Got Dick?

Sunday night Shithead came back to Rome after a very necessary and stressful trip home. I saw his text message asking what i was doing around 9-ish and replied that we had just finished eat the gnocchi con vongole, ruccola, pachino e zucchini I had made.

(I cooked clams! With Vodka! It was easy! And they made cute little popping noises as I murdered them with butter, garlic, and vodka laced steam! It's like making popcorn and being a god all rolled into one!)

Ahem. Sorry. I digress.

He calls me (I had no credit left) and we chat. Well, I chat; he begs for me to come over. Begs obliquely, but still, begging is begging. I snicker and acquiesce
; I'll do the dishes and then head over to his place. As I put the leftover sauce in a bowl (I cooked clams!), it occurs to me that, having just arrived, he might not have eaten. I text again asking if he wants me to bring over the sauce.

I've already eaten, thanks. The only thing I need is your embrace

That's so corny I could make popcorn with it (Like cooking clams!). I smirk the entire metro ride over and I'm still smirking when he answers the door.



So we discuss what happened during his trip (not pleasant) and his shoulder (no longer strapped down). He complains (and I respond) that:

- the arm has no muscles any more (didn't have that many to start with, bub)
- he can only lift it 45° (you were expecting to lift a small building one handed the minute the sling was gone?
- he'll always have a bump on his shoulder (as opposed to being permanently brain damaged? wait, bad example. as opposed to being paralysed?)

We smoke a joint while lying on the bed watching TV. I tell him about the Amsterdam trip and the sex show we saw the first night which, excepting 3 acts, had me cracking wise like Mystery ScienceSex Theatre 3000. He gets quiet for a bit, which I didn't find unusual as the Mary Jane was potent; at the very least I was stoned to the gills.

He asks in a joking tone he just can't quite pull off because it's too quiet:

"Did you have wild stoned sex there?"

"HUH?! This was a work-based trip you know."

"How do I know? You might have a thing for one of these colleagues."

*tries to think of any, ANY, shagging possibilities in the pool of colleagues*

*fails*

"Uh, no."

*Shithead is silent*

*thinks some more*

"EW. No!"

Unfortunately due to my addled state, I missed the perfect opportunity to tell him about Eyebrow Boy. Then again, Eyebrow Boy was the Furthest Thing from my mind at that point. i was rather floored that the night thusfar had Shithead a) begging and b) jealous.

Training is progressing well, methinks...

...*15 minutes later, with clothes strewn on the floor next to the bed*...

...really really well. Cristo di dio...

...*tries to remember name*...

...*fails*...

I think I passed out at some point. Shithead might be, well, a shithead, but the boy is a goddamned genius in the sack. Curse him. I've been thinking of nothing but dick for the past 48 hours now, which is not helpful when I have to read the manual and configure a Windows 2003 server for tomorrow.