It’s true that writing about my sex life has in turn allowed me to have more of a sex life.  Many guys, and a couple girls, have contacted me with the basic message of, “I like fucking, you like fucking.  Let’s fuck.”  It hasn’t always worked, and I especially don’t like the guys who send me pictures of their cocks, but there have been times when I figured it wouldn’t hurt to meet some new people.

Sometimes, too, writing about my sex life is just a coincidence.  I’ve responded to tweets for people looking for volunteers.  That’s how I worked on three porn sets including one set that was at my apartment.  That is also how I volunteered to help old people express themselves artistically.

[I am purposefully being vague about some facts to avoid identifying people who might not want to be identified in this context.  Everything is a version of the truth, and the juicy bits are absolutely true.]

I wasn’t working and had time to help people out so I responded to the tweet from a guy we’ll call the Artist.  He said he needed people on the occasional afternoon to go with him to an old folks’ home where he conducted an art class.  He said I needn’t be artistic, just help out the people who needed it.

On the assigned day I showed up and met a guy who was tall and good looking.  He also had another guy helping with the old people so none of us was too overwhelmed.  The Artist showed me what I’d be doing and we got to work on the art class.

During a lull, the Artist, with a knowing look, said, “You’re ShazamSF on Twitter, right?”

I blushed and confirmed.  I really had just wanted to do some volunteer work, not have my horny tweets speak for me.  The Artist said nothing else about it and we continued with the art class.

After the class we cleaned up and I asked the Artist if he would want me back for future classes since even though old people aren’t my favorite, I kind of had fun.  He said he’d look into when he needed people again, since his tweet asking for volunteers had actually been quite successful.  And then he asked if I wanted to hang out with him some time.

Oh, I was being asked on a date.  Yeah, sure, you have my number.  I have my afternoons free.

I told my friend and neighbor about meeting the Artist, who was a minor celebrity in San Francisco.  I told her if he called we’d be getting together for a date.  My friend was monogamously married and liked to hear about my adventures, which at the time were many and varied.

She asked me if I’d already met the Artisan?  Yes, the Artisan was a guy who had contacted me and asked if I might want some of his products and if I might want to give him a blow job.  I told him I’d appreciate his products but that a blow job was not guaranteed, that we’d talk and get to know each other a bit.

He came over and we hung out.  He was nice, pretty cute, and a little shy, which I find endearing.  Eventually, I gave him a blow job and he went on his way.  But why was my friend asking about the Artisan when I was talking about the Artist?

“You do know they’re brothers, right?” my friend asked.

I most certainly did not!  And then I thought about it.  They were in very similar lines of work.  I supposed they did look alike, but I’m shit for faces until I really know someone, and each of them I had only met once.

She assured me that they were brothers.  She encouraged me to go on a date with the Artist, and to tell her all about it, of course.  It sounded like such a great idea, brothers.  Not at the same time – that’s creepy – but brothers.

I had to wait for the Artist to contact me ….

I swear.  (Mostly) true story.

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