my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard

Well, usually it does. But not today.

NewBoy is still on vaca - a sabbatical, if you will. Never thought that I'd actually look forward to a drunk-dial, but I do. No hot and steamy conversation, too loud in the bar. I'll reserve that for a future conversation, and hopefully it will transpire quite soon.

J is in his own little "place" right now. He's still around, but in a more "platonic" way. Every so often, he'll slip in a little not-so-subtle nuance, but it's not as "hot" as it was. Not sure what his major malfunction is, but I don't have the time or energy to find out. Nor do I much care any more.

Speaking of whom ... the time elapsed since the last time I got some? Three weeks, two days.

So, I really have nothing to write about. The circle-jerk continues at TheFirm, so that pisses me off. Although today was a total ass-kicking day in Risk And Compliance Land, so that part makes me happy. So, I'm pulling an Eden and starting to write up some of my escapades, just for kicks. Granted, mine are not nearly as erotic or HOT as hers, but at least mine are mildly amusing. And they don't have to be about sex, but I may throw one in from time to time. I can start with the reason I no longer consume AfterShock. It always makes me smile.

It happened during Christmas break, back in my Sophmore year in college. B and I were on one of our "off again, let's just be friends, and occasionally sleep together" phases. We went through those cycles, where we would go out as "friends", and then end up in bed together. This particular night, I had went to meet a friend for dinner, and it was snowing gently. As I was paying my tab, B rang my cell. He says something to the effect of how he is bored and wants to hang out. (Which, in B and H code, means "it's been a while, wanna get your freak on?") So we agree to meet at the usual place (his place), and sit down to a beer. We get this crazy idea to sit around and drink all night, just the two of us. In hindsight, this was probably not the best idea, when it is proven time and time again that you can't keep your hands off each other.

Anyhow, after much innuendo, we both decided that we were in a "cinnamon" mood. So we cruised down to the liquor store and invested in a bottle of After Shock. And that, my friends, was the beginning of the end.

Now, B isn't a terribly big man. He has maybe an inch on me, and is what The Others would call "pretty". He has that very "Ashton Kutcher" kind of fine bone structure. So of course, I get my smack-talk on, and say those famous last words ... you know the ones ... "Let's go - you and me - shot for shot. I can take ya." Fair warning - never utter those words to a terribly competitive Capricorn. Even if you are a really headstrong Aries.

So, we just sat there for hours on end. We drank, and laughed, and talked, and drank some more. I chatted about the most recent boy I had dated but not bedded, he talked about the recent women he had bedded but not dated. Oddly, this type of subject matter never did make us uncomfortable ... I'm not really sure why. Anyways, about three hours went by, and the bottle was empty. And we were smashed. Not just giggle-fest drunk, or even sloppy drunk. We were shit-housed, fucked-in-half, Tucker Max drunk. The last thing I remember was saying "hmm. what else you got?" ... and the inevitable response was "let's go upstairs and I'll show ya." I remember taking his hand ... and that was it.

At some point the next morning, I woke up in the middle of the floor, on the landing on his staircase. I was no longer wearing my fashionable sweater and jeans - but instead a Miami Of Ohio sweatshirt and boxers. Neither of which, obviously, were mine. After I could open both of my eyes simultaneously, I rolled over and threw back the covers and there was a sleeping B ... blissful freckles and all. Wearing my shirt and his trademark flannel boxers. And that was it. On the other side of me ... dozens of smashed crackers and animal cookies - and two empty bottles of liquor. Neither of us could explain the events of the evening, nor do we care to. I think it's one of those things that just was better off "unsaid" forever.

Both of us were sick for days. But we've never broached the subject of that night, in all of our conversations since then. It's been nine years since that night, and I still have the sweatshirt.