Shades of Ewan McGregor: Derek, Trevor and Phoenix

So I finally figured out why I like Ewan McGregor so much. I know, I know, who doesn't like Ewan McGregor, right? But still... I even liked box-office flop Down With Love. And the reason I adore him? He is exactly my type. His mannerisms and physical type are Hollywood-versions of Trevor, and of Phoenix: his playful smile, his eyebrows, his hot, masculine yet somehow tender demeanor, his dark hair (I keep asking Phoenix to stop highlighting his hair!).
Not to mention, he reminds me of Derek.
For example, in this particularly well-performed, unabashedly campy duet with Renee Zellweger:
Click here to watch 'Here's to Love'
at around the 29th second of the clip he winks... just like DEREK did last week! I had this epiphany a few days ago when they played Here's to Love at the Midnight Sun (you gotta love their VJs!)

It's my birthday... let's fuck!

"Aaahhhhggghhhh!!!!!" he shouts as his jizz lands in spurts all over my chest.
The sun is rising, and my alarm clock is about to go off. It was way too late for sex when we got home from Badlands the night before so we crashed and did it this morning instead.
"Happy Birthday!" I say, reaching for a towel on my nightstand. This dislodges the messy pile of ties and makes them fall on the floor.
He's gotten up and is pulling his red & white CK boxerbriefs on. He has a nice, smooth ass.
"So, uh... it's not really my birthday." he says a bit awkwardly.
Damn I hate how that line works every time, I think. Whatever. He's hot.
I need to put those ties away. They've been lying around, neglected, for over a week now.
"Here's my number, Andrew. Give me a call soon."
"Sure thing!" I say absently, thinking how Ernest is going to kill me if he sees his ties all in a pile on my floor, near my socks, discarded underwear and a cum-soaked towel.
(more on Ernest: in WeHo; in Santa Cruz with Miguel)

You just out-sexed yourself again, buddy!

So, as if Derek's uber-sexy leaning-back-with-his-hands-clasped-behind-his-head pose isn't sexy enough... today when he was sitting across from me, and had his legs outstretched and spread - one on each side of me.
And I'm supposed to be able to concentrate on work!? C'mon, Derek! Have a heart! It probably qualifies as this week's sexiest moment. And trust me, Andrew's had plenty of sexy moments in the last 7 days.
Derek's been training again. His chest is defined, his abs tight (no pooch on this puppy). His khakis fit to perfection, his shirt nicely tucked in his pants, begging to be gently untucked, his male bulge present yet subtle.
"Yo! Andrew... Andrew!" I'm caught daydreaming again. Derek is amused. He winks at me, and asks, "Still with us?"
In more ways than you'll ever know, Derek.

Getting ready for the interview

Black shoes. Check.
damn, they need polishing... Check Minus.
(Oh FUCK... I'll clean that up when I get home.)
socks. Check.
Underwear... something form-fitting with a nice pouch? Yep. Me-alphamale-hear-me-roar. Check plus.
Suit.. suit.. suit... I hate suits. OK, this black one'll have to do. The other one looks way too formal. Check.
Woo-hoo, I get to wear my favorite fitted white cotton shirt. Check Plus. grrrr.... it needs ironing. Check minus.
Tie. AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! My one and only conservative, interview tie is still at Trevor's... Say it ain't so! I'll just have to rummage through this lot of vintage ties Ernest gave me to sell on ebay.... and yep.. this one here'll have to do. Let's hope the 1960's look in ties passes as trendy. Check.
No time to jerk-off. I'm running late. Check Minus.Oh well. I had sex 2 nights ago anyways. ...
"Hi I'm Andrew."
"Good to meet you! Nice tie by the way. Vintage is so IN!"
Check Plus.

Paul's back, aka Sex in the City

so there was this hot guy dancing in front of me at this bar in the East Village. He was wearing really low cut jeans, and no underwear, so you could see the top of his ass... so we danced and made out and...
and then there was that party I went to with Steven and his publishing house buddies. I met this guy there who was totally into me. suede jacket, scarf, dark eyes... cute in that artsy New York writer-scene way...
you know, Andrew, sometimes it feels like San Francisco is soooo provincial compared to New York. I mean, just Brooklyn has more stuff going on. And then there's all of Manhattan...
and I got more gigs in a month than the last 6 months here...
I'm happy for Paul. He deserved a good summer.
(more on Paul: he leaves, the Stately Ships )

Eric & Dave on vacation: Chapter 5

We left off on the last day of Eric & Dave's vacation in Mexico. Now, they've returned to the daily grind of life in San Francisco.

"Eric was on my mind constantly. It’s hard to describe, but the absence of contact with Eric left me feeling empty… like something inside of me was missing and yearned to be filled. I missed his bright smile, his jokes, and hanging out with him...

There were moments when I almost asked Steph about him, but resisted. I was too afraid it would start off the conversation I was desperately trying to postpone. "

Click here to read Eric & Dave, Chapter 5

Enjoy! And let me know what you think!

So close I could smell the sweat off his his tight, worked-out body

"Duuude.. where ya been?" Mark swats my ass with his water bottle.
"Hey what's up Mark!" I haven't seen him at the gym in months.
"Yeah, new job, new schedule... I work out in the mornings now."
He starts working in with me at the cross-cable station. I watch as his delts flex with each rep he does.
"Your shoulders look awesome, dude!" I say admiringly.
"Thanks, man!" he says, moving aside. I adjust the bars for a set of reverse flys, and feel Mark's gaze, hard and steady, on my body.
"So you about finished here?" he asks.
"Yea, just about. This is my last set." I get into position - knees bent and hunched over, my back horizontal. Mark is standing right behind me, inches away... so close, so damn close.
My shoulders burn when I'm finally done, and my tank-top is drenched with sweat. Mark is still intently staring at me.
"So, you wanna come over? We can clean up - shower or whatever - at my place..."
(click here for more gym posts: sweatproof ipods; tattooed musclehunk; Alan )

SOS & Spike to the rescue

"-blah-I-me-blah-blah-myself-blah-blah-"
"That's nice," I say, nodding.
"-blah-me-blah-myself-blah-I-"
"Could you excuse me for a second?" I get up.
I head to the restroom. I type out the age-old 3 letters into my cell phone and go back to my date.
"-blah-blah-blah-"
wow. I don't even think he noticed I was gone.
All of a sudden, Spike shows up, all drunk and wobbly, holding a tall margarita.
"Hey... Andrew! whas...............sup?" He's slurring his words.
I look concerned. "You OK, Spike?"
"Uh... um..."
"Looks like you need a ride home."
"Hey no, I'm good... you guys continue your... I'm Spike, nice to -"
Spike holds out an unsteady hand to my date, who's actually stopped talking and looks shocked.
"Andrew, you should take your friend home," my date says.
"Yeah, sorry... I really should. He doesn't look too good. It was nice hanging out with you though..."
"Yeah, I'll call you tomorrow."
Spike and I leave the bar, Spike still staggering until we're out of sight of my date. He then straightens up and pats me on the back.
"Thanks, bud. I didn't know you were such a good actor, though!" I say.
"Acting drunk comes naturally. I've got experience."
"Yeah, so do I. You've got a point."
(more on Spike: nifty; 4-ways)

Let me be there, by Olivia Newton-John, Trevor and Andrew

It was one of those hot, lazy, summer Sunday mornings. It was too early to get out of bed (which would mean the start the perennial, tedious debate over which local joint to brunch at this week), and it was too hot to get back to sleep. So Trevor and I started making love instead. He flipped on the stereo, and one of our favorite, yet infrequently listened-to CDs came on.
Wherever you go, wherever you may wander, in your life...
Now neither of us is particularly flamboyant or effeminate. I think this made our fondness for Olivia Newton-John all the more special.
Surely you know, I always wanna be there...
We were both in ebullient moods, and, as we made love, we spontaneously started singing along in unison:
Let me be there in your morning, let me be there in your night!
Let me take whatever's wrong, and make it right...
We sang for each other, and for being in love, and for our little 1-bedroom apartment, and for the summer, and for whatever else. I wouldn't trade that moment in time for anything in the world.
Let me take you to that wonderland that only two can share...
All I ask you (oooooh!) is....
So, now, today, several years later, why am I filled with a wistful longing when I look out the coffee-shop window see Trevor walk by with an adorably cute - nay, achingly cute, shorts and green t-shirt clad young man.
....let me be there (OH, let me be there!)
(click here more posts on Trevor: Grandma's favorite; his smile )

Speaking of dorky, cute guys with Beagle Butts

He's tall, has dark, curly hair, horn-rimmed glasses, a 30-year old absent-minded professor demeanor, and a nicely toned body. He's an East-coast import, is into vintage clothes and listens to classical music. He's also super-smart.
At a meeting today, he was wearing dark, low rise jeans and a black t-shirt. I reflexively looked down at his crotch when he stood up, and peeking through a fly button that was undone: a pair of bright red underwear!
He has be one of the dorkiest guys I work with, and gives many of the suave, well-dressed MBA types a good run for their money. And, thanks to his choice in briefs, he just got a little dorkier.
(click here for more on the underwear scene at work: purple paisley boxers; worn, dull.. )

Visiting 'San Fran' from Sydney

When we finally said good-night to the roommate and the roommate's new boyfriend (how awkward... we interrupted an... uh... intimate moment, but hey it's my place too, and they were doing it in the living room!), the Qantas flight attendant guy and his galpal (buddies of a good Aussie mate of mine) and I, not to mention the roommate and the boyfriend, were all fast friends.... the beer and wine flowed like rivers, and, true to their Aussie reputation, they drank like fish until we stumbled out of my apartment with florid good-byes and effusive thank-yous (on their part), not to mention a promise they'd take us all out to brunch on Saturday for our hospitality. I walked them down to 18th, where the two of them found a cab back to their hotel. I would have stayed out longer, but someone else was waiting for me, and, truth be told, sex trumps alcohol any day.