Sugar In My Bowl

It is standard knowledge that when I return from Portland I spend the next couple of days looking for employment and housing in hopes of returning to the city that I have again fallen in love with. This trip is no different, with the exception that I already have the housing sitch figured out. M&M has an awesome flat with an extra bedroom. I haven’t lived with a gay man before… but I can only imagine that the “turnstile of men” (that he had joked about when we said we were going to move to NY together) might be accurate.

I am actually pretty much past the random hook up portion of my life (she wrote while doubting the words pouring forth from her fingers). I, of course, don’t mind having guys in my life… and in Portland I have them readily available to me.*

Mensa called me while I was drunk one night in Portland. After telling him where I was I changed my mind and decided that I actually did not want him to come and meet me there.** So I called him back as a cab was picking him up from his house and told him to just cancel the cab, that there was no reason for him to come down. I was proud of myself for not again falling into the cycle of my Portland boys.

I did let The Spanker know I was coming to town prior to my arrival. Spanker and I have an interesting situation. We have known one another for seven years and have flirted the entire time. For the last five of the seven years we have played around (don’t take that to mean more than I do). Spanker is an awesome friend and I really enjoy his company.

When I picked him up on Sunday… damn if he doesn’t look great… we went to lunch at my favorite Reuben shop and he talked to me about politics (I would say that it was a conversation, but he dominated it, which I like). We then went shopping. Walking through the Pearl District arm in arm… I liked being there, next to him… Flirting progressed and I decided at the end of the afternoon I would walk him back up to his apartment.

We entered into his apartment and as I set down my handbag he turned on Nina Simone and approached me. He pushed me and pinned my arms by my wrists against the wall. My heart raced… it was just where I wanted to be, his lips on me, his teeth [at times not so] gently biting at me… perfect. We moved into his bedroom and he peeled my winter layers from me… and I him… We later we laid there… my head nestled into that spot near his shoulder as his fingers glided up my side and back down and I doodled on his chest with my fingertip.

He and I are not like that. We have never been very intimate. For five years we did nothing much more than have high school making out sessions. We have never actually even slept together. When I would go and visit him when he lived in SoCal I chose to sleep on the couch every time I visited. Then there I was Sunday afternoon in his bed. Feeling so perfectly content… not wanting to leave… the desire to fall asleep in his arms so overwhelming I had to immediately get up, redress and leave.

I returned to work today, with thoughts of the Spanker and the dream I had about him last night lingering through the back of my mind.

We are not like that.

Anyone know of a good job in Portland?


* Why are guys in SoCal so fucking short? I know I have said this previously, but seriously. I am stoked to see a guy 5’ 10” here, while in Portland I can actually wear heels and have all of the guys I am with be taller than me. Whodathunk?

** I won’t lie, there was another guy at the bar that I had more interest in, so I didn’t want Mensa coming down and ruining my game… Yes, sure, I am a bitch to him… but I told you before that I would be the next time I saw him and he would take it. He did and he will again. I must fucking rock in bed.