up. It's like it's the only thing he wants to talk about. Now, I ask you: why would he do this if he KNOWS that I am uncomfortable with the topic? Does he enjoy watching me squirm? Is this some kind of test?

I have a dear friend, The Chubby Avenger, who thinks not. He thinks this is DQ just doing what he does: obsessing about his fetish. The Avenger calls it a neurosis. There is a psychological term for it. The Avenger has dropped it on me several times, but I think I am mentally blocking it out, so I don't Google it and actually LEARN something. I suck.

So, we had some dinner: we shared some lettuce wraps of grilled chicken and water chestnuts and carrots with peanut sauce and sesame oil sauce. Then we both had a burger. I drank water, and he ordered a margarita. As he sipped his drink, the conversation turned to how he thinks he might have alcoholic tendencies. Very attractive. I hate drunks. Then, somehow he managed to tell me that his apartment is covered in pictures of himself. All dressed up. He made it a point to stress that the photos were EVERYwhere. He seemed very proud.

Yes. Great.

After dinner, we got back in my truck and I took him out to Sex Mountain, a favorite spot of mine out in the country where it is quiet, and secluded, and beautiful. In the Texas Spring, it is cool, and there are no bugs, and the stars are just brilliant. I love it there, and sometimes go out just to sit and meditate.

We sat up there and talked for about a while, and necked and, since we were the only ones up there, we had sex under the stars, in the night breeze. This was me trying to be romantic, but it might have just come off as me acting like a teenage horndawg. He seemed to enjoy it, but spent a LOT of time freaking out that we were outside. He kept commenting on dark it was. I got the hint, and we left in about an hour. I also was completely aware by now that, other than talking about how great a drag queen he is (he has won many, many trophies), and besides talking about our jobs, we don't have much to talk about. I swear, when I try to talk about other things with him, his eyes start to glaze over. I played some music that I am listening to on the stereo as we drove. He couldn't have cared less.

The sexual chemistry is there. I really enjoy sex with this guy. It's everything else that seems to be the problem.

The drive back to town was uncomfortable, because he kept yawning and talking about how tired he was. Now, granted, he had been awake since the crack of dawn on Friday morning, but this is a guy who goes out drinking until all hours on a usual Friday night. What was different about this Friday night? For one, he wasn't drinking. And, secondly, he wasn't dressed up in public. In short - he was bored.

That's my guess, anyway.

So, I HAD intended to go out to a club with him after Sex Mountain, but he kept saying how tired he was, so we went back to my place. We crawled into bed and fooled around for about an hour and fell asleep. Good news there: he doesn't snore (much) and isn't a bed hog. Big relief.

We were up at 9AM Saturday and out the door by 9:45. He drove off in one direction, while I drove in another, meeting my best friend, his wife, and my best friend's teenage daughter to catch "Ironman" at the matinee. DQ showed no interest in seeing it, although I didn't really invite him. At this point, I had had enough and needed my life back. Besides, he had "rehearsal" to go to at noon [insert another eyeroll here]. [Sorry. I said I suck, okay?]

Ironman

Okay, Robert Downey, Jr. totally made this a fun movie. His snarkiness was used to maximum benefit and I giggled all the way through it. It was worth the price of admission alone just to see the scenes where he is trying to figure out how to fly in the suit. I'm not a Gwenyth Paltrow fan, but Jeff Bridges was really very good in it as well. He's an actor I can watch in just about anything.



I canNOT wait for "The Dark Knight"!

Next weekend, we will get together for a Saturday matinee of "Speed Racer". Also on tap this summer will be the Batman movie, "The Incredible Hulk", "Indiana Jones", and about 4 others that I can't remember right now. It's Will's call as to what we'll see.

Stay tuned!