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?
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.
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.
I had found love in many hopeless places. Even in my hometown. My family has become a huge plug of love for me and a reason to write. I simply don’t want another ghost of 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?