Everyone knows about that rush one can feel when they know they are about to get laid. When you’re a bi guy, you get that rush in spades and more so when chances are good that you rarely get a chance to indulge in the other side of your sexual desires.
It is quite the rush; you search and search using whatever method you believe is going to work; you manage to locate someone you’re interested in (or maybe someone has found you); then comes the negotiation phase which goes from getting to know each other to some degree, going over likes and dislikes, even establishing one’s experience level by asking when you got started in this. If this phase continues to go well, a date and time to get together is made – and while waiting for the other shoe to drop which, in this case, not being able to make the connection. Still, barring this, now it’s all about awaiting for the date and time to arrive, whether it’s measured in minutes or, sometimes, days.
You know what’s gonna happen; that’s been established already but if you’ve been here before, you also know that there’s no real way to know how it’s all gonna turn out, although your imagination can fuck with your head about this, running scenario after scenario until you wind up wearing your brain out by overthinking things. Your nerves are on edge; you live to feel the rush of anticipation but you’re also trying to remain calm about it. While you want things to go well, eh, sometimes it doesn’t – and now you have to keep your mind from latching on to the possibility of failure and spoiling that rush of anticipation. So one part of you wants to act as if this is no big deal – just business as usual – while another part of you is bouncing off the walls and literally screaming, “I’m gonna get me some dick! Yay!”
Does it matter if you’ve had this particular guy before? Nah, not really, except you might not be all that concerned about the possibility of cancellation; the guy is now a known quantity but still that rush is there because while you can look forward to more of the same as your first time with him, it’s always different enough that you can never really know how things are going to go and more so if the chance of being pleasantly surprised is quite possible.
I know what goes through my mind before the fact and it’s so complex and involved that it took me years to be able to explain it to myself beyond the use of simple terms, like, man, it’s such a rush just to think that in a certain period of time, I’m going to have my mouth on a guy’s dick. I know that my imagination will go off the reservation no matter how much I need to be cool and collected about and the more I try to not think about it, the more I wind up thinking about it so now it’s about trying to not pay much attention to what this part of me is doing and carry on as usual with the things that must still be done.
The closer it gets to the time to meet him, a curious thing happens; I get more excited but calmer and I stopped trying to figure this out a long time ago and besides, if I’m driving to meet him (usually the case), then I need to be focused on being behind the wheel, which calls for being able to “ignore” the raving lunatic that lives in my head as well as the fact that the erection I’m now sporting is not playing nicely with my seat belt at all. And, yes: The farther I have to go to make the meet, the more intense the anticipation gets; there have been times when I’ve been as close to the meeting place as five minutes and you’d think that’s not enough time for the rush to get to “off the chain” levels but, no – my mind seems to have the ability to realize that it’s not going to take me long to get there so let’s get ramped up to 150%, shall we?
In either situation, when I get there – and despite decades of experience doing this particular thing – I am so amped up that I’m practically and literally vibrating. Now, being able to see pictures of the guy before the fact is one thing but that moment you actually set eyes on him, well, that’s something else and now it’s about not letting my sense of aesthetics get in the way of things because, um, some guys look better in pictures than they do in person – and I know some dudes will use pictures from, ah, younger moments in their life which isn’t going to match them in the here and now so much.
Then comes the most unnerving part; getting to the moment when the pregnant pause comes into play. There’s the usual small talk – glad you could make it, it’s good to see you, I’ve been waiting for this moment and other such sentiments before there is just nothing else to be said or even done – now it’s about who is going to make the first move. It’s a scenario that my mind has gone over and with many permutations – and including this unintentional waiting game. The anticipation is going batshit nuts; you want to leap onto him, want him to leap onto you and you don’t want to do anything that just might scare the guy – and, yeah, I’ve had this happen and I know I don’t react well to being startled; in fact, I can react very badly to it, something I’ve had to learn to control.
Now, if I’ve been in this moment ten times, nine of those times will reveal my impatience and gets me making the first move; I’ll either get undressed first or, if the rush of anticipation is at its most insane intensity, I won’t even bother to get him or myself undressed because, duh, I know exactly where his cock lives because I’ve been trying really hard not to stare at his crotch and whether he’s already erect or not.
After first contact – and no matter who gets the show on the road, the rush of anticipation changes to a different kind of rush – the one of exploration kicks in and that’s a different animal and one that may or may not be as intense as anticipation can be; too many variables to consider that would lend itself to anything resembling consistency. Even I have felt the rush of anticipation dissipate to less than a dull roar in the exploration phase; sometimes he’s said or done something to make it all go away and, yes, sometimes, I’ve been my own worst enemy.
But I’ll get into this some other time…