Light Rain, Dark Green

This farm has a calming effect on me. As I've probably mentioned before, it's divided by a stand of hemlock that climb a steep hill.  They are not a wall, but a depth of green into which your eyes can fall, into which your eyes search for the source of forest sounds that weigh on your curiosity.  Eventually, you succumb.  You drop the spade, leave the weeding half done.  The dog looks up from her spot on the ground and her thoughts read, 'he's going?  I hadn't suspected that.'

I've been thinking a lot about death.  Funny how I've been detached from such an impactful inevitability for so long.  I want to matter more while I'm alive.  I want to trip over the thing I'm supposed to do before I die.  I think that if this happens something might be different, that I'll be able to let go more easily, that dying won't hurt so much.  I guess I haven't really thought about why I need to matter more while I'm alive.  Maybe I just need attention.

I am a snowball of defects.  I am an engine that backfires the same chugs, the same stalls over and over again. The only virtue of my imperfection is that I have been leveled by it so frequently that I am left with a level field upon which to think, act and explore my life.  I'm at such a depth, my frequent falls from grace don't even skin my knees.

I had a  meeting recently with a man who possesses drive, brains and a breadth of interest. He boasted that as part of a recruiting protocol that was undertaken by a firm interested in hiring him, more than 20 thousand dollars was spent on the interview process.  And I asked, "What were they trying to determine?  Clearly you are qualified for the position."  And he returned a question, "Well don't you think that they should be careful?  What do you think that they should be looking for?"  And I responded, "I think that they should be looking for someone who they can talk to, when, after they're done, they have better, clearer ideas than when they started."  I think he thought I was belittling the recruiting process of this company that hired him and now that I reflect upon it, I was.  How is it that you measure an individual?

I want to be selfish, indulgent, lauded, beautiful, dominant, rich, gifted and strong and I think I am capable of pushing others out of my way in order to get there, blinded as I am by own ignorance and lack of virtue.  What an appropriate landscape for this discovery:  yellowing fields rolling to the bottom of a ravine where there's a patch of level earth big enough for a polo match.  With the wise hemlock sentinels above me not just masking, but making a darkness from which there are  drums, hoots and shrieks.  What a happy idiot I am tumbling about like a toddler on a mat.  Watch me drop to my knees, not to pray, but to scoop dirt with my hands, to dig potatoes with my fingers, to fall before  licentious fantasy.

 The bottom of the earth is not all fire.  In my hell there is dark green and light rain.

Darker and Darker Still

 I get out of bed, take a piss and happen to look up and see myself in the mirror.  My hair is rumpled, I'm unshaved.  I think I look sexy with my shirt off and my cock hanging out, pissing in the commode.  I walk downstairs and flip on the light in the hallway.  I pull on my boots and grab a sweatshirt, then head out to start my chores.

A cooing mourning dove starts this day as does a dense fog and the sound of the running stream.  Gravel crunches under my feet , then the sound crosses over to swishing grass as I make my way down the drive and then through the fields to the barn.  Dew completely soaks my boots and pant legs.

Inside the barn, a flock of chickens waits eagerly at their coop door.  They jostle about, but make no clucking sounds.  Even the rooster is quiet.  I open the door and they rush out into the pasture, into the fog, damp and dawn, then march upon the fields.  They are merciless.  They inspect each blade of grass with precision, either with their eyes or their sharp beaks.  Whatever they find is seized from its resting spot, like grabbing a pea with a pair of chop sticks. It is grabbed, clamped and swallowed.  There's no time for chewing and barely a pause in their march.  They are the most loyal soldiers to appetite, survival, and selfishness.

I remain in the barn.  A quartet of young wrens flies about in a mild panic.  Their wing-beating sounds like an airplane with a rubber band propeller.  Some lightly thrum themselves against the glass window frame trying to make an escape.  They flutter here and there, through the wire of the chicken coop, into the rafters, back through the chicken wire.  They're fat and healthy chicks.  They've been reared on chicken feed and insects from the field.  These cherubs will be small masters of the sky.

I am waiting on the platform for the A train to take me downtown.  A tall, twenty-something Hispanic, in the company of an older woman, asks me for directions.  He has on a tight-fitting, long-sleeved shirt, tight pants, heavy jewelry and sunglasses.  He looks like he's been outfitted from the wardrobe department of Sanford and Son.  Though he is manly looking, he still has enough baby fat on him to give him feminine curves and despite his flashy, ethnic look, he is gentle and soft spoken.  After I help him, he and his mother (?) settle into the bench next to me.  He and I exchange smiles.  He has a sweet, submissiveness.

When the train arrives, he and his mother stay close.  The young man and I exchange smiles again.

What happens to me when I want like this?  I stand there, holding onto the overhead handrail and feel my attraction to him weigh upon me.  What is it that fuels the intensity of my desire?  Years I've spent, readying myself for this day of work in New York City.  I have suffered for years with long work hours and education to get to a position where I can command the money and the schedule that I do.  But none of that matters now.  He radiates a heat.  I relax my knees and feel how easily I could just lie down on the subway car floor. This feeling is like a release from every tension I've ever known.  Awash in it as I am now, I might float, I might stop in time, I might not remember anything that has ever troubled me, I might live one pure, now instant.

The car shakes as we move the through the tunnel.  We enter a longer stretch of track where the train accelerates.  The momentum is carried through each car and each of the bodies on the train.  Those of us that are holding onto the overhead rail lean back into the wake of the increased speed.  The connection I feel to the young man is like this invisible force that acts on all of us in the car.  I imagine the distance between us commuted by this connection, just as you erase distance when you look through the scope of a rifle, just as your eye is locked onto the object in the cross hairs while the rest of the world tumbles to blurred edges.

We are several stops into the trip.  I know where he's going because I'm the one who gave him the directions to get there. I know that in another stop, he'll be gone, that I will never see him again, and I'll only be left with this wanting. That prospect seems unbearable to me. I rush through my work bag to search for a business card.  I don't know how I'm going to give it to him or what I'll say when I do,  but I know that this can't be the last time I see him.  I realize, pathetically, that for months, I've been tricking myself into believing that I've been happy or even ok.  Outside of the train, solitary light bulbs whiz by.  The contrast to what I feel now and what I have been feeling and thinking for months is like these spaced moments of light in barreling darkness.

When the doors open, he moves to exit and looks at me again.  I hand him the card.  I have to reach past two people to do this.   I only say...I flounder it...I say, "here you are".  He smiles and nods like he's known all along that this would happen.  He takes the card, and exits.

Two hours later, he texts me.  When I receive the text, I'm immersed in my pretend life, the one where I pretend that the words coming out of my mouth and the things that I talk about matter.  In fact, when I see the text, I'm in the process of talking and I stutter so that the last part comes out like babble. It is maybe the most real thing I've said all day.  Meaningless, yes, but at least is is true. I look around me and really take things in.  I feel like inviting everyone to a bar.  I feel like taking my clothes off and going to bed. I feel like opening up the window, climbing out, making my way down the side of the building, then down the block, and not turning around.   I text him back 'great to hear from you'.  I write the word 'great' but the words do nothing to convey how I feel.  I ask him, 'can I see you later today?' and he replies back quickly, 'yes'.

In the quiet of the barn, the wren chicks have exhausted themselves trying to beat their way through the windowpanes.  They perch on the seal panting shallow, quick, silent breaths.  The light that shines into this dark paddock is like the light for which you build church windows.  Even though everything has been still, dust remains floating in the air, rising and sinking like a thousand hot air balloons in a race to circle the globe in 80 days.

After we are together, I catch him looking at himself in the mirror.  He studies his hair, his face, and then his eyes. He scrutinizes himself for flaws like the chickens look for bugs.  I want to take a snapshot of him so that I catch the shine of the pomade in his hair.  So he can autograph the picture with a marker and write on it 'See ya 'round, Casanova'.   I recognize that face that he makes at himself in the mirror, as he swivels his chin from side to side.  I know that bandaid of affirmation that gets applied.  I know that Dumbo journey up an down in the bright, white rays of morning. And all these years I  thought it was a spotlight.  I had no idea it was evidence, proof all along that I was part of something infinitely larger and much more stark.  I know why the little birds are so afraid and why they've rushed to the sides of the frame.

Dayton Dreams

If you've been reading my blog for awhile, you know I travel often for work.  I've been traveling further and further west in the past couple of months and I love it.  The guys are the kind of straight-looking built guys that make me go crazy.  Those fucking white, bubble asses!  Christ, they make me nuts.  Love the smell of their sweet pussies, love to eat them out, love to fuck them.  Love to be in them so hard and just dripping inside of them, you know?  I have to tell them, 'don't move, don't move', cause I'm so close to cumming.  I just lie there with them, kissing them, by cock deep inside of them, just dripping.

I'm currently at a hotel in Dayton, Ohio.  Here's a pic of my cock I just took.

And here's a shot of me in the mirror at the hotel

So listen, this is what I want:

I want a gay man with his head on straight.  You can't be a druggie...even part time...(sorry about that)

You should be positive like me so I can fuck you without a condom and we can make love like people are supposed to make love.

I want you to have a life outside of us.

I want to see the joy you have for life, so I can see life through your eyes.  I am go go go and with someone who sees the beautify and life and takes time to take it in, I am a better person.

And this is what you'll get:

Total worship in bed.  I'll completely possess you.
My generosity
My admiration and respect.

This guy has been driving me nuts with his fucking perfect pussy.  He's a masculine guy with very white skin and nearly hairless all over.  Thirty something.  Honestly, it's like he's giving off a chemical that is making me go insane. And it's like he knows he's doing it to me.  I look in his eyes sometimes and I think...are you the devil or what?  It's like he has a grip on my soul, my sanity, everything I am.

I think that's how I threw my back out to be perfectly honest.  He's a bigger guy with long big legs and I think the combination of having that weight on my shoulders along with all of that lower back movement on my part  ;) wore out my muscles.  The other day I was bending over to put something in the dishwasher and I had a fast, shooting pain in my lower left side.  It felt like I had been tasered.  I almost dropped to my knees the pain was so intense.  Since then, I have been having small electric-like shots of pain there, but its no where nearly as debilitating.

Things at the farm are robust.  The recent rain gave everything a second lease on life.  The lawn is lush and emerald and after it's been cut, you have to stand there and marvel at its green beauty.  The sunflowers that I struggled with earlier this year are up and in flower.  The struggle consisted of me and little fucking turd of a groundhog who made it his business to chew off the top two leaves of each seedling as it spouted.  The dog is no help.  She spends hours, stone-still pointing the asshole out, but do you think she ever runs after it, catches and kills it?  Hell no.  I have the world's only nature-loving dog.

Said 'screw this' to the mountain of work I had on my desk the other day, went downstairs, grabbed a glass of wine and headed off into the fields with the dog.  We crossed the stream and the 'wild tub' as I call it...a natural waterfall and place to bathe... then headed up the logging trail into the dark, still forest.  We follow a deer trail, well worn over the years, by the dutiful, short steps of small hoofs that have downtrodden its path. It's like walking in the gutter lane at a bowling alley, but it's a sure, clean way.  Once you are into the forest about 500 yards or so, the path levels off and you get the sense that you are navigating the edge of a dark, large brimmed hat before you begin a descent down a gravely road that opens into another part of the stream and more waterfalls.

One of these days, I'm going to find someone to bring up here, lay him down next to that stream and screw them right there atop the soft earth. I want to fill him with my cum.  Cream inside of him while he's laying on the moist earth with those stark hemlocks above.  Have the drumming blood in my ears, quiet after the rush, and have that sound replaced with the sound of the nearby running water.

Ass-tral projections

I have this sweet boyfriend.  I told you.  He says to me, ‘know one gives you the pleasure that I do’.  He says this while I’m inside of him, holding his sweet, smooth, perfect ass; his beautiful legs wrapped around me.  I can’t get enough of him.  He is right.  He has me completely.  I am spellbound.

I push my cock all the way into him, as deep and as hard as I can.  I slide my hand closer to his pussy and pull it open so that I can go in deeper still.  I wrap my whole body around him, then take his mouth with my own.  I would consume him if I could.  As it is, I grab the back of his head and tell him I’m going to make him mine.  I ask if he’s ready to go on the journey with me.

We look at each other, half bound up as we are, with my dick in his perfect cunt, with his delicious, smooth legs around my body.  We agree with our eyes that we will bond.  I take his mouth again.  I tell him, ‘Open yourself to me.  Let me have my way with you. Let me satisfy myself in your pussy’. 

I stroke harder and harder inside of him.  I pull my cock all of the way out and push it all the way in over and over and faster and faster.   I hold onto him tightly.  I tell him with each stroke, I love you, I love you, I love you.  He’s completely enveloped in my arms.  His mouth is all mine.  And then I tell him ‘I’m going to marry you right now’.  I make him tell me that he wants me to make him mine.  When he tells me that he wants me, it makes me go crazy.  I push my cock hard into his cunt and flood that sweet pussy with hot cum.

I keep my cock pressed as hard as I can into his pussy.  My cock pulses with each squirt of cum, deep inside of him.  He whispers, ‘I can feel you.’

Afterwards I lie there, my cock still in him and he strokes my hair.  He kisses me gently on my face.  I lay on top of him, spent.

I don’t know what we are doing.  I don’t know where or what these trips are, dark as they are, as ecstatic as they are.  But I can tell you that the two of us have converged during those times.  We have met somewhere inside, like its astral.  It’s a connection that will never stop or never go away.  

I'm going to a party

It's been months since I've been to a party.  I keep using work as an excuse to not socialize, but the fact of the matter is, I'd rather stay in.  I know that some people find the seduction of someone socially arousing, but it just frustrates me.  If I see you and like you and we hit it off, I don't feel like putting the breaks on in front of a bunch of other people. I want you all to myself, all alone, so I can have my way with you.

I'm with someone now that I can totally have my way with.  It's heart-stopping.  I just keep my dick rock hard, slowly pumping inside of him for what seems like hours (it's probably only an hour or so, but it's certainly longer than what most people are used to).  Do you have any idea how exhilarating it is to be on the edge of cumming for more than an hour, just dripping inside of perfect man pussy?

That sounds crude, but I tell you, I've never had anything like it.  This boy is like a geisha.  He's pumped up, muscular, but still round like a woman...or like anything that is sexy...is.  Having him underneath me, penetrating him, fucking him for hours and then finally unloading two full nuts of cum pushed all the way inside of him is like a bottle of wellbutrin washed down with a hefty dose of scotch.  It takes me 30% longer to get anywhere I'm going after that.  That's how sated and slowed down I am.

I got sidetracked.  Where was I?  Oh yes, the party.  Well, I'm not going to be able to see my regular boy this January 31st.  If I were, I'd probably skip out of town with him in tow on the 30th and spend the weekend up here in this time-stop-capsule screwing him morning, noon and night, but I have a friend really down on his luck and he's been bugging me to come up here, so I'm going to treat him for the New Year.  That said, I'll stay in the city for the party, pick his ass up on the 31st and haul him up here for a few days of farm R and R.

The party is at a theatre and will be filled to the brim with a bunch of theatre queers...my favorite kind of folk, since they're mostly gregarious and funny.
I'm planning on doing a lot of flirting and trawling, oh yeah, and drinking ;)

Stay warm, farm followers!  Let me hear from you, wherever you are!

Christmases Kinky

It’s Christmas, always a time for memories, but I’m not going to talk about sugar cookies and stockings.  It is the gay farmer website after all.  I’m going to talk about a couple of queer Christmases I had when I was living in NYC.

This memory is of a Christmas I must have had more than 20 years ago when I was about 24 or so.  At the time, I was a bartender at a notorious bar in the Village, a left over from the 60’s, called the Ninth Circle.  This bar had already long since peaked, had been visited by some of NY’s coolest set, but now was just a watering hole for the last hangers on of that era, those about to die of AIDS or just beginning to, underworld small time crooks and young hustlers looking for food, lodging and spending cash.  One hustler…what was his name?  I can’t recall.  I can see still see him.  Not much to look at, thin, unkempt, but cocksure and reckless.  He trawled the waters of that older crowd, would sidle up next to them as they sat at the bar, take out his cock and let them grope it under the concealment of the bar rail.  His cock was huge and from my vantage, I could watch the old men’s expression change to lust as they touched it.  Afterwards, they would flag me down to order him a beer or drink of some kind.  They were hateful perverts, all of those old men.  Deceitful.  They didn’t even have the decency to pay the young kid money.  They cheaply doled out their affection in drinks, dinners at the diner, or a place to sleep next to them back at their apartments.

What was I talking about?  Oh, yeah, Christmases.  Well one Christmas, I spent walking all over the city with a friend I met at that bar. His name was Tommy.  He was a graduate of the Julliard School of Drama and kept me in stitches whenever I worked.  He was a funny, funny guy and …well, I can’t remember how or why we agreed to do it, but one Christmas morning, we put on Santa hats and walked all the way from our apartments in the Village, up Eight Avenue, across Central Park, past the Museum, then down through the East Side till we ended up back in the Village at a burger joint.  We had martinis and burgers for Christmas.  It was wonderful.

But the real reason, I’m telling you all of this is this.  After I said goodnight to Tommy, I went to a porno bookstore.  Now remember, its Christmas night.  Still there were a couple of hustlers in there trying to make a few bucks.  Maybe for some last minute shopping, who knows.  Well, there was this one that simply blew my mind.  He was about 6 foot tall, Hispanic, very light skinned, very tough, big bubble ass and a full, red lips.  When I approached him, I wasn’t certain whether he was going to be hostile or what.  After a brief conversation…I remember he was playing a video game while we talked.  My eyes were on him, but his were on the video screen before him… I convinced him to come into the back of the bookstore with me and share a stall.  This place was run by the mob.  All of them were then and you could pay off the attendants to let you share a booth together, normally only 5 or 10 dollars.   Anyway, I got this guy in there and he acts like this tough top and he wants me to suck his dick (which was huge, by the way), but I wanted some of that ass.

After fooling around with his cock for a while, I got him to turn around.  His ass was perfect and when I started to eat him out, the scent of it was sweet and fresh.  For a while, he held himself stiffly, but soon began to relax and after a few minutes more, he was actually sticking it out for me so that I could eat him out deeper.  Lastly, he reached around and spread his fat, bubble cheeks for me so I could really get in there. Even now when I think about it, I get hard. 

The guy was driving my crazy, so I stood up and whispered that I wanted to fuck him.  He told me that it would cost me 60 bucks and I can tell you I practically threw the money at him.  I couldn’t get in my wallet fast enough.  I gave him the money.  I remember the sound of the bills folding in his hand as he turned around to present his back to me again.  His pants were down around his ankles.   I remember the outline of his muscled legs.  He had taken off his black aviator jacket and hung in on the hook on the back of the door.  His t-shirt was lifted slightly to reveal his stocky waste.

I ate him some more to get him good and wet, then rock hard, I pushed my cock slowly into that perfect ass.  He was tense.  After a few strokes, I felt like I would explode in him.  I had to keep thinking of horrible things: the prospect of getting arrested or killed, to keep from coming.   Then, just as he had before, he relaxed and soon he was pushing his ass towards me and leaning more deeply into the wall in front of him.  I was crazy with lust.  It was one of the most rapturous fucks I have ever had and I can tell you that I was especially crazed when I reached around and felt that his cock was rock hard.

After a bit more pumping, I pulled out and came huge ropes of cum.  He did not.  Then we silently put our clothes back on.  He left the booth before me…almost like he couldn’t wait to get out…away from me?  Away from the shame?  I don’t know.

By the time I pulled myself together and moved to leave the store, he was back at the video game.  He never looked up as I left and I never saw him again. 

If I could go back and relive that day, I would not have paid him for sex.  I would have asked him to dinner and then, if he needed money, just given it to him.  As I look back on Christmases past, I don’t remember the money or the presents. I remember the contact. I remember the people.  I remember the rush of feeling that I was in love.