10:39 PM *

the reason i miss my special friends jonno and troy is that they are the two friends who make getting casual nasty fun.

i'm still not used to back rooms; a year ago was really my first experience with a back room. it was new years 2000. troy and i had been at his loft near times square, watching it on the television, then muting it when the countdown came: we could hear the millions outside counting it for real. lovely. we were drunk on champagne shortly thereafter, and decided to get a cab to the east village, at a party at FC29/fat cock that i don't think many people knew about. it was packed regardless, with all the fun, old-skool east village kids troy knows and i love. after checking my coat, i smartly put the ticket in my wallet so i wouldnt lose it. seconds into the subsequent 'initial tour of the premises', a very sexy couple said hi. one of them started kissing me immediately, the other walked behind me and my pants were unzipped. they were in front of the curtain to the back-room area.

we finished after a short time, only to be picked up by another guy behind the curtain, tall, lean, sexy, famous drag persona but not in drag at the moment, who almost immediately began sucking my dick, getting under my shirt to suck on my nipples, the light from the bar (which partially extends into the back area) falling on my tummy. someone from behind pulled down my pants and was tonguing my ass with abandon. shortly, there were several on the dick, two guys vying for my mouth with theirs, and lots of hands stroking balls and legs and ass. the guy who was eating my ass did not stop the whole time. because of our proximity to the bar, we could all be clearly seen from it and i was momentarily greeted with the spectacle of having an audience. opposite of didn't care: it's sexier to be seen.

after some time, i got tired of standing. troy bought me a drink because it had been my first time. we danced for a long while, me going back for more, and after a while, hooking up with this hunky seattle guy on the dance floor. we ended up necking and fondling each other while dancing for a while. we got tired. we took a break. went to the bar to buy a drink, and i noticed i didnt have my wallet in my pocket. momentary panic as i searched all over for it. i had never lost my wallet before. it was a long holiday weekend. then i realized it had fallen out in the back room area. then troy told me it had been stolen, silly. i didnt care: sexual euphoria and drunkeness do wonders for potentially traumatic situations. i remembered my claim ticket number (69, no kidding), and the queen running the coat check, thought i was cute and believed my story.

about 5ish, the place closed. troy loaned me some money for the weekend. the guy i was with came home with me and we fucked for hours. three months later, anthony at FC29 called and told me they had my wallet here. everything had been replaced already, cept my columbia alumni ID. nothing was missing except the cash, including the claim ticket.

last night, at rawhide 2010, while having my dick and nipples sucked, a guy's finger in my ass, and me doing the same with this cute frat-boyish guy, i had my other hand on my wallet the whole time, back pocket, as soon as someone unbuckled my belt. during the action i could feel it being tugged as i kept it secure in the pocket.

 

10:56 PM *

from my addition to the soundtrack to space channel five:

if you were a laser
and you were a robot
[loop 1,000 times to beat]

played about 4 consecutive hours of sega dreamcast with jonno, richard, and new buddies flynn and caleb.

(btw, this is where all the emotionally well-adjusted homo couples have gone.)

the museum i'm going to be designing (head-to-head with other young and scrappy architects, most more famous than our firm, like a game of famous) is to have as one of its curatorial divisions be a 'game division'.

i'm astonished at how film-like the sega games are. i'm astonished at how incredible it is to feel that i'm standing in time, one part of me playing xaxxon or xenophobe or tron in the little arcade in the mall as a child, the other part starring in a film, both sides sucked into a space as fluid and direct as the internet and as dynamic and quick as the cinema. i'm astonished that i'll never be able to explain this to anyone i work for/with, and we may lose because of it (but because at least i get it, i may have a leg up on some of the forty-something 'young' designers i'm up against). i'm astonished at how much fucking fun it is.

it's like a movie
starring me
it's all so moving
to me.

i always say that new york is the best place to surf the internet: the mental map you construct of the data world has a large convergence, both direct and indirect, with the mental map i construct of the real city. (and shame on ANY magazine for rejecting my article on this subject in 1997!) well, a corollary with that aphorism would be that new orleans is the best place to play video games. obstensibly a way of making time happen, always forward, but not actually producing anything except more experience. which is really fine.

 

7:30 PM *

to my babies

i miss you
more than
i need sleep

or, more appropriately

this song is twice ocurred
and now its time to go
away on holiday.

see you soon.

 

5:53 PM *

last entry: bummer letting imagination get to him (me).

flying over jocko, i recalled a phrase olafur had dropped last week, when i saw the fields brought into stark contrast because of the snow, a landscape-craquleur, which was "frame of reference", the distinction about the real/nonreal made useless by how we actually live these days, the fields identical to a plan i'd drawn for a new school in chicago, school of the future. architecture not as space, ever, evermore (ever before?), not as seen by my employers and most of my contemporaries, but part of the reality-slurry which we perceive, a constant stream of perceptions that can be called 'frame of reference'. all the idiosycrasies in everything i've designed and built somehow seeming normative with this phrase. no space, just frame of reference.

shortly after my parents picked me up at the airport, dad told me about the local pflag group he and mom had joined. it's a new group in a small ohio town, and they are only the second set of parents to be there, in a group of about 20. as with anything i did as a kid that my parents got involved in, mom and dad end up running it, because they are reliable and organized and go-getters. and clever in a very unassuming way. dad is chairman of public relations comittee. dad is using his press connections (he's sports editor for the large local paper) to get a story done on the group, as a way to pressure the city into admitting them to the town's second annual diversity day. i was floored at big-town tactic, although dad was completely innocuous about the effects it would have (but not unaware). he was more concern that i thought their efforts at "being involved" were too meager. i laughed in joy; how many parents go so far as to develop a media strategy for the local pflag group, then go to their gay son and tell them they aren't really political and hope i'm okay with that. my parents are fierce.

on christmas day, i received a lottery ticket from my grandmother's very redneck boyfriend, who all of her kids dislike. she's outlived two husbands, so i give her some slack, but he's still a little crass, even for us. i mean, a lotto ticket is a gag gift.

my mother, reacting to blog, gave me my grandfather's last work overalls, the kind mechanics wear. it doesn't fit anyone in my family except me. the sleeves are tailored to be shorter than normal, as if they were made for me. it's tealish-khaki, with a tweed weave. lots of pockets. it has a double ended zipper, so you can zip down to get in/out, or zip up, and get your dinger in/out. anticipating blog: i'm taking it to new orleans with me, where jonno and i are going to get into trouble. i'm wearing it now.

i went shopping for my thermal underwear tops. wal-mart didn't have. i already know k-mart doesn't. anderson's had white ones for three ninety nine, in what must be the best carhartt and dickies and redwings aisle EVER. down the mall from anderson's was value city, where i got a small grey thermal top for three bucks. they are all skin-tight, and make my little pecs look nice, as well as my shoulders.

the dogs were good out at the farm. my 2 year old sunshine neice is afraid of them otherwise. she was good too, at least on christmas, and is bright and intelligent and sweet and loving. she finally quit calling me 'matt' and started with 'uncle chad'. perhaps her coming brother/sister will pick my name up faster.

my aunts are fun. they were all very happy, not in the least interested in anything except how much trouble we can all get into, especially the very fun aunt who lives near jocko, is a nudist with her new partner, and who's getting married to him on a beach near her house this june.

leaving the farmhouse on christmas, driving home, i usually sit in back and doze off while looking up. this time, i was in front, taking pictures, listening to my dad's beatles singles collection, looking at all the houses with lights on them on the horizon, like a large horizontal constellation. all the stars are on the ground tonight.

i saw my first grade crush in the meijer's store on tuesday. she recognized me first. very weird. it was like a short in a film i saw recently: she was married, had kids, asked if i was married too. my answer: "no...not dating, not relating". i wanted the conversation to last a minute, not ten. i hate explaining what i meant by "i came out in 1996".

"for the believer, what he/she believes in is the end, not the means".

my mother gave me an antique book for christmas. a 1921 modern library edition of 'leaves of grass' with an introduction by carl sandburg, with an antique inscription reading "That you may read and reread 'Song of Myself' - and someday write your own. J." this made me cry spontaneously, and segues nicely into her gift last year which is a book whose cover is illustrated 'cinderella' buth whose inside contents are 'boy's book of adventures'.

i got several things off my wishlist, including something from cooter, something from mom and dad, something from my grandparents, and some things from jonno and richard when i got back to nyc.

 

5:42 PM *

arriving home early after another work day, frantic like it's the last-twenty-hours-in-manhattan, melancholy derived not from the cooly romantic snowflakes drizzling out of a light, sooty grey sky, but from further reflection on last week's largest emotional disappointment (end of a dating relationship), despite a weekend of alcohol and sex-induced forgetfulness, and foreboding from the coming trip to ohio.

foreshadowed foreboding from my mother's email to me, "what bothers you most about the holidays?" and my response, several hours before the disappointing call "having my aunts ask about my dating status" and having it be not a self-fulfilling prophesy but a painful truism, and me really despising the holidays from thanksgiving through valentine's day because they inevitably signal my difference from the rest of the family.

but deeper than that: the questions about my emotional life highlight the fact that my strange (to them) urban life is fraught with confused relationships, that despite the fact that i'm an old twenty-nine (career) i continually confront the fact that i don't realy understand people's motivations, or that there's a whole culture of east coast people which makes possible a bizarrely useful distinction between wanting to be friends and actually being a friend, or that i've been coming to terms with unexpectedly harsh opinions from my dearest and wisest friends about the disappointment ranging from 'don't be friends' to 'don't be civil', unavoidable because they've come from many, or that my aunts are really looking for me to illuminate their own quasi-urban experiences with those from my intense urban milieu, that we're all really just collecting and comparing tiny bits of wisdom at these family gatherings, me coming short this time, having to face that my six and one half years in new york city have only left me more vexed and addled about big useless concepts like 'people' and 'relationships' than i was when i was an ignorant child from a large town in ohio.

 

3:03 PM *

the rest of the day saturday/sunday.

saw hard day's night with sah and amy at film forum. when you turn the volume up on those songs, and put them in stereo, you get the vibe, and their talent becomes very apparent. helped along by the beautiful black/white print, crisp gorgeous shots, and the theme of the pleasure of technology (lots of shots of control room monitors displaying their performances, or of camera viewfinders, or the helicopter at the end), cameras everywhere, and the theme of them taking control of that technology either through their perfect performances or through their mischief, if these guys were this edgy on camera they must have been postively filthy off it, the sense that they wanted to push life.

afterward we parted and i went to phoenix. i got drunk (cheap). i felt cheap. not cheap-low-esteem, but taking my inspiration yet again from john lennon's performance, fearless risk taker, confident, cheap and dirty but because of a need to twist life until it becomes as ebulliant as he is/you are (twisted). chatted at length with humpy coat-check guy about best pixies album (trompe le monde) and song (planet of sound):

this ain't no rock and roll town
this ain't no fuckin' around
this ain't no planet of sound

after i went to the cock, paid the ten dollar cover, way too much, but as i came in i heard my favorite fleetwood mac song, the chain. the song was like a miracle of sound, because the meaning of the lyric was the one i had (being played for a dirty crowd that was getting off on it), something carnal and dirty-sexy, an interpretation of that song's groove that i've always thought was only in my head, but now was out in the open:

And if
You don't love me now
You will never love me again
I can still hear you saying
You would never break the chain

which, like lennon, the performance and setting of the lyrics changes their meaning, not chain of commitment but slave to sexual desire. i let go.

although the cock on saturdays is now apparently a karaoke performance (for real), it has maintained its ability to be a sleazy pick-up joint, and i kept going around grabbing asses and crotches, and took a turn in the bathroom line being grabbed from behind, the guy quickly getting his hands in my pants and under my shirt, right over the tattoo. he stroked my dick while i pissed.

i borrowed a cigarette from someone else. i kissed another. i got the cigarette lit by this hunky canadian. after about ten minutes of feeling each other up and talking about art theory (he is an art historian) we started to neck. we let go together, and continued in the cab. grace jones with him at home:

Don't ask me any questions,
My personal life is a bore,
Admire me in glory,
An Art Groupie. That's all.

 

6:36 PM *

feeling strange. after a week-long bloc of holiday parties, including my offices', and a week of emotional disappointments, i went to the gym to work OUT.

gym diary, month nine.

i haven't been there but two days in the last two weeks. i was sick, i overextended myself one day, then my social schedule took over. i went back today for chest. now reader, you probably already know that i have trouble with the bench press because i really would rather have a spotter when i'm trying new and heavy weights. however, today i was feeling some mild aggression, and i used that to successfully complete a 135x6 set on the flat bench. it felt good having the 45lb plate on each side of the bar. very butch, girl.

it is plain to see
you were there for me yeah
i'm your toy
your twentieth century boy

while at the abs area, there was this juicy 40-something, salt-and-pepper hair, lovely body, just a little taller than me, kind of meaty, who was doing scrunches and stretches while staring intently at me on the sit-up bench. i stared back: he was hot. we did this a lot; he kept cruising around, and from all angles, in all mirrors, we could make some kind of eye contact. i haven't been really cruisy at the gym for some time, but this was really catching my attention, and continued the aggressive elan i was on. he didnt seem to be in the locker room when i followed him down there.

but if they don't see the quality
then it is apparent
that you're gonna have to change
or your gonna have to go with girls
you'd be better off
at least they know what theyre doing.

afterward, i continued my eight week quest to find plain white thermal underwear tops that are size SMALL. even k-mart doesnt have 'em (they only have 'natural' color ones, unbleached. fuck unbleached, i want white!). the day is very gray, very rainy winter weather, which is kind of nice, but i was in soho, canal jeans, old navy, and national wholesale liquidators, on a saturday in december, and it was the very definition of misery. people pushing, stupid people, racist people, people who are buying junk. it catapulted my mood from sexually piqued to melancholic. hearing ella's and billie's voices singing xmas tunes in the last place, with people really being pushy and mean, was really getting me moody and down. see previous entry on how depressing large stores are for me.

this monster in me
makes me wretch
i messed it messed it up, up.

i made my way to the west village. i passed this place off sheridan square that had sparkly lights: it was the bar monster, which i've never gone in, and i didnt realize extended over to the corner like that. the place was extremely tastefully decorated, like a gay 'cheers' which lots of warm holiday decorations. it made me feel good.

All the women who are independent
Throw your hands up at me
All the honeys who makin' money
Throw your hands up at me
All the mommas who profit dollas
Throw your hands up at me
All the ladies who truly feel me

i continued to three lives and company, my favorite bookstore in new york city. that place always cheers me up: all those kind, literary lesbians whose turf it is. i'd probably get some play if i went down the street to oscar wilde's, but i was out to buy the next volume of proust's book, and i promised i'd get them all there (no amazon when i can get it at three lives!). i also discovered a new hardcover that i knew would be perfect for a friend. i bought it for myself, then i came home and had amazon ship one to him.

Doesn't matter if you're feeling insecure
Doesn't matter if you're feeling so unsure

afterward, i continued on christopher to a store that a friend designed. she suggested thursday, at our holiday party, that i stop in sometime and find one of the guys who owned it, who's single and cute. true to form, he wasn't cute, and was exceptionally busy. straight people can be the poorest matchmakers sometimes.

Ah hell I even fucked with different races
A white dude his name was John
He had a Queen Bee Rules tattoo on his arm, uh

like last night, when i pointed out a guy at the party to a buddy of mine, who told me that was his friend of 15 years. he didnt realize that his friend was one of my types: shorter than me, italian, shortish hair, 12:30am shadow beard, stocky but muscular, sexy, flirtatious with women and men. my buddy assured me he was straight, and had no clue that i'd find someone like him sexy. i alerted him to this, and he said he had someone else in mind now, who was coming to the party (but didnt, in the end), someone who was "as fierce as you and i". he was flirty, and had hit on my buddy, trying to shock him by wanting to stroke my friend's not-cut tummy, him not being shocked by this forwardness, because, as my buddy said, "i figure if you can take me, i can take you".

 

12:18 AM *

some very nice pictures over at jay's, from his less than 24 hours visit to new york. jay: my first internet friend.


my first internet friend by minx. (brought to you by fischer price.)

jay was one of the first people to have a web page. about 1995 this was, i think. i had mine up, and i had just gotten root access to my first unix box, and i had a t1 at columbia, and there. jay had shirtless pics, and this excited me. plus, he was friends with brad, who had LOTS of shirtless pics up, and him, jay, and marypat seemed like one cool bunch. my interest was piqued. we corresponded a lot. he helped me with my web pages, critically and technically.

jay is everywhere. jay knows all technology, and even he gets paid a lot to know some of it. jay is always on the cutting edge, and more importantly, he's always got a perspective on what to do with that edge. jay never overtly plays technophile; he is an implicit technophile. this makes him one of my most valued disembodied voices: his background is not art, at all, but he eminently wise because he looks at the world honestly. i can't tell you the number of times when some conversation of ours about web pages, more web pages, web games, or web logs had me thinking for days. our last conversation, about blogging, is still in my head: his perspective on identity and the internet is top-notch.

his last name is sometimes nicknamed as 'cooter', which was the only one that stuck with me, and to this day his email alias and email folder, in my outlook express, is 'cooter'.

jay is straight, but the omni-sexual cast to his conversation, and the sense that he adds this when he's around me, only adds to his omnicsience. i think he's playing with me, but i'll never really know for sure.

i still like this picture of him from 1995, although i'm (predictably) into the stone-cold look he now is cultivating.

i've met lots of other people on the internet, some acquaintances, some friends, some good friends, and some lovers. but jay's proved to be very unique.

 

10:20 PM *

to: jonno

just read your fat-body blog entry on the new, superfast, content-rich internet's world-wide-web, 128kbps dsl line i installed a few minutes ago.

you should know that i've a list sitting next to my computer with several business cards, postit notes, and index cards taped/piled together with blog entries i want to do. one of them is on the back of my business card, something that came to me while sitting in big cup a week ago (i was going to a meeting in the neighborhood, it was 830am). i thought of you, how the first time i set foot in that hoary place was to see you...

...an in you walked. during one of my famous pre-caffeinated morning reveries, i mistook a guy who reminded me of you for you. however, it was not the you-now that gave me this impression. rather, it was an imagined you at 40 or 45 that made me double take. i had recently viewed the images of your father, and the fellow entering the shop made me think about how beautiful you are, now, and further: how handsome you are going to be when your 40, or 45, or 50. i got very excited when i thought about this at the time, which is why i jotted it down, and i'm getting excited thinking about it now, how you masterfully let us glimpse not only the past, but your very future. it's also a resonable explanation for why people see your father as being sexy: he's a spitting image of you.

reading your blog put the entry you're now reading to the top of the list, and how i wouldn't want you to have a ridiculously narrow waist, or inhabit some kind of body you're not already in. the jonno i know has a certain nose, a very specific hairline, very specific hairyness, and the fact that i claim to see other jonnos around town is speaking to the fact that i think about you, my dear friend, a lot, and not that you have a lot of evil twins running around.

i see you as a very sexy guy, who assumes alternate roles of super husband, super friend, super italian daddy (shirt open), beefy sexpot, campy sexpot, ironic swish, evil queen (with that wonderful evil squint), intellectual queen, intellectual daddy, intellectual-about-town, queen-about-town, daddy-about-town, robot-about-town, online persona (this requires a body: remember the axe photo kept you in bizness from 1995-1998), online intellect, online intellectual fashion editor, fashion daddy, working class tough, working class sexpot, complete dirty whore daddy, dirty puppy, and lovely puppy. i'm certain there are more than these, but i get tired of typing after a while. the point is i've witnessed the whole of you since i've known you masterfully played out over your body since day one, because i believe that our initial correspondance touched on this fact, your body and what you do with it, and what that means. it's the single piece of work that embodies your intellectual interests. it is the very site of your thinking, and the impulse to have it brilliantly projected is a natural extension.

i've told several people this: i was reared on jonno. this means that my thinking about body has been influenced by someone thinking/making it better, and for a lot longer.

hugs and kisses,
minx

 

2:56 AM *

wow. blogger works a lot better when you have dsl.

tonight, i had set up before me what is usually a reliably wonderful set: glamorous client's christmas party, friend's offices' christmas party, then an evening in the east village, namely, the fat cock. however, the stars conspired to make it not-so-wonderful. i had to leave the client's party just as it was getting hot (dancing, even if they play the same quasi-funky-white-person's-version-of-disco-and-salsa hits every party), to go to what turned out to be my friend's girlfriend's office's party, to which none of my friends actually went to, and which was making me very sleepy, and there was no good music or conversation. read that again: no good conversation. i was doing better at the client's party, which is fun, but still just a little work.

called a bunch of friends (gay fairies who love me and who i adore) to see if they would come to fat cock with me. they would. they didnt. i sat at the bar, and the go-go boy jumped up and danced right over me, leaning down to chat. he was kind of sexy, but boring. i've had my share, and i haven't swooned over a good-body-but-nothing-upstairs type in a while. i was looking for good talk good sex. i chatted with an old acquaintance i ran into about architecture and new orleans, and my upcoming trip, but my voice was giving out (i'm getting over a cold), and i felt like moving on. i decided to brave the bitter cold and head over to phoenix.

as i was leaving, i bumped into the guy i met on august 13th, the one who was hot-and-cold for me, who was all into me then quit calling me suddenly, and who kind of hurt me because of that. he actually came up to me and spoke to me, and initiated a conversation. i was nervous, but i soon felt it: the feeling that you learned something from your past relationship, and you could deal with the present because of it. his first words initiated what i'd felt between me and him (not to mention several others this summer): a weird kind of competitive spirit interleaved with the attraction. the attraction being the ground for proving that you're a mover-and-a-shaker, an it-boy, or whatever. although i was confused before, i could see it right away this time, and i could feel the patience and comfort you get when you're talking to someone you find unpleasant, but know that they cannot throw you any sort of curveball, any form of unexpected statement. i'll never hear "i'm sorry how things turned out, and i didn't mean for you to be hurt" instead of "i got really busy this fall, i've been working in four cities, i got headhunted, quit my old job". or "i just needed to keep doing my thing and i hope you're cool with that" even though to be fair that may have been the meaning behind the flat, perfunctory, colorless words i was hearing.

he was on his way out too. amazingly, he walked with me a little (he was on his way to the bar to pick up a friend) and continued to chat, mostly about how many cities he's working in nowadays, how much he is in demand, all the while his cel phone ringing off the hook, me saying that i don't even bother to call anyone at home anymore, just their phone, because when i call i want to talk. i wished him happy holidays as we parted, and he me. i meant it, and hope it sounded that way, but lord, was i bored, and with nothing else to say to him: in the few months since this summer, i've been fortunate enough to have the company of my good friends, and their good talk, and some new friends, and theirs too. that graciousness, that stimulation, that brain-fuck puts such a forgettable evening in perspective.

 

10:26 PM *

gym diary, month nine.

i've been doing a chest routine fine-tuned by my buddy jocko for a few weeks now. as you may know, i've been doing serious chest work (ie dumbells and free weights) for about three months now. that and serious squats, which i love, because i am able to balance what is for me a lot of weight on my shoulders. what can i say, except that it makes me feel strong? (and gives you "lifter's butt").

something that i've noticed since the weather has gotten much colder these past couple of weeks is that clothes i have not worn since last winter, the end of which was only several weeks before i started going to the gym in march, all fit me differently. it's literally like i'm wearing a different person's clothes. or more accurately, it's as if i'm in a new body and wearing clothes i had for my old body.

specifically: my butt is much firmer, larger, muscular, lovely. my new friend L will attest to this. as will a pair of levis 514s that i bought a couple of years ago but always felt icky on me. now, they make my thicker thighs look like they're packed in there, and they are tight to my behind, which feels sexy and presents that merchandise in a very attractive manner. this goes double for the lucky brand type 3 (tight fit) jeans i normally wear (the 514s are more 'get-laid' wear), because they already made the butt look good. and the slim wool pants i wore last year look absolutely fine. and the pair of dickies pants i bought this fall also. as you can tell, i'm extremely happy about these developments. i've never been the kind of guy to care about showing off my ass, but that has obviously changed with the development of a butt that guys find exciting.

another part is my arms. in fact, this was visible this summer: i simply had to cut the sleeves off some of the shirts i owned, because they were too tight to be comfortable. and most of the others i cut off just because i felt my arms looked good and wanted to. it was the first time in my life i felt sexy in a tank top or sleeveless tee, and i ended up turning almost everything i have into a sleeveless tee. unfortunately, it is now winter in new york city, butt-cold, and i need sleeves on all my undershirts.

however, i can now roll up my sleeves on my dress shirts, even just a little, and my thicker forearms will keep the rolls in place, not sliding back down to my wrists like they used to (which used to make me feel skinny and self-conscious). on some of my dress shirts, it's very noticeable that not only do i have a little arm action going on under there, but that the rest of the upper body is filling it in nicely. beyond the fact that i used to buy too many clothes from banana republic, where everything is cut for middle america (ie for people who have bigger torsos than i), i always used to feel like i was swimming in my shirts. and constantly going to the mirror to pull them back in my pants, back to close to my body, so that i didnt feel so tiny in them. many of the winter shirts i wear are now filled in by rounder shoulders, bigger traps, a little bit on the front, and a handsome neck that let you know there's something underneath. even if the shirt gets a little loose or untucked, i don't care: after a few weeks of this, i realized i still look good in 'em.

the shirt thing i'm completely used to: during the summer, i wore nothing but the least on top cuz it's sexy to have a shirt fit you tight, tight to muscle, my trim and lean muscle. this got me prepared for where i am now, a little bigger than before (little bigger because i went from 124 to 138, which feels a lot bigger to me: think percentage change in bodyweight) but my chest finally beginning to fill out some, making my nipples appear in my tank tops and some of my tshirts. the pants thing i'm not completely used to: them all being attractively snug on my butt, rubbing me in all the right places, i'm still feeling a frisson whenever i walk around, knowing that i'm strutting my stuff simply by wearing my old clothes, filling them in in a new way, another measure of before/after.

 

ps all work in this domain is copyright chad the minx.