Martin’s Predicament #1

struggling dude

Martin’s Predicament #1

So far, most of the guys I know have been spared the axe. There was a lot of talk about it; few otherwise cool dudes looked like they shitted their pants a bit too soon, but save for the Simon Dude, everyone I am in touch with have actually kept their jobs. Few perks have been cut here and there but no one lost his home, car and livelihood, the ongoing meltdown notwithstanding. I am not sure that the guys really know how to count their blessings, though.

 My prospective changed Monday afternoon when I got this text:

 Are you in town?

This came out of the blue. Not so much the simple question but rather the sender thereof.


I met Martin in the fall of 2006 via one of the regional gay dating portals. We chatted and exchanged a few e-mails before meeting up for the first time. He was in a very deep closet, had an uptight, emotionally very remote catholic girlfriend and ultra-conservative, religious parents. Basically, Martin was all about the discretion. He was totally dependent on his parents for living. As it turned out, he really was a struggling & starving college student who came from the country into the big city to get a college degree, and virtually escape milking the cows every morning.

That big gay thing out there, bars, cruising, and being seen there by the other people were his worst nightmares. His other real problem was that somewhat irrational dependency on a small group of his very small town high school friends who did not quite gather that the high school was over; and that you could mix with other guys, too, now that you made it to the big city college. With some luck on his side, Martin could have introduced another guy of his age, as someone he had known, possibly a friend of a friend to hang out with. Unfortunately, he completely distrusted his peers, feared for his little secret, and was looking for a much older, bigger top guy for sex only. 

I still remember the opening sentence of his first e-mail: I want a big dick up my ass as often as I can get it. I am fine with that. I only do not want the whole damned world to know.

I liked his honesty. Muscular body, long dark hair, black eyes, the glow of a 21 year old dude, and an amazing bubble butt did the rest. Working on the farm in summers, and hitting your basic student gym regularly in winters did pay nice dividends. 

I knew better than to ruin the whole thing by showing any personal interest in him. This would have set off his alarms, and he’d be gone for good. He told me all I needed to know, I reciprocated on equal terms, and we agreed, without spelling it out in as many words, to leave it at that. 

We used to meet up at my place twice, sometimes even three times a week for what came to be called ‘a quick session’ in our ever evolving lingo. We have really never tried to connect on any other level. He wanted to get his rocks off, and I could never get enough of his tight farmer boy-turned-jock hole. He would lube his hole up, and bend over. I would ride in and fuck him till he and I shot our loads. ‘Sexual gymnastics’ was a good description of our regular trysts. True, light years away from being a perfectly blissful relationship, but a mode of efficiently getting your rocks off given our particular circumstances. Why beat to porn, when you can star in your own? 

At times, we made it to my bedroom; and at other times, we never made it past the locked entrance door of my flat. Though he never said so, Martin really liked it on the floor, rough, quick, direct, with grunts and moans. Sex was plain, hot and good. We never wasted a word about it. There was really nothing to talk about.

As expected, his graduation put an end to our arrangement. I gave him a good power fuck as his parting gift; he walked into the elevator, and never looked back.

A month or so after our final session, I sent him an E-Mail asking him to stay in touch. After all, we had that good thing going for almost two years. We parted on friendly terms, too.

I never got any reply, and left it at that. Few other willing dudes filled in. I moved on. As I always do.

I texted back immediately. 

Yup. Wanna come over? 

He did. He was even more handsome than I last remembered him. That one year of regular gym routine since he departed paid off nicely. 

There was little joy in his eyes as he walked into my flat. He took of his t-shirt, and I unbuttoned my jeans. I took his ass in the hallway, just like I had done so many times before. He arched back as I drove in, gave out an audible grunt, and pushed back as he always did. I kept him pinned on the floor making sure that his dick got no hand action.

Our past deal on ‘quick sessions’ was over. If he wanted any renewal, it was going to be by my rulebook and on my terms only. He got that loud and clear.

i like it thickI fucked him until he came uncontrollably, without any hand action. He was biting his hand leaving hefty teeth marks on the skin trying to subdue his cries. It was up to him to decide, if this was a reward for his comeback or a punishment for not staying in touch. He owed me nothing, and I sure, did not owe him anything either. Now that he has asked for it, he got it, too.

After the showers, he got the repeat, on his back in my bed, his feet resting on my shoulders. It was a major turn on to see his “O face” while taking a massive dick. He shot far above his head all in one rope. He looked both sated and very satisfied.

I had no illusions about the two of us re-connecting, and going back to his college days here and my office time in the city. Both of us moved on. If anything, we needed a clean slate to start with. 

I gave him a pair of my boxers, and we sat to talk.

Martin and I knew each other. We really connected in the first place because neither of us was into wasting any time beating about the bush. No-nonsense people usually connect with greatest ease. 

He and I have had our share of fun with each other. When we parted, and in particular, when he failed to reply to my ‘keep in touch’ mail, Martin must have decided that our quiet little affair was over for good. He might have been in need of a fuck or two, but he certainly did not decide to swallow his pride and show up here for that bit alone. 

“Since the graduation, everything was just one long, bad downhill slide. Dad had a heart-attack, and passed away in the hospital. Six weeks later, Mom and I discovered that our little farm was heavily mortgaged. Dad was both a bad drinker and an equally bad gambler, too. We will have to sell everything we still have, in order to pay back his debts.”  

I was listening, offering neither encouragement nor sympathy. Both would have been out of place. 

“I have not been able to get anything like a steady job at all. Most of my friends returned to their farms, are looking for jobs, while helping their old folks out. Anna left me, once it turned out that I was going to be practically destitute for quite some time now.

And, yeah, I did not have any sex in almost a year, if that is worth mentioning.

So, where do I go from here?” said Martin, ending his short monologue. 

That “Agony Uncle” label must have been written in neon red all over my forehead, and supposedly, it was flashing big time, too.

Joke aside, Martin was just another guy who went on doing all the things right, only to be severely kicked in the gut for actually doing so. Where did it all go wrong? Where was he to head off now? 

First and foremost, I suggested, he needed to lose his conformist attitude. If many people behave in a certain way, it is only both comfortable and comforting to assume that they all know what they are doing, so that you can simply follow along that well-trodden path, too. In reality, this popular and equally dangerous mirage is usually a result of a massive snow-ball effect. The very first dude(s), who started something, may or may not have had good and possibly very personal reasons for it. The others followed in, and soon, the sheer mass of people mimicking each other gave very doubtful legitimacy to this group’s behavior. Monkey see, monkey do

It pays off handsomely, to adopt a critical attitude here. Sure, his friends have not been able (or willing?) to adapt themselves to the new urban(e) environment, grow and cultivate friendships and thus, chose to stay amongst themselves. By going along, Martin forfeited one of the greatest chances in his young life: he never learned how to adapt himself to a different kind of living, and equally so he neglected to create a wider, more productive and powerful social network.

For some of his now ex-friends, the comfort of taking the path of least resistance might have been an affordable luxury. People with significant (or at times, only sufficient) backgrounds usually need very few other people in their lives. Yet, Quod licet Iovi, non licet bovi.

Second off, it does not take any great life wisdom to understand that “The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft agley.” What indeed, takes a much greater degree of wisdom is to accept the inevitable fact that the only thing we really CAN do is to make plans, and develop strategies, and then both plan and strategize even more, since even some of our best laid plans will end up being the laughing stock of gods, and, indeed, nothing more. 

Martin simply had no plan at his hands. So far, he has not made it to a single interview. By the looks of it, his chances in this market looked close to non-existent.

Putting it bluntly, he maneuvered himself into a dead alley. Getting himself out of it would have been a formidable task even at the best of times. These days, only a series of miracles would do. 

                “Did I have a plan?” 




~ by silverrrcloud on July 18, 2009.

One Response to “Martin’s Predicament #1”

  1. You are exactly right about the snowball effect, and his failure to develop a network of new (and, potentially powerful) friends. Finding a job IS a job, and you can’t just expect it to magically happen. He failed to develop a “team” to help him. All he’s left with is a bubble butt and the hopeless task of starting over. I’d suggest going back to collect advice (and job leads) from a few faculty members.

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