That was... expected.

He was cute, with a wonderfully pert ass.  And some gorgeous legs.  So therefore it was really no surprise that it happened at all.

It's a natural reaction.  It happens when the nervous system activates a rapid increase in blood flow. The vascular muscle in the spongy area becomes engorged with blood and the outflow of blood is cut off.  

Translation: I popped wood while adjusting a cute guy during class.  

This isn't the first time something like this has happened, but this was the first time something like this took place during my naked class.  

I had placed my hand on his left hip, keeping it stable as I stretched his right leg.  That's when his penis fell onto my hand.  I looked at his face, trying to determine if I should shake it off, cuz my hand was where it needed to be for the adjustment.  As I looked at his face, his eyes closed, an expression showing he was focusing only on the stretch, I felt the stir.  I looked at my own crotch and noticed that it was coming to life.

"Crap...  uh... well...  it'll go away before he looks up..."

I cued the transition to the next pose, and as he began to move into it, he lifted his head and looked directly at my erection.

I looked him in the eye as I began to move away, everyone else oblivious in their own poses.  He looked again at my erection, a hint of a smile on his face, and laid down.

You know you're gay...

You know you're gay when...

a very sexy woman, wearing only a bit of lingerie, jumps on top of your naked body and starts bouncing up and down.  And it does absolutely nothing to you but make you laugh hysterically at the absurdity of it all. 

Missed Connection

"we saw one another at IKEA today *grin*

i wasn't sure if that was your bf or not - you guys seemed pretty intent on gettin' a piece of furniture and i didn't want to interrupt - heh.

anyhow, i just wanted to drop you a line, say "howdy" and that you look *REALLY* good :)"

It's a little unreal.  This is a missed connection for me.  My good friends C and J, who have what I might call an unhealthy obsession with them, have created a number of rules as to what does and does not constitute a missed connection.  I've always kinda laughed along with them, but never really thought anything of it.  However, I think mine is the real thing.  We made eye contact.  Held eye contact.  Smiled.  Got distracted by others, glanced at each other again.  And then were separated by the crowds of Williamson County suburbanites.

He wrote the above message.

I responded.

Satisfied, dear?

What started as a small area of red, raised, itchy little spots has, in the period of two days, spread into an almost all-torso consuming itch-a-thon.  The doctor gave me a lotion to slather myself in, and it's working.  I think.  However the rash may be spreading faster than I can rub myself down.

And, apparently I need to clear something up.  Fancy Pants called me all in a huff last night wanting me to make sure that y'all know that he does not, in fact, have scabies.  He was cleared of that by his doctor.  He was just being a hypochondriac drama queen and freaking out.  So, sorry I didn't clear that up in the first post, but... um... this blog is about me.  Satisfied?  (It's not like the three people that actually read this thing even know who you are, anyway...)

So...  back to me.  Just so we're all on the same page, I'm about ready to take a cheese grater and scrape all my skin off. 

FUCK!! But no fucking.

"Have you read the e'mail from Fancy Pants?  It's... interesting," he said with a hint of hesitation.

Warily I grabbed my laptop and opened my e'mail.  The note was short and too the point.  "I'm not sure, but I might have scabies.  While there wasn't much personal contact while I was over at your place, I spent a good deal of time lounging on your couch."

My gaze shifted from the spot on the couch my friend had occupied the other day to the words on my computer screen, and back to the spot on my couch.  I reached for my drink, finished it off, and went to bed.

*this is to denote the passage of time*

I woke up itching.  There were little red raised spots near my groin.  They itched.  A lot.  Having never had an STI in my 17 years of sexual activity, I had no idea if what I was experiencing was some sort of rash, or an infection.  So, I went online.

Hrmmm...  scabies... small, red, raised, itchy spots.  They like the folds of skin, elbows, armpits, the groin, the waistline.  They itch.  A lot.  

"FUCK!!!!  Not only do I now have my first STI, but I didn't even get to have fun in getting it," I thought.  "I fucking hope he had a good time getting it.  That better have been some fucking FAN-tastic sex..."

As the day wore on, I tried really hard not to scratch.  But I did.  Quite a bit actually.  At the end of the day, when i got home and finally took off my clothes, I inspected my "spots."  No longer were they little, raised, red, itchy spots.  They had morphed.

"Hrmm....  I don't have scabies.  This is just poison ivy."

Update:  Went to the doctor.  Yes, it's poison ivy.  Don't ask how I got it in that spot...

Date night

Monday morning, 6am.  I had a date.  A phone date, to be precise.  A phone date with a person six time zones away.

Upon answering the phone, upon hearing his voice, I was transported back to the desert.  Memories of him curled up behind me, his arms around me, holding me close, his face nuzzled to the base of my neck.  Memories of Lake Tahoe, our bodies pressed together, my head on his shoulder.  "If I don't let you go, then you can't leave," I had said.  I let go.  He left.

Just as his voice sent me off to memoryland, his voice brought me back.  We chatted for well over an hour, and while morning me was definitely trying to rear his ugly head and push me back into a slumber, I made sure that I took full advantage of the opportunity to have a nice, long, uninterrupted chat with my Brit.  To say it was nice to hear his accent, to engage in live communication, to reconnect on some level, is like saying the water in Lake Tahoe is a tad chilly - it was wonderful.

However...

[Cue freak out music]

With the date of his visit set, with the realization that I'm actually attempting to continue the connection we experienced on the playa - even with the limitations of him being in an ongoing, open relationship much closer to the prime meridian than I am, with the knowledge that I'm a devout monogamist, I'm in the middle of a major freak-out.

My great friend Chi told me, upon hearing that Brit Boy and I were attempting a continuance of what we experienced in the desert, "to not celebrate the connections that we experience with others is folly at least and unsanctimonious at worst."  He also stated that for me, being who and what I am, to be scared of the unchartered, unfamiliar territory, to be nervous that something bad is happening...  is normal.  Yet, knowing that doesn't make it any easier.

I know some of you don't agree with all of this; you don't condone the open-relationship/lover style of things.  Honestly, I don't know where I stand with this anymore.  I thought I knew where I stood - firmly in the one-man-for-me/me-for-one-man camp.  

My knowledge of relationships... my desire for a particular kind of relationship... my comfort level of being in a specific style of relationship with others...  it's all being challenged.  It's scary.  It's frightening.  

It's allowing me to grow.