Vote For Obama
Posted in Uncategorized on July 5, 2008 by spankingbeaarthur

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This video, by Kevin Leonard—whom I directed in his first Lambda Players’ production (Southern Baptist Sissies)—features the actors and crew of the production of Jeffrey which he directed this year. I’ve worked with a couple of these folks and I always love when Kevin does this videos.
Dear God why is it so hard? It’s all about discipline and learning to say “no” to yourself. So I started a diet today. It’s a three day a week diet. You eat exactly what you are told in the portions you are told for three days. It is supposed to be a heart smart diet that will help safely lose up to 10 pounds a week. Three days on and four days off (eating whatever you want within portion reason).
Sounds easy. But 5 hours after dinner, I am hungry. Lots of water, lots of tea…lots of hunger. Monday, I’m having a Big Mac.
• Intro
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This is the Final Installment of Volume One of Reflections Of Fred: a series of soul searching podcasts from Matthew at SpankingBeaArthur.com, wherein he reads entries from journals he kept from age 19-26, in order to find keys to issues he may still be facing today.
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His name is Rich. When I first met him, at his height of popularity, he spelled it “Ritch”. Strangely, I find it more erotic now, without the “t”. It almost makes him more human. More common. More the guy next door and less the jet-set player.
I met him in The City as a friend of his ex somehow roped me into helping them move a bed from one place to the next. He was physically, intellectually, and monetarily the ideal of everything I thought my dream man would be. A perfect 10 with no exceptions. Even if he was into big men, he didn’t look at me twice. Once again, I did not measure up.
That night, at a party my friends threw for the Bear Club I was in, he was there. Ignored and uncomfortable in a room full of men who seemed to share a bond of camaraderie I never seemed to grasp or be included in, I sat on a couch, amusing myself by drinking shots from a bottle of mint mouthwash flavored liquor I had bought. After some time, Ritch sat next to me on the couch and introduced himself formally. On the other side of him then sat a much older version of myself. He was a portly writer, a free thinker, a community icon, and a man desperately wanting Ritch’s attention; so much so that when Ritch spoke to me, the other man would answer.
A word in edgewise, Ritch asked me if I knew what he did for a living. I said I knew he was the founder of a magazine, but that I’d never seen it. He then said he didn’t like to talk about the magazine when he first met people. Otherwise, how could he tell if they liked him, or the magazine.
Feeling bold … or tipsy, the words came slipping out, “I’ve been in publishing for 5 years, I countered, magazines don’t impress me.” He seemed suddenly intrigued. Could it be that the man who all chubs roll over so readily for had met someone who might pose a challenge?
The older man turned the conversation back to himself. As they talked, I began losing interest in all but the bottom of my glass. Then Ritch leaned over to me. “I promised to look at my friend’s computer while I’m here,” he said, “Want to help me?”
Me? What did I know about computers? I followed him into the bedroom, sat on the bed watching him clean the cache and start a virus scan, all the while making small talk and trying to appear as though I weren’t sneaking peeks of his tight jeans.
It seemed like forever, but I didn’t mind. He was perfect and I was happy just looking at him. Then, as he clicked off the scan, he swallowed a large swig of bottled water, and rolling the office chair in between my legs, he looked into my eyes and smiled. “You’ve got the cutest nose,” he mused. Then, as if to take a closer look, he leaned in and kissed me.
At 28, one is expected to be an adept kisser. I, however, had only been kissed once and it was not a welcome one. So here, in the dark bedroom of his ex-partner, with only the glare of a computer screen illuminating us, I received my first “real” kiss, by the man who I considered to be my ideal male.
My first kiss turned into my second, third and so on, but nothing more. As we emerged from the room, all eyes staring, he turned to me and gave me a lingering kiss goodbye. The touch of his lips so fully-encompassing I barely felt the stares of the men, nor heard the faint snickering from the envious bears.
Since that evening, he has drifted in and out of my life. First the perfect man, then a man who intimidated me by his perfection, and now years later, just a guy named Rich, with no “t” who would be fun to have a few beers with and shoot the shit. It never developed into anything more. Since then, I’ve had sex with many of guys whom I never kissed … but none that left the same impression on me as the guy I kissed, whom I never had sex with.

Podart Photo courtesy of Montana Joe
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