Man #43, the one with the artist

What I remember is that I was home working, it was a sad day outside and I had a cup of ginger tea from India.

I got this message from a guy who asked me to go running together (I had a description about looking for running pals at that time), but it was not possible: he told me that sport tights without briefs really turned him on, wanted to run and then have sex. Where? Outdoor, if you like, or at mine’s, he said. We swapped pics in sportswear and he told me that he had noticed me in a place, where I actually go running. Woah.

I was intrigued. He told me that he was engaged, foreign, could accom. This is my platonic idea of a sexual partner, if you want to know.

It started raining cats and dogs, I decided to take my bike and go to him anyway.

He was wearing a white t-shirt and boxer briefs, he had just smoked and brought me on a big mattress in the middle of an empty room: he told that he was moving, it was the last day in that house. It was a beautiful place, with decorated walls and ceilings, still with fancy details on the walls. He behaved like in the movies or like in high school: he wanted to create a sensual mood, leaning one on each other, talking about sex before doing it, playing with the idea of it. He told me he was half french, half Italian, he had a boyfriend, but also a girlfriend (I’m not sure of this anyway), he said he was in a 10 years long relationship with the guy (Italian), but they were going to split apart, his partner was too jealous, couldn’t understand that he wanted to have sex with other guys and still stay with him, how couldn’t he understand it? We are men, we are supposed to understand and accept sexual impulse beyond love, I never had the chance to answer or say my opinion, or ask something, he was restless, he kind of jumped on the mattress with his thin body and long legs, switching topics at will. I need to mention that he was completely charming, a beautiful smile, refined features, nice hairs, a lithe body. I was watching him more than listening to him and I didn’t want to interrupt and spoil his mood. He told me that he had frequent encounters in the bars, clubs, that guys liked him, but when he told them that he just wanted to fuck, no texting the day after, no drinking the week after, some of them felt disappointed or upset, how can they be upset by this? No time to answer.

He told me that he worked in a famous theatre, he was a set designer, he liked art, beauty, men, oh he liked men so much, he needed to have sex everyday, why don’t you undress, are you shy, are you cold? I was naked, he touched my body, he liked it, I couldn’t stand fat men, we started kissing, he kept his t-shirt but took off his boxer shorts, he was very well hung, and totally passive. He talked again when we stopped kissing, before going down on me, again after sucking me before laying on his belly. I started rimming him, he got crazily horny, he wanted to be fucked so bad, he asked me if I had a condom, I didn’t, he didn’t, no condom left in the empty house, he said how stupid of him not asking to bring them, he spread his leg and told me to rim his ass as long as I could resist, I did everything I know to give him pleasure, slow, fast, spitting, pushing my tongue as deep as I could, then I wanted to come and told him to lay on his back and I jerked off until I came on his chest, watching his beautiful face. I came immediately afterwards.

He was still covered by our ejaculations, but told me to stay by him and relax, I saw some catalogues on the floor, we talked about photographs and divas, like Maria Callas, about talent, about ambition, with that smell of coitus in the air that I’ll never decide if I like or not.

He told me about a dialogue that he had while he was on tour, in Rome if I’m right, about people living surrounded by beauty, but still being gross, not touched by beauty deep inside.

I felt he couldn’t like anybody as much as he liked himself, and people were bound to like him almost as much as he did.

I didn’t want to ruin his beauty with contradiction.

He made me think about the movie The Dreamers, which I don’t really like, and about a french guy I met when I was 23, a beautiful guy, involved in a complicated relationship with a boy and a girl. I was so immature and he was so self-confident, I longed to have sex with him, he didn’t. When I went out of the house, under a porch I checked the updates of this guy on Facebook, he seemed still beautiful, he seemed to have a baby, but it was not clear if he was the father or what.

The day after he asked me to go running wearing tights pants, showing him my bulge.

I couldn’t.

Did I want to?

It was the last time I heard from him.

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on “Man #43, the one with the artist
4 Comments on “Man #43, the one with the artist

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