His name was Carlos and our two month anniversary!

To honor Eating&Forking’s two month anniversary, we are dipping our toes into a little nostalgia and paying a visit to the man who started it all – Carlos, the uncut Latino stud from our very first post. Here’s to many more anniversaries and men to come! Carlos, text me.

When I saw his text asking if he could come over, I responded without hesitation. Yes, come at once. We undressed quickly without speaking. Pleasantries are a luxury for cooler weather and not when the thermometer is only one many throbbing instruments. He asked me in his charming broken English if he could fuck me. His skin was warm and fragrant like sugar just when it caramelizes. The initial thrust was jolting – tequila without a chaser. His subsequent ones were hurried and desperate. I imagined him coming into his sexual prowess by encounters in deserted alleys and in the backs of Mustangs. After we finished, he left without a goodbye or a thank you. I looked down at the messy sheets and at my disheveled reflection in the mirror. Is this what it feels like to be a slut? If so, it felt good. It felt real good.

After anal sex, I like to enjoy a refreshing pudding eclair. Prepare one box of French vanilla pudding following the instructions. Fold in Cool Whip. Make sure the CW is not frozen to ensure it incorporates easily into the pudding. In a larger bowl, pour one layer of the pudding mixture, top with one level of graham crackers, and repeat until there is no more mixture. Once the pudding has chilled for at least three hours in the refrigerator, top with chocolate icing and enjoy.

Gridiron action, scoring a touchdown and ham and cheese sandwiches

Football season starts this weekend – finally! The long wait between the end of March Madness and the start of gridiron action is over. I will have more to watch than XTube on my iPad and Star Trek: Deep Space Nine on Netflix. The sight of those muscular, sweaty bodies amped up on testosterone bashing into each other, their asses as firm as unripe avocados and biceps the size of a Christmas ham sends me into quite a frenzy. Football stirs something base and visceral in me – my gay cavemen ancestors must have beat each other up before making all those charming cave paintings. T was a former college football player. He had broad shoulders, smooth tan skin, shaggy blonde hair, and a fat dick coddled in nest of blonde pubic hair. He attended a small private college and not a Division I powerhouse but his gridiron tasted no less sweet. We both scored that afternoon as we took turns fucking each other  – and that’s good for another first down!

Like anal sex, tailgating is a long-standing football tradition. I like to kick my appetizers up a notch and make my version of ham and cheese sandwiches for adults. Purchase party bread (the mini-loaf of bread usually found in the deli section of the grocery) and layer in slices of prosciutto, thin slices of smoked gouda, a slice of green apple, and a dollop of spicy mustard. Your guests will appreciate the break from chicken wings.

And one final note – go CARDS!

Franz Joseph, the end of the Hapsburgs, and the soldier who likes salsa music

Franz Joseph I was born on this date in 1830 and ruled over the Dual Monarchy of Austria-Hungary for nearly 68 years. During his long reign, the Empire went into a slow descent from which it never recovered; the final collapse came in 1918 as World War I reached its denouement. The House of Hapsburg – one of Europe’s most illustrious and powerful – vanished from the scene. Since that time, the Balkans have been tormented by violence and tragedy. This is what happens when an authority figure leaves the scene – just like an orgy without a dom top to direct traffic. The next thing you know there are elbows flying into eye sockets and in the poor case of the Balkans, endless violence and destruction. Franz Joseph was a devoted military man and although his armies suffered many defeats during his reign, he always considered himself to be a simple soldier which leads me to B, another simple soldier I met up with one spring evening. He loved salsa music and we undressed and danced around his suburban apartment will wild abandon while doing tequila shots. We poured Sprite into the shot, slammed it on the table and downed it. After a few of these and one memorable shot I licked off his chest, the heat of the tequila, the sweetness of the soda, and the saltiness of B’s chest made a near perfect flavor combination, B slammed me on the dining room table to the soothing beats of the Buena Vista Social Club. We parted after a quick post-coital shower and another dance around the living room. Austria-Hungary may not have survived into the modern world but tequila and anal sex are eternal.

Before, after, or during sex with a military man, tequila shots are the only way to go. Pour tequila into glass, top with Sprite, slam on table and swallow. Additional slamming and swallowing are certain to follow.

Franz Joseph I of Austria 1855

Franz Joseph I of Austria 1855 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Winston Churchill, gin martinis, and men who won’t get off

‘It will be long, it will be hard, and there will be no early withdrawal’ are not just words I proclaim to various men on weekends and every other Tuesday, no, they are the famous fighting words of Winston Churchill as he rallied the British people against Nazi aggression during World War II. The Battle of Britain began on this date in 1940. The odds against Britain surviving were steep – France had fallen, the Nazi armies were just across the English Channel – Hitler could see the White Cliffs of Dover. He unleashed the Luftwaffe onto the British people – and they resolutely told him to go fuck himself. Due to Winston’s leadership and thrilling oratory, the people of Britain did not waver, they did not panic as bombs rained down on London, they remained calm and carried on – much like one should when being topped by an exceptionally large piece – exhale, remain steadfast, victory will be achieved. I idolize Winston Churchill – he was a unparalled wartime leader and he did it with panache. He directed the war from his bed, clad in  pajamas with a cigar in one hand and a glass of Scotch in he other. He is a towering figure of history and each of us owe him a debt of gratitude. I want to reclaim his words – they are not just for wartime but for all time. When in those moments of despair when booze, blowjobs, or XTube has failed to raise your spirits, when the guy won’t cum, or you can’t get none, when the cake won’t bake or the trick done flaked, I give you the oratory of Winston Churchill. Never surrender.

“Even though large tracts of Europe and many old and famous States have fallen or may fall into the grip of the Gestapo and all the odious apparatus of Nazi rule, we shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.”

Mr Churchill favored gin martinis. His brand was Plymouth’s and his recipe was as simple as it was elegant – simply wave the bottle of gin around the vermouth. Pour the gin into a martini glass and drink. He also favored the patented ‘hand on the hip, don’t fuck with me’ pose which he carried off with exceptional aplomb.