?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Vertical Prose


June 29th, 2005

what the week was like in lauderdale @ 06:03 pm

 
Share  |  |

Comments

 
From:(Anonymous)
Date:June 30th, 2005 03:20 am (UTC)

The other side of a day in the Florida Everglades #1

(Link)
It all started a number of months ago. Simply perusing the massage ads and encountering someone so unlike all the others. A link to his site. More links to other of his sites. And his photos, oh so beautiful and revealing. Probably one of the most erotic things I’ve ever read: “…men to root down in or to feel their root in me….” When I found the link to his journal, I read and read and read until I was bleary eyed. Maybe it was like a science project, inspecting and dissecting. Maybe it was like trying to understand what was going through Monica Lewinski’s head and knowing what she was thinking.

What started as so intense ended with me feeling numb, hurt and aching. The after effects of a sunburn from 7 miles of walking may have played a part. But the sun may burn the skin while it takes something more to ache so deep inside.

What?

Love?

No way! I’m not the “fragile” person that has been described during what I’ll refer to as “The Day.”

So what happened in between where it started to where it ended?

First there was my “Hello from South Florida” email sent to the “personal” email. Nothing more that a lob across the net. Just testing the waters.

Two weeks later there was no answer. Disappointed, I felt: “Well that’s that. The end. Nothing that caught his eye.”

My outlook changed when I read in the journal about 500 unread emails; so it may not have been anything personal.

A month or two later – still unanswered – my travel plans had me going to Boston, where his “massage” ad was listed.

Fate would place him in Florida when I was in Boston. South Florida in particular, my neighborhood to be exact. And I would be back before he left, so he said we could schedule a “massage” during his visit.

Later, separately and unrelated came the reply to the “personal” email of so many months before. Just a slight hint a flirtatiousness in response to my “stats” that placed me about 10 years younger and several pounds lighter than his published tastes. But nevertheless… a slight interest. Enough to evoke several rounds of telephone tag.

The moment of truth came when I was pressed to clarify confusion as to whether I’m the “personal” emailer or a “massage” client with the same name. In a flash of a second I knew I could deny the “massage” communications and go undetected as he’s overwhelmed with callers. But my honesty has me connect the two routes as both from me.

The call lasted over an hour. Those who know me would call that short. Those who know him would call that unusually long, I would guess. Plans were sealed for a visit to the Everglades, date undetermined.

I later suggested a Monday, allowing him time with his fellow attendees and the weekend days which are Haulover’s busiest.

I chuckle to read now in the journal that as I sat in idling car at the hotel front door, he was finishing one last trick in his hotel room. Maybe he didn’t finish. Because his so-soft hand was caressing my thigh before we were blocks down the street. It was welcomed. Especially after I had just catalogued a mental note about how his hand felt as he shook it upon meeting.

Yeah, maybe he didn’t finish. Twenty minutes later sitting in a chair, he kept playing with his dick, squeezing it as it was quite visible in his pants, as he talked to me about this and that…. No actually we were talking about money for a minute. (And through all of this that I write, I will not reveal any of our rather detailed and personal conversations he and I shared between ourselves.)

Yes, I’ve walked the whole 15 miles before. No, Monday was not the day for the whole circle, as the rain clouds teased us but would not bathe us with their liquid relief.


Vertical Prose