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07.06.2011

The head of the south reigns supreme.

By now, it is certainly obvious that both my trip and my new take on this have proven to be quite fruitful to this blog. I’ve been inspired to write more and more, and I try to add an entry almost every other day.

Today, I’m doing a bit of retrospective thinking. Today, I’m talking about my last, long-lasting crush.

It all started a month after my last breakup. A few days after I last saw my ex, I was feeling irreparably crushed on my drive back from my parents, when I got a phone notification that someone was trying to add me on Facebook. He sent a message saying: “it is ridiculous how good looking you are. Just saying”. My initial response was: it’s not like I don’t hear this quite often, whatever.

As soon as I got to my friend’s apartment in San Diego, where I was to stay for the next couple nights, I looked at his profile on facebook and replied: “well if it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black” and accepted his request. And so it began, my 14 month old crush that still lingers…

At first we conversed frequently. AIM, Facebook, E-Mail (no texts because my phone seemed to hate his phone and for some bizarre reason wouldn’t receive his texts… should’ve listened to my phone, huh?). We exchanged music, sent pictures, talked for ages. From the get go, I could tell he wasn’t much of a talker. It was like pulling teeth to try and get a word out. I, on the other hand, can never shut up.

After a month of talking, I was to go to San Francisco with a friend for Bay 2 Breakers, race all through SF that really is just another reason to party and drink in public. I asked if he wanted to meet. He said he’d be busy but he’d try. The trip came, but he didn’t. No biggie. I tried to understand that, although I was making an effort to go visit, he might indeed be swamped with previous engagements, and really couldn’t find time even for coffee.

Two weeks later, I returned with another friend to the bay area. Again, nothing. He claimed he was busy. Seemed somewhat shady to me, but whatever.

Shortly after, I left for my 2.5 month stay in Europe. Throughout this whole thing, we kept in contact, not as much, but still enough to keep me lingering. I saw him flirt with others, something that bugged me a bit, as it would any other human being, but of course, I was doing the same, and I can’t claim ownership over someone I haven’t even met.

When I came back, I got convinced on going to visit (again!), and so I drove north with my dog. He seemed more attentive this time. To make the long story shorter, we met and spent 3 really nice days together. Dinner. Drinks. Grocery shopping. Trips to the vet. Pedicures. Boring, married couple shit. I loved every second of it. We only made out a couple of times. No sex.

I have to state that ever since we started talking my mind was set on moving to New York and he was aware of this. He stated he was moving back to LA (where he is from), and so the possibility of something more serious was almost nonsensical, but I really liked him and, as always, was open to suggestions.

So I moved, and we kept in touch, less and less every time. I teeter tottered between forgetting about him, and fighting my own natural instinct to give up very easily. I felt under appreciated through it all. I sent postcards, presents, cute pictures, witty texts, birthday wishes, merry xmas’, and got minimal reciprocation. It seemed as if he could read my mind and the moment I decided to give up, he’d start being sweet again. The funny thing is, thanks to Facebook and the ever so small gay world, I realized I wasn’t the only one he was doing this to, yet somehow, I felt special.

Fast forward to April this year, I went to visit him again. He invited me to stay at his place for a few days. The week prior to my arrival, he was playing his mind games again, and not really talking to me. I decided that if he didn’t contact me at least the day before, I was gonna go to SF, call my friend, and ignore him for good. Again, Mr. Psychic here messaged me two days before my flight. Hooked one more time.

I landed at SFO and called him straight away. He told me to come over. I did. We hugged. Hung out. Passed out. The next morning, we cuddled for a bit, fooled around, took a shower, went for food. There was a weird chemistry. I have a feeling we’re both shy and expecting the other to make the moves, and so it never really just ‘flows’.

After breakfast, a friend of his met us at his place. It was Easter Sunday and we were gonna go out and get drunk all day. She was a nice girl, she mentioned she’d heard a lot about me (good sign, right?). We had some mimosas and went over to his neighbor’s. Again, nice guy, said the same thing she said. We ate some weed chocolate, drank some more and headed to the bars. I met more friends of his, same thing happened. Once more, being his lovely self, he wasn’t paying much attention to me. Luckily, I’m a big boy and I had fun regardless. At the end of the night. We went back to his neighbor’s. By this point I was somewhat annoyed by him and decided to go to bed.

I woke up next to him, we cuddled a bit more, got up and showered (no fooling around). I made us breakfast, we cleaned his apartment, I hung some art up, we went to west elm. Then I went to visit a friend of mine. When I got back, he’d been smoking weed, I’d been drinking whiskey. We watched a movie and went to sleep. The next morning, we cuddle one last time, took showers, kissed goodbye, and he went to work. I stayed at his place till I had to head to the airport. I tidied up, wrote him a cute note and left.

To this day there’s been no mention of such note. We’ve still talked, but barely anything. I sent him a message a few days ago telling him I’d be in SF by the end of this month asking if he wants to hang out. Despite the fact he’s been on Facebook, no response. I don’t think I’ll get one, and I won’t even bother asking. He is noncomfrontational. I think this might be the end. I don’t want to delete him, I’d look like a psycho, but I’m definitely going to try and forget him… And just like clockwork, he’ll respond saying he does want to see me, and I might be stupid enough to agree.

My thoughts: in the words of rilo kiley – “and the talkin’ leads to touchin’, then touchin’ leads to sex, and then there is no mystery left.” after fooling around my charm dissipated. I also think timing was crucial. He was sort of my emotional rebound. Today, I might not be as easily ready to believe in someone with so many warning signs, but back then I was hurting. Why do I like him? Fuck if I know, he’s certainly not the nicest, or the brightest, but I do find him very attractive. Sorry brain, the head of the south reigns supreme.

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06.06.2011

Grind Date No. 1: Road Head.

In my never ending quest for equal opportunity and the unique, I started my new project. Dating shenanigans indeed.

I arrived to London last Friday evening, and as soon as I got wifi I logged into every gay man’s best friend: grindr. Soon enough, after sifting through all the headless torsos, I saw a picture of a guy who looked very British and very… east London I suppose. He had a catchy headline. I sent him a message and moved on. Later that evening he bit the bait. We started chatting. At this point, I didn’t have an agenda. I wasn’t aware that I would embark of this mission, so I just elusively talked expecting nothing.

*a bit of a side note here… for all of you who have no idea what grindr is, I should explain. It is an app that shows you all the gay men around your area (granted they’re logged on as well), with distance, a picture, some stats, and a short tagline. It is mostly used for sex, but I’ve met a few friends through it.*

After a day of conversation, he told me he was in a wheel chair, and asked if that was a problem. Are you kidding me? It’s a bit odd, but it’s also writer’s jackpot, and like I said, I like to be very equal opportunity. Especially since I don’t think I’ll marry most of these guys. A few more messages and we decided to meet. I was to come to his flat on Sunday evening, we would have some wine and food (except I said I was vegetarian so the food got nixed out of the equation), and see where things went. Again, elusive little me was not thinking about sex or anything of the sort, maybe just a snog.

Yesterday evening, I arrived at my rendez vous, a 15 minute walk east of Geordi-Mo’s. First impression? Very British. Very East London. He had a beautiful black little pug named Vivian (or Viv for short) who I started playing with right away. Anyone who knows me knows that dogs come first, second, and last in my life, and will promptly hypnotise me into ignoring the world and scratching their belly.

The conversation went smooth. He got a bit touchy feely and I giggled my way out of his grasp. His p.a. (personal assistant) came out, cooked some food, and opened up a pack of smokes. I asked her for one, and ‘road head’ insisted I smoked by the window instead of going downstair with her. I obliged.

After a few more sips of my wine, I felt somewhat comfortable with this man. We kissed. He tasted a bit odd, but nothing unfamiliar. I have this theory that meat eaters have a certain ‘taste’. He suggested I smoke by the window as he smoked me. I was slightly hesitant, but again, I obliged. It was definitely a first, to have my dick sucked as I was smoking on a balcony, in plain view of the outside world. Kind of a turn on.

We went back inside and he said he wanted me to fuck him, but stated he usually doesn’t do that (normally I call this bullshit but, for some reason, my intuitive persona didn’t feel he was lying). He suggested we get in his bed and see how things go. I offered a hand, he said he wasn’t comfortable, so he asked his p.a. to help him get into bed and then she summoned me into his room. We got in the bed. Kissed. He asked me to rim him. I obliged. He was a bit reluctant to me touching him in certain areas which I assume is understandable for someone with disabilities. He rimmed me (we agreed this is probably the best part of gay sex), and asked if I could cum in his mouth. Again, I was somewhat reluctant, as I have a somewhat strict ‘no swallowing’ policy, even if I’m not the one doing the swallowing, but I felt ok doing so. I came. He swallowed. We kissed a bit more, passed out for a second, woke up, and I took off. He had a dinner with a girl, I had to get back not too late as I am staying with friends who work the next morning.

As soon as I left I received a text. He cursed his dinner and said he enjoyed the company. I got home and found a similar message on grindr. I told my story to my hosts, and went to bed. I woke up a few hours later and started writing this entry. I feel a bit odd, but to be honest, maybe it’s just a case of PCT (post coitum tristesse) and if anything, this little endeavour I’ve taken will assist with managing that. Today I’m off to Birmingham.

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05.06.2011

Where are my ruby slippers?

The thing about human beings is that, unlike most animals, we have an uncanny ability to adapt to our environment. Beasts, on the other hand, have this defense mechanism that psychologically shuts them down when they feel pain and ‘numbs’ them to cope with whatever is outside their control.

In this regard, I’ve often related to our less intelligent fellow life forms. While I am very adaptable, and it is known that us Pisces are amongst the, if not THE, most adaptable zodiac sign, I’ve also read that we are the most intuitive and pick up on all the energy and mood around us to the point where it can be overwhelming. Hence, the shutdown.

Last night, after some predrinking at my mate’s flat, I was out and about in Vauxhall. It was four of us. One of us, ‘no-boro’, I had just met. Nice guy. Somewhat into me.

Upon arriving at the club (the eagle), we ran into three friends of them. A short, spunky, somewhat attractive half spaniard; a sexy, tattooed, somewhat dirty looking ‘my type’; and a plain, blue-shirt wearing, somewhat forgettable whatshisface. We processed to grab drinks, smoke, and dance when I was made aware ‘no-boro’ was into me. He was a handsome man, however, and not that this changes much of my usual modus operandi, I was also made aware of some info that enhanced my usual m.o. I wasn’t an asshole, I just had a slight freak out, and started to watch my drinking. I wanted to be clear headed enough to act along my m.o. and not against it. Then I was told that ‘my type’, ‘no-socks brit’, was also inquiring about me. Again, not that I strayed from my usual m.o. but I suddenly felt twice as concerned with keeping a quasi-sober mind. And the thing here is that recently, I’d say in the past 3-4 months, I’ve seriously reconsidered what it means to get drunk, go out, and wake up next to a random stranger. I was never very into it, much to the shock of my fellow dick craving homosexuals, but especially in the past few months, after a stupid incident with a bit too much drinking, a stranger, and a ripped condom (I’m completely fine and healthy btw), I’ve just gotten significantly more paranoid/careful, and am not willing to risk another incident like that, because even if it feels ‘right’ and is completely safe, I can’t necessarily deal with the anxiety my own self creates post-coitum.

So I monitored my alcohol intake, something I should be doing regardless, and focused on controlling my anxiety. Tricky thing here is that usually I drink to control it but also drinking makes it worse. Tried to relax and just have fun, which I eventually managed to do, and enjoyed the rest of my night. I talked to ‘no-boro’ about his dogs, two beautiful schnauzers. Again, lovely guy. I had a couple more drinks, and we headed home, me and my two hosts.

On the way home I was asked why I wouldn’t go for either. Like I said, to be honest, despite anything good or bad about them, it’s just not my m.o. I don’t just ‘go home’ with whoever shows me some ‘love’, even if I might be attracted or interested in them. Is that too bizarre to comprehend? The combination of alcohol, anxiety, and my own damn crazy head started to shut me down. I wanted my ruby slippers to tap them three times and wake up back at the corner of Driggs and North 7th next to ‘Toto’ (my dog). Don’t get me wrong, I’m having fun, my friends are pleasant, but us Pisces sometimes just need to retract to our safe haven. We need some time alone. We need to escape the world, and when that can’t be done physically, we create our own little panic room in our head and go there. Sorry if I seem rude, I’m just refueling and trying to keep my sanity. Cheers.

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04.06.2011

it’s a small gay world.

So after a somewhat pleasant flight (other than the landing/takeoff/landing again incident) I’ve arrived to London. I promptly got off the plane and after a scrutinous moment with customs I was legally allowed to enter the Queen’s land (note to self: the beard is coming off soon). I rushed to the exit to smoke a fag, bought a sim card, paid for an hour of internet, contacted my friends, and boarded the train towards Holborn.

As soon as I stepped out of the station I felt the same homey familiar feeling I’m used to feeling whenever I come here. It truly does feel like home, which reiterates my desire to one day live here… possibly as soon as I need a break from New York.

I met my friend Geordie-Mo and walked a few blocks back to his place. His boyfriend (Gina-Ho) greeted me nicely with some food and a nice tub ready for me to bathe in. It felt nice. My social media addiction had me logged in to facebook, grindr, and the like… it’s always good to make new friends. We later headed out to a few pubs for a couple of beers before going out that night. All familiar places my uncanny pigeon-like sense of direction recognised. What I like about London is the ambiance of people just having a drink out in public, something you never see in the US of A.

We walked back to Geordie’s flat to meet up with his beau and his friend, downed a few drinks, smoked a few more ciggys, and headed out to a night called ‘Popstarz’. To be honest, nights like this are not usually my cup of tea. I do enjoy my Britney and my Beyonce, but the selection of meat was too tender for my taste. Regardless, I had fun. I am quite versatile (not in bed), and as long as I have a drink and a friend, I can have a great time anywhere. We ended the night at around 2:30 and returned to their abode. Gina-Ho made us some food, and we chit chatted about boys. About how every single gay man in this world seems to know each other, and how you can play ‘six degrees of separation’ with your friends from across the Atlantic, and still find a connection (sometimes in even less than 6 steps). Also, I was asked about my dating life. I’m starting to become increasingly annoyed at the fact that everyone keeps asking me if there are any boys in my life. Yes. I know. This is a very common question, but what bothers me is not the question itself… I have no qualms answering it. It’s more the fact that society feels the need to keep reminding you that having a partner, or even just some sort of lay, is the norm! What’s wrong with being single and enjoying it? I do like my singleness! I’m not in denial, and it’s not like I can’t get some if I wanted to… which brings me to my last point: the 50 blind dates.

A few months ago, I intended to start the 50 blind date project. You can read my previous entry about it, but to summarise, I planned on going on 50 blind dates and writing about them. The biggest problem I encountered is getting such dates. I thought I had the logistics down, but I obviously can’t set myself up on blind dates. It wouldn’t be technically blind because I would at least have seen a picture of the guy. My friends have mostly failed to help me on my quest. So far I’ve had one date, and while I have a couple more lined up, it’s going very slow, and I don’t think it’s looking very promising. Therefore, I’ve decided to embark on another project: the 50 grind dates. Taking advantage of today’s technology and trends, I’m planning on going on 50 dates with guys off grindr. I’m still figuring out what exactly the terms of these dates, since grindr is mostly used for sex, and I’m not about to go and fuck 50 guys… but I figure it might be interesting. So far, I believe I have one tomorrow. We’ll see how it goes, and if all flows nicely, I might actually go through with this. Let’s call tomorrow evening ‘the pilot’ to my new show. Stay tuned.

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05.04.2011

The 50 Blind Dates Process

I’ve decided to embark on a journey of self discovery and inspirational writing. A few weeks ago, a friend of mine asked me if I’d want to go on a blind date because his friend was trying to set up her gay friend. At first I immediately thought: “no! pointless! I don’t even want to date as it is, much less a bunch of failed blind dates!”

But then I stepped back and thought: “hey! this might be a great idea!” And for some reason, at that precise moment, I randomly (or… I suppose in my case it’s not that random anymore, since my brain comes across too many random thoughts to the point where they’ve become predictable) thought about that Adam Sandler movie 50 First Dates.

Again, this is how my brain works: blind date + Adam Sandler movie + new blog + lots of potentially terrible scenarios that will definitely fuel my writing = jackpot!

And thus, the “50 Blind Dates Process” was born.

The premise is simple. I plan on going on 50 blind dates with men regardless of their age, race, profession, economical status, mental status, “gay stereotype”, penis size, preferred sexual role, health, political views, religion, ethics code, dress style, family background, long term goals, short term goals, IQ, diet, and love or hate for dogs, among other things.

After each date, of course an entry into this blog will register the experience.

I am going at this with no expectations whatsoever and open to anything and everything. I’m not looking for love, but if I find it, so be it. I’m not looking for sex, but if I’m hard and drunk enough, then maybe. I’m not looking for friends, but if one of them ends up being my best man when/if I get married, then I guess I’ll consider myself very lucky man.

Finally, I will definitely need help, so if you have any single ~~(or not)~~ gay friends, enemies, family members, acquaintances, neighbors, classmates, coworkers, or whatever, send em my way. I promise I’ll be nice, but honest. I will never reveal their name. At the end of the day, we’ll all have something good to read about.

Cheers, and bring on the whiskey shots (which I’ll probably be taking prior to meeting the first few eager souls).

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23.03.2011

The Black Party

Slightly intrigued and wanting to check something else off my imaginary bucket list, I decided to look into attending the legendary Black Party, a yearly gathering of NYC’s gay men at the Roseland Ballroom for a night of techno music, dark rooms, and little to no clothes.

I talked to a friend about it, and he was equally, if not more excited than I was. We convinced two more to venture on our adventure. We had our minds set. Come the night of Saturday, March 19th, 2011 we would march our way to West 52nd Street and see what the whole hoopla was about. As the day approached, I heard and read more and more about the event. It was as if I kept getting turned off and on simultaneously. “anonymous sex everywhere”, “people peeing on people”, “ecstasy”, “aggressive groping”, where they for real? I had to check it out.

As soon as I left work, and with the blessing of my coworkers, I rushed home to figure what I was going to wear. Originally, we had planned on wearing nice tuxedos and masks, but with the possibility of getting peed on in the horizon, I decided to ditch the tuxedo and go for something perhaps more “appropriate”. I pointlessly packed a bunch of clothes in my duffle bag, since I already resolved what I was going to wear, and headed to my friend’s apartment.

Earlier that night, I had decided I wasn’t going to get terribly drunk. Instead I would opt for beer here and there and keep it chill. I wanted to both remember the night, and have a fair judgment.

Upon arriving at my friend’s. I had a drink and we got dressed. I wore faux leather pants (as a side note, I had bought these pants a while ago in Paris, and had never worn them but I knew they would come in handy), combat boots, and black suspenders. As a final touch, I chose to wear a white t-shirt with a Robert Mapplethorpe-esque image of a bullwhip. Always better to overdress than underdress right?

At about midnight we headed to the venue. It was only a few blocks away. There was a long line of significantly older men lots of who were dressed in leather gear. I have to admit, I’m a sucker for a mature guy who’s rough around the edges. My eye wondered. The line moved steadily and quickly. We were inside in about 15 minutes. We were instructed to drop off our cellphones, and go downstairs if we needed to check in our garments. Indeed I was overdressed. A leather harness and a jockstrap would’ve sufficed.

We headed straight to the bar, picked up a beer each, and proceeded to explore. It was not very crowded. I had heard the party didn’t really get going till about 2 a.m. There was some contortionist show on one stage, then some slightly unimpressive aerial acrobats, and hideous techno music, which I’m sure I would’ve enjoyed had I not been sober unlike the rest of the attendees.

Earlier that day I had talked to a friend who mentioned he was going to DJ a side room. Since I was getting antsy and needed to pee, I went to relief my bladder and try and find him. Indeed it was a side room, right next to the dark room, through which I had to walk to get to where he was. I said hi, chit chatted for a bit, and told him I’d go find my friends and come back. He was playing way better music anyway.

I journeyed back through the dark room, which was getting more crowded, and loud with moans and grunts, and into the main room. One of my friends decided to leave. The rest of us walked back to where my friend was djing.

From there on, we pretty much stayed in that room, taking quick trips to buy more beer or water. I danced for about 4 hours. Saw men having sex with men having sex with men, porn stars, familiar faces, drugs (both legal and illegal), more sex, buckets and buckets of condoms and lube, even more sex, a light show, people into all kinds of fetishes, and even a room where you could get tested for STDs (because if we’re going to fuck senselessly we have to be responsible, right?).

Towards 4:30 a.m. I was getting tired. I hadn’t slept much the night before, and again, I wasn’t on drugs, or drunk for that matter, and I hadn’t nor was planning on participating in any of the “activities” there. Another one of my friends had already left, and the two of us who were still there decided that maybe it was time for bed. We stayed for about another hour, and then proceeded to pick up our jackets and cellphones. We were asked if we wanted a wristband to come back, as the event kept going till, and I quote the flyer, “Sunday afternoon”. No thank you. I need a few hours of sleep, and maybe some yoga to feel clean again.

I left the place with mixed feelings. Warm yet bitter, much like the alleged urine I was promised to have splashed on my pant leg. Will I be back? It’s not something that I’ll be waiting for next year, but if there are ulterior motives or a specific incentive, why not?

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Tag: sex