HOW CAN I CONVINCE YOU TO SMILE?

Posted on 12/29/2014 by Daddy Will

It was my intent to title this piece "A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A SHAMELESS SLUT" but, there's a bit more to it than that. It's really about a recent encounter that I had with a lovely young man that had come to this country in early adulthood, and just like the rest of us, is just doing his best to get by.

 

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A SHAMELESS SLUT..

December 2014 has been a very rewarding month when it comes to sexual escapades, unforetold carnal encounters, lascivious liaisons, and garden variety hookups.

Do to a number of reasons, I've not been "hosting" as frequently as I used to, but have been "traveling" more.  Hosting and traveling are the common vernacular that we slut folks use to refer to "your place or mine."

Anyway, over the past month, I've had the opportunity to visit some pretty tony digs here in San Francisco.  I've been in a penthouse atop Nob Hill, not to mention a couple of restored Victorians, a number of luxury condos and McLofts, and two or three of the new luxury high-rise rentals that have been erected along Market Street.

By the same token, I've visited a number of abodes, similar to my own. Workaday studio apartments that are modestly furnished, one and two bedrooms that appear to be shared with two or more inhabitants, and even a place or two where each individuals designated living space was so designated by an arrangement of bed sheets and blankets, very retro and bohemian.

Now, some of these men were as average and plain, and some as exquisite and stunning as the surroundings that I've visited.  I won't say the surroundings that they themselves inhabited, because a well appointed abode did not necessarily translate to a man's appearance. There were rather ordinary men in pent houses, and magnificent creatures living in the squalor of a squat.

But, the one common denominator was, they were all looking for the same thing.  Most assuredly the premise the employed to bait their prey was an offering of sex. But, it became quite obvious once basic were seen to, that this was a person that much like myself, was simply looking to be touched, to be held, to be appreciated, to be validated.

This is not to imply that they were desperate, or lacking in self-esteem. I'm certainly not desperate, and am quite comfortable in my own skin. But, I won't deny that I take pleasure in another man taking comfort in my own skin, or I in his.  

Each and every one of these men had their own set of features, not just physical, but emotional and spiritual as well.  They had their own virtues, their own imperfections, their own flaws. Some sought refuge from their insecurities in the guise of cockiness and bravado, while some were incredibly timid and withdrawn.  Again, all of us with the same needs and desires, regardless of the package it's presented in.

One young man in particular stands out.  I met him on Craigslist. Now, I'm an open and unabashed Craigslist devotee. In fact, I've turned CL into a sort of life's work over the past decade.  I see not so much as a hookup site, but a totally civilization, worthy of anthropologic study. I dare say that I consider myself the Margaret Mead or Dian Fossey of Craigslist.

 

Anyway, this young man expressed a need to be handled in a manner that is not only within my skillset, but my absolute preference. We exchanged photos. He was adorable. About my height, smoking hot little body with smooth brown skin, a lovely bum, and a very pretty penis, avec foreskin.  He had very sexy lips.  Lips are important to me, being that I have none. It's one of those features that are a non-feature of men with my Scot/Irish and Germanic background.   I have the typical "Irish" skin, which people kindly refer to as a "ruddy complexion," which is just a tactful way of saying that you've got a terminal case of Rosacea and look like a major boozer.

But lips?  Hell, the only reason I bother with a mustache is so I know where to aim with a forkful of food.

So, en route to the young man's house, I even mentioned in a text that I bet he was a good kisser, given his lovely lips.  He answered with a seemingly curt; "haha" and did not elaborate on his kissing skills.

I arrived at his place, in fact, I arrived to find a parking space only one door away, a miracle considering his neighborhood.  I sent a text to let him know I was there and he came down to open the door and ushered me up to his room.  He signaled for me to be quiet as his roommates were home.  He hustled me in and up the steps, and behind a curtain that lead to his very modest room.

In the light of his room, I realized thatthe guy was too fucking cute for words.  Totally adorable.  But, I realized upon even casual examination that he was undoubtedly born with a hare lip, cleft palate or some other maxillofacial anomaly.  He had obviously had surgery to correct the issue, and there were no outward appearing scars. But, it was immediately obvious that there were deep scars that the casual observer would never see.

Here I am with this lovely young man, and his reluctance to make eye contact with me had nothing to do with any sense of dishonesty or attempts to deceive. His reticence about kissing me had nothing to do with a lack of desire to be kissed.  This was all about the emotional scar tissue that he had built up and accrued throughout his brief three decades.

He was incredibly careful not to smile, which lead me to believe that while they may have made the outward repairs necessary to remedy his malady, there was quite likely not the means and wherewithal to take care of the structural and dental issues that such an occlusion carries with it.

It broke my heart. Not because I had pity for him. It just broke my heart that he was afraid of the intimacy needed to smile. He was harboring deep shame over an issue, a situation, a life circumstance, for which he bore no initial responsibility.  His shame was palpable.  

I could relate in my own way. I've always been incredibly self-conscious about my teeth, and extremely shy about smiling.  I've had extensive work done on my teeth over the years, and am currently in the process of my third and hopefully final overhaul. I never had rotted or missing teeth, and thanks to orthodontics they weren't even crooked. But, there was just something about them that always caused me to be afraid, to carry some deeply rooted sense of shame, as though exposing my teeth would be to expose the darkest corners of my soul.  With each improvement, I've become increasingly comfortable with smiling, with opening my mouth when I speak to people.  But, there will always be a part of me that carries that inherent bit of shame.   People today often remark about my smile, and it makes me feel good.  I want to be able to convey the joy and happiness that are the very fabric of my life and good fortune.

By the same token, some of the most beautiful smiles have been on people that only had a tooth or two in their mouth, but they were able to smile with their entire face, their eyes. You could see their heart and very spirit in their smile.

I have no intentions to take this lovely young man on as some sort of pet project. But, I would like to see him again. He has already established that he feels comfortable surrendering his body to me. But, what I'd give to be able to instill the confidence in him to trust me enough to smile.

I want him to feel as beautiful to himself as he looks to me.


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