Just Another Pantless Friday

Neither Manic Nor Monday, Still Standing

If you’re now singing a great song from the 80s, you’re welcome. Now try getting rid of it before Monday.

So, it is Friday and my ass hurts.

I would love to tell you it was because of 4B, or The Mailman, or even Josh, Logan, Scott, or Andy.

A nurse, red eyes, big grin on her face as her lips quivered, bent me over a sterile bed and jabbed me with a fucking needle. There was no anesthetic, or any warning, no bedside manner, none of that little bullshit “it’s just a scratch” when you know they mean they’re about to drive a nail into your butt with a hammer.

Just a merciless jab.

I was so unprepared for the blinding jolt that shot through my body that I reached out and grabbed the wall, realizing far too late it was one of those wheelie bladder-carrier things, whatever they’re called. It came crashing down on me. It had little kidney-shaped bowls hanging off it filled with things.

Those things went everywhere.

Then the pole hit her.

The same nurse who’d just stabbed me in the ass.

I watched it happen and immediately felt better.

The universe had clearly just finished reading The Farmhand and was on my side.

Pete keeps insisting I have an evil streak. Personally, I think that’s unfair.

Having said that, the nurse who stabbed me in the ass this morning is almost certainly ending up in a future story and I have absolutely no intention of portraying her favorably.

So, with my incredibly lacking Spanish skills, I went off to the clinic pretty sure I told them I had the black plague, was spreading it via text message, or that a plane had landed on my ass. Whatever I said worked, because they shoved a Q-tip down my shaft, another up my ass, took blood, injected me, and generally behaved as though they were determined to leave no stone, crevice, or bodily fluid unturned.

By the time I left, I felt less like a patient and more like a crime scene.

Anyway, all this because someone who looked suspiciously like 4B, and who I met a couple of weeks ago, messaged me to let me know he may or may not have an STD.

He was incredibly polite about it.

He even told me that once I’d had treatment, I should message him so we could meet up again.

Yeah. Thanks.

I’m curious what the loyalty rewards program looks like.

If you want to know how my brain works, 4B is a pretty good example.

Michael ended up in there, Roger ended up in there, and a guy I’m reasonably sure was called Juan ended up in there too. Somewhere along the way Russell became one guy, which is fortunate because reading a story called The Guy in 4B Featuring Michael, Roger and Possibly Juan would’ve been confusing. Or the start of a series called The Gangbang. Which may have just sparked an idea…

If I tried to pull apart what really happened with the guy in 4B, it would mostly be snippets. He was very real, but some of that story came from three different hookups that somehow fused together into one neighbor with a lot of confidence and a memorable cock. The weird thing is, Russell now feels completely real to me.

Then there was The Mailman, which I’m blaming entirely on Grant.

Random comments sometimes become stories. You tell me you’re criss-crossing the lawn, manicuring your gardenias while waiting for the mailman, and days later there’s an entire story about it.

Somewhere in the world, Grant is probably reading this wondering whether he should stop commenting.

All these stories appeared the way most of my stories appear.

I had absolutely no intention of writing any of them.

Then my brain spotted something shiny and three days later there was a neighbor in 4B and a mailman getting railed over a kitchen counter.

Speaking of chaotic, let’s talk about Simon.

Yeah, if you’d asked me three months ago whether I’d write a lamb into a gay erotic fiction story, I’d have laughed.

Hell, if you’d even suggested I’d write a farm story, I’d have rolled my eyes.

Yet here we are.

Nine chapters in and I’m starting to think The Farmhand is my favorite story. Somewhere along the way, I stopped worrying about Levi and started worrying about Simon, which is concerning because Simon is a lamb. A real lamb once upon a time, but still a lamb, yet here I am nine chapters later wondering whether he’s okay.

Somewhere out there is the original Simon, blissfully unaware that strangers on the internet might be emotionally invested in his wellbeing.

Based on a real lamb, Simon was chaotic, genius, scheming, loving, and an animal that sometimes felt like the great equalizer for one particular relationship.

I had no idea all of this was floating around in the back of my imagination until I sat down one day and started fantasizing about Levi. I wondered what would happen if a young farmer inheriting his family’s expectations, his family’s farm, and his family’s plans for grandchildren got completely derailed because he preferred the farmhand.

Nine chapters in, the world feels increasingly real. Maybe that’s why I’m enjoying it so much. Or maybe it’s because I accidentally became emotionally invested in a sheep.

I want to thank so many people for pushing me. For being open, upfront and honest about their own experiences, and encouraging me to do the same.

This is why I’ve now spread my legs so wide I probably got an STD.

There are two things I did this week that I never thought I would.

I wrote Wrong, a true sexual encounter with Ben Jamin. I went to Atlanta to remote work for a month, a guy knocked on a door at 7:03 a.m.

2 years later I’m writing about why I wish I hadn’t opened the door and invited him in.

Somewhere between those two moments came Good Luck Getting Rid of Me, a podcast, more tears than I’d care to admit, and enough material to keep me talking about the man well into retirement.

That’s the strange thing about life.

Sometimes the moments that change everything don’t feel important at the time.

They just feel like a Thursday.

Then there’s Podcast Episode 12, Richard Part 1.

Another true story from my much earlier coming-out days.

Part 2 has been sitting open on my desktop while I decide how honest I want to be. I’ve probably spent more time deciding how much of Richard’s story to tell than actually recording the damn thing, which is usually a sign I’m avoiding something.

I’ll decide today as I finish Part 2 and upload it. Or maybe I’ll just skip it for this week and go into a story about Steve I recalled recently.

That’s the week wrapped up.

I got stabbed in the ass, Simon now sleeps in Levi’s old pram, Richard is staring at me from my desktop demanding I make an adult decision, Ben remains responsible for far more of my life than he probably realizes, and 4B can keep his loyalty rewards program.

As I stand here reminiscing about the days I could sit down comfortably to write Pantless Friday, I’m grateful for two things.

I’m still pantless.

And I’m still standing.

Fox G.H.K.® x