Crazy Jimmy

Comedy is so much easier to write. But you gotta write what ya know.

I thought it would be so “modern”, so chic, to have someone visit that I had met on “holiday”. You meet the nicest men at the Russian River. Handsome men that whisper wonderful things in your ear. Men that make your dick hard. Men that want to come visit you in Seattle. Did I mention how hairy he was?

Now really, I needed the new bed. His coming to visit had nothing to do with the purchase. I was, however, anticipating the christening. As director, producer and co-star the fantasy was perfect. In reality, the wine was chilled; my place was perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

The christening lasted maybe 2 minutes. He was happy but the script called for at least another hour and a half of footage. But we had 4 more days of shooting. I thought.

He slept in quite late on Friday then wanted to go shopping. I was thinking Pike Place Market; he was thinking Nordstrom’s where he picked up 8 or 9 shirts and a pair of Prada sunglasses. He collects them, he says. Prada sunglasses that cost $225 a pair. I was getting impressed but not in a positive way. (Please note that I have not mentioned any more sexual activities.)

We sampled Long Island Iced Teas at all the bars we visited. That’s too polite: I sampled, he guzzled and we stumbled home. We ran into a friend of mine, my guest invited him back to my place where he demanded to be fucked by my friend. That was not in my script. It wasn’t my friend’s fantasy. But my guest passed out and forgot all about it.

Saturday might have been tense. But we were terribly off schedule, I was tense and I wanted to keep my co-star happy. So we skipped the Solstice parade (my choice) and saw the movie “Knocked Up” (not my choice). He liked it.

My friend Ken from San Fran is wonderful man and is nominated for best supporting actor in this saga. Ken is warm, friendly, calm but when he heard about my guest he wrote, “What the fuck is Crazy Jimmy doing at your place? Lock up your credit cards!”. It was good chatting with Ken. I needed something to do, Jimmy took 4 naps on Saturday and then went to bed around 9pm. You know what Ken told me? Jimmy has issues. Jimmy has problems. Jimmy is one fucked up little (handsome) boy. Why is it so difficult for me to see the obvious? I would like to think the romantic in me saw Jimmy as the beautiful, handsome power bottom that he is. Instead he’s just a sloppy drunk.

He woke up around noon on Sunday, wasn’t interested in the Bear pic-nic so we saw Ocean 13. (Better than 12, not as good as 11.) Had another nap. Then went to the Cuff for happy hour. And why the fuck is it called happy?

And how many Long Islands can this man drink? I got fuzzy and meandered around; Jimmy took his shirt off and became very popular. Sometime later I couldn’t find him, he didn’t’ answer his phone so I came home.

Now this next part is a bit amusing. Have you noticed how late he slept every morning? He called me at 7:30am on Monday to tell me he got an earlier flight and would be by to pick up his luggage. (If you’re going to trick with someone on a Sunday night while on vacation, make sure your trick doesn’t work Monday either). I, of course, had taken Monday off so Jimmy and I could visit the Space Needle, etc.

I would like to think I’m the nice guy in this story, the guy that took time off from work to escort my guest around Seattle. But I really did all this because I was horny. I liked how he looked at me (Ok, it was a drunken glare, but it was still in my general direction.) I wanted something more in my life. But Judy was right.

I feel bad about a lot of things but I feel really bad that my new bed is now infected with bad Jimmy karma. I want it cleansed. Know any good spells? I want it perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.