We watch too much porn, or at least I do. My favorite porn star is—if I don’t go back to my collection of incredibly handsome and a few talented lovers—Thomas Brand and my current lover who looks just like him. He has the perfect size, technique and the look, is 45 and the perfect essential for my bedroom. If he isn’s available, the other one is there online and on demand. But what’s with the other assets, the savoir faire, to make a proper relationship out of co-sleepers?
My thoughts are cycling around sex and relationships very often. Mostly in-between serious work matters and friendship gossip, or late at night, after closing all my tabs and brushing my teeth. I was madly in love with two guys in my short period of adulthood—Greg and Aron—both in an austere way. Greg is a spoiled brad, hardly manageable, but intelligent, witty and tragically melancholic. Aron is intelligent, sexy, but remains emotionally unavailable. Both not what I need on my mind or what I aspire to have sleeping on the other side of the bed. Besides David, my dog, there isn’t much on my side, my karma account must be even currently. Who knows? David’s the one I love for his kindness, resilience or the craziness—which drives me nuts mostly—but he also prevents me from my previous mistakes.
Even thou, he’s still just a dog and cant replace the touching of a real dude. But what defines love anyway? If I cant define it myself, other than through my already familiar patterns. Breaking up with tinder, grindr and all the other hook-up places, envisionable and masturbate, in order to function again is all I can do these days. It’s my inconvenient truth, since I have no love issues and 99 other problems on my daily schedule, like my computer which has decided that porn is too hot for this week. I am a gay man and honestly, we are just like woman, when it comes to a certain type of orgasms. It’s not just penetration for us either, gurls. But penetrating thou, not being able to work anymore.
The Merry Whore Around
Some surgery caused by a STD around a very, very sensitive spot of my body, made me understand the sensitivity around the more complex external parts of female genitals. Especially, since I became versatile and more open-mined to other sexual concepts or my own grey anatomy.
For a macho fucker top, I’m not masculine enough in terms of my appearance, while the power bottoms, all of the sudden look like the tops of my list on sexual encounters. What’s happening? Scanning this list and spotting the A-section—Aron wasn’t very actively proposing the direction either, before I opened up the X-rated conversation. Or did he? If man are from Mars and women from Venus, gays are from Ur-anus…
But, Butt(?), Butt!
But(t)—and mine’s a big one—the mind fuck around this topic and our past, left me reflecting. The last date we’ve had—and it took me a while to decide and say yes—was as unsatisfying as(s) it has been in the old days. I still like to be actively involved and get my soft spots touched—or at least kissed. Obviously, gay sex has something to do with the backside of society, but in my case not only with the exit door. In the end I need an emotional connection to a person and I need to feel loved, not used.
I might be vintage, choosing sex as the fundament of a good relationship, but I do everything for my love, as long as he does me too. I’m definitely not needy, but opinionated enough to understand this sadness in random sex dates. My believe is loving someone or something, changes the world and we all need that change. The love for myself enabled the ability to love others and made me capable and mindful enough, selecting people more carefully.
Beware of the swans
I had found love in many hopeless places. Even in my hometown. My extended and chosen family has become a huge butt plug of love for me and a reason to write. But(t) I simply don’t want another ghost from the past, with a husband and two mortgages to pay. Or the guy, who can’t decide if he’s a gay or a straight asshole, like another of the B’s of my long list of failed attempts for love. So, where is the intellectual masturbation material? Sick and tired of guys with emotional or physical boundary issues, I convince myself finding the one for sure someday. Dear universe, where do I have to look for him?
Since I don’t walk in heels, except in a spiritual meaning maybe, I won’t trip and fall into the arms of Mister Big. Unfortunately I’m not Carrie Bradshaw. I carry the weight of my decisions myself, I don’t need a rich husband. I need a lover, a friend, a guy rough around the edges. Someone with a tough armor but a soft core and tehe extended imagination, reaching out for the stars. Somebody to love and be loved, with all facets and of course, who loves his stubbornness to my left. Probably, I’m just as impatient as the little one from time to time, but some just like it hot. ☆