Public Service Announcement - Kissing Is A Skill

So, when did kissing become something men are terrible at?  Equally, when did I start typing with dangling participles?

While the label of "slut" comes to mind as I begin this, I must say I've kissed many many men in the last several months and am appalled at the lack of skill that appears to be commonplace among us masculine individuals.  I would think a man would be better at kissing than a blow-job considering the extra years of practice one would expect an individual would have doing one as to the other.  I mean think about it - when was your first kiss and when did you first blow a guy.  I'm guessing there's about a decade between the dates.  Wouldn't I be correct in assuming you should know how to do one better than the other, yet I'd be wrong many many times over.  This is not to say we are experts at fellatio either, but that may be a topic for another time.

My ex and I spent a lot of time being intimate.  I'm quite proud of that since we also were quite boringly domestic.  Together - well, I hope he learned something too - I had the opportunity to closely examine what worked and what didn't.  Without making any claims to being kings of kink-dom, we did try and experiment more than I was ever able to before being in my romance with him.  I'd like to think I came to have some knowledge on the mechanics and techniques of being intimate.  Perhaps I know as much of nothing as the next guy, but I implore you, gentle reader, to please consider your abilities when it comes to kissing the next recipient.

Firstly, kissing is about the lips - NOT the tongue.  The tongue licks, the lips caress.  Kissing is about muscle control and massage, not lying limp while you prove you can remove your partner's tonsils without anesthetic.  The tongue can enter the entertainment, briefly, but only to tantalize your partner with what you may be able to do with it when set to other purpose.  It should not be the main attraction in this show, but rather more like Iago encouraging greater mischief.

Secondly, kissing takes two people.  Each person must not only lead the other on to different style, intensity, and technique, but also be able to follow the other as well.  It's an interesting balancing act at which men are apparently horrible in nearly every other area of their lives, so I shouldn't be surprised when men are equally terrible at listening to body language as subtle as is used in kissing.  Sex in general is about the other partner (not getting off), but that may be a topic for another time.  Kissing is more so.  If a man is a good kisser, he will be able to adapt his technique to what his partner enjoys while slowly introducing him to several other variations that he may not have encountered before.  Please, gentlemen, do not kiss anyone for selfish reasons.  Do not kiss so only you can enjoy it. Pay attention!

Lastly, kissing doesn't mean only the lips touch and all else is called something else.  Everything a man can do with lips, tongue, teeth, breath, and nose (yes, I said nose) to any part of their partner's body is all an extension of what can be done when my lips touch yours.  Taking the same massaging rhythm, upping the intensity just a bit, and applying it to the ear lobe or the nipple can really take your partner to places he didn't intend to go.

I hope you have enjoyed today's PSA.  Just Say NO, Always use a condom, Don't forget your towel, and kissing is a skill - not a distraction while unbuttoning my shirt.

Love Letter

You don't believe you are special and you scoff at the very notion.  I've told you any man lucky enough to claim you as a partner in romance would never be good enough, and you found that idea unfathomable.  I remind you of why this is so:

You seem to give all of yourself.  Not just attention and kindness to those you love, but your very heart.  You give yourself without shame nor doubt.  That level of confidence alone is admirable and enviable, yet you seem to not even notice what you share.  Like everyone else, you only see the flaws - the bits of yourself that cause you shame.  Yet when asked, you are more open and innocent of the effect you have on people than anyone I've ever known.  You are present for those you love, you truly love them - individually, unequivocally, and shamelessly.

Some of us have only felt that level of trust and compassion a few rare times in our lives, yet you give it as if it were proper and reasonable.  For some of us, this becomes difficult to understand because you then give the same level of care to the next person you know and love... and there are several.

This is not admonishment, rather an explanation from those who greet the day slightly happier because we know you.  It is not a curse or failing of your personality, but a skill to be celebrated.  More should be as unconditional as you.  More should love those in our lives without shame and doubt.  More of us should be as willing to give of our hearts as freely because when you do, you gain more people in your life who love you with equal intensity and will move the very heavens to see to your happiness.

If we all strove as much as you to compassion, the world would know no fear or hatred because we would all be supported by the knowledge that we are cared for.  All pain would be temporary and none would be alone.

For this you are better than all of us; for this you are unique; and for this, we are not worthy of the love you share, yet you share it still.

Hurry

Ever since I saw the character Fraiser quote a poem in one of the episodes, I have changed how I approach romance.  Essentially. the poem was about how love finds you, not the other way around, and to look for love is futile.

This has proven true for me three times over.  I was not expecting to meet the men I fell for, nor was I ready for the emotional reality when it happened - embarrassing behavior mostly forgiven.  All I can do is be as ready to see the opportunity for a romance when it happens and be as delicate with people in general as I can as I temper and navigate the emotional changes that inevitably occur.

To equip myself for the next adventure, I have been told I need to be complete unto myself.  Many counselors and fashion magazines espouse the idea that being satisfied with life is the most attractive quality a man can have.  I would agree that neediness is probably the most unattractive, I've never really gotten past an amazing chest to see if they like their life.  Perhaps I'm just shallow.

Following this advice, I have been able to be abnormally social for my historical self since April.  I have held conversations with perfect strangers in bars, flirted with unattractive people, hinted to friends that I have no problem with a romance with any of them, and basically made it known I am single and available.

I expanded my social circle with the special interest of social nudism to include an interstate element to my life.  My friends in Minneapolis are wonderful men.  I recently took a week's vacation to Maryland and met as many of the 350 registrants as I could.  I believe I've even befriended a couple of them.

Upon returning from a week I will never forget, I felt emboldened enough to place myself on the dating web-sites.  I've even been on a couple of hook-ups to satisfy my desire to live outside my comfort zone.  Seeing friends collect dates like pennies, I try to convince myself I could also let loose my restraint and judgment and self-doubt.

Four and a half months of this attempt to view the world differently, because it is different, and still I'm sleeping alone tonight. #sadface

Day 8 to reality

It's been several days since wrote. This is not because I had nothing to report, rather the opposite. Incorporating myself into a new group always takes me a while. However, once I do I tend to keep my social calendar as full as possible.

As this was vacation, my grasp on reality began to slip - the finally let go altogether. Days began to blur,  mesh, and warp into a sun soaked, alcohol stimulated, sexual adventure that required less and less pragmatism. My attention began to focus on the  immediate. If it wasn't for the serving schedule of the buffet table,  I would have become a true hedonist.

I lounged by the pool until my skin began to crisp. Only the did I begin to look for another, activity. I ate when food was available. I imbibed when drink was served. And I slept when my body demanded, but never before nor as entertainment.

The nights grew longer as the week went on and last night was no exception. Waking at 7am - for no explainable reason - has left me now at the airport in Philadelphia awaiting my flight with a strong urge to nap. My earliest opportunity will be in another two hours once I'm aboard the plane, though I doubt I will.

As with most events in my life, simple enjoyment without consequence has become impossible. I look for what I've gained or learned during my vacation. Many lessons are obvious and perhaps more will become apparent as time goes by.

The most obvious is that I'm not 20 anymore. My body reacts more now to changes in my diet, sleep, and alcohol intake. My body doesn't like me much right now. It has been protesting my lifestyle choices since Wednesday and will most likely punish me for days to come.

Similarly, there are certain skills one loses when one is single. I beg forgiveness from those men who had the bad fortune of meeting me too late to benefit from the practice to which I diligently adhered when I was but half of one.

Again I open this post for another edit and realize it has been another four days. My diligence lacks immediacy. My apologies.

Upon returning to work,  I found my co-workers decided to leave some of the work for my first days back. Going from absolute laziness to being busy in my occupation is an unforgivable offense. Grounds for divorce. Reason to run away from home.

My adjustment back to reality,  from the fantasy of being friends with complete strangers to maintaining social boundaries with co-workers - for instance, has been akin to a migraine. My routine at camp was to rise from bed at my leisure , fumble for a cigarette, then step nude into the morning sunshine - which warmed my skin while the crisp air wicked away the sweat from the down blanket. My first morning after vacation nearly had indecent exposure in my long list of public shames.

While at camp I spent many hours in the sun, lounging about and perfecting a tan as best a Polish man can, then diving into a chlorinated pool to rinse away the sweat. Later I would shower with soap and hot water to negate the constant use of deodorant. For eight days the only cloth to touch my skin was an oversized hoodie when the temperature dipped below comfortable. Then I spent many hours fully clothed, unshowered, and limed with perspiration with no real opportunity to get clean. Also, my body was producing extra oils to compensate for my repeated washings. Believe me,  it only took a few hours for rebellion to show itself.

Happily,  I have gotten emails from two men from camp. Perhaps the fantasy can live on.

Day 4

A common practice with nudists is always have a towel. Should one want to sit on another's property - a sofa, for instance - one uses the towel to protect the fabric from whatever might transfer from one's ass. It's all very civilized.

Here, at NakedFest, there is another politeness practice of wearing shoes, sandals, or flip-flops. The customs reasoning became clear to me after I walked through the dewy grass then over the band of sand to reach the asphalt road then into the cabin. This is a camp, a bit luxurious for roughing the great outdoors, but still on the rustic side. Dirt is everywhere and my feet would track it into areas used by everyone else. This is rude.

So, I wear my sandals and regret that I am not truly naked. When I leave the cabin for the pool or in the afternoon for a walk, I'll sometimes leave my shoes behind and then notice their absence. Again I am aware of my nudity. This also happened after sex. A little play time reminds me that I had done nothing to hide my leisure from my camp mates.

This, I find interesting when I can go to "social hour" and sip wine with 200 nude gay men, make comments on their jewelry, pass judgment in my best Garbo impression, and not feel naked. It is only when I don't have my sandals or my towel that I'm aware of what's missing. And it's only being seen after play that I feel noticed for my nudity.

Day 3

Apparently, the ideal of posting at the end of my day is too much to commit to. It is again breakfast time before I made the time to update this little diary of the events of the previous day. I was far to busy PLAYING at the end of  day 2 to bother with electronic gadgetry. As I have done other than show,  smoke,  and eat, surely I can still say I have yet to begin my day.

I have slept nude for several decades now. What I haven't ever done was step outside to smoke my morning cigarette nude, wander into the patch of sun beyond the shade trees, stretch my limbs,  and greet the day. I wandered down the lane (as every campground I've ever seen has snaking around the grounds in a lazy curve) past other cabins fronted by nude men on the porches. I can compose no word beyond the cliché to describe how quietly fun that was.

Yesterday, the weather was far too cloudy and cool for all that business. This morning,  I found warming sunshine even at 9am. This probably means the mad dash for a deck chair is already under way. I will most likely be too late for comfortable worship of the sun.

Day 2

200-ish naked gay men and campgrounds staff that is neither. Get an urge to cover myself each time I see one of them coming. I imagine the things they're thinking about us is not charitable. Maybe they just don't want to be at work on a Sunday.

Day 2

Took me a while to find the promised WiFi...  or a 4G signal for that matter. For a man who has never known 3G and the last I was on-line was in the era of 256k dial-up, I almost can't live without the near instantaneous services of 4G. 

Therefore I'll have to recap day 1 a few hours later then I intended.

The flight was mildly harrowing. Having never flown before I had to take control of all the irrational fears that popped up; sitting so close to a complete stranger, especially one who is too large to be contained by so little plastic; giving up control and allowing someone else to drive the plane; and accepting the aircraft will, in fact, complete its accent to and decent from 31,000 feet. When I could see through the cloud deck, the houses and cars are awfully little.

Being a relatively educated man, I knew most accidents happen at take-off and landing and that the cabin is pressurized, and that a bumpy ride is to be expected due to regularly occurring densities of air. What I didn't know was that the window - beyond the bit of plastic I could touch, the one assisting in keeping the cabin pressurized and the air outside flowing over the expertly designed wings use nothing but air pressure to hold myself and the 100 others in the air - has a hole in it! It was small and may not have been an actual hole  (it looked like two cones of missing glass where a machine might have secured it while in motion at a factory) but it was still disconcerting when my ears began to feel the cabin pressure rise on final approach.

After over four hours without a cigarette, I was glad to exit the plane. Asking several staff in quick succession the way to the nearest smoking area, I learned it would be easier to hop the airport shuttle to the terminal I was to meet my bus several hours hence. As my fear of missing one connection or another or others mucking up simple travel plans arranged by understanding and patient people was greater than my addiction withdrawals, I again postponed my habit. I could have walked through the airport in about as much time as the shuttle drove. Live and learn.

Nicotine levels raised to acceptable levels and a short search for munchies allowed me to look up and see Philadelphia for the first time. Well,  the airport anyway. Lovely airport,  but still an airport. I have one in my town too. Seen one, I guess.

The bus,  once found and boarded, took me and a dozen other men, mostly older than me, on an hour drive to the camp near a Maryland state park. I watched my cell service slowly disappear, to my dismay.

Arriving here was much the same as arriving to any party in Minneapolis as I saw men, only men,  in various States of dress. Some were walking to the welcoming station fully clothed and planned to leave their jeans and t-shirts in the cabins.  Others drove in personal or rented cars and we're disrobing into the trunks.

I won't bore you with more details than you care to read and only say that everyone I see has a thicker dick than me. Most are longer too.

I've read about this subject a lot over the years. I'm talking when we are in a flaccid state. It doesn't seem I have a medical condition or anything, just that I've not been blessed with anything impressive. So being able to blatantly witness such men is both a source of shame and entertainment. It is enjoyable to see what a man's body should look like.

Interestingly, I've been told more than once my shame is unfounded. So polite.

The first day ended torn between attending a screening of Headwig and joining the men in the dance hall or going to sleep. I was more horney than I knew in recent memory. The idea I could find a companion for an hour or the night was as possible and appealing as the idea of sleeping after being up since 3am. Patience and fatigue wine out and I finished the day texting my friend with that very conundrum only to receive understanding and encouragement for whatever decision I made. Big help.

Day 1

Patience has never been one of my virtues. Neither has politeness under stress. Amazing I have yet to be arrested by airport security.

Today began at 3am. I awoke to Getty Lee's voice, guaranteeing a swift response to the abused alarm. The local rock station and the baby-boomers who tune in, love Rush.

Still, even a man singing(?) falsetto couldn't possible deter this first day of vacation from being absolutely awesome! For starters, I didn't wake alone. That always helps my mood. Also, even though the reality still - as I type - hasn't set in, I'm going to NakedFest for vacation. Simply telling people I'm taking a vacation has been fun. I can't imagine how much better actually going to the festival will be.

The drive to Milwaukee was uneventful, though I must admit I wasn't awake enough to be driving safely. Arriving at the city limits I began scanning for signs to direct me to the mini-highway built to act as the airport's driveway. I found none until I relented to technology and asked my car-sitter (the lovely man who agreed to save my car from long-term parking prison) to Google our route. Once the 4G network responded, the Wisconsin DOT believed me close enough to my destination to warrant guidance.

A self-satisfied Cadillac refused to pull as forward as was possible to allow two cars to reach the terminal entrance in front of the airline assisting my travels. As this airline occupied the entrance at the far end of the line, I was forced to either double Park or circle around the grounds and attempt a spot earlier in the que. I chose the latter and felt it necessary to explain, as gently as I was able, that my companion kindly stop talking as I needed to concentrate on the unruly and mildly unpredictable traffic. An over reaction,  to be sure, but I refused to be delayed after driving at moderately illegal speeds to make up for our 5-minute-late start and my foolish pointing the car toward an inefficient path.

The twenty, or so, people in the line to collect boarding passes caused me a fearful pause until it became clear the process was automated, simple, and assisted by several ladies. Of course, I failed to actually READ the screen come my turn and had to retype my name as I entered it in its entirety rather than parsed as directed. Already a tourist and I've yet to get anywhere.

To those intrepid readers who have not yet jabbed at the screen in disgust at such minutia, I promise less detail of commonalities in the coming days. If I were spend this much time documenting the next eight days I would have nothing to document save the documentation. Surely tedious,  indeed.

No,  my flight has been delayed and another aircraft is apparently enroute to collect those of us hoping to get to Philadelphia. Between the overzealous air-conditioning and the AMA's recommendations to Congress about the perils of second-hand smoke, I must admit an urge to simply walk to Maryland rather than wait the extra hour-and-a-half.

It appears my wait is about to conclude as the pleasant-voiced woman is back to use her microphone again to inform us of things in as drab a tone as she can muster and still continue to collect a paycheck.

Now to see if the airport WiFi will allow me to post this without paying ANOTHER fee. Surely the ventilation in the bathroom will allow a couple of puffs.

Vacation Begins

8  minutes to go