This morning while we were making up the bed my partner “Morgan” asked me what I was blogging about lately.
“Well, I didn’t want to tell you but this guy has been stalking me on my cellphone, sending messages every few weeks asking to hook up.”
“Yeah, that is happening to me too,” Morgan said. “There is this crazy guy still texting me for dick.”
“Wow, you too?,” I say. “Well this is some number that begins 202-688.”
“Wait, that sounds familiar,” Morgan said. So he walks away and grabs his IPhone and checks his contact list.
“Give me the last four numbers, Immanuel.”
I get my cellphone, call up the last text and give him the last four digits.
“Oh, I know that person.” Morgan said. “That is Carlos.”
Remember when I wrote before that Morgan and I were both mainly tops with big dicks so we sometimes run into people in Washington, D.C. who we have both fucked. Well Carlos is one of them. We had figured that out months ago in casual conversation.
Carlos is a brownskinned bottom in his late ’20s. He is originally from the Dominican Republic, so can switch from unaccented American English to Spanish in a heartbeat. He is an athlete who continues to run track, so trains every morning to stay in shape.
He is beautiful on the outside — muscular legs and high little bubble butt that curves out from his narrow waist
But on the inside Carlos is fucked up. Like a chocolate nougat with a shit center. Bitter. Insecure. Catty. Negative. And a very bossy bottom who is no fun at all in the sexual act.
“Fuck me harder. No fuck slower. Don’t lift my legs so high. You’re not doing it right. Let me ride you for awhile.”
It seems Morgan and I were fucking Carlos at the same time last year before we got to know each other. Funny how that happens.
Morgan was turned off by Carlos’ negativity and so was I. So we both dropped him as a fuck buddy within weeks of each other.
In fact, Morgan suspected Carlos was trying to move in with him — whenever he came by to get banged Carlos would lug around three or four big duffel bags that seemed to have all his possessions in it. And he kept pressing Morgan to let him spend the night.
“But he is driving a Lexus,” I would say. “Obviously, he must have a good job.”
“Or somebody is taking care of him and is tired of him and about to throw him out– you never know,” Morgan said.
It’s funny, Carlos has been texting Morgan too over the last few months but playing nice, sometimes asking about his new relationship. I tell Morgan there can be no way Carlos knows we are in a relationship because Morgan has never told him anything about me, not even my name.
“But are you sure Immanuel?,” Morgan asked. “We hang out a lot together and he may have seen us. And has he ever seen your car? It’s always parked in back of my house now.”
“No, I don’t think he knows my car.”
Morgan gets quiet a moment. And then he speaks.
“You know Immanuel there are some gay guys that are jealous of people who are happy.”
I don’t think I answered Morgan back on that. What more is there to say? Lesson learned.
P.S. Thanks Rex for giving me the Droid ap to block unwanted phone calls and texts. I plan to use it. Rex is an old friend and never steers me wrong. To read more about him click here.