I don't know whether this is good news or bad news, but Peter stayed over last night. He showed up around 8 with two bags of Chinese food and a large black notebook. His portfolio, as it turns out. Ironically, it was ACT UP that led him to photography nearly 10 years ago; he started documenting actions for legal purposes, then realized he had a knack for it. His stuff isn't bad; he showed me all kinds of work, and I liked most of it.
I was also thankful because it gave us something new to talk about, since I suspect we've pretty much exhausted everything we have in common. The last pictures in the book were nudes, and frankly, they were pretty hot--especially the couple of himself he included. They also made a great segue into the rest of the evening. We put the book down and picked up where we'd left off on our last date, spending a fair amount of time on the couch before moving into the bedroom.
The sex was a little more rewarding this time, but I have to say that I kept re-running last night's scene in the park over and over in my head. Peter was stretched out on his stomach and had my cock pressed between his legs when I came. I collapsed onto him, spent,then rolled off him and cupped my hands around his balls while he jerked himself off. After we washed up we both fell into a deep, happy sleep.
Peter kissed me on his way out early this morning. I was still sleeping, and the heat of his breath on my face woke me up. I offered to make him breakfast, but I think we both knew that was an empty proposal. Even so, we made plans to get together again tonight--seems a little hot and heavy a little sooner than I would normally feel comfortable with, but then few things seem normal these days. Life goes so slowly for so long, and then it seems to race by with a timing all its own. I rolled over and went back to sleep for another half hour or so, happy to have some time to myself before heading to the office. This need for privacy makes me wonder: Do I really WANT to get involved with somebody else? For so long after Bill left, I thought I did, but now I'm finally getting used to solitary life--well, as solitary as life can be when you've got men coming in through your doors and windows at all hours of the night.
Ah, the window: Getting out of the shower, I pulled the curtains open and propped it open just a crack.
That's when I noticed the sheet of paper on the sill. The side facing into the apartment was the product of a computer printer: bright yellow with a black bat in the center; the other side bore a handwritten note.
My first thought was: Fuck. God knows how long that freak must have been watching Peter and me last night through the window.
My second thought was: Batman, watching me get it on with somebody else without my knowing it. How fucking hot can you get?