Cigar Daddy?

Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

CigarGetting used to being called Daddy was painful but, at least, I didn’t have to do much. Saying, “Good boy!” every now and then during sex, stupid as it felt, seemed to do the trick. I slowly got used to it, mostly because it got me laid. Then I posted profile pictures of myself smoking a cigar and things really changed. Now I’m supposed to somehow incorporate cigar smoking into fucking. I’m not very verbal during sex to begin with. I prefer keeping my mouth shut and making intimate eye-contact. It was easy to sit back and enjoy a great blow job and a good cigar at the same time. Now I have to blow smoke at my “boy” and use my brain to come up with “hot” things to say, like “How do you like sucking your cigar-smoking Daddy-bear’s dick?” That sounds preposterous to me in any situation. While I’m getting my dick sucked it’s an incredible distraction.

When I first started smoking cigars, I thought, “I must really look like a pretentious asshole. I took some pictures of myself with my camera phone just to prove to myself that I should never smoke a cigar in front of anyone. Surprisingly, I looked good! Damn. I figured, what the hell, I need new pics anyway, so I performed some Photoshop magic to make them acceptable for public consumption—mostly making sure my eyes weren’t Frankenstein-like black holes—and I posted them. The e-mail started pouring in. Suddenly I was popular again!

I know. Everyone should have such problems at 51. Humor me.

Sexual role-playing is something I’ve always tried to avoid, since, for me, it restricts intimacy. (I’m not sure what role-playing and other sexual accessories mean for other people. I could be shallow and say they’re trying to work out some childhood trauma but I don’t really believe it.) It might seem strange to regular readers of this blog but intimacy is ultimately what I'm after. For me, man-to-man sex, even with someone whose face I never see and whose name I don’t care about, is not only a unique, necessary and irreplaceable expression of male intimacy but it’s an important political act as well. Forget about running around in the woods, drumming in the nude. Having sex with each other is the one important ritual that has lasted through the milennia and the one that still means something.

There are a lot of people—even, depressing to say, gay people—who want us to believe that sex without what Rufus Wainwright calls “the steel-eyed vampire of love” is wrong. Don’t believe them. They want to destroy you. Remember, sex is GOOD.

Wow. And I was just going to write about a disappointing sexual encounter I had last night.

Anyway, this guy wrote to me every day for about a week, saying he was going to be stoppping in NOLA for a night on his way from Austin TX to Florida and that he really wanted to get together with a “cigar-smoking Daddy” like ME. He couldn’t stop yapping about it online. I got multiple IMs and e-mails every day. Besides hating that kind of pressure to perform, I start to think a guy’s insane or high or something.

Still, I met him early last night in his hotel room. He was really good-looking, despite not looking like his pictures, taller and younger-looking than I thought he’d be. So-far, so-good. His scenario was that he would blow me while I smoked a cigar and then I’d shoot a load in his ass. I think it would have worked for me if there was a comfortable chair in his room. I know it sounds like a minor complaint but, like I said, I’m not very comfortable in this role to begin with, so I couldn’t sustain it just standing there looking down at the top of his head and around the room. Don’t get me wrong, he was good, the problem was completely my own. Luckily, my erection was strong and I figured we ought to move on to Act Two. He wanted to ride me and he was very good at it. Eventually I figured I wasn’t going to be able to give him the load he wanted, at least not in that position and we ended up beating off together.

I was disappointed but he insisted he loved it. I went home and stared at the computer screen the rest of the night. I guess I was satisfied, too, since I was home by 9:30 and didn’t go out again. Who knows? Maybe I’m better at this than I give myself credit for. Oooh, that’s a good one!

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