Читать книгу The Great Cock Hunt - Alex - Страница 7

Hi. So here’s the thing. I have a lot of sex. A lot of really good sex. But there’s more to me than just that. But that’s kind of why you bought the book: the sex, I mean. So let’s just cut right to the chase. I’ve got this blog and in it I write about my never-ending quest for great cock and maybe for a boyfriend as a side effect. Well I always knew that I liked to get laid a lot—and that I was pretty lucky in that department—but I never realized just how different I was until I started the blog, The Great Cock Hunt. All of a sudden it got really popular and all these guys started reading it and sending me comments and e-mails and shit. It got kind of heady for a while and it was fun and the hunt just carried on. The blog became this detailed journal of my quest for great cock, but my life isn’t totally one-dimensional (although some people have accused me of that), and so I write about my friends and my job and shit like that too. But mostly I write about sex.

The thing is, when it comes to sex, my goals are short term. Most people expect me to be looking for “the one”—that great guy who I can settle down with and love until I’m like old and don’t even know I’m drooling. And, well, part of me wants that too. I think. But at the same time, going out and scoring new tail all the time is fun too. I used to have a guy, a regular boyfriend and all that, so it’s not like there’s something majorly wrong with me. I’ve got all the basic pre-reqs: good face, in shape, pretty-hot-gym-going kind of body, more than half a brain, and can carry a conversation and all that. It’s just that I get all wrapped up in the having sex part and, well, that’s easier than actually emotionally bonding with someone and putting myself out there and risking getting hurt. Again.

Okay, let’s take a step back. Here’s me (the Google version anyway): I’m a single, just-hit-thirty-and-freaking-about-it, very handsome—but definitely not a ten—guy who lives in Manhattan. I’ve got a pretty good job, make some nice dough, and come from a pretty supportive, loving and comfortable family. I’m in really good shape physically, but it’s not easy. I work out all the time and I have to try to watch what I eat. I mean, I’m not like a no-bread Nazi or anything, but if I skip a week of the gym and have lots of cake, I’ll notice it in my stomach. I work with a trainer and someday I’ll have the body I want, but maybe never because I just can’t stay away from chocolate chip cookies. They’re like my crack. And because no matter how ripped I get, I have trouble thinking anything is good enough.

I try to be a pretty good, honest and upright guy. I don’t like to play a lot of games and I try to be as up-front as I can. I’ve got neuroses like everyone else and I totally will walk by someone I kind of know and not acknowledge them; but that’s more out of insecurity—me figuring they’re going to do it to me first—than anything else. I try to stay away from hard drugs but smoke pot pretty often. I just love it. I don’t call myself a stoner anymore because that’s like so college, or Seattle or something, but I haven’t gone a week without weed since like…well, um, ever. Occasionally I’ll do some coke but usually I try to lay off that crap. I’m definitely a drinker and I like to have a good time. I can hold my alcohol pretty well but I’m a totally cranky bitch when I get majorly hungover.

I’ve got a few really close friends and a lot of what I call tangent friends. You know, they’re like friends of friends, people I’ve met and see every once in a while, or hook-ups, but they’re not the kind of people I’d call up and tell my problems to. My closest friend is Lizzie. She’s my best girlfriend, my Grace, and I’m her Will (except I’m not as neurotic and I have a better body than he does; and I’m not a lawyer). Yeah it’s gross but we’ve basically been through everything together. We’ve seen each other naked, tried deep kissing, traveled together, showered together, and all that too-close-for-just-friends crap. Like I can pick my nose in front of her and she can fart in front of me and neither of us would care—that kind of close. She’s single and needs to meet a good guy. She’s a total catch: pretty, smart, in the know, and loaded. What more could you ask for?

My other close friends are Tommy, Nick and TJ. Nick and TJ are like a pair. We’ve known each other forever. We went to high school together and have been friends ever since. They’re like my rocks, my touch-base-with-almost-every-day kind of friends, but they’re not my out-partying-and-slutting-it-up-all-night friends. Sometimes they are, sometimes I can get them to play, but usually they’re home. And now Nick has a boyfriend so it’s been a big see-ya-later for a little while. But Tommy: now he’s my party-boy partner in crime. We’re like the cock crusaders. Tommy makes me look like a virgin. You know that famous, old basketball player who had sex with like more than twenty thousand women—Wilt Chamberlain, I think? Well, Tommy’s on track to top the dude. And I don’t mean in the fuck-up-the-ass sense. Tommy’s a total slut with barely any morals and the ethics of an Enron executive. He plays hot games with guys and is into just about anything: threesomes, foursomes, sex parties, orgies secretly videotaping people, raunchy porn, you name it. If my life was a cartoon and I had good sitting on one shoulder and evil on the other, TJ would be the good and Tommy would be the evil and depending on the day Nick would probably be on top of my head hovering between the two. Lizzie would be at the manicurist in this scenario.

Porn is like my other best friend. I love porn. If my parents wouldn’t totally freak out, I’d love to be in the porn business. I don’t think I’d be a porn star, I’m way too shy for that, but I’d love to produce movies or something. I always say that when I’m older and have some money to burn that porn is going to be my side project, my mid-life crisis. Like my dad got a car that goes so fast he’s afraid to drive it, I’ll make a movie so hot I’d be afraid to see it. I’m not like an addict or anything; I just dig it. And I just don’t understand why so many people get their panties all in a bunch about it. It’s just sex: relax!

Another of my passions—and this one you could probably call an obsession—is straight guys. Maybe it’s the whole safety factor, like I can’t really have them, or maybe it’s just the unattainable challenge, but nothing gets me harder than a sexy straight guy. I love straight men who are willing to experiment but who do it grudgingly; married men who like to dabble with dudes on the side; and straight guys who might like a nice massage with a happy ending. Yeah, that shit totally gets me going.

Right now, at this point in my life, I’ve got two major straight-guy relationships going on. I always seem to have one; even back when I thought I was straight I’d say some of my male friendships were questionable. But whatever; we’ll get to some of those. Right now I pretty regularly meet up with this dude Gordon. He’s single with a girlfriend—they’re engaged (but by the time this thing gets published they’ll probably be married)—and totally gay-curious. He comes over for totally one-sided sessions where he likes me to get him off. Over time he has let me go further and further with him—but always with no reciprocation. Which is fine with me because that would ruin the fantasy. The minute he asks to blow me or begs me to ride his ass, he’s history. (Maybe…)

My other straight dude is Hot Sales Guy. Oh God, I love him. He is just my perfect physical ideal. He’s not the smartest guy in the world or anything but he’s so damn sexy that I’d almost consider dying to have a go at his body. He totally makes me mental and I think he knows it and I think he gets off on teasing me a little. We work together and go on business trips together and we’ve had a few fun encounters but nothing actually sexual. At least not while he’s been awake…

So even though I say that I like to hook up all the time and that I’m not looking for anything serious, I try to get into serious things and try them on for size sometimes. I just don’t always do it with the best people. Case in point: Reese. He is this absurdly beautiful, conceited asshole who I met and hated instantly. But after dating for a little while—because, you know, it makes sense to date someone you hate—I kind of started to like him. Then I liked him more and more. We got pretty close, dated a lot, and he was great in bed. Not only was he so beautiful but he was kinky and got into some light bondage and shit and that got me cranked. But he treated me like crap—used to blow me off a lot and then one day up and disappeared. I found out later that he moved in with his ex-boyfriend but, well, whatever.

Then there’s King Kong. He’s a guy I hooked up with back when I was dating Reese but didn’t really start dating until after Reese was over. Sometimes I thought he moved too quickly and then I wondered if I was just slow, but he had the biggest dick. He was totally nice to me and he treated me generally well (until the end—but isn’t it always that way?) but there wasn’t much of a challenge there and sometimes I thought he liked me too much. My friends thought I was crazy to even look at another man but, well…there’s my problem. The grass is always greener and all that crap.

Anyway, things didn’t work out with King Kong in the end. Even though I totally blame him, it was really both our faults. His more than mine, don’t get me wrong, but I was still a little culpable. It’s been hard getting past him. Lizzie says it’s always like that: you never realize how much you actually loved someone until he’s gone. I’m sure like every pop star known to man has written a sappy song on the subject, but I think it’s kind of true. So, like taking medicine that tastes like shit every day but that you eventually get used to and fail to taste any longer, I’m moving on from King Kong.

But in the end, King Kong, Reese, Lenny, and God knows how many other random dudes I’ve dated in between, were all nothing when compared to Jack. I think—usually secretly—that at the root of all of my relationship bullshit is Jack. We went to college together but didn’t really know each other at the time. He was a few years older than me and was friends with the older brother of a guy I hung out with. But the year after I graduated we met up at a Homecoming weekend thing and totally got into each other. He was absurdly smart and cultured and sexy as hell. I fell in love with him like instantly. I think it was the first time I was really totally in love. I was completely in love with every ounce of him. I would have settled down with him, put on an apron, and had a fucking family if he wanted. But he didn’t love me back. He led me on pretty well, he told me he loved me, and we tried to make a relationship happen—or at least that’s what I thought we were doing—but then he dumped me. I was crushed, destroyed; I had never before experienced sadness that real. But I survived and I fucked my way out of the misery. Then like a year later, we ran into each other again and we tried to date again. I hadn’t forgotten him for a second and was still so in love; my feelings were so raw. My friends all said I was crazy; they said I was an idiot and they were right: he dumped me again. It didn’t hurt as much the second time but it kind of hardened me a little. I don’t tell people this and haven’t even really admitted it to myself, but I still love him as much today as I did then. I don’t know if it will ever go away.

In the beginning…

Anyway, this whole Great Cock Hunt thing started with these e-mails that Tommy, Nick, TJ, and I used to forward around to each other. We called them the Morning-After E-mails and we’d send them the morning after being out together describing—sometimes in graphic detail—the dudes we hooked up with. They were funny and hot at first and more than once I’d find myself closing my office door on a Friday morning and taking my cock in hand while I read about Tommy tying up some stockbroker and riding his ass like a rodeo star. But like all good things, it came to an end. Kind of. It’s just that the guys all kind of got bored and lazy about sending theirs out. But I was so into it. It was like cathartic and erotic at the same time and I really liked it. So instead of being the only one to send the e-mails, I started this blog.

I guess I was a better writer than I thought because thousands of dudes started to read it. I mean like a ton of fucking guys. All of a sudden I was getting e-mails from sexy, hung studs all over the world wanting to hook up, to just be e-friends, or whatever. It was surreal. I became like an authority. Guys who were just coming out would e-mail me asking for advice and guys who were thinking of bottoming for the first time would ask me how to deal with the pain and how to keep their assholes clean. It was kind of amazing. I got more and more into it and then some book publisher e-mailed me and asked if I’d be into writing a book about it all. At first I was like, I’m no Jackie Collins, I can’t write great literature. But they persisted and I kept thinking about it, and, well, here we are.

So back to the beginning: like I said, I get a lot of sex, and this upcoming long weekend is sure to be a trip down cock memory lane. Lizzie, Tommy and I have a college reunion this weekend. This will be our second big reunion since we graduated: I can’t believe we’ve been out of school that long and that we’re that old but it’ll totally be interesting and fun—at least we hope. And, of course, I hope we’ll get some tail. At the very least I’m sure a lot of hot memories will be jogged. And since I don’t really know how to write a book, I’m just going to chronicle my trip like I would for my blog and go from there.

Here goes…