Genet is delayed

Last night I went over to the ?-Boyf's place. It was easy breezy cover girl.

In a possible sign of impending mental disability, I realized a couple of things about ?-Boyf that should have been totally obvious two years ago.

1] His adorable attempt to transform his pants into a girdle leads him to hike them so high that he looks like he has a cellulite-balloon ass and 4 camel toes.

2] He is a bear in denial. I have no idea why he resists this truth. Nor do I have any idea why it took me so long to realize this.

3] He is insecure about his hands. I suppose that I was oblivious to this because I think his hands are super hot. They are rough and chunky. Just looking at his fingers can give me a chubby within seconds. Any activities his hands partake in are somewhat out of my control, but should really involve at least one orifice. Sometimes he ignores the hands becuase of his insecurities and it makes me agitated.

4] While cuddling and laughing together last night, I realized that I would really love for his weird issues to disappear. If that were possible, I could spend a very long time happily resting in his arms, perpetually kissing and with his dick planted snugly in my ass. Oh, I forgot... If sex talk makes you uncomfortable, well, too late and calm down.

4] The games we invent are very stupid and invariably spiral out of control. For example, last night we played the "Dumb Sentence" game. The rule is that you have to invent a sentence that seems random and then the other party has to create a background story for the sentence in elaborate detail. The background story that gets the most laughs wins... nothing. The all-time best sentence still makes me laugh after a year. He simply chose "I'm the party". In a incredibly condensed form, the subtext centred around an insecure rural homo that went to the White Party in Miami dreaming of love and left with all his insecurities amplified, a very sore anus and the realization that none of the 83 people that fucked him in his search for love will ever think of him again. During his 59th hump, he suddenly understood that at some point he had left the club and was in his hotel room with a dozen strange men ready to mount him. It is at this point that he realized that he was no longer at the White Party, but instead, his desire to fit in using any means necessary made his orifices a party in themselves. A party that he pretended to relish but actually made him intensely ashamed.