Springtime is for lovers

As I mentioned in a comment over at Fully Functional Android earlier today, our calender may not mark the official beginning of spring until September, but if you look around you, you'll see that it's already well and truly arrived here in Melbourne.

As evidence, your honour, I present the following:

1. My hayfever has made a comeback.
2. The magnolia trees in Gertrude Street are in bloom.
3. I got laid yesterday.

It wasn't the best sex I've ever had, it's true, but it was certainly welcome after a rather barren winter.

At this point, my inner censor points out, if you don't want to read about my sex life, you should click here and be taken to a much more wholesome place.

All done? Good.

Now that we've got rid of the wowsers, I'll just mention, before we get underway, that you're not going to get a blow-by-blow description of anything - I'll save that for the next time I write a piece of erotica - but you will get some frank and honest discussion, alright?

I left the offices of MCV in Richmond at about 5.15pm on Monday and started walking into the city. I was heading for the Kino Cinema, for a media screening of Breakfast on Pluto, the new film from director Neil Jordan starring Cillian Murphy, but I didn't make it, for a very good reason.

As I traversed the verdant expanse of the Fitzroy Gardens, my eye was caught by a tall young lad in jeans and a tracksuit top walking towards me. He would have been about, oh, 19 or so. I eyed him off as he drew closer, and I noticed that he seemed to be checking me out as well.

(Public cruising has never been one of my strong points, although it is something I've had a small degree of success with in the past. I've picked up in clubs, sure, but also once or twice on the street, and on one memorable occasion on a Northcote-bound tram.)

We walked past each other giving one another the eye. Seen up close, this guy was just my type; what some men would refer to by using the class-based moniker rough trade. Me, I'd just call him a bit of a bloke.

I've always had a thing for masculine men, which admittedly in the past, before I had completely come to terms with the idea of being queer, tended to express itself in unhealthy infatuations with straight men. That said, not all those men were completely straight. Some might have been bisexual but been uncomfortable with the label. These days, thanks to the internet, they might be able to express the complexity of their sexuality with terms like 'bicurious', 'hetero-flexible' or even 'being on the down-low'.

Regardless of what they called themselves, I got well past first base with more than a few of those so-called straight men, although they'd usually claim to have been 'so drunk I don't remember what happened' the next day. Bullshit!

Anyway, back to what happened last night.

We walked past each other. We made eye contact. We kept walking. I slowed my pace and glanced over my shoulder back towards him. He did the same.

I slowed my pace even further, stopped, and leaned against a tree. He walked slowly back towards me.

"Got a light?" he asked.

"Nope, sorry, not a smoker."

Beat.

"Oh," he muttered.

"Sorry," I said.

"Do you want a blowjob?"

I love a man who's so frank and open.

I grinned.

"Yes," I replied.

"You'll blow me too, right?" he asked hesitantly.

I assured him that I would. Off we went.

Now, if it had been night-time, and warm, I may have considered getting off with him then and there in the park, as long as we could find a nice, dark, secluded space to do it in. And don't look at me like that; I know you straight people have sex outdoors all the time, I've stumbled across you doing it often enough.

We went back to my place, and spent a very pleasent half hour or so fooling round.

Taking a complete stranger back to your house for sex is always risky, but it's also part of the attraction with anonymous sex I suppose; the thrill of danger, perhaps. Certainly it adds a little spice. Either way, this guy seemed nice, albeit nervous, but I put that down to the fact that he said that this was his first time with a guy. Yeah right, like I haven't heard that one before. Then again, given the clumsy eagerness with which he was shortly to go down on me, he might have been telling the truth...

I was slightly more wary of him once we back at my flat, when a spraypaint can fell out of his jacket pocket as he was undressing, but he said he was a tagger, not a chromer. Besides, he had a fantastic body: that lean definition that gives a bloke perfect 'fuck me' muscles (those v-shaped grooves that run from a guy's hips down towards his crotch). Plus he had a lovely treasure trail, which always turns me on.

The sex was awkward but passionate, as the first time with a new partner often is.

Halfway through things he told me he wanted me to fuck him. I declined, on the basis that if this really was his first time, unless he was completely relaxed and comfortable, it could be a little painful. Besides which, I didn't have any lube. With spring here, I really must re-stock.

Afterwards, once we'd cleaned up, he gave me his number, and told me to call him in a couple of hours, as he'd be back in the area by then and up for a repeat performance.

I did.

Either deliberately or unintentionally, he'd given me the wrong number.