Tonight (Explicit Language)

Tonight, right now possibly, a friend of mine is probably getting fucked by a porn producer and former porn star.  My friend is a porn star too, and because of what they film there are a couple of things that I can reasonably assume.  My friend is bottoming, the producer is topping, and they're fucking bareback.  Whether or not he's having a good time isn't something I can know, but I presume so.  They're in the producers NYC condo, which I presume is gorgeous.  That won't ever be my life.

Another friend of mine is on a date.  Not really sure what kind of date, but he's straight, so it may or may not include sex.  It's not something I think I'm particularly comfortable thinking about too much, so I'm not going to.  That won't be my life either.

A little while ago, maybe twenty minutes, I was in the bathroom after Ghostbusters and I ran into a guy that was one of my best friends about a decade ago.  It's one of the guys that I would probably hide a body with, not necessarily because who he is now but who he used to be to me.  My life is being alone.  Very, very alone.

Tonight, I'm hitting a level of depression that I haven't touched in a while.  I was thinking about who should get my stuff when I'm gone.

There are a couple of things I care about.  The books.  . . . uh . . . The books?  Lol.  My Ka-Bar?  Geez, not that much I guess.  The books mostly to Jeff, the rest of it to my brother, including the Ka-Bar, which was a gift from him in the first place.

I'm not to "second stage" yet.  I'm not planning on how I'm going to do it.  It's still a long way off.  But I'm thinking about the preparation that needs to go before the act, so that the things that I'm leaving behind aren't accidentally destroyed.

And so I'm also writing.  Because that's kind of the point of despair, when I feel like I should write.

I'm not a danger to myself tonight.  Thanks, I know that better than you do.  But this life isn't something that I enjoy, and I find it sick and twisted that the world expects so much pain out of me.

Back to Dating

I found out last night that my ex is dating again.  Not the casually-meeting-guys-online-and-having-sex kind of dating, but he met someone that he thought he might be able to have a relationship with and dated him for a couple of months.

Honestly, the bigger emotional jolt was just talking to my ex.  When he responded to me from Shanghai then started actually talking to me, I started crying, and by the time he mentioned this new guy (Joey) I was done with the tears and didn't feel the need to start up again.  I have to wonder if that's a normal reaction to have.  I think that most people would freak out more about their ex dating someone new even if they stayed friends and are on speaking terms.  That's not me though.

I've been doing mostly the former kind of dating.  I wouldn't mind the latter kind of dating, but I just haven't found anyone.

More specifically, I've found a couple of guys that like me and one guy that I liked.  The guy I liked had a very serious different of opinion about what should comprise a relationship than I did, and so that didn't work out at all.  The other guys, the ones that like me . . . I'm just not interested in them for a variety of reasons.

My relationship with my ex taught me a lot about what I'm looking for in a relationship.  My breakup from my ex has taught me other things.  The thing that has surprised me the most is that I no longer like being the smartest person in a room.

Almost all of my ex's friends had Ph.Ds, MDs, or JDs.  One of his best friends did not, but that friend eventually became a VP at an international bank based on mad skillz.  I have a BA in English and not a lot of other stuff going on.

Don't get me wrong, I never felt like I was out of my depth hanging out with them (well, I mean, except for the drinking, but I never tried to keep up with them anyway).  They all had their subjects, but I had mine.  I know science fiction and fantasy and publishing.  I have stories about meeting GRRM, Neil Gaiman, Jo Walton and working on Polar Express and The Little Prince.  I follow politics more than enough to know what I'm talking about and have specific opinions that I can generally defend.  I know enough about economics, religion, science, and technology to be able to have meaningful conversations with people actually working in those fields.  I've also traveled extensively, love weird historical bits and pieces, and can talk a bit about art.

All of the people around me in Boston were exceedingly successful, and the people that I've been meeting here in Albuquerque . . .

I've retreated into my head a little bit.  I don't feel like I can be myself around a guy that thinks that the movie "The Immortals" is a good representation of Greek myth.  I have to carefully tailor what I say so that I don't slip up and imply that he's an idiot for not understanding why I don't think that Zeus and Athena having sexual tension is appropriate, or that I've been to Greece and know that it's not a featureless desert.  I have to explain brief references to popular media that seem obvious to me.

This is just frustrating.  I look at these guys and know that it would drive me absolutely insane if I tried to date them over the long term.

A week or so ago I did exchange a quick series of texts with my ex and mentioned that I was talking to a doctor, and he said, "Oh, so you're dating again."  That was nice of him, but it just reinforces this point, that I guess I can't date below a certain intellectual threshold.  Maybe I could, but not without a set of other positive attributes to make up for that huge lack.

So, I'm sleeping my way through Albuquerque, to see if you can do a relationship that way.  Waiting for a decade for a friend of a friend to introduce me to my next boyfriend seems like too long to me, and even then, it would be ridiculous to assume that it will last all that long.  My ex and I lasted for seven years, but that was probably longer than it should have lasted.

I am open to alternatives.  We'll see.

Erik Rhodes

Erik Rhodes was a gay porn star.  He was also unhappy, and by unhappy I mean depressed, much in the same way that I'm depressed.

There aren't very many similarities between us after the homosexuality and the depression.  Erik was gorgeous and he was gorgeous through hard work.  He worked out often, although he used steroids to bulk up.  He was, as I already mentioned, a gay porn star and unlike most of the time when people use that phrase he actually fit the "star" part.  He was, in the limited circles of gay porn fandom, really well known and did a lot of work for many years.  He also would go to events and parties that raised his profile beyond just porn.  He did drugs.  He drank.  He was an escort.  He liked music.  He was, apparently, very outgoing and could be funny and nice to almost anyone.  He was, for a porn star, a really excellent actor.

Erik died earlier this week of a heart attack at age 30, presumably of complications resulting from overuse of steroids.  He earned a NYT obituary which can be found here.

His real name was James.  If you don't mind, I'm going to continue calling him Erik, although I'd prefer if you don't forget that James is a real person and I'm sure his loss is devastating to people who actually knew him.  My sympathy goes out to them.

Erik was one of my favorite porn stars.  Not necessary because of his body type.  He was more muscular than I normally like.  I don't remember seeing him for the first time, nor do I remember how many times I saw him before he was recognizable to me.

But eventually he became recognizable and through the magic of the internet and the fact that I recognized him and his porn name, I eventually was linked to his blog where I learned about his exceedingly deep depression.  He put a lot of himself out there on that blog, and by reading there I was able to see some of the disconnect between media stars and their fans.  When you put yourself out there like Erik did, people that you've never met connect to you and they end up with feelings about you.  Good, bad, sexual, they build this one-sided relationship in their heads that makes it basically impossible for the media star to ever connect with.  You care about them, but they can't care about you. That star doesn't know you, and they'll never understand the emotional connection that you, the fan, had with them because they weren't there as it was built.

So, as I understand it, Erik was alone in his head.  Mostly.

I desired him.  He wasn't perfectly my type, but don't get me wrong, I thought he was hot even so.  I intellectually know that probably made actually getting to know him impossible but when I started reading his blog and found out that he was depressed my first instinct was to reach out to him.  To try to let him know that even if he couldn't see it, that there were people that cared about him.  I wanted to try to explain how impressed that I was by the work ethic demonstrated by his body.  How good I thought his life was and that if all he needed was people that cared for him that those people were there.  How I thought he was, in some sense, a role model for the people that couldn't understand that a gay guy might also be a masculine guy.

I remember offering to buy him lunch when I lived in New York City as well.  I left it as a comment on his blog.  I don't know if he ever saw that post or any of the few other comments that I left, but I was just one more creepy overly familiar voice on his website.  I would have ignored me too, probably.

But between reading his blog, living in the same city as he did for a while and seeing flashes of him at various events he switched over from someone that doesn't really exist in my world to someone that could exist in it.  I'll never meet the Pope, but I thought some day I could at least meet Erik.  Maybe give him a hug.

It's weird to think of Erik as dead.  It means that I won't ever get to meet him, that whatever that situation would have led to is impossible.

I assume that this is the way that some people feel when celebrities die.  That they've built this tree of possibility in their heads, and the person dies and the possibilities all die with them.  It leaves a gap.  Something that should be there but isn't anymore.

I don't think that Erik or James ever found happiness or even peace, which is sad but not unexpected.  People's lives don't usually get closure, and when you're 30 and seemingly in great health I don't thing most people try to provide that emotional "we care about you" that you get with a lingering illness.

Erik died last Thursday.  A week ago tomorrow, as I type this.  I don't think, when I first found out, that I could have realized exactly how much his death would affect me.

I was in the middle of typing that previous paragraph when I looked up his obituary to check what day he died.  I've linked it up above where I think it fits.  And then I read it.  Yeah, I already knew his name was James, but I didn't know that he was HIV positive.  I didn't know that he was still an escort.  I didn't remember that he was romantically linked to Mark Jacobs and I didn't know that he knew Jake Shears.  Does it make it better than I knew him so little and that he knew me not at all?

I don't know.

My thoughts go out to his family and especially his brother in what must be a difficult time for them.

Recent Thoughts From Online Chats

First, before I get into the rest of this post, I would like to point out that my absolutely hilarious little brother gave me permission to post a few of his communications from his travels and from his time in Iraq. I've created a whole separate little sub blog here:

Pocket Lint Communications

There are about 40 letters and other works up, and if he ever sends me more then I'll let you know when I update it.

Unlike me, he is brilliant and hilarious. If I could figure out how to get him to write a book, he'd make millions, or at least thousands. We joke about how both my father and I are aspiring writers, and since my brother isn't, he stands the best chance of being published and making a lot of money.

Okay, I've been having some long chats online recently, and I have some things that I want to share from them. The rest of this post is sort of not safe for the more sensitive members of my family. Just to warn you.

First, I discovered a bizarre series of videos on YouTube. They're the "behind the scenes" videos from an amateur gay porn studio. They're all safe for work, contain no sex or nudity, but it's sort of interesting to watch the guys laugh and joke around with each other.

Or just eat chips. There's one video that's just a porn star eating chips. Fifteen seconds of it. I think they're Lays, if that makes it funnier.

Yeah.

The general feeling of these clips reminds me of "America's Next Top Model" or "Make me a Super Model." There's lights, cameras, and the guys are taking direction. If you couldn't see what the pictures were being taken of, and the director wasn't offering explicit direction to the models, I sort of suspect that it would be hard to differentiate the amateur porn video from the high fashion photo shoot.

Anyway, I mentioned these videos to a straight friend online, and he had a few comments. First, I mentioned that the behind the scenes clips are funny, but the actual videos rarely are. For some, I said, reason gay folk rarely like comedy while watching hot guys going at it.

On the other hand, I do like to see some personality. Yeah, I would be attracted to them physically anyway, but seeing them laugh and joke makes them more than just a pretty face, or behind, or whatever.

After some discussion, I realized that I'd been incorrect in my original opinion that gay guys don't like comedy porn. Two of the big winners of GayVN awards recently have been comedies, "The Hole" a spoof of the horror movie the "The Ring" and "The Intern" which is a spoof of the "The Office" television show. There have even been straight comedy porns, although the only one that I can think of off the top of my head will probably get this blog listed as adult content if I mention the name.

After that, we talked about straight gay porn actors. He seemed surprised that I thought that many of the guys seen in the behind the scenes videos are probably straight. I pointed out that this particular studio (although it's certainly not unique in this regard) features a lot of presumably straight guys to appeal to a certain demographic of gay guys (that includes me, incidentally).

I pointed out that in some situations, even if these guys were actually gay, they'd have to pretend to be straight in order to maintain fan interest in them. After all, if they're gay, then watching them isn't nearly as titillating as it would be if they're really interested in women and just convinced to have sex in front of the camera for money. It sort of implies to all of the gay guys out there that all those hot straight guys would be gay, if the right circumstances came up. (Link is slightly NSFW, a few pages in.)

This creates an interesting paradox in which gay people have to pretend to be straight in order to do well in gay porn, essentially forcing them back into the closet. You'd think that this industry would be relatively gay friendly, but what does it say when stars in gay porn have to pretend to be straight to do well in the industry (or at least, in this part of it)?

My friend noticed that one of the photo shoots played on a fairly menial masculine theme: a painter on a ladder. He wanted to know if masculine themes were the norm in gay porn, and I responded that they are.

Mainstream gay porn actors are muscular straight-acting men. The stuff featuring stereotypically feminine, thin, or overweight guys is about as popular in gay porn as masculine, rail thin, and overweight women are in straight porn. It sells, it just doesn't sell the same way the mainstream stuff does.

Personally, I think this sort of skews the perspective on the gay community you get from porn more than it does even for straight porn. You get a serious distortion in physicality and body type in both, and also a serious distortion on how easy it is to have sex with a random stranger, but on the gay side you also get a serious distortion involving a sort of personal characterization. You won't see a lot of lisping men with floppy wrists in gay porn, even if the actors have lisps and floppy wrists in their normal, everyday, homo lives.

The problem is, I don't necessarily think that we need more effeminate men in porn. There isn't something that we can change on the production side that will suddenly change gay people's taste in porn. As Dan Savage often points out, we like what we like. Suppressing it doesn't make it go away, it just makes it more valuable as demand far outstrips supply.

My final thought about porn was this: there is never any truth in it. No model uses their real name, they're often filmed in ubiquitous rented houses and hotels, they use Viagra to induce erections, and the use makeup to minimize any skin problems, and they use men that are better looking than 99% of the population.

So, perhaps that's why I like to see a glimpse of the behind-the-scene truth to the movies. Seeing some sliver of truth to what glossy image is portrayed by the (other) camera is interesting, and strangely exciting by way of its unusual and forbidden nature. You aren't normally asked to connect with the stars, you're asked to objectify and fetishize them.

There's a link between this conversation and the next one, which has to do with self-image.

The stereotypical feminist, whether a real person or not, apparently argues against the internalization of societal values of beauty, especially when you find yourself looking bad by comparison. To accept that all women should be blond size 2s with size DD boobs can seriously impact a woman's self worth if you don't fit those measurements for beauty.

Thus, the argument is that pornography (and pop culture in general) promotes unrealistic views of women and should cease to do so. The problem with this is something that I mentioned in passing above about gay porn: when realistic people are utilized, the interest in the final product decreases. So, despite the best efforts of our theoretical feminists, selling sexuality through highly idealized body types continues to be mass produced and marketed. And it sells very well.

Only a few years ago, back when I was in my first college, I can remember feeling bad about the kind of men that I was attracted to (Tall, blond, with the body of a greek god, see any Abercrombie and Fitch quarterly) because I thought that it was wrong of me to be attracted to someone purely due to their physical appearance. After all, that sort of attraction is very shallow, and I've always been told that it's the mind and personality that should matter most.

In a conversation with a gay friend he said something similar to this, about how his physical self-esteem was low and that he puts a greater premium on personality than on physical attraction.

Over the last few years, I've come to disagree with that. I don't think that it's fair to discount physical attraction.

Switching back to our feminists arguments, I agree that women shouldn't be held to the same physical standards as models, actresses, and porn stars, but I don't think that gutting the porn industry is the answer. Just like kids playing video games don't think that they're actually vital soldiers invading Normandy in 1945, men who watch porn understand that their enjoyment is based on a fictional and fantastic portrayal.

They don't necessarily loose interest in their wives and girlfriends after watching porn, you know.

Now, if they're exhorting those same women to put themselves through the pain of looking like that when they don't want to, that's a problem. In my book, it's just a form of emotional abuse, and that should be stopped. But there's a deep division between portrayal and demanding that women (and men) live up to the same standards as the most common porn shoot.

Thinking back about my three and a half relationships, none of the guys involved looked like porn stars. None of them had a six pack. All of them have been Hispanic or Latino. However, despite the fact my taste in porn runs to white men with six packs that never stopped me from being interested in the guys that I'm dating.

Yeah, real relationships are based on personality and connection and I can't deny that, but you shouldn't deny physical attraction just because it isn't based on the higher minded connection of personality.

I suspect that this is part of the puritan values left over from the foundation of the United States. There's a certain fear of physical, lustful attraction that I think is silly. It might not be the highest form of connection that you can reach with someone else, but as someone whose connections with other people tend to be on the tenuous side already, I don't think that the solace that a meaningless, shallow, lurid relationship can provide is without merit.

In fact, I'm not willing to discount any relationship or encounter that offers something, however small. Just because sex with someone offers a few fleeting moments of chemical induced happiness, it can still be a positive experience. It's when two people have differing understandings of what a particular act conveys that problems arise.

Of course, that's a separate conversation altogether.

Update: It turns out that a few of us had the same idea. Aside from Jesse Santana, the gay porn star who posted about not being a rent boy, Mason Wyler, one of my porn star crushes has a really interesting post that addresses some of the points made in the first part of this post.

Looking Back

Ah, so a while ago I realized that I'm suddenly uncomfortable posting details about my sex life on this blog. Maybe it's the first hint of realization that people actually read this blog, or perhaps it was the Beaners making fun of me over on their blog.

Well screw that. I'll talk about what I want to talk about.

So, yeah, I had sex with Pablo. Probably too soon, so he pulled away and that's why we broke up. I'm starting to realize why people "take it slow," because that gives them a fairly good excuse to break it off with someone that they've slept with too soon.

I don't really like that explanation. It's dishonest almost to the point of stupidity. It's almost like someone has to prove that they aren't an adult before they'll be considered worthy of a long term relationship.

Right, so he ended up pulling away, and I was sort of ticked. I could have "taken a break" or something, but the fact that we didn't really talk about it ticked me off. Every time I saw him I . . . er . . . got worked up, and then nothing would happen.

I've mentioned this to a couple of people, but he broke up with me at Gay Pride which sucked. S. said that it was like breaking up with someone at prom, which I agree with, but I was about to deliver an ultimatum as well. Either he had to have a sex with me, or I was going to drop him. So he dropped me first, but it wasn't like I wasn't already mentally preparing for it.

And, er, yeah. I would have cheated on him. Either sooner or later. He just wasn't a physical person, and I haven't lived through my "slut phase" (as Thomas so quaintly put it) yet. I need a physical relationship, if I'm going to be in a relationship right now.

I really need more practice at this whole sex thing, and especially in the long term. Of course, I'm already 25. It feels like I'm already out of time to be learning new things. I'm worried that people are going to just expect me to know things that I have no way of knowing.

What's Happening

Yeah, I know I haven't updated recently, but then again, I know that those of you that read this aren't going to see it soon anyway.

What's been happening? In no particular order:

Well, I'm doing better. I'm mostly off of the neck brace now, but I'm still in physical therapy twice a week.

I'm worried about Viable Paradise. I don't really have the money to go, so it's going to be interesting paying off the debt that I'm going to have since I don't make enough money to cover my bills anyway.

The summer's beautiful. We've been getting some rain and some thunder storms, which are beautiful and stunning and everything that summer in NM typically is. Now that I'm thinking of leaving for good, I'm apparently going to miss this place something fierce.

The dogs are both getting very old. I'm worried about them. My dad's not doing too well either, and I'm worried about him too.

I have a crush on another cute internet boy. This one is straight, which fits right into my comfort zone. His name is Jamie Stroud, and he's a gymnast/martial artist from Cali. He's also a member of the Unification Church. Considering my interest in comparative religion, I find that awesomely cool, and I want to go ask him all sorts of questions about it.

Also, he's hotter than hell. *Cough* (<---Link removed due to brokenness, Feb 08)

I'm going to see Elliot in September when I go to Viable Paradise, which is going to be awesome. I'm going to finally bring him my "real" wedding present, which differs from the "from the heart" present that he already has.

Ah, right, I had a sort of mental breakdown about two weeks ago. I'm on prozac again, and I'm wondering about my mental health. I wish I didn't have problems. I wish I could be not-depressed like other people, so that I wouldn't have to be depressed about being depressed. Ah, the vicious circle.

There have been some interesting happenings on CF and IIDB. No promotion for me yet on IIDB, but they've allowed some non-Christian mods on CF for the first time. Raven got one of the positions and I'm rooting for her. Go Raven!

Oh, duh. I got the last Harry Potter book, and I saw the most recent movie. The movie was very good, the book was just good. Don't get me wrong, I liked the book, and I thought the ending was appropriate and in line with the entire theme of the series. However, the editing was poor. There were several internal contradictions that a careful editor should have fixed revisions ago.

(At this point, I'll warn you that there are spoilers in the next paragraph for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, although hopefully by the time its published you'll have read the book for yourself.)

Also, there's some interesting speculation on the religious nature of this last book. Yeah, there's the Calvary walk, the death, the resurrection, and even the crucifixion, but I still see lots of non-religious themes in the book. Some of the ones that strike me at this particular moment are Harry's reliance on his friends, the utter lack of betrayal that he suffered by someone close to him, and the fact that he lives through his "death" and goes on to live happily for a long time afterward.

Now that Rowling's done with the series, I hope she does the smart thing and allows others to expand on her intellectual property. Not me, per se, but I'm sure there are writers out there that will give their left nut to contribute to a series that will automatically guarantee that their works sells millions of copies.

All she'd have to do would be approve the plots, and let a new batch of writers take over. Even splitting the profits with the new writers, Rowling's sitting on a gold mine. Look at what Tolkien's son is doing with his father's old intellectual property (And Frank Herbert's son as well).

Some writers jealously guard their intellectual property, but sometimes they fail to recognize that sometimes letting it expand under their supervision but not their direct control can be just as effective.

Finally, there are frogs or toads croaking in the riverbed, which is not a usual sound for NM.

I think that's about it for now.

I Am Really Uncomfortable

When, or more accurately if, you see this post, you can be sure that it wasn't written on the listed date. It will either have been moved forward or backward to mask where and when I am and who the other person involved is.

I met this guy at work, and he seemed like a nice enough guy. We didn't really get to know each other right away, but a few weeks ago I had an opportunity to spend some time with him outside of the normal course of my job and so I did. I've always been too quite and shy, and I'm always talking about how I need to get out more.

So I ended up going over to his house and we watched a movie. He was just so amazingly nice although I wasn't all that physically attracted to him at first. Still, last week I went back again and we played video games, watched another movie, and talked until 3 a.m. about the stuff that two gay guys talk about until 3 a.m.

The next day I was thinking about it, and I decided I like him. Maybe not enough for a serious relationship, but definitely enough for some fooling around. Cause, let's face it, I don't have nearly enough sex.

So I mention this to him the next time and he's sort of happy and strangely muted at the same time. I knew that he liked me, but his previous relationships were all long term committed relationships (the shortest that I knew of was 1 1/2 years), and I wasn't sure he was the kind of guy that would be up for fooling around outside of a dating relationship. He basically told me that he had to consider it.

Yesterday, I went over again. We watched another movie, we played some video games, and after that it was about midnight but I still didn't want to leave so we went out to eat, came back, and watched another movie, during the ending of which we started making out. Okay, this seemed to be a consent. He was interested, he was willing to fool around without a relationship, and great, I really wanted it to happen.

Then he pulls away from me and tells me that he's HIV positive.

My first reaction was just confusion. I couldn't figure out if I'd heard him correctly but when I played it over and over in my head that's what he said. Straight out and clearly. So then I couldn't figure out what my reaction should be. There's this gut reaction when you've been swapping spit with someone with a communicative incurable disease to just run, but I couldn't do that. He shouldn't have to deal with my irrational fear.

Besides, I know this disease and letting my fear get the best of me is pointless. If I could catch it from kissing him, which is highly unlikely anyway, then the damage it done. I'll get a test in a few weeks, and another at the 3 month mark when the antibodies would have shown up.

So, at this point I'm quickly weighing massive amounts of probabilities in my head. What factors influence seroconversion? Do I have any cuts in my mouth or on my skin? Does he? How much exposure have I had and is there anything that I can do to further limit my chances of transmission?

Somewhere, something deep inside my head calculated the risk of protected sex with him despite the fact that I knew he was HIV positive.

I didn't have sex with him though. Thankfully something in my head was working properly. I didn't run either, which would have been something that I would have beaten myself up over later. I mean, he told me, and that's something that I have to respect. I can't imagine how hard it is to admit that you're HIV positive to a guy you like.

We sat around and talked about it, about how it happened, how he found out about it, and what it meant to his life. The thing that he was most scarred of was infecting someone else, and I can understand that. After all, one of the worst "sins" that can be committed in my own little personal version of secular humanism is harming others.

Eventually I told him that we'd still be friends, that I was coming back next week to play more video games, and that I was happy that he'd told me. Then I went home, and spent three hours shaking in my chair, freaking out which trying to take my mind off what had happened. Even now, the day afterward, my chest is painfully tight and my stomach is churning.

I don't think that I'm infected. I don't think so, and I hope so. If I was religious, I'd even pray so. I can't convince my body of that though.

Update: I took a few weeks for my stomach to settle down. At this point, whether I have had sex with this guy depends on what your definition of "is" is. Yeah, you all know that reference.

Safe? Absolutely. As safe as I can possibly be, but eventually when it came down to it I decided that I like him more than I'm afraid of him. That sort of freaks me out, but it's an undeniable compulsion as well.

Update: I got my test results back. I'm negative, which is a relief, but my body still isn't catching up to my intellectual awareness. I've got a headache. Where I am with him, though, I don't know. I think he's terrified more of the fact that I'd be willing to see him when I know he's positive, and I'm not sure he wants to see me any more.

This is a tough one, but this is the end of the story.

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I don’t get it. Listening to rain on your roof is beautiful and musical at night, but when it’s just dripping on something and you’re trying to sleep it’s annoying.

I regret entitling that other post "Looking For Work," now, and really this episode ("Three Weeks of Pennies") should have been shortened down and maybe combined with that other episode, but in the end it didn’t feel right unless I explained that Alex isn’t a slacker. He’s not exactly competent either, but he’s not a slacker. And right now I want to provide context for the real story, which is imminent.

I missed a counseling session today, which sucks because I’ve been really down recently. Just depression kicking in, but it’s awful that neither of us thought about it.

I’ve been thinking recently about something one of my favorite teachers in high school once said. He said that he thought that I was special because I didn’t care what other people thought about me.

I wonder what he would say if he saw me today, going out of my head trying to provoke reactions from people?

I’m not a good troll. I mean, I can put a slew of effort into creating the persona of some 27 year old Christian Single Mother who got pregnant, found Jesus, and now believes that most organized Christian religions are secretly plotting to fund the anti-Christ so that they can bring about the end of the world. Oh, right, and she’s injured and the state is threatening to take Abby, her daughter away because she can’t take care of her.

When it comes time to go out and spread the Word though, I couldn’t get much out. And when I did, about how my brother was preaching that Christians were going to hell for violating Jesus’ command, I was so vague that no one responded.

And here I am, this is the real me, and I’m fairly explicit here, and I still can’t get a reaction even with a magnesium flare.

Maybe it’s just that I don’t advertise myself well. But I don’t have a decent camera, and I know better than post naked shots of myself online. Especially grainy ones.

It’s odd, people used to tell me that I was pretty, and by “people” I mean girls. I go to the club though, and people treat me like a lemur. An ugly lemur. Granted, the music deafened me, the smoke and the heat made me sick, and I don’t drink, but I would dance, but clubs are supposed to be about easy sex. Where the hell was the easy sex at the clubs in ABQ? All of the cute guys were with other cute guys, and the moderately cute guys were about “waiting” for something special. What was that? There is definitely something wrong with gay culture if we’ve already passed the no-strings sex mentality completely behind. Because I seem to have missed it.

And I’m easy.

That’s not a particularly flattering thing to say about myself, but it’s certainly very true. I threw myself at Gabriel not because I thought he was that good looking but because he seemed interested in him. It didn’t work out because I wasn’t interested in him, but that certainly didn’t seem to matter to me at first because he showed some interest in me.

So how do I advertise better? Pictures of me with my head photoshopped onto Mason Wyler’s body would be a good place to start, except that I don’t really look anything like him and I don’t necessarily like to lie about myself.

I can’t draw (real things, anyway) so I can’t become the next Penny-Arcade, Something*Positive, or PvP.

And I haven’t figured out how to advertise a blog. Back in the day Mike and Jeff both highly recommended “forksplit” to me. It’s the blog of a NYC half-Muslim arab/half-WASP advertising exec, and it’s brilliant. Some of the best writing on the internet. How did they find it? I can’t imagine. I can’t even get them to read my blog regularly, and here is this woman from New York City talking about how she likes to go clubbing with gay boys that they read whenever it’s updated.

Let’s talk about another friend: Alex (the real one, not one of my fictional ones) validated my existence the other day. By Buddha’s man tits, it was nice to get out of the house with someone other than my mother. Someone who volunteered to spend two hours on the road to prove that the person living in my room isn’t some zombie corpse raised by my mother.

Except now I’m worried that I offended him by disagreeing with him. I knew that we wouldn’t agree on everything, but I guess I was just bored and I posted a long thing on one of his blog entries (which I read religiously) that basically called his writing tripe. Which it isn’t, I just don’t agree with him, which is a completely different issue.

And now I’m talking about it in a blog instead of confronting him. That’s so passive aggressive and passé. But I’m doing it anyway because sometimes I guess I’m passive aggressive and passé. I need to change that.

Dude, you’re important to me. Yes, I have a crush on you, but dammit, it’s because you’re brilliant and a good friend. And besides, you’re straight. My crush proves that. Any disagreement with you is automatically null and void because of that. You could probably slap me around a little and I couldn’t really dislike you. (I apologize, abjectly and profusely, for any and all wrongs I have done you Alex, and I post it here in some sort of punishment for myself. If you ever need to remind me of that, you have it in writing.)

I don’t have a gimmick, I guess. I’m an aspiring writer, but who online isn’t an aspiring writer? Geez, even the waiters and bouncers with blogs have books that they’re trying to sell. I’m gay, but not in a porn-star or even a “Super! Thanks for asking!” way so I can’t play that up.

Even the writing is questionable, although I have to hold out hope for that. If I can’t write, there isn’t much chance of writing for a living, eh? I am taking Ashley’s advice, though, and part of that seems to be working, although I have no idea why Live Journal is so popular.

But in a certain sense, I need the validation of response and interaction. This is certainly not the first time I’ve said it, but it’s certainly a reversal on my personal sense of “You don’t need anyone, dude.”

It feels awfully materialistic, to know that I want to make people respond, and I know that’s the right word, but I feel sort of like I’m treading into the area where Paris Hilton rules: being famous is having people want to respond to you. Do I want to be famous? Yeah, of course I do, but I think that I would settle for “acknowledged.”

Last thing, from out of nowhere: I haven’t heard from my little brother in more than a fortnight. That is very, very bad. My mom and I had the “talk” about what to do if two Marines in dress blues show up at the door. They’d probably come during the day when I’m home, and even if she was here, they would knock at my door first.

So, if it happens, I cry first, wait until I can talk without freaking out, and then tell her. I will try to remain calm while I am speaking to her, because she does not need me to be a wreck while she needs me.

And then I’d institute suicide watch procedures for her, which, of course, I haven’t told her about. Little to no alone time. Clean medicine bottles out of the cabinets and remove sharp objects from where she can find them.

He could be boycotting writing us because we haven’t paid enough attention (I haven’t written him yet), but probably not. The military might have blacked out communication because they do that sometimes, but probably not for this long.

It’s really starting to scare me.

Hygeine & Worry

If you're a family member you shouldn't read this if you want to hold onto your sanity.

Crap, I'm falling apart. Between the emergency dental appointment, the latest round of teeth problems, and my neck hurting I want to ask for more pain meds.

If I'd actually waited until March for my dentist's first open Thursday appointment, I think I would have died. I mean, my teeth hurt if I just blow air on them. That sucks.

I think I know why my neck hurts. I've put on some weight recently, so I feel pretty horrible about myself. It's not like I should be up and around, so most exercising is forbidden to me. With my neck hurting again, I shouldn't even be walking too much again.

I'm not supposed to look up and down, but when I woke up today I knew I had to feel better so I decided that I needed to feel good about myself. I took a long shower, shaved, and then gave myself a trim, down there.

I'm typically pretty hairy. I'm not a bear by any stretch of the imagination and the hair on my chest is sparse. But I've always been a bush down there. I've shaved a couple of times, enough to learn some of the tricks (siscors down to a certain level, trimmers for a couple of places but not the underside, and an actual razor for the underside).

I have to admit, I don't always take as good care of the hair as I should. I suppose if I actually dated I would think about it more often, but these days it's just usually just for me.

Here's a funny thing, I used to think that hair was pretty universal. You know the covers of Men's Health & Fitness? I always thought they were shaved. And Porn Stars too. And I'm sure a lot of them do. \_/ is not a natural formation, as far as I know. The idea that some guys were just mostly naturally hairless hadn't occured to me.

I remember when I saw J. with his shirt off for the first time, and with less than that later, and I realized that he was just naturally hairless. He certainly wasn't the kind of guy that would take the time to shave his chest (and everything else) and I even asked him about it. Genetics can be a miserable thing if you get the hairy end of the stick.

So I trimmed today. I didn't take too much time, and I didn't do a great job, but it makes me feel better. And I hurt my neck from all that craning and looking down. Between the shower, the shave, the trim, and the Murano underwear I feel pretty good.

I did get a cool new toy. An external hard drive that's about 6 times larger than my laptop. I got it because . . . uh . . . I've been doing a lot of writing recently. Yeah, that's the ticket. Anyway, it's a beautiful thing. I can't remember if I mentioned this, but about a week ago I tried to back up my writing to my flash drive and accidentally backed up from my flash drive to my hard drive, erasing all of the work that I've done for the last three months.

I haven't done a lot of work in the last three months, thankfully, but I did loose a couple of things. Twenty pages on one of my book specs. About five pages over various chapters. A huge trunk of the file where I keep some of the dreams that I can remember when I wake up. I had some great ones back when I was still on Oxycodone, but obviously those are all gone.

So, I'm keeping multiple copies of everything now.

What else is gong on . . . . Hmmm.

I'm worried about Mike and Alex. I haven't heard from Mike in a couple of months now. I know I missed him right as he was going to South America or Central America or somewhere but I since I don't know when he's coming back I get to be worried until I hear from him.

The last time I saw him, he still wasn't doing great. Crap, I hope he's okay.

You know, it's odd about Alex. I've met him a grand total of once, but he's a great guy. If you know Alex, and I know at least two of the people that read this blog do (one of them is Alex), you must know what an amazing individual he is. I mean, read his blogs some time. He's definitely a thinker, and we need more of him. Good thing he's a breeder, eh?

Still, he's been having some crises of late. I think it's okay if I mention them because he mentions them. He's going Jew (or back to Jew, I guess). That doesn't bother me, as long as he doesn't become Hassidic and start telling me that we can't talk. After all, between Elliot and Jeff and A. and J. and etc., etc., etc. I seem to spend an awful lot of time with them. The Jews tend to be a great people to hang out with, and nearly all the ones that I know can hold down their end of a deep conversation.

He's going to Israel though, and will probably join the army there. He was being recruited by the Navy Intelligence, so he'll probably do really well over there.

That scares me. There are a couple of reasons that I can think of (that I'm willing to admit to). The first is that I'd worry about him. I'm not neutral on Middle East Issues after living with Elliot, but I can't deny that it's dangerous.

The other big one is that sometimes I think that the military is what finally tore me and Matt apart. We never really got along when we were kids. He was outgoing, funny, and straight, and I was the opposite. I say that we made each other's lives hell, but mostly because I was so jealous of him.

And then he went to the military. There aren't many places that he can go where I can't follow, but that's one of them. Which sucks because I seriously considered the military. It was supposed to be my irrational outlet. My way to finally find some drive. It was a surprise to me when I found out that he joined the Marines, but there was also some jealousy because I thought it was my plan.

In the end, it finally was just impossible because I'm gay. I can't lie about it, and I would rather have not been thrown out.

Now I don't even know him. He came home from basic, and it hit me that even though we grew up in the same house, we don't even share the same history. I remember he finally told me that our phone number was (505) ***-DUDE. In all the years that our phone number has been the same, I'd never known that. All his friends knew, and somehow I didn't. It's just a phone number, but to me it illustrates how totally disconnected I am from him.

So I think that I worry that when Alex goes away, I won't be able to connect with him any more. That he'll be as distant as Matt is.

I know how crazy that sounds. I mean, I don't even know him, but since I've been confined to my little room here, he's one of the few people that I seem connected to. I suppose I'm latching on because I don't have anyone else, and that doesn't bother me as much as I hope it bothers him.

Finally, I guess I'm worried that I'll never play D&D again. Why I connect Alex with D&D and not Jeff and Mike is inexplicable. If I had to guess it's because Alex was there at the game right as everything started to fall apart. R. moved away (I didn't know you for very long either but I still love you, R.). The main group had already fractured apart. Then I lost my job, and had to move home.

So Alex is a symbol of my problems with D&D. How that relates to him moving away I'm not quite sure, but somewhere in my twisted psyche it does. Crap. I need to move to New York. Somewhere in a city of 8 million people there must be enough people that play D&D for me to find some players. I bet even Miami Beach has people that play D&D, somewhere among the models and plastic surgeons.

It's too much to think about at the moment. I don't want to be worried. Aparently my last post spilled over into a rant in front of my Mom, so she went out and rented me so "gay movies" like The Kathy & Mo Show and Another Gay Movie, and I'm going to go watch them now.

And, just in case someone from New York is reading, I haven't figured out what I'm doing with this wedding present yet. I'll figure it out soon.

Physically

Slightly stronger than usual language warning. No family members, please.

What do I like?

I do have a thing for blondes. Not the white blonde, but the sandy blonde that’s closer to light brown than to yellow.

I’ve never liked long hair either. Even if it’s over the ears, that’s too long for me. Someone once said told me that they like long hair on guys because it gives them something to grab onto during sex. What? If you’re planning to pull on my hair while we’re fucking, you’re crazy.

Fabio became super famous selling romance novel covers. I’ve never seen the attraction, personally. The hair is long, limp, and much too feminine. I once told Elliot that I was gay because I prefer men, not because I prefer women with penises.

I am attracted to muscles though. I’ve always wanted to be in shape, but I can’t just do it. So, when I look at someone that looks like they stepped out of a Calvin Klein ad (and got a haircut) I respect the part of them that is significantly better than I am.

Body builder big is usually too big for me though. There are always extremes that turn me off, but John Cena is still hot, and that’s about as far as it goes. Arnold Schwarzenegger is his glory days was disturbing, not attractive.

Everyone is self-centric. We all are, to some extent. It makes us human. One of the principles of feminism, racial tolerance and even gay rights is that we should recognize when people are assuming that they represent anything.

Someone (straight) once told me that hey, he didn’t mind if I liked guys, but that everyone pretty much acknowledged that womens’ bodies are more aesthetically pleasing than mens’. What? I don’t agree at all.

Starting with the perfect legs, strong and curved along back to create this statuesque limb, up to the dimpled ass. The lines around a six pack are absolutely unmatchable on a female, especially the V running over the hips on a very athletic man. Then there’s the back. Curls of muscle running taunt under flawless skin creating an incomparable canvas.

Some gay guys like a woman’s breasts. I don’t. They’re sacks of flesh to me, and I think they’re about as attractive as rolls of fat. On the other side, men with muscled chests have the most amazing block of pectorals. The curves there are solid and strong, not bouncy, and I have no idea why straight guys don’t see it the way I do.

Obviously, from the comment about Cena earlier, I like broad necks, especially if you can see the clean lines that connect to the shoulders. No Cardassians allowed.

There are certain faces that I like, and some that I don’t like. Strong chins, great brows, and phenomenal skin are all great, but there isn’t a magic formula on faces for me. It’s rarely a deal breaker, or the clincher.

Altogether, when a guy moves, it flows like a perfect flowing line along a blank canvas. It’s a practiced and pitch-perfect sonata. When Michael Phelps swims, that’s poetry. When Jake from college jogged outside my building, that’s a Picasso.

I was going to point to a specific person that I really think is perfect . . . but I actually can’t think of one. Maybe Jeremy Penn the porn star five years ago. Mason Wyler four years older than he is now. Dan Wells, if he was my age. They’re about as close to physical perfection as I can think of, but there are different kinds of perfection.

Yes, I realize that all this makes me shallow. Haven’t you realized that by now?

Mentally

What do I like?

Religion and politics very much interest me. I’m not going to pretend that I don’t have strong views on the matter, because I obviously do. I think that it is more important to be earnest in your choices than to completely agree with me.

We need to be able to talk about that stuff though, and that’s a lot easier to do if you agree with someone. If we’re going to date, I need to be able to talk to you about things that interest me. Can you defend your religious beliefs without attacking mine? Do you understand the implications of military actions in the Mid East? Great, let’s sit around sometimes and just talk.

That’s part of my ideal, someone that I can curl up next to and talk with.

Another thing, I’m a geek and I’m proud of it. I play D&D, and read and write science fiction. You don’t have to love it as much as I do, but it would help if you’ve watched a couple of Star Treks before. Oh, and you’ll have to give me a night off once a week so that I can run my D&D campaign. You know how hard it is to schedule those things? It would be awesome if you actually played with me. DM’s boyfriend is a really great feat to have.

I have a really twisted sense of humor, too. You have to understand that sometimes I’ll say something to try to make a joke, and it doesn’t come out right. If I tell you that I was trying to make a joke, you have to believe me, even if you didn’t get the joke. Trust me, that’s not your problem, it’s mine.

I love guys that can mix smart humor with sex humor. That’s a trait I picked up on MIF. We used to switch between music and sex talk line to line, and I’d love to find someone else that keep up with a mixed conversation with a good sense of humor.

Right, occasionally I need some time alone. On the computer, or drawing. I understand if you need that too, but I don’t always recognize the need, so you have to tell me. I won’t be angry if you at least tell me.

Having a guy that would hold my hand in the street would be nice too, but not required. I don’t mind getting kicked off American Airline flights from time to time.

Finally, I don’t mind if you drink . . . but I don’t know if I can deal with the drunk accusing phone calls on date nights. I don’t think that I’m quite as drama oriented as my blog makes me out to be, and I just don’t like people that are bitchy and insecure when they drink. Oh, and since it’s come up before, I’m not that fond of people that do cocaine, usually.

The only deal breaker is that, at least occasionally, you have to be nice to me without feeling sorry for me. Maybe because I can’t always be nice to myself.

Election Update: Sex

Sigh, this is another explicit language warning. If you are related to me in any way, please stop reading here. There's some election analysis below, go look at that.

It's what, four hours after my last post, and I've been thinking about it. You know what it's missing? Sex. After all, having been sitting in the same room for a month, I've been pretty starved out.

Which is bizarre, because I don't think I usually starve for sex. I mean, I don't sleep around at all. If anything I want to sleep around more. I'd like to generally be more slutty, and by not being slutty, I feel like I've missed out.

I hit on this when I realized that I was hitting porn heavy the last couple of nights. I don't pay for it. I like the challenge and the effort involved in hunting around for the short clips and tacking them together. I really should just join a site, but I know that I'd probably get bored to quick. The sites are all so specific. What if I like a general selection of hot guy of various ages and body types? So hunting is the norm.

But I really hadn't intended being as . . . er, consumptive as I was. I mean, at one point I had 10 files downloading for nearly an hour. Each clips takes 2 to 3 minutes to load, so I was really busy, click click click.

Okay, now that we've explored my "viewing" habits, I'm going to embarrass myself even more. Let's explore the straight guys that I love.

Okay, first off is the biggy. There's a guy from college that I still dream about. If you've known me in the last four years, you probably know what sport he plays. I talk talk talk about him, don't I? I still dream about him.

The weird thing is, my dreams are awfully domestic about him. If I ever want to be a girl, it's just for him. I'd work out, I'd dye my hair blond. I'd do a heck of a lot to be with him, and even then I don't think that he'd be interested. As a guy, I can be an intellectual, but if I was a girl, I'd be way to smart to be attractive.

There's some other bizarre parts of the dreams surrounding this guy too. The animal dreams, for instance. Not bestiality, but I used to dream of turning into a house cat or a snake (retaining my intelligence, of course) and tracking him down so that I could live with him. In the actual dream, I remember that I was the snake, and I was stuck in that form. While I'm awake, I usually go for a were-snake or were-kitten form so that I can be human and sleep as a fuzzy bundle in his bed.

Okay, yeah, I know that's screwed, but you're telling me that you're not screwy somehow?

There's also the bizarre fact that quite aside from the twisted animal dream above, I can remember sleeping with him. I was in that college still but I'd left him in the dust, and I had this vivid dream. Really vivid. Way too vivid and real.

Crap, I love him and hate him. If he ever got a girl pregnant, I'd claim paternity to protect him. That's how much I still love him. I'd basically ruin my life for him.

Now there's a lot of other straight guys. I mean, that I like. There aren't any more that I would kill for. The intellectual guy, and the co-worker (not you Rob). Crap. I'm gay, why can't you be gay?

I had a conversation with Oscar in which I told him that I don't understand heterosexuality. I don't. It doesn't make the least bit of sense. I like you, why don't you like me? I have these deep primal feelings that are at the core of my emotional reaction that tell me that you're the ones that I'm supposed to be pursuing. Why don't you have the same feelings? The intellectual guy is a good example right now. He's gorgeous, smart (hence, the nickname) and straight. Damn him. Damn the universe. It's not ever like it's some that I can go do, like cut my hair or wear a suit, he's just fundamentally not interested in me.

I wish I could convince him to experiment.

Now, I'm thinking that Evan was bi. If you know an English major at UNM named Evan, tell him that he was gorgeous. Forget the jeep and the skateboard, I wish I'd been a little less closed off. I was interested. I just thought you were straight, and I go way out of my way to make my straight friends comfortable with me.

So I lied, and I told you I wasn't interested, but there were hints that you were interested in me. People don't hang out with me, usually. I feel like a pariah because sometimes I think that Elliot and R. are the only people that have kept in touch with me. You hung out with me, and I didn't understand that at the time. Now I think I do, even though I still don't know exactly what you saw in someone as out of shape as me when you are so gorgeous. You hear that, Evan? I thought not.

Who else? The guy who I stalked in my movie classes. I hope you didn't drop out because of me. You were just the prettiest guy I'd seen in a while, and I just latched on. Sorry.

The warrior's boyfriend. You were tall dark and handsome. I hope you did well and the high jump. Somewhere, I think I still have the stuffed animal named after you. It's pretty funny that I had a nickname for you and that I wasn't scared to tell the warrior about it. And you didn't avoid me, which was odd at the time.

There's all the actors too, all the straight parts in movies that I don't get, but they don't matter, they're not real (except Neil Patrick Harris, he's real now). Everyone else is fading into a haze of memory.

Except one last guy. I terrified you. You didn't understand me, and I couldn't be touched because of who and what I am. You were the one with the huge biceps and the girlfriend from my floor, and you were the one terrified of me. I've never scared anyone before, but not being afraid of you made me powerful. I could taunt you. I could stalk you, and it was bliss.

I'm coming back, reviewing everything that I wrote, and decided that Elliot should end. You know how long I considered it? That fifteen minutes before you told me that you weren't gay. Thank your God for that, because you're a damn good friend, and I needed to know that right up front and I need to remember that more often. You're not straight to me dude, you're so much more than that. Granted, you're not one of the gay guys that ignores me either. You're something else again.

And here's the real end of this: if you think that one of these is you, ask me. I'll tell you. You think that I'm afraid of you?

Hunter or Hunted

So, the first psuedo relationship that I had, aparently I was overwhelming the guy that I was psuedo-seeing. I wanted to hang out with him, I wanted to know how he lived, I wanted to spend time with his friends.

Within about a month of our first date, we fought over me spending too much time with him twice, and then we psuedo-broke up from our psuedo-relationship.

So, then with my second relationship, I tried to stand off and not spend all of my time with the guy, but then he was upset and told me that I didn't want to be seeing him. Which wasn't true at the time, but about an hour later, when I called his phone and he had one of his friends blow me off, that's about when I started not wanting to see him any more.

Which brings me to this week's duality, whether to be hunter or the hunted.

I would much rather be hunted. Even if I say no, I would like to know that someone out there is paying attention to me. It's nice to feel wanted.

Except, what pursues me when I'm hunted is . . . always the same. Bad lines, nothing to back them up. I don't care about intelligence necessarily, because I bring enough of that to the table for both of us.

But dedication is something that I find amazing, and the dedication to take care of one's self is the sexiest thing, because I don't have it.

So, yes. I'm shallow. I care about the way guys look.

Neither of the guys that I mentioned above were gym bunnies. They were just normal guys, and I'm okay with that. But if you ask me what I like, I'm going to point to the jocks. That is what I like.

Someone once said that our tastes are influenced by our aculturation, and those sort of people would probably just sneer and say that:

1) I'm shallow, which I've already admitted to.

2) I've been influenced by Falcon and Jet Set and Bel Ami.

Which I may have been, but regardless of whether I've been influenced by the porn I watch, I like jocks. Argue with me all you want, but I like jocks, and you're not going to change my mind.

All of this talk about porn has a point. I act nearly predatory toward those kinds of guys, but really, it's just a sort of counterpoint to the way that straight guys act toward women. I don't actually chase them. My lack of sexual experience, and lack thereof, testifies to that.

Anyway, that's all beside the point. I like to be chased. I like being approached. That's what I'm down to now: You tell me. I'll be happy to spend all of my time with you, or not, but you have to actually tell me now, because aparently I can't read the clues.

Just so you know.

Random Thoughts on English, Body Image, Sluts, and Sex

First, have you noticed that aside from numerous minor spelling mistakes, I use real words and sentences?

I've had a couple of messages on myspace from people recently (probably due to that seem to be trying to hook up. (Just for reference here, I'm talking about things are obvious hook ups, like: "u can hit me up for a g8 time l8r, dude." If we've been talking about KH2, then you fall into the "cute" category, so don't worry about it.)

The odd thing is, most of them can't seem to use basic English. If you're cute, it doesn't matter so much, but if you're not cute and you're talking like a five year old, what am I supposed to think. What am I supposed to think about how the question is phrased?

The answer to the question is usually yes, I want to have sex with you, but I don't even know how to respond to "u wnna hook up sme tme?" Not when you put it like that.

You know what would be cool? I'd really like to interview someone about their sex life. In real English. With me taking notes. If you're interested, let me know and I'll type it up for this blog or something. I'll keep it annonymous if you want. If there's one kink that I have, it's voyerism.

Second, my body image has been going really down recently. I need to work out, but I hate it and it hurts when I do it. But every time I take one step in the right direction I take a step back.

So, basically, I'm a lot heavier than I want to be at the moment, and I'm really hoping that the neurosis will lead to some sort of eating disorder.

Third, remember how I marked off that blog entry a while back with warning labels? Here's another one:

If you're a family member or a co-worker of mine that doesn't want to know about my sex life, you might not want to read further. It's about sex and it's mildly graphic. And when I say mildly, I'm lying.

Bobby's latest blog entry is called "Everyone Loves a Slut" and I couldn't agree more. I love sluts. I recently sent a friend request to Mason Wyler who's an absolutely gorgeous porn star. Oddly, my favorite picture of him on Myspace is this one:



It's so happy and full of personality, and really makes him seem a real person (and I'm sure he must be). Just like how the articles about Fredrik Eklund made him seem more real. I guess I'm just odd like that, but I really like the guys that are happy with who they are (and who wouldn't be happy as a porn star?).

Why do I love sluts? I don't know. A visit from a really good friend recently reminded me that I don't believe in sin, and so I don't believe that random hookups are a bad thing. Except that I guess that I'm terrified of them because I don't seem to interact with people well. Did you read above, about how I want to interview someone about their sex life? I wasn't joking about that. I'm a really strange guy, and I'm worried that unless I appear normal, guys won't like me.

Anyway, so there are guys on Myspace that I'm interested in that I can't even get up the nerve to simply approach, and to the tell you the truth, I can't handle the pressure. I'd like to meet them on my terms, which is tough because my terms are bizzare and disorienting. Like doing interviews, or playing board games.

And I'm not just saying that. I like interviews and board games, and I'd be perfectly happy playing in a no pressure situation where I'm in control.

How strange is that.

Last point: I'm really bad at bottoming. I really wish I was better, but I guess when you skip out on the learning phase, you're screwed, in a literal and figurative way.

It's painful and uncomfortable, and I'm sure that it's not supposed to be, but I don't really know. It's wasn't as bad as the first time, but it's not something that I could be content with all the time. This is probably why I think Mason's such a good porn star, actually.

On the other hand, I'm a big proponent of at least the idea of versatility.

I'm going through a high sex drive phase though (which is interacting oddly with the poor body image). So great, whatever.

Anyway, that's too much information. But I should be going. I'll continue with a more detailed investigation of my kinks some other time, and that will be way, way too much information.

Have a good night.

On Relationships (Not light reading)

If you're one of my relatives, be warned, this post has content that you may find objectionable. I don't know exactly why I'm including it, but I guess I'm just tired of not talking about it.

Thomas had a really interesting idea that he called the slut phase.

A gay man starts off, pretty much by default, closeted. And while it's not impossible to get action when you're closeted, it's not really easy either. There are "stages" of closetedness, I suppose, but in the first one, you haven't even admitted it to yourself, so pretty much no relationships.

After coming out, at least to yourself and perhaps a nightclub full of strangers, Thomas said that most gay men went through a slut phase where they basically slept with anything that moved. And, in the media, they do. Look at Queer as Folk. Brian is always in this phase. It's probably the most well documented period in gay life, after the coming out.

I pointed out that I never had. That I went directly from closeted to being nearly a monk. Then he would just say, "Just wait." Ah, but if he only knew.

After I came out to my parents (I never had really close friends in high school) that was it . . . no sex because I didn't know any other gay people. No interest in guys that weren't of my own age, so I rejected the older guys online.

Well, actually, strike that. The first person that I found that was my own age and gay was D. D was a nice guy, and we found each other out because we both liked spending to much time talking about the actors that we thought were good (and also pretty). I can't remember who finally said, "You know, I talking about guys because I'm gay" first, but I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and say that he did.

He was a year younger than me at the time. Perhaps sixteen. Maybe fifteen. And while I was totally unexperienced, he wasn't. He'd met a much older guy online, and when the guy came for a visit they spent three days solid in a hotel room together.

At the time D told me, I pulled away, which was stupid on my part. Now when I look back, I should have slept with him, but instead I just turned and pretty much ran away because I didn't know how I felt about what had happened (and I was terrified that he'd caught something). I don't really know what to feel about it now. On one hand, it's abuse, on the other hand, the guy didn't really rape him. D knew what he was doing, and now I sort of wish that I'd done the same thing. After all, it would have helped me get over my sex issues with someone that knew what they were doing, and it would have also have made me feel that at least someone out there cared about me.

I was depressed, and hey, at least the pedophiles pay attention to you, right?

Then came Rochester, where I developed a crush on someone that basically left me completely fucked up for years. I don't want to talk about that, because it's only been what . . . four years? Yes, I'm still fucked up by it.

Also, there was a night where Thomas once volunteered to be my wingman if I wanted to pursue a guy in a Marroon hoody (there was nothing but hotness under the hoody, incidentally). I don't really regret not taking that one. I told Thomas that it wasn't special enough to be my first time, and it wasn't.

So then Miami. It's my 21 birthday, and I'm getting desperate. The pedophiles have stopped emailing my gay.com account. I've never been laid. I'm not religious, and I don't have any proscription about sex and I'm even freaking out, and I'm still a virgin.

I met Adriano at work. He was not particularly interesting to me physically, but he was intellectual and interested in me. So, more because of numerology (don't ask) and desperate opportunity, it happened, finally.

He was also a mistake. Why? Because:

1. He was huge, and it was painful.

2. I lied about it being my first time.

The second part is what I really regret, although I think the first part has shaped my relationships more since then. I was either bored or in pain throughout the process (and, since I couldn't ask questions, worried about said pain). I really wish I wouldn't have lied. I'm going to point to Paul Monet and say he fucked up my first . . . er . . . encounter. I was going to add Becoming a Man to this post, but apparently MySpace doesn't carry stuff like that, but you can always look it up yourself.

There was also a guy in a white Passat in Miami, sometime after Adriano so casually let off a "So, my boyfriend will be home next week." Actually, I didn't really care so much about the boyfriend, although for a while I worried that being with him "wasn't special enough." And then I had to ask myself Did I need it? and the answer is Yes. So much for maroon hoody guy.

So what about the white Passat guy? He was proof of the old gay maxim, "Always buy the head drag queen a drink in a drag bar." I ended up on stage kissing someone, and the second cutest boy in the club ended up in a car with me. It was a good night, but I wouldn't let him take me home. He was sharing a hotel room, and that was that.

Miami was also where my profile pic was taken. I guess I hang out with the wrong crowd, I never have any pictures of myself except when I start begging people to take them. But the reason that my profile picture is my profile picture is because I was trying to figure out how to beat the security at the Winter Party, and this older guy started to hit on me. I told him nothing was going to happen, and then I lied about my "boyfriend" for a bit. I think he believed me. I don't know why.

So then I moved home to go back to school.

I think I've been to Pulse perhaps a half dozen times since I moved home. The guys that have hit on me, for the most part, are the ones that I'm least attracted to. It's embarrassing really, because my response is this is the class that I'm in? I rank this far down the ladder on the looks scale? Girls tell me I'm cute, and the clubs tell me that I might as well be a dead fish.

I picked up a guy at the foam party. That was a disaster. I thought I was going to get kicked out of the club for getting head on the dance floor (I wish I could have seen my face . . . priceless) and actually returning the favor.

But then, he had a birthmark in a bad place, which terrified me. And nothing happened. I seem to remember that he lied about his name, and I ended up checking his driver's liscense while he was in the bathroom. So yeah, disaster, and a battery of tests later at the doctors office.

Which brings us to here. And if you know me, you know that I was in a four week relationship that basically qualifies as a trainwreck. The guy has me blocked on MySpace, so I suppose I could speak more freely, but I won't. Maybe when those wounds aren't so fresh, I'll revisit that. Or if I ever feel vengeful.

So, total tally?

Two guys, more than just friends.

Three guys, head.

No real relationships during any of this.

So, where's my slut phase? I think that I'm right still, and Thomas is wrong. My standards are too high or I must be incapable of relationships, termporary or long term.

Which is depressing, again, and makes me regret the whole pedophile thing again.

Gay Geekiness

I am truly a gay geek.

I mean, heaven forbid that there is a gay man out there that doesn't like fashion or hairstyling, but my big thing is geekiness. If I had the money, I'd play lots of computer games, and Dungeons and Dragons. Not Magic though. I don't know why, but Magic is crossing the line.

The problem is . . . how can you meet other gay geeks? I only know one, and he's sort of seeing someone.

Have you ever heard of Soce, the Elemental Wizard? That's someone that I can respect. Someone that revels in their geekiness and gets play for it, which only makes me want to move back to the big city and pretend to be something that I'm not.

Hehehe, and everything that culture is tells me that's a bad thing. "You shouldn't be someone that you're not!" I can hear them yelling in my head. But we all do it, and sometimes pretending to be someone is who you are. You think all of the guys in clubs have a problem with struting around half naked when most of them are either terrified or being in groups or terrified of being alone?

Besides, they ability to pretend to be something that you're not can really shape you for the better. I'm not a person that can work out at a gym, but pretending could certainly set me straight. I'm not even the best GM in the world, but pretending allows me to run a game.

Anyway, back to the gay geekiness. That I'm not giving up. No matter who else I am at the moment, I like at least one of those two aspects. So who am I really? Probably the gay geek over in the corner with his dice.


Incidentally, if anyone knows any cute gay AF Jock boys that like geeks . . . give them my number right now.

Tag

So Wikipedia is a wonderful thing. I happened to be cruising their list of gay porn stars-which is oddly comprehensive, although most don't have articles-when I came across an entry for Tag Eriksson.

He's a millionaire Swede that works as a NYC real estate broker. He's vice president of his firm, and a published author and Information Technology guru. He's even started a business, Humany, which provides Tech Customer service (in-sourcing, basically, if I understand correctly).

The most surprising thing is that he's fairly open about who he is and what he's done. An article about him suggests that his parents know about his film career, and he's appeared on the cover of a Swedish magazine that profiles famous Swedes, and his book is about his short career in the porn industry (it's in Swedish, or I already would have bought a copy).

He's actually gay, also. He currently lives with his boyfriend in NYC. This has got to be the second most surprising thing, considering that the guys that I usually like turn out to be straight (even the ones that work in gay porn or I find in gay clubs).

I mean, wow. That's amazing. Crap, I mean, I can't help but feel inspired by that.