As I've tried to think about what it is I want out of my life, sex life in particular, I keep running into the same conclusions: I have no fucking idea.
I don't really know what it is I want right now. One guy, or a string of guys. A serious relationship or a 'friends with benefits' type of deal. Whore myself around or take it steady for a while.
Or nothing at all, until I sort my own head out. Job and general living situation. Do some self-improvement. Rather than worrying about where I'm putting my dick.
Part of the problem is probably down to my not knowing what it's like having sex with the same guy consecutively for an extended period of time. Maybe that's great, or maybe it's lacking something. It's not like I've been having lots of sex with different guys lately, so I wouldn't exactly be missing anything. To be honest, after a string of disappointments I've all but taken myself off the market.
It's not that I don't want to have sex. I just don't want to have to deal with everything that comes along with even casual sex. The rest of life in general is enough of a pain to cope with.
Friday, 16 December 2011
Tuesday, 13 December 2011
When A Man Loves A Woman
There's been a couple of times in my life when I thought I might be bisexual.
My earliest romantic and sexual thoughts were for girls. It was only as I started to get a bit older, maybe around late 13 to early 14 at the lastest, that I started looking more towards guys. By 15 it was pretty much solely guys.
Sadly one of those times weren't when I knew S(♀), who asked if I was bi when I'd told her I was gay. Because she had been hoping I was for her sake. I've carried a bit of guilt about that since then. I know that logically it's stupid to do so. After that conversation she started dating a guy who was an absolute twat, started smoking despite her poor health. Thoughts of guilt about possibly being a reason for these changes were tempered by another side of me asking myself who I thought I was, to even consider that I'd have that kind of an effect on someone. I don't know what happened to her since. I hope she's alright, though with her health there was the possibility that she wouldn't live to be my age. I considered looking for her grave, but I can't remember her surname. I hold out hope that I'll have it written down somewhere and that one day I'll find it again while moving.
It wasn't until I was about 19 that I really considered it again when I met J(♀). When I look back on it, I don't remember feeling anything sexual towards her. I remember the sex thoughts I had about half a dozen or more of our other, male coworkers. But try as I might, I don't remember her ever being in one.
In the following years I'd occasionally watch straight porn. There was a span of a couple of months when I think that's all I watched.
About 2 years ago I was surprised to find out that there's a swinger's/sex club in my town, and not that far from me. Apparently there had been some kind of gangbang filmed there. I had considered joining it at one point. But the biggest reason I'd considered it was that they held bi-nights focused on letting the men explore rather than the women (who might be able to do so on any night). I thought that if I was going to try it, a guy being there would be nice.
There was a period of time when I put 'bisexual' on profiles online. It was easier to say that than 'bi-curious'. You hear that, and you think it's curious about men. I didn't really feel like putting some explanation in my bio about how it was the other way around. (Though I might have gotten a bit of attention from men looking to turn me. Perhaps a missed opportunity there.) Although when I reflect on that, calling myself bi, I do regret it in a way. It can be hard enough for people to get others to accept bisexuality is even a real thing, without some guy making it look like yet another case of using "bi" as a stepping stone towards coming out as just gay.
Lately, that inclination has waned. Profile firmly fixed on 'gay' for the foreseeable future. My current grasp of that side of me is that it's not the idea of having sex with a woman I find exciting. There is a kind of curiosity about it. What's it like? How different is it from being with a guy? What's it like to go down on a woman? Would I be any good at it? (More importantly, I want to know if I would be better than my brother?) But as an act of lust, I don't feel compeled to seek it out or try it. When I looked at what I thought about when I wanked to it, I started to see that it was the guy(s) I was focusing on. I like men enough that even if they're having sex with women I still find them hot. If there's no men involved, say a woman on her own or two or more women together, it doesn't do anything for me.
The way I reason it is that if you are bi (of any degree; both genders equally or more strongly towards one in particular), you would feel some kind of drive. Like a sense of lacking or unfulfillment when this desire has not been satisfied. I just don't have that longing.
Though I have to admit that I have wondered what it's like to be bi. But it's always from an intellectual place than a lustful one. There's a feeling that arises at the thought of being with a guy. A kind of dull burning sensation in the centre of my chest, that quickens my breathing and makes me start biting my lip. If there's a woman out there who would make me feel like that, I've not met her or even seen her.
I have, however, met plenty of men who do inspire such feelings. I'm comfortable enough with this part of me now that I'm fine as I am. If the opportunity comes up at some point, I might take it up. But it's not something I'm going to actively seek out. It might feel good, I don't particularly doubt it would. I just don't have it in me to make an emotional connection to the act. I imagine that's somewhat men who have sex with other men purely for physical release might feel.
If I were to seek it out, it would be in the context of a MMF threesome. I'd want to fuck/be fucked by the guy, while fooling around with the girl if I felt like it. I find the idea of having sex together with another guy, even if we're not doing anything together all the time, pretty hot. I'm not really sure where you'd go to find something that like that. If anyone knows any sites open to the UK where this kind of bi-curious would be fine, feel free to share.
But I'd probably disappoint that couple when I flake on them. Because just days after I wrote the above paragraph, I've lost interest in the idea again. If it was going to happen, it'd have to be either during one of those curious streaks or after having fooled around with the guy for a while, the woman joins in when I'm worked up and more suggestible.
But I'm in no rush.
My earliest romantic and sexual thoughts were for girls. It was only as I started to get a bit older, maybe around late 13 to early 14 at the lastest, that I started looking more towards guys. By 15 it was pretty much solely guys.
Sadly one of those times weren't when I knew S(♀), who asked if I was bi when I'd told her I was gay. Because she had been hoping I was for her sake. I've carried a bit of guilt about that since then. I know that logically it's stupid to do so. After that conversation she started dating a guy who was an absolute twat, started smoking despite her poor health. Thoughts of guilt about possibly being a reason for these changes were tempered by another side of me asking myself who I thought I was, to even consider that I'd have that kind of an effect on someone. I don't know what happened to her since. I hope she's alright, though with her health there was the possibility that she wouldn't live to be my age. I considered looking for her grave, but I can't remember her surname. I hold out hope that I'll have it written down somewhere and that one day I'll find it again while moving.
It wasn't until I was about 19 that I really considered it again when I met J(♀). When I look back on it, I don't remember feeling anything sexual towards her. I remember the sex thoughts I had about half a dozen or more of our other, male coworkers. But try as I might, I don't remember her ever being in one.
In the following years I'd occasionally watch straight porn. There was a span of a couple of months when I think that's all I watched.
About 2 years ago I was surprised to find out that there's a swinger's/sex club in my town, and not that far from me. Apparently there had been some kind of gangbang filmed there. I had considered joining it at one point. But the biggest reason I'd considered it was that they held bi-nights focused on letting the men explore rather than the women (who might be able to do so on any night). I thought that if I was going to try it, a guy being there would be nice.
There was a period of time when I put 'bisexual' on profiles online. It was easier to say that than 'bi-curious'. You hear that, and you think it's curious about men. I didn't really feel like putting some explanation in my bio about how it was the other way around. (Though I might have gotten a bit of attention from men looking to turn me. Perhaps a missed opportunity there.) Although when I reflect on that, calling myself bi, I do regret it in a way. It can be hard enough for people to get others to accept bisexuality is even a real thing, without some guy making it look like yet another case of using "bi" as a stepping stone towards coming out as just gay.
Lately, that inclination has waned. Profile firmly fixed on 'gay' for the foreseeable future. My current grasp of that side of me is that it's not the idea of having sex with a woman I find exciting. There is a kind of curiosity about it. What's it like? How different is it from being with a guy? What's it like to go down on a woman? Would I be any good at it? (More importantly, I want to know if I would be better than my brother?) But as an act of lust, I don't feel compeled to seek it out or try it. When I looked at what I thought about when I wanked to it, I started to see that it was the guy(s) I was focusing on. I like men enough that even if they're having sex with women I still find them hot. If there's no men involved, say a woman on her own or two or more women together, it doesn't do anything for me.
The way I reason it is that if you are bi (of any degree; both genders equally or more strongly towards one in particular), you would feel some kind of drive. Like a sense of lacking or unfulfillment when this desire has not been satisfied. I just don't have that longing.
Though I have to admit that I have wondered what it's like to be bi. But it's always from an intellectual place than a lustful one. There's a feeling that arises at the thought of being with a guy. A kind of dull burning sensation in the centre of my chest, that quickens my breathing and makes me start biting my lip. If there's a woman out there who would make me feel like that, I've not met her or even seen her.
I have, however, met plenty of men who do inspire such feelings. I'm comfortable enough with this part of me now that I'm fine as I am. If the opportunity comes up at some point, I might take it up. But it's not something I'm going to actively seek out. It might feel good, I don't particularly doubt it would. I just don't have it in me to make an emotional connection to the act. I imagine that's somewhat men who have sex with other men purely for physical release might feel.
If I were to seek it out, it would be in the context of a MMF threesome. I'd want to fuck/be fucked by the guy, while fooling around with the girl if I felt like it. I find the idea of having sex together with another guy, even if we're not doing anything together all the time, pretty hot. I'm not really sure where you'd go to find something that like that. If anyone knows any sites open to the UK where this kind of bi-curious would be fine, feel free to share.
But I'd probably disappoint that couple when I flake on them. Because just days after I wrote the above paragraph, I've lost interest in the idea again. If it was going to happen, it'd have to be either during one of those curious streaks or after having fooled around with the guy for a while, the woman joins in when I'm worked up and more suggestible.
But I'm in no rush.
Thursday, 8 December 2011
Submission
I have a slight problem admitting to having a side of me that wants to be submissive.
Before I started having sex, I assumed I'd bottom mostly. Then when it actually came to having sex, I end up on top more than anything. It's not something I usually push for, I don't go into meetings with the specific intent of fucking the guy most of the time. To be honest, lately I go more with the slight hope that I'll be the one getting fucked. But it's something I would like to do more for reasons beyond it just feeling good.
Part of it is pride. Having to submit to another man involves, even if it is temporary, being subservient. My pride can get in the way of a lot of things, and this is another case. It's not that I think there's something wrong with being submissive to another man. But there's so many other parts of life where I don't feel like I have control, so there's probably some element of wanting some avenue to be somewhat dominant.
And I guess part of it is also some notion of masculinity, that you're supposed to be strong and the one in charge. Which kind of gets in the way when there's two men involved. Someone is going to 'lose' their masculinity. I remember watching something where a guy (bisexual) said that he wouldn't bottom because it would be like giving up his masculinity. Which I find insulting (and not very nice for the guy sitting right in front of him who bottoms and would be doing so for him; you've basically just called him less of a man while he's sitting right there). I don't usually worry too much about what constitutes masculinity, since it's something that so often changes with history and geography. But that aspect of strength does seems to remain in most (if not all) cases.
Then again, I have a blog that involves a lot of writing about my feelings and worries and weaknesses. Not the most stereotypically masculine trait you could think of for the modern age.
Then again, I have a blog that involves a lot of writing about my feelings and worries and weaknesses. Not the most stereotypically masculine trait you could think of for the modern age.
It goes beyond just who gets fucked. I like to give blow jobs more than I've liked getting them in the past. I guess some of that might be down to body image. Having someone sucking your cock means they're going to be focusing on your cock, which still feels a bit strange to me. But even if I did enjoy getting oral more, I would still like giving it. Because I like making the other guy feel good. I can be satisfied with a session even if I don't come, because the other has and that can be enough.
In a sexual context, I like the feeling of being looked after or cared for. Of pleasing him because I want to, not because I'm being made to. I like being held. And despite what I said about control, I do like a bit of freedom from trying to be in control all the time.
In a sexual context, I like the feeling of being looked after or cared for. Of pleasing him because I want to, not because I'm being made to. I like being held. And despite what I said about control, I do like a bit of freedom from trying to be in control all the time.
(It does depend on who I'm with, though. If they're older or more bearish, I'm more likely to feel like that. If they're more than a year younger than me, I don't feel it.)
This isn't something that goes beyond the bedroom. The 24-7/lifestyle thing isn't for me. I don't want or need someone to be running or controlling my life in that way. It's just a sexual thing. The only time I'd like that outside is in the sense of foreplay, someone taking the lead and being the 'dom' in the lead-up to sex.
'Co-equal' was a word I've seen on another blog talking about it. I don't know much about the jargon for the whole sub/dom scene, but the way I take it, that describes how I feel about it. I don't want to be talked down to or slapped around. The abusive side doesn't do anything for me.
I don't mind if the guy tells me what to do, takes control, even if it's a little forceful. Like grabbing me and moving me around where he wants me. Even if it's pushing or dragging a bit. I get off when a guy is pressing me against a wall. But there has to be some kind of mutual respect.
***
J.C., who I mentioned in the previous entry, kind of prompted this post. I've not meet up with him yet, though I'm looking to soon since my availability has opened up. But a large part of our banter so far has involved me being submissive to him. Sometimes we'll switch it around, but it always starts out with him in the dominant position.
One of the things he talked about was shaving me, hair or beard. The idea does turn me on. And although I've not said anything about this to him, one of the things that gets me off the most is just the idea of him holding my head steady while he's standing over me doing it.
'Co-equal' was a word I've seen on another blog talking about it. I don't know much about the jargon for the whole sub/dom scene, but the way I take it, that describes how I feel about it. I don't want to be talked down to or slapped around. The abusive side doesn't do anything for me.
I don't mind if the guy tells me what to do, takes control, even if it's a little forceful. Like grabbing me and moving me around where he wants me. Even if it's pushing or dragging a bit. I get off when a guy is pressing me against a wall. But there has to be some kind of mutual respect.
***
J.C., who I mentioned in the previous entry, kind of prompted this post. I've not meet up with him yet, though I'm looking to soon since my availability has opened up. But a large part of our banter so far has involved me being submissive to him. Sometimes we'll switch it around, but it always starts out with him in the dominant position.
One of the things he talked about was shaving me, hair or beard. The idea does turn me on. And although I've not said anything about this to him, one of the things that gets me off the most is just the idea of him holding my head steady while he's standing over me doing it.
Sunday, 4 December 2011
Barebacking
Straight forward title for this one. To be honest, this is rambling and disjointed enough that worrying about where I might steal a title from shouldn't be the foremost issue at hand.
In October, I got the details of this guy, D.N., through someone else he'd be talking to. I'd been talking to the other (J.C.) for a while before that, but things kept getting in the way of us hooking up. They were thinking a threesome, but it would've had to wait. None of us had actually met, so we decided that it was best to wait until at least someone had met one of the others.
But D.N. started texting me late at night, wanting to meet up the next day. He's bi, but hadn't been fucked before, so he was looking for someone to fuck him. (Looking at lot, as I found out later, as he'd already gone and met someone and sucked them off sometime around when he was texting me.) I was getting horny over the messages, then he texted me this:
"So do you bb or not?"
I told him that I didn't, which he was fine with. In the end, other things came up for me and I cancelled. Not heard a word from him since, and the guy I'd met him through got told to only contact him if he wanted sex. He seemed to be doing fine for himself anyway.
***
I barebacked once before. Coincidently in a threesome. It was with a married couple, I was topping. One of the guys had tried to top me, but I was too tight and he gave up.
I was lying on my back when the guy sat on my cock. I couldn't really see what was going on down there, since his husband had his dick in my mouth. But one minute the guy was sucking me off, and the next he'd slipped my cock into him.
I honestly can't tell you how the sensation of fucking someone without a condom felt, because once I realised what was going on my mind was racing. "What am I doing? Why am I letting this happen? I hardly know these people." It was some kind of twisted notion of trying to be polite that stopped me from asking him if I was wearing a condom or to stop and get off me.
The lack of needing to take off a condom after he came and got off me confirmed the fact for me, unless he slipped it off and disposed of it without me realising. When I looked back on it all, I might have guessed that would happen. While talking with the guy I ended up fucking, he talked about me coming inside him.
In short, I stayed the night, freaked out but almost stayed for another night (ended up having to go home instead). Was ill in the following weeks, freaked out some more. Couple of mean-spirited comments from my brother, who takes every ailment as a sign that I've got AIDS, didn't help much. Got tested later in the month, freaked out when I got a message from the clinic, had to get another test. But it turned out to be all clear in the end. The message was about possibly having chlamydia (which I didn't have either).
That panicked reaction (even if I managed to keep it hidden during the threesome) pretty much describes me at my worst. I catasrophise situations to the point where I'm nearly making myself sick. But unlike situations that don't call for such an excessive reaction, this one does have potentially severe consequences. And in this case, it wasn't something that was properly discussed beforehand. We hadn't said flat out that we wouldn't use condoms, nothing was said before it happened. Not having that mental preparation no doubt contributed to the panic.
I'm not sure how I'd file away that experience. Things didn't go to plan, but I don't regret it and it was the first time I got to spend the whole night with another man (and two, no less).
***
If I had to pick a favourite food, cheesecake would probably be up there. 99% of the time if I order dessert, that's what I'll order. And rum and coke to drink. But if I had it every day or even every other, eventually something I love would start doing me harm. The benefit of eating it every day (it tastes really good) is overshadowed by the cost (what it'd do to my health).
But obviously, cheesecake, rum and barebacking aren't the same. Eating cheesecake non-stop will probably leave you fat and diabetic, but having one slice every couple of weeks isn't going to suddenly mean you need a crane to lift you out of bed. A couple of drinks now and then won't put you on the liver transplant list. But you fuck the wrong guy just once, and you could end up with something you'll be carrying with you for the rest of your life. I don't want a lifetime of being sick or needing to take medication. I don't want to put a strain on the health service or tax payers to pay for meds for something that I did to myself (to phrase it rather bluntly). I can't afford to pay for the cost myself right now, and I wouldn't want the added expense even if I could.
It's not a lack of wanting, I guess. It is something that, even if I didn't actually do it, I'd want at least the option of doing it. Though it's not an overwhelming desire, it's something I can understand. Right now, I just don't feel the need to do it with every guy I sleep with. It's not the act itself, it's the guy you're doing it with. It demands either trust in the guy or a disregard of fear. And it's fear and mistrust that stops me in so much of life. Given the other stuff I say about myself on this blog, there's no point in hiding this weakness. Honesty, even if it is through anonymity, is what I was aiming for here. I can't shake the fear of the worst case scenario.
Looking at the cost-benefit of barebacking, it's not something I'm prepared for at this time in my life. The pleasure of having sex without a condom last for a day, but can have an outcome that lasts the rest of yours.
***
Admittedly, I'm no paragon of safe(st) sex. I only use a condom with anal sex. I've never used one for oral, nor any kind of protection when fingering or rimming (or being fingered/rimmed). I let guys come in my mouth without much thought, and I'll lick it up if they come on their stomach/etc. I'm not really interested in telling other people what they should do with themselves nor do I have the right to, as I am obviously no poster child for safe sex. I know the risks but do so anyway, because I enjoy doing those things. Which is the same with barebacking. But the risks, possibly due to the higher volume of attention it gets, feel a lot higher with barebacking than other sex acts (or at least the ones I take part in), which is what stops me. And except for swallowing/licking up cum, that is probably the most high risk as far as the major concern (HIV) goes.
***
I don't know if you can have a stance on an issue like this without it coming across as judgemental. What have I just said about people who do choose to bareback? Am I implying that people who do bareback disregard their health? This is a rather contentious issue, so maybe it's unavoidable if it does come across that way.
I try to have a balanced view on this. I want to stand at a middle ground, not at either extreme of vilifying it as the gravest sin or exalting it as the only true way to have sex. Not to reduce it all down to this one single act, but also not treat it as the sexual equivalent of taking a gun to your head. The majority of what I've read so far have been either virulently pro-barebacking or likewise contra.
I can't say the arguments in support (beyond perhaps that it feels better) have swayed me much. 'The way nature intended' is a phrase I've seen a couple of times. But nature doesn't really give a shit about what you want or what's good for you. Otherwise no one would have heard of an 'unwanted pregnancy'. There's be no diseases or infections. We'd all be living long and happy lives fucking as we please with no negative side-effects.
It's not natural to use a condom (or lube for anal sex, for that matter). But not much about the modern world is. We travel the land, sea, and air at great speeds in various metal boxes. You can do all your foraging in a conveniently located building filled with everything you need to survive and hundreds more things you don't. And if nature tries to drag you to the grave through illness or accident (maybe involving one of those unnatural metal boxes), you've got specially trained people willing to help you cheat death and keep on living past what nature intended. They're conveniences there to make life easier or safer and not necessarily a bad thing.
***
I mentioned my brother earlier. His attitude and general homophobia is, besides the obvious 'health concerns', a big reason for wanting to try to avoid running the risk of HIV. That would basically tell him that he was right, for having called me 'diseased faggot' and thinking I've ruined my life. A mix of pride and sibling rivalry leads me to want to prove him wrong, to be better and healthier than him. It seems like such a vile cliché, but it's one he holds on to. I don't want to be gay and have HIV, because I don't want to live up to that image. Thinking I have to hold up some kind of image to the world that I'm not the worst stereotype of a gay man.
But freedom from having to fear catching HIV is a motive for some. Worrying about getting HIV is stressful, and yet the only way to be definitely sure of avoiding it is to never have sex again (or do intravenous drugs, or ever require a possibly tainted blood transfusion, etc.). I understand the idea that it can be liberating not to care. If you go out there, either with the expectation or in some cases desire to get HIV, then you don't have anything to fear any more if you catch it. The 'worst that could happen' has already happened. You can live your life without that fear, one of the most highlighted for gay men, hanging over your head every time you have sex.
But this is the one argument I will never understand. It's kind of like being glad that you're no longer going to cut your finger because you've lost your hand. It's still a negative, you're still at a disadvantage. Is your sex life of more worth than any other aspect of your life? Is it worth potentially cutting other sides of your existence--family life, social life, love life, work life, etc.--short because you want to say that you had a satisfied sex life at the end of it?
***
'Fucking without fear' is another mantra that gets brought out rather often from what I've seen.
I do admire the carefreeness that I assume that would take. And I guess what I want to know is what it's like not to have that kind of fear. How people live without it. Though even if I were free of it, that doesn't guarantee that I'd do it. It would be nice having the option that I can select, not that I'm forced into because I'm afraid.
***
I'd written more, but I want to stop here since I've already tried to shorten this as it is. I guess, to try to come to a conclusion (at least for now), I don't mind having to use a condom since that isn't the only aspect of sex for me. There's all the other things that make up sex that still mean I can enjoy it without barebacking. If it was in the context of a more meaningful/long time relationship where I knew where we both stood on it, then I would consider it. But for any casual encounters or someone I've not known that long, I can live without it.
But I do want to trust people. I want to believe that when people say they're 'clean and disease free', they mean it. Not that they're telling you the lies they think will get you into bed. I want there to be people out there who I can believe in. I want those kind of people to exist out there. I want someone like that in my life. If I did it, it would be because the guy is special.
So I can understand wanting to do it. Not wanting to feel that this is something so bad, so awful and inherently harmful that you need to be guarded from it. But for someone who spent the last 10+ years seeing the world as a living Hell, that kind of carefree attitude is some ways off for me. And maybe that carefree attitude isn't right for me.
In October, I got the details of this guy, D.N., through someone else he'd be talking to. I'd been talking to the other (J.C.) for a while before that, but things kept getting in the way of us hooking up. They were thinking a threesome, but it would've had to wait. None of us had actually met, so we decided that it was best to wait until at least someone had met one of the others.
But D.N. started texting me late at night, wanting to meet up the next day. He's bi, but hadn't been fucked before, so he was looking for someone to fuck him. (Looking at lot, as I found out later, as he'd already gone and met someone and sucked them off sometime around when he was texting me.) I was getting horny over the messages, then he texted me this:
"So do you bb or not?"
I told him that I didn't, which he was fine with. In the end, other things came up for me and I cancelled. Not heard a word from him since, and the guy I'd met him through got told to only contact him if he wanted sex. He seemed to be doing fine for himself anyway.
***
I barebacked once before. Coincidently in a threesome. It was with a married couple, I was topping. One of the guys had tried to top me, but I was too tight and he gave up.
I was lying on my back when the guy sat on my cock. I couldn't really see what was going on down there, since his husband had his dick in my mouth. But one minute the guy was sucking me off, and the next he'd slipped my cock into him.
I honestly can't tell you how the sensation of fucking someone without a condom felt, because once I realised what was going on my mind was racing. "What am I doing? Why am I letting this happen? I hardly know these people." It was some kind of twisted notion of trying to be polite that stopped me from asking him if I was wearing a condom or to stop and get off me.
The lack of needing to take off a condom after he came and got off me confirmed the fact for me, unless he slipped it off and disposed of it without me realising. When I looked back on it all, I might have guessed that would happen. While talking with the guy I ended up fucking, he talked about me coming inside him.
In short, I stayed the night, freaked out but almost stayed for another night (ended up having to go home instead). Was ill in the following weeks, freaked out some more. Couple of mean-spirited comments from my brother, who takes every ailment as a sign that I've got AIDS, didn't help much. Got tested later in the month, freaked out when I got a message from the clinic, had to get another test. But it turned out to be all clear in the end. The message was about possibly having chlamydia (which I didn't have either).
That panicked reaction (even if I managed to keep it hidden during the threesome) pretty much describes me at my worst. I catasrophise situations to the point where I'm nearly making myself sick. But unlike situations that don't call for such an excessive reaction, this one does have potentially severe consequences. And in this case, it wasn't something that was properly discussed beforehand. We hadn't said flat out that we wouldn't use condoms, nothing was said before it happened. Not having that mental preparation no doubt contributed to the panic.
I'm not sure how I'd file away that experience. Things didn't go to plan, but I don't regret it and it was the first time I got to spend the whole night with another man (and two, no less).
***
If I had to pick a favourite food, cheesecake would probably be up there. 99% of the time if I order dessert, that's what I'll order. And rum and coke to drink. But if I had it every day or even every other, eventually something I love would start doing me harm. The benefit of eating it every day (it tastes really good) is overshadowed by the cost (what it'd do to my health).
But obviously, cheesecake, rum and barebacking aren't the same. Eating cheesecake non-stop will probably leave you fat and diabetic, but having one slice every couple of weeks isn't going to suddenly mean you need a crane to lift you out of bed. A couple of drinks now and then won't put you on the liver transplant list. But you fuck the wrong guy just once, and you could end up with something you'll be carrying with you for the rest of your life. I don't want a lifetime of being sick or needing to take medication. I don't want to put a strain on the health service or tax payers to pay for meds for something that I did to myself (to phrase it rather bluntly). I can't afford to pay for the cost myself right now, and I wouldn't want the added expense even if I could.
It's not a lack of wanting, I guess. It is something that, even if I didn't actually do it, I'd want at least the option of doing it. Though it's not an overwhelming desire, it's something I can understand. Right now, I just don't feel the need to do it with every guy I sleep with. It's not the act itself, it's the guy you're doing it with. It demands either trust in the guy or a disregard of fear. And it's fear and mistrust that stops me in so much of life. Given the other stuff I say about myself on this blog, there's no point in hiding this weakness. Honesty, even if it is through anonymity, is what I was aiming for here. I can't shake the fear of the worst case scenario.
Looking at the cost-benefit of barebacking, it's not something I'm prepared for at this time in my life. The pleasure of having sex without a condom last for a day, but can have an outcome that lasts the rest of yours.
***
Admittedly, I'm no paragon of safe(st) sex. I only use a condom with anal sex. I've never used one for oral, nor any kind of protection when fingering or rimming (or being fingered/rimmed). I let guys come in my mouth without much thought, and I'll lick it up if they come on their stomach/etc. I'm not really interested in telling other people what they should do with themselves nor do I have the right to, as I am obviously no poster child for safe sex. I know the risks but do so anyway, because I enjoy doing those things. Which is the same with barebacking. But the risks, possibly due to the higher volume of attention it gets, feel a lot higher with barebacking than other sex acts (or at least the ones I take part in), which is what stops me. And except for swallowing/licking up cum, that is probably the most high risk as far as the major concern (HIV) goes.
***
I don't know if you can have a stance on an issue like this without it coming across as judgemental. What have I just said about people who do choose to bareback? Am I implying that people who do bareback disregard their health? This is a rather contentious issue, so maybe it's unavoidable if it does come across that way.
I try to have a balanced view on this. I want to stand at a middle ground, not at either extreme of vilifying it as the gravest sin or exalting it as the only true way to have sex. Not to reduce it all down to this one single act, but also not treat it as the sexual equivalent of taking a gun to your head. The majority of what I've read so far have been either virulently pro-barebacking or likewise contra.
I can't say the arguments in support (beyond perhaps that it feels better) have swayed me much. 'The way nature intended' is a phrase I've seen a couple of times. But nature doesn't really give a shit about what you want or what's good for you. Otherwise no one would have heard of an 'unwanted pregnancy'. There's be no diseases or infections. We'd all be living long and happy lives fucking as we please with no negative side-effects.
It's not natural to use a condom (or lube for anal sex, for that matter). But not much about the modern world is. We travel the land, sea, and air at great speeds in various metal boxes. You can do all your foraging in a conveniently located building filled with everything you need to survive and hundreds more things you don't. And if nature tries to drag you to the grave through illness or accident (maybe involving one of those unnatural metal boxes), you've got specially trained people willing to help you cheat death and keep on living past what nature intended. They're conveniences there to make life easier or safer and not necessarily a bad thing.
***
I mentioned my brother earlier. His attitude and general homophobia is, besides the obvious 'health concerns', a big reason for wanting to try to avoid running the risk of HIV. That would basically tell him that he was right, for having called me 'diseased faggot' and thinking I've ruined my life. A mix of pride and sibling rivalry leads me to want to prove him wrong, to be better and healthier than him. It seems like such a vile cliché, but it's one he holds on to. I don't want to be gay and have HIV, because I don't want to live up to that image. Thinking I have to hold up some kind of image to the world that I'm not the worst stereotype of a gay man.
But freedom from having to fear catching HIV is a motive for some. Worrying about getting HIV is stressful, and yet the only way to be definitely sure of avoiding it is to never have sex again (or do intravenous drugs, or ever require a possibly tainted blood transfusion, etc.). I understand the idea that it can be liberating not to care. If you go out there, either with the expectation or in some cases desire to get HIV, then you don't have anything to fear any more if you catch it. The 'worst that could happen' has already happened. You can live your life without that fear, one of the most highlighted for gay men, hanging over your head every time you have sex.
But this is the one argument I will never understand. It's kind of like being glad that you're no longer going to cut your finger because you've lost your hand. It's still a negative, you're still at a disadvantage. Is your sex life of more worth than any other aspect of your life? Is it worth potentially cutting other sides of your existence--family life, social life, love life, work life, etc.--short because you want to say that you had a satisfied sex life at the end of it?
***
'Fucking without fear' is another mantra that gets brought out rather often from what I've seen.
I do admire the carefreeness that I assume that would take. And I guess what I want to know is what it's like not to have that kind of fear. How people live without it. Though even if I were free of it, that doesn't guarantee that I'd do it. It would be nice having the option that I can select, not that I'm forced into because I'm afraid.
***
I'd written more, but I want to stop here since I've already tried to shorten this as it is. I guess, to try to come to a conclusion (at least for now), I don't mind having to use a condom since that isn't the only aspect of sex for me. There's all the other things that make up sex that still mean I can enjoy it without barebacking. If it was in the context of a more meaningful/long time relationship where I knew where we both stood on it, then I would consider it. But for any casual encounters or someone I've not known that long, I can live without it.
But I do want to trust people. I want to believe that when people say they're 'clean and disease free', they mean it. Not that they're telling you the lies they think will get you into bed. I want there to be people out there who I can believe in. I want those kind of people to exist out there. I want someone like that in my life. If I did it, it would be because the guy is special.
So I can understand wanting to do it. Not wanting to feel that this is something so bad, so awful and inherently harmful that you need to be guarded from it. But for someone who spent the last 10+ years seeing the world as a living Hell, that kind of carefree attitude is some ways off for me. And maybe that carefree attitude isn't right for me.
Tuesday, 25 October 2011
Volver
Wasn't my intention to abandon this. It's been a rough couple of weeks for me, and pretty far from wanting to go out and have sex to write about, so I wasn't really in a place where I felt like writing or managing this.
My road to recovery has been one of highs and lows. Learning how to deal with setbacks in a better way is still something I've got to aim for.
I'm making the first steps back towards getting better. Hopefully tomorrow I'll have something to write about.
My road to recovery has been one of highs and lows. Learning how to deal with setbacks in a better way is still something I've got to aim for.
I'm making the first steps back towards getting better. Hopefully tomorrow I'll have something to write about.
Tuesday, 27 September 2011
Heart of Glass
If the night taught me anything, it was the confirmation that I don't know what it is I want.
It's not that I had a bad night. It just didn't feel the same as the first time I met him, the guy from the previous post. I didn't want to try to push things into a direction they weren't meant for, but I was kind of pushing it. I kept trying to brush my knee against his leg, in a way that could seem innocent enough but could be taken in another, but it was never reciprocated. At the back of my mind, I was taking everything he said and using it to justify why things wouldn't work out with him. Differences in taste or because of experiences in his past. Things I don't take such a negative view on when it comes to other people. Any silences I took as a definite negative. If he looked a little nervous or shy, that was telling me I must have had the wrong idea last time.
By the time we went our separate ways I didn't really know how to evaluate the evening. Spent the early hours walking the mostly empty streets of a neighbourhood I don't know at all, at that point of drunkenness where you're still in control but less inhibited, until I reach the city centre. I asked myself if anxiety about any possible serious relationship with this guy had lead to me trying to rationalise and conjure any reason I could find as to why it wouldn't work out, and basically ruin it for myself.
Although I've been on anti-depressant medication on and off for several years and know how they caution drinking while you're taking them, I still do it from time to time. Sometimes it's fine, but tonight might not have been one of those days. I walked past dark alleyways and wondered what the chances of getting attacked and seriously injured was, and seriously considered wandering down them to see if it would happen. If there had actually been traffic, there were some moments when I might have walk out into it.
On my way to the city centre I decided that I didn't want to go home. The buses had stopped running by that time and I didn't feel like getting a taxi. So I booked into a hotel I thought would be cheap. Turns out they're not so cheap when you saunter in at 1:44am. End up paying more than double than what I had thought I would, but I just really wanted to be somewhere I could be alone.
Until I was actually on my own, that is. This was the first time in a long time that I'd stayed in a hotel without the intention of having sex, and the first time ever that I stayed the night in one alone. Once the door was closed I took off my clothes as an almost habitual act, though previously there's been someone there taking them off.
I lied there looking up at the textured ceiling--I thought that had gone out of style a long time ago--and realised that I didn't want to be alone. But unlike the last time I'd seen him, I wasn't sure if I wanted to be there with the guy I'd just spent the evening with. I considered just about anyone. I only had my phone with me, which doesn't access the Internet well nor does it have apps like Grindr or Scruff for solving this kind of problem. There was no complimentary laptop I could use to go online and try to find someone. It was now past 2am and I didn't want to be calling up the few guys I'd seen more than once and possibly waking them in the early hours of a Monday morning. I don't know where people go cruising in the city centre. The one spot I know of is miles away and closed at this time. So I was left on my own.
It was a pretty spacious room, so I sat on the sofa by the window and started wanking. Eventually I ended up on the floor, with my legs up on the sofa so that went I came it landed on my face. Might as well mess around while I had space to myself and beer still in me. Guys don't come on my face enough. I kind of like it. There's a part of me that's resistant, that thinks it's demeaning. But I do like it, and whether it's demeaning or not would depend on the guy doing it. Some of it hit the pillow behind my head, but surely hotel staff would be used to that kind of stuff.
That was nice for a while, but after getting cleaned up that feeling quickly passed and returned to the same one I had wandering the streets an hour or two before. For a few minutes, I tried to imagine how horrifying it would have been for the cleaner to find a dead body in a blood-covered bathroom. There's been times in the past when rather then telling people there was something wrong with me, I would do something horrible instead and wait for them to find me. Sitting alone somewhere with blood covering the floor. I wanted people to know, but couldn't bring myself to say it to them and verbally admit I had a problem. At its worst, I could do something like that a couple of times within a week. It's been almost 10 years since I did that.
I didn't have anything I could have used to do it anyway, and didn't really have it in me to start smashing one of the mirrors or something. I might leave a scene, but I'd want to go out without much noise.
A couple of hours of sleep helped clear my mood a bit, though. But when I woke up, alone and in a strange room, I started to want someone else to be there. And I didn't want to waste a hotel room I paid far too much for just using it to shower, sleep and have a wank. I woke up about 5:40am, which was still too early, so once it was about 6:30 I texted C.R. from last week to see if he'd be able to come over. I had to check out by noon, and hoped I might see him before he went to work. He couldn't, though when he seems a bit concerned about me, it was kind of nice. I know as a fact that there are people who would care and worry about me, but I can have a difficult time truly believing it sometimes.
That might have cheered me up a bit, and there was the hint of seeing him again soon. But if I was going to be spending the time in this room on my own, I wasn't going to stay all the way until noon. So by 9:30 I'd gotten myself washed (the best I could having not brought anything with me), had some coffee and checked out, getting back on with my day.
It's not that I had a bad night. It just didn't feel the same as the first time I met him, the guy from the previous post. I didn't want to try to push things into a direction they weren't meant for, but I was kind of pushing it. I kept trying to brush my knee against his leg, in a way that could seem innocent enough but could be taken in another, but it was never reciprocated. At the back of my mind, I was taking everything he said and using it to justify why things wouldn't work out with him. Differences in taste or because of experiences in his past. Things I don't take such a negative view on when it comes to other people. Any silences I took as a definite negative. If he looked a little nervous or shy, that was telling me I must have had the wrong idea last time.
By the time we went our separate ways I didn't really know how to evaluate the evening. Spent the early hours walking the mostly empty streets of a neighbourhood I don't know at all, at that point of drunkenness where you're still in control but less inhibited, until I reach the city centre. I asked myself if anxiety about any possible serious relationship with this guy had lead to me trying to rationalise and conjure any reason I could find as to why it wouldn't work out, and basically ruin it for myself.
Although I've been on anti-depressant medication on and off for several years and know how they caution drinking while you're taking them, I still do it from time to time. Sometimes it's fine, but tonight might not have been one of those days. I walked past dark alleyways and wondered what the chances of getting attacked and seriously injured was, and seriously considered wandering down them to see if it would happen. If there had actually been traffic, there were some moments when I might have walk out into it.
On my way to the city centre I decided that I didn't want to go home. The buses had stopped running by that time and I didn't feel like getting a taxi. So I booked into a hotel I thought would be cheap. Turns out they're not so cheap when you saunter in at 1:44am. End up paying more than double than what I had thought I would, but I just really wanted to be somewhere I could be alone.
Until I was actually on my own, that is. This was the first time in a long time that I'd stayed in a hotel without the intention of having sex, and the first time ever that I stayed the night in one alone. Once the door was closed I took off my clothes as an almost habitual act, though previously there's been someone there taking them off.
I lied there looking up at the textured ceiling--I thought that had gone out of style a long time ago--and realised that I didn't want to be alone. But unlike the last time I'd seen him, I wasn't sure if I wanted to be there with the guy I'd just spent the evening with. I considered just about anyone. I only had my phone with me, which doesn't access the Internet well nor does it have apps like Grindr or Scruff for solving this kind of problem. There was no complimentary laptop I could use to go online and try to find someone. It was now past 2am and I didn't want to be calling up the few guys I'd seen more than once and possibly waking them in the early hours of a Monday morning. I don't know where people go cruising in the city centre. The one spot I know of is miles away and closed at this time. So I was left on my own.
It was a pretty spacious room, so I sat on the sofa by the window and started wanking. Eventually I ended up on the floor, with my legs up on the sofa so that went I came it landed on my face. Might as well mess around while I had space to myself and beer still in me. Guys don't come on my face enough. I kind of like it. There's a part of me that's resistant, that thinks it's demeaning. But I do like it, and whether it's demeaning or not would depend on the guy doing it. Some of it hit the pillow behind my head, but surely hotel staff would be used to that kind of stuff.
That was nice for a while, but after getting cleaned up that feeling quickly passed and returned to the same one I had wandering the streets an hour or two before. For a few minutes, I tried to imagine how horrifying it would have been for the cleaner to find a dead body in a blood-covered bathroom. There's been times in the past when rather then telling people there was something wrong with me, I would do something horrible instead and wait for them to find me. Sitting alone somewhere with blood covering the floor. I wanted people to know, but couldn't bring myself to say it to them and verbally admit I had a problem. At its worst, I could do something like that a couple of times within a week. It's been almost 10 years since I did that.
I didn't have anything I could have used to do it anyway, and didn't really have it in me to start smashing one of the mirrors or something. I might leave a scene, but I'd want to go out without much noise.
A couple of hours of sleep helped clear my mood a bit, though. But when I woke up, alone and in a strange room, I started to want someone else to be there. And I didn't want to waste a hotel room I paid far too much for just using it to shower, sleep and have a wank. I woke up about 5:40am, which was still too early, so once it was about 6:30 I texted C.R. from last week to see if he'd be able to come over. I had to check out by noon, and hoped I might see him before he went to work. He couldn't, though when he seems a bit concerned about me, it was kind of nice. I know as a fact that there are people who would care and worry about me, but I can have a difficult time truly believing it sometimes.
That might have cheered me up a bit, and there was the hint of seeing him again soon. But if I was going to be spending the time in this room on my own, I wasn't going to stay all the way until noon. So by 9:30 I'd gotten myself washed (the best I could having not brought anything with me), had some coffee and checked out, getting back on with my day.
Sunday, 25 September 2011
Bei Mir Bistu Shein
I'm at the point now where I think I'm close to having a proper relationship with a man. (Which would probably mean even less chance of whoring myself out and having sex adventures to write about.)
I didn't have sex until I was 24. Which is a little over a year and a half ago at the time of writing. It was purely out of not trying. I was never rejected, because I never put myself in the position to be rejected. I didn't think I was worth it. I hardly liked myself for so many years that it seemed obvious that no one else would be bothered with me.
When I finally took the leap and put myself out there, it was about a week or two later when it finally happened. Afterwards, I purposely asked him to drop me off in a shopping mall. I hadn't showered or even towelled myself off, and still probably smelt of sex and sweat. I couldn't notice, but I don't know about others. But, among other things (making a convincing lie about where I'd been), I wanted to walk around in the middle of a crowd. Try to take in my surroundings more closely than normal. I thought to myself, "the world is still exactly the same, and I'm just like everyone else now." I knew in my head that having sex wouldn't really change anything, but I don't know. Maybe I just wanted to clear my head a bit.
But while having sex still involves mustering courage, it's gotten a lot easier compared with the suggestion of something more serious.
The idea of having a 'proper' relationship scares me a little. Because there's part of me that won't accept it not being perfect. The concept of dating always confused me as a child, because in my naivety I wondered why you would put yourself through years of making mistakes (dating people you wouldn't marry and eventually broke up with) instead of getting it perfect the first time around. Of course, then I ended up gay and growing up for years not thinking I'd be able to 'get it perfect' (marriage) anyway. But perfectionism is something that's plagued every aspect of my life. I don't want to accept that I wouldn't be able to pick out the right guy straight away.
But this guy is really nice. We only spent about two or three hours together, besides messages and such, but it went so much better than I thought it would. Than I even hoped it would. If anyone I've met had potential to be something more substantial, this is the guy. I've not met many, really, but he's definitely taken the top spot.
For someone who was so confused and critical about other people 'not getting it right' on their first attempt, I am pretty terrified of the prospect of accomplishing that myself. I hate making the wrong choices, which can lead to not making any choice at all, but then here I am with some vague fear about making the right one.
If I sit and think about it, there is a part of me that would think I'm missing out. I missed what some call the 'best years of your life'. I spent more time contemplating ending my own life than shagging anyone who was available. So in a sense, I guess I'd like to make up for lost time, as it were, before settling down. (Monogamy isn't the only possible form a relationship can take, of course, so settling down might not necessarily mean a complete end to sleeping around.) He's about 5-6 years older than me, so many he is moving more into the part of his life where he's more willing to settle down.
Not that I've asked him that. As much as I like him so far, I find myself hoping he'll just want to stay friends and not put me in the position to have to make that decision. Or that he'd be fine if it just lasted a couple of months or a year. (I'd like it to end amicably and to still maintain some kind of relationship with him afterwards if it did, but those aren't really the kind of thing you can plan for.)
It's obviously far too soon to be thinking about these things. I'd rather not ruin any potential development by jumping the gun. But I also don't want to ruin it by saying to him that I don't expect it to last forever, or somewhere deep down maybe don't want it to. I just want to clear all these expectations from my head and let things development more naturally.
*
There's some element of trust in fucking around with someone you don't know. Personal safety, et cetera. But it's a lot different when it means actually getting involved with someone. It's a different kind of personal safety you're putting at risk.
I'm not going to get hurt if someone I'm just going to have sex with doesn't call. Disappointed and possibly annoyed if I'd made a big effort, but emotionally unscathed. This guy would probably only know the most superficial details of my life anyway. (Though one guy who messaged me didn't even want to know those--my "life story" he called it--but I decided I wasn't going to put up with that. Even if I'm just going to have sex with someone once, you're still going to have to show a bit of courtesy.)
But this guy. He sent me a message, and it made my day. I was like a teenager, checking my phone all the time. He doesn't get back to me, and I get dejected. Ask myself if I said something wrong. (Blaming myself is a habit I've not yet broken.) Keep flicking the screen of my phone on hoping to see a new message notice that I might have missed.
And then I realise that I don't want to be feeling like this so soon. It's a level of trust that I'm wary of giving someone.
Maybe it'd be fine. Or better than fine. It might go surprisingly well. As fun as sex with strangers can be, sex with someone you actually care about could be better.
I wouldn't know, as I've never had a person like that in my life.
Maybe I wouldn't care about not whoring myself out to whoever is available, if there was someone like that around. There's plenty of times when just lying next to a guy is what I want the most. It might not be the only thing I'd want, but it would be nice just to have that with someone where there isn't always the pressure (he says like it's a bad thing!) to have sex, or to leave afterwards.
*
Rather than helping me reach a better understanding, all writing this has really told me is that I don't know what it is I want out of life right now.
I didn't have sex until I was 24. Which is a little over a year and a half ago at the time of writing. It was purely out of not trying. I was never rejected, because I never put myself in the position to be rejected. I didn't think I was worth it. I hardly liked myself for so many years that it seemed obvious that no one else would be bothered with me.
When I finally took the leap and put myself out there, it was about a week or two later when it finally happened. Afterwards, I purposely asked him to drop me off in a shopping mall. I hadn't showered or even towelled myself off, and still probably smelt of sex and sweat. I couldn't notice, but I don't know about others. But, among other things (making a convincing lie about where I'd been), I wanted to walk around in the middle of a crowd. Try to take in my surroundings more closely than normal. I thought to myself, "the world is still exactly the same, and I'm just like everyone else now." I knew in my head that having sex wouldn't really change anything, but I don't know. Maybe I just wanted to clear my head a bit.
But while having sex still involves mustering courage, it's gotten a lot easier compared with the suggestion of something more serious.
The idea of having a 'proper' relationship scares me a little. Because there's part of me that won't accept it not being perfect. The concept of dating always confused me as a child, because in my naivety I wondered why you would put yourself through years of making mistakes (dating people you wouldn't marry and eventually broke up with) instead of getting it perfect the first time around. Of course, then I ended up gay and growing up for years not thinking I'd be able to 'get it perfect' (marriage) anyway. But perfectionism is something that's plagued every aspect of my life. I don't want to accept that I wouldn't be able to pick out the right guy straight away.
But this guy is really nice. We only spent about two or three hours together, besides messages and such, but it went so much better than I thought it would. Than I even hoped it would. If anyone I've met had potential to be something more substantial, this is the guy. I've not met many, really, but he's definitely taken the top spot.
For someone who was so confused and critical about other people 'not getting it right' on their first attempt, I am pretty terrified of the prospect of accomplishing that myself. I hate making the wrong choices, which can lead to not making any choice at all, but then here I am with some vague fear about making the right one.
If I sit and think about it, there is a part of me that would think I'm missing out. I missed what some call the 'best years of your life'. I spent more time contemplating ending my own life than shagging anyone who was available. So in a sense, I guess I'd like to make up for lost time, as it were, before settling down. (Monogamy isn't the only possible form a relationship can take, of course, so settling down might not necessarily mean a complete end to sleeping around.) He's about 5-6 years older than me, so many he is moving more into the part of his life where he's more willing to settle down.
Not that I've asked him that. As much as I like him so far, I find myself hoping he'll just want to stay friends and not put me in the position to have to make that decision. Or that he'd be fine if it just lasted a couple of months or a year. (I'd like it to end amicably and to still maintain some kind of relationship with him afterwards if it did, but those aren't really the kind of thing you can plan for.)
It's obviously far too soon to be thinking about these things. I'd rather not ruin any potential development by jumping the gun. But I also don't want to ruin it by saying to him that I don't expect it to last forever, or somewhere deep down maybe don't want it to. I just want to clear all these expectations from my head and let things development more naturally.
*
There's some element of trust in fucking around with someone you don't know. Personal safety, et cetera. But it's a lot different when it means actually getting involved with someone. It's a different kind of personal safety you're putting at risk.
I'm not going to get hurt if someone I'm just going to have sex with doesn't call. Disappointed and possibly annoyed if I'd made a big effort, but emotionally unscathed. This guy would probably only know the most superficial details of my life anyway. (Though one guy who messaged me didn't even want to know those--my "life story" he called it--but I decided I wasn't going to put up with that. Even if I'm just going to have sex with someone once, you're still going to have to show a bit of courtesy.)
But this guy. He sent me a message, and it made my day. I was like a teenager, checking my phone all the time. He doesn't get back to me, and I get dejected. Ask myself if I said something wrong. (Blaming myself is a habit I've not yet broken.) Keep flicking the screen of my phone on hoping to see a new message notice that I might have missed.
And then I realise that I don't want to be feeling like this so soon. It's a level of trust that I'm wary of giving someone.
Maybe it'd be fine. Or better than fine. It might go surprisingly well. As fun as sex with strangers can be, sex with someone you actually care about could be better.
I wouldn't know, as I've never had a person like that in my life.
Maybe I wouldn't care about not whoring myself out to whoever is available, if there was someone like that around. There's plenty of times when just lying next to a guy is what I want the most. It might not be the only thing I'd want, but it would be nice just to have that with someone where there isn't always the pressure (he says like it's a bad thing!) to have sex, or to leave afterwards.
*
Rather than helping me reach a better understanding, all writing this has really told me is that I don't know what it is I want out of life right now.
"Fuck Me"
"I want you to fuck me."
Putting what I want into words is hard for me, and especially with sex. There's something about asking someone to fuck me in particular. Not in a roundabout way, or posing it as a question. Either as a direct statement of desire, or a straight-forward command. In my relatively short sex life, I've said it 3 times.
1) I.G.: The first time I ever asked someone fuck me. Not the first time someone had fucked me, but the first time I said the words. Not the most ideal of situations, but still.
2) A.F.: It's a bit of a cheat, because I didn't exactly say it. He told me I was going to get fucked. But it was really hot, so I'm letting it slide. But when he asked if that was okay, I told him I wanted him to. So half-way there.
3) C.R.: After the first time we hooked up, I sent him a message telling him I wanted him to fuck me. Not exactly saying it. But when I see him again (if I do?), I want to say it properly.
Still, I think far too much about it rather than just doing. I'd like to reach a point where I'm comfortable enough to just say things in bed without having an internal dialogue about it going on in my head.
Putting what I want into words is hard for me, and especially with sex. There's something about asking someone to fuck me in particular. Not in a roundabout way, or posing it as a question. Either as a direct statement of desire, or a straight-forward command. In my relatively short sex life, I've said it 3 times.
1) I.G.: The first time I ever asked someone fuck me. Not the first time someone had fucked me, but the first time I said the words. Not the most ideal of situations, but still.
2) A.F.: It's a bit of a cheat, because I didn't exactly say it. He told me I was going to get fucked. But it was really hot, so I'm letting it slide. But when he asked if that was okay, I told him I wanted him to. So half-way there.
3) C.R.: After the first time we hooked up, I sent him a message telling him I wanted him to fuck me. Not exactly saying it. But when I see him again (if I do?), I want to say it properly.
Still, I think far too much about it rather than just doing. I'd like to reach a point where I'm comfortable enough to just say things in bed without having an internal dialogue about it going on in my head.
Friday, 23 September 2011
Before I Forget
I seem to be updating at a more frequent pace than I thought I would. Maybe it's the feeling of starting something new. Updating a lot is great and all, but doesn't mean too much if you don't keep it up.
Maybe slowing down a little would help though, like a day or so later, as I ended up remembering stuff in the last post that I was meaning to add but forgot until after I'd posted it. I'd wanted to get it down in writing while it was still fresh in my memory, but I guess while trying to put it into words little bits in a hurry little bits are going to get lost if you're not careful. It's not like I try to write complete step-by-step accounts, and there's no rush to get things posted. Though putting it out there as soon as possible would stop me from backing out and not posting, which in a way is against what I wanted to achieve by writing this blog.
I didn't want to stray off this blog's main aim, so I should find something sex-related to post about. Except I can't think of one that I wasn't leaving for another time.
The closest I can think of is that growing a bit of a beard seems to get me a fair bit of attention. The second time in as many days someone online has asked if I still have the beard I have in my photo. Thinking on it now, despite having a bit of a thing for them myself, I've never been with a guy with a beard. What's up with that? Ought to seek to change that sometime soon.
Maybe slowing down a little would help though, like a day or so later, as I ended up remembering stuff in the last post that I was meaning to add but forgot until after I'd posted it. I'd wanted to get it down in writing while it was still fresh in my memory, but I guess while trying to put it into words little bits in a hurry little bits are going to get lost if you're not careful. It's not like I try to write complete step-by-step accounts, and there's no rush to get things posted. Though putting it out there as soon as possible would stop me from backing out and not posting, which in a way is against what I wanted to achieve by writing this blog.
I didn't want to stray off this blog's main aim, so I should find something sex-related to post about. Except I can't think of one that I wasn't leaving for another time.
The closest I can think of is that growing a bit of a beard seems to get me a fair bit of attention. The second time in as many days someone online has asked if I still have the beard I have in my photo. Thinking on it now, despite having a bit of a thing for them myself, I've never been with a guy with a beard. What's up with that? Ought to seek to change that sometime soon.
The Picture of Dorian Gray (C.R.)
Turns out that the promising guy from earlier wasn't as promising as I'd thought. Nor were the others that followed. But I got lucky in the end.
C.R. lived a bit of a distance from me, but at that point I was pretty desperate and was willing to make the trip. Repeated cock-blocking will do that to you. Plus a bit of travelling is nice, especially when there's sex waiting at the end of it. At one point, after some delays in getting there, it looked like it might end up getting cancelled. He asked if I was messing him around. Thankfully, he stuck with me and we met up alright.
I was horny the whole way there, texting a bit back and forth. During the ride to his flat when we met up, I had toyed with the idea of feeling him up in the back of the taxi. I didn't, but let my shirt ride up (and my jeans down) at the back as I climbed out. I was hoping he'd be looking.
I was toying with the idea of basically pouncing on him the second we were through the door, but didn't. Until after I'd taken my shoes and jacket off, anyway. As soon as they were set aside I had my arms around him and edged him over to the living room sofa, him ending up on his back. For a change I was the first one to start getting my clothes off. Shirt first. He said he had a thing for chest hair, so was pretty happy with me in that respect. Still finding people paying that kind attention to my body slightly awkward. I'd started stripping first, but he was the one who finished first. Although I did help him out there to get his trousers and underwear off.
I was pretty tired by the time I'd gotten there, having been up since the previous day and working out earlier on. I was running on coffee, energy drink and lust. I was worried I'd be a little sluggish and not much of a fuck. When I was kissing him, I kept wondering if he thought I was slow to respond. I was mostly taken aback by how deep he went right from the start. Luckily, he seemed to like me sucking his cock, which I could do with my eyes closed and resting. I didn't want to fall asleep with a dick in my mouth though, so I tried to keep my head in the game.
His cock was kind of thick, but not so overwhelmingly so that you couldn't get your mouth around it. Just on the nice side of thick. God, it was really nice to just hold it in my hand. I've been told I'm pretty good at sucking cock. It seems to be something I took to pretty naturally, since I've not been with that many guys to practice with. I can still remember every one, for starters. Though I still gag and choke when trying to take one in completely. Definitely a gagging and choking day today, but I think C.R. got off on that a bit. I managed to get down to the base of his cock, but had to stop for air after each time.
At this point I'd gotten undressed fully as well (if I'm lucky he was too blowjob-distracted to notice the fumbling way I tried to get my socks off with a dick down my neck), and a couple of minutes later he moved things to his bedroom. Walking around naked with someone else. Another thing I don't feel great doing. Still, at least there weren't any stairs to climb! I'd stopped him before he reached the living room door. Wrapped my arms around his shoulders and neck from behind, and he started grinding against me and asking me to fuck him. To be honest I was just doing it to kiss the back of his neck (also that way his eyes were kept forward), but started mimicking the motions for his sake. I wasn't sure if I would be fucking him or the other way around. Probably not the other way, since I wasn't feeling up to bottoming today.
Things pretty much carried on from where they left off once we reached the bed. Up until he asked me to rim him. I didn't feel like bottoming in any sense, but was more than willing to oblige if he did. He did have an amazing arse. Frankly, it was all the more reason I didn't want him all focused on mine. Whenever I rim a guy, even if I don't plan on fucking him, I end up jamming my thumb or finger in there anyway. Not that I normally plan out what I'm going to do beforehand, but I've done it to guys who ended up fucking me (or tried to, anyway). But on this day, it was a precursor to fucking him. But not quite yet.
Another first today was taking pictures. All of me giving him head. I don't have the pictures to show, wouldn't be posting them publically anyway if I did, and am frankly contemplating ways to destory them (the easier way would just be ask him to get rid of them). But I gave it a go. He said he's use them later. He can fap to them if he wants. Though I don't know, the thought of it doesn't really do anything for me. I don't find it hot or exciting, it's just not for me. And I guess I'd just feel safer if they were gone. I saw what happened to Scarlett Johansson, and I don't think the FBI will be rushing to my aid.
We got around to fucking after that. This is where the tiredness might have kept me from giving my best (not that I think I'm particularly great anyway). Was going to fuck him on his back, but ended up flipping him onto his stomach instead. Listening to him moan was hot. And I like lying on the guy's back when fucking him like that, trying to push as far in as I can (or if they do that to me). And there's the back of his neck again. After a while, I got him on his back again but let's say that things were getting rather messy by then. You're sticking your dick in people's arses, it's going to happen. Was the reason I didn't feel like bottoming. I decided not to carry on, apoligised (and got told not to, but it's a force of habit), and went to clean up.
Didn't fuck again after that. He did come twice, though. Which was nice. I didn't come, but it doesn't stop me from enjoying myself. Keeps me horny, mind. But watching someone else come is hot.
Also the first time someone asked me to spit in his mouth. Have to say, that was pretty hot. Seeing him with his jaw all wet. Perhaps it's not something I'll just do to anyone, but with someone who brings it up first I would. Maybe next time I'll try letting someone do it to me. I was kind of hoping C.R. would have just gone ahead and done it.
A lot of time was spent just lying together and talking. Maybe with a bit too much honesty for my liking when I think back on it. But just lying with a guy is something I really like. Feeling the body warmth, or the weight on top of you. The bedsheets were covered with sweat at that point, but I wasn't bothered. Almost fell asleep there, and honestly I wish I could have. He offered to let me stay over on another night or a weekend. Really want to hold him to that.
I really could do with getting used to accepting compliments. He did give a lot. Telling me I'm handsome, or gentle, or thoughtful. How much I turned him on. But I always end up thinking to myself: "You can't really mean that, seriously. I'm obviously not." I just smiled slightly and looked away.
C.R. lived a bit of a distance from me, but at that point I was pretty desperate and was willing to make the trip. Repeated cock-blocking will do that to you. Plus a bit of travelling is nice, especially when there's sex waiting at the end of it. At one point, after some delays in getting there, it looked like it might end up getting cancelled. He asked if I was messing him around. Thankfully, he stuck with me and we met up alright.
I was horny the whole way there, texting a bit back and forth. During the ride to his flat when we met up, I had toyed with the idea of feeling him up in the back of the taxi. I didn't, but let my shirt ride up (and my jeans down) at the back as I climbed out. I was hoping he'd be looking.
I was toying with the idea of basically pouncing on him the second we were through the door, but didn't. Until after I'd taken my shoes and jacket off, anyway. As soon as they were set aside I had my arms around him and edged him over to the living room sofa, him ending up on his back. For a change I was the first one to start getting my clothes off. Shirt first. He said he had a thing for chest hair, so was pretty happy with me in that respect. Still finding people paying that kind attention to my body slightly awkward. I'd started stripping first, but he was the one who finished first. Although I did help him out there to get his trousers and underwear off.
I was pretty tired by the time I'd gotten there, having been up since the previous day and working out earlier on. I was running on coffee, energy drink and lust. I was worried I'd be a little sluggish and not much of a fuck. When I was kissing him, I kept wondering if he thought I was slow to respond. I was mostly taken aback by how deep he went right from the start. Luckily, he seemed to like me sucking his cock, which I could do with my eyes closed and resting. I didn't want to fall asleep with a dick in my mouth though, so I tried to keep my head in the game.
His cock was kind of thick, but not so overwhelmingly so that you couldn't get your mouth around it. Just on the nice side of thick. God, it was really nice to just hold it in my hand. I've been told I'm pretty good at sucking cock. It seems to be something I took to pretty naturally, since I've not been with that many guys to practice with. I can still remember every one, for starters. Though I still gag and choke when trying to take one in completely. Definitely a gagging and choking day today, but I think C.R. got off on that a bit. I managed to get down to the base of his cock, but had to stop for air after each time.
At this point I'd gotten undressed fully as well (if I'm lucky he was too blowjob-distracted to notice the fumbling way I tried to get my socks off with a dick down my neck), and a couple of minutes later he moved things to his bedroom. Walking around naked with someone else. Another thing I don't feel great doing. Still, at least there weren't any stairs to climb! I'd stopped him before he reached the living room door. Wrapped my arms around his shoulders and neck from behind, and he started grinding against me and asking me to fuck him. To be honest I was just doing it to kiss the back of his neck (also that way his eyes were kept forward), but started mimicking the motions for his sake. I wasn't sure if I would be fucking him or the other way around. Probably not the other way, since I wasn't feeling up to bottoming today.
Things pretty much carried on from where they left off once we reached the bed. Up until he asked me to rim him. I didn't feel like bottoming in any sense, but was more than willing to oblige if he did. He did have an amazing arse. Frankly, it was all the more reason I didn't want him all focused on mine. Whenever I rim a guy, even if I don't plan on fucking him, I end up jamming my thumb or finger in there anyway. Not that I normally plan out what I'm going to do beforehand, but I've done it to guys who ended up fucking me (or tried to, anyway). But on this day, it was a precursor to fucking him. But not quite yet.
Another first today was taking pictures. All of me giving him head. I don't have the pictures to show, wouldn't be posting them publically anyway if I did, and am frankly contemplating ways to destory them (the easier way would just be ask him to get rid of them). But I gave it a go. He said he's use them later. He can fap to them if he wants. Though I don't know, the thought of it doesn't really do anything for me. I don't find it hot or exciting, it's just not for me. And I guess I'd just feel safer if they were gone. I saw what happened to Scarlett Johansson, and I don't think the FBI will be rushing to my aid.
We got around to fucking after that. This is where the tiredness might have kept me from giving my best (not that I think I'm particularly great anyway). Was going to fuck him on his back, but ended up flipping him onto his stomach instead. Listening to him moan was hot. And I like lying on the guy's back when fucking him like that, trying to push as far in as I can (or if they do that to me). And there's the back of his neck again. After a while, I got him on his back again but let's say that things were getting rather messy by then. You're sticking your dick in people's arses, it's going to happen. Was the reason I didn't feel like bottoming. I decided not to carry on, apoligised (and got told not to, but it's a force of habit), and went to clean up.
Didn't fuck again after that. He did come twice, though. Which was nice. I didn't come, but it doesn't stop me from enjoying myself. Keeps me horny, mind. But watching someone else come is hot.
Also the first time someone asked me to spit in his mouth. Have to say, that was pretty hot. Seeing him with his jaw all wet. Perhaps it's not something I'll just do to anyone, but with someone who brings it up first I would. Maybe next time I'll try letting someone do it to me. I was kind of hoping C.R. would have just gone ahead and done it.
A lot of time was spent just lying together and talking. Maybe with a bit too much honesty for my liking when I think back on it. But just lying with a guy is something I really like. Feeling the body warmth, or the weight on top of you. The bedsheets were covered with sweat at that point, but I wasn't bothered. Almost fell asleep there, and honestly I wish I could have. He offered to let me stay over on another night or a weekend. Really want to hold him to that.
I really could do with getting used to accepting compliments. He did give a lot. Telling me I'm handsome, or gentle, or thoughtful. How much I turned him on. But I always end up thinking to myself: "You can't really mean that, seriously. I'm obviously not." I just smiled slightly and looked away.
Thursday, 22 September 2011
Hip to be Square (working out)
Guess making a proper non-intro post would be a good kick-off, since the first didn't really say anything.
To get over insecurities with body image, and get in better shape (beyond the obvious health benefits, I figure I'd be a better shag that way), I've been working out. Trying to plan it out on my own is a bit of a hassle. I'd like to lose a couple of stone and put on some muscle, but working out a programme does go over my head at times. None of the ready-made programmes seem right. I've taken to just adding at least one new exercise a week as I read up on it and get into the rhythm of working out.
I'm not willing to fork over the money needed to join a gym at this point in time, so I work out at home using a couple of bits of equipment I amassed over last few years when I previously decided to get into shape. The motivation for such kicks usually involved some guy or another. If whoring myself around a bit makes me get my arse in gear and into shape, that can't be a bad thing.
I've always kind of hated it when I had sex with a guy in a room where the bed (or wherever we were doing it) was in view of a mirror. Because if I caught my reflection in it, it's a sure way to ruin the mood for me. I try to move myself out of the line of sight, and steer the other guy away too (even though they can see me anyway). Above the neck, I don't think I look that bad. There were times in the past when I felt like recreating the film "Face/Off", but in time I've come to terms with my looks. It's just once you go below the neck when things start going wrong.
I once tried to look into a mirror (those sliding door ones that reach from the floor to the ceiling) while fucking a guy. Definitely wasn't about to recreate "American Psycho" and start winking at the man I saw there. I turned away a second later and kept my head forward from that point on.
I'm not vain enough to want to be checking myself out in the mirror when I'm having sex. But I'd like to reach a point where I don't have such an adverse reaction if I happen to glance at one during. I might even let myself have one cheeky wink at that point.
One thing I found about exercising is that it makes me feel really horny. Maybe it's the combination of the sweat and shortness of breath and having a high libido lately. I'm trying not to jack off in the hope that someone will be available in the next two days at least (if not later today), but it's getting hard to resist. It does kind of make me wish for a better mode of transport and wider roster of willing guys. I am currently waiting for one in particular to get back to me, hopefully saying to get over there right now. Not likely, but I can hope. Otherwise I have to count on a new guy pulling through for me.
One's just shown some interest, so fingers crossed.
To get over insecurities with body image, and get in better shape (beyond the obvious health benefits, I figure I'd be a better shag that way), I've been working out. Trying to plan it out on my own is a bit of a hassle. I'd like to lose a couple of stone and put on some muscle, but working out a programme does go over my head at times. None of the ready-made programmes seem right. I've taken to just adding at least one new exercise a week as I read up on it and get into the rhythm of working out.
I'm not willing to fork over the money needed to join a gym at this point in time, so I work out at home using a couple of bits of equipment I amassed over last few years when I previously decided to get into shape. The motivation for such kicks usually involved some guy or another. If whoring myself around a bit makes me get my arse in gear and into shape, that can't be a bad thing.
I've always kind of hated it when I had sex with a guy in a room where the bed (or wherever we were doing it) was in view of a mirror. Because if I caught my reflection in it, it's a sure way to ruin the mood for me. I try to move myself out of the line of sight, and steer the other guy away too (even though they can see me anyway). Above the neck, I don't think I look that bad. There were times in the past when I felt like recreating the film "Face/Off", but in time I've come to terms with my looks. It's just once you go below the neck when things start going wrong.
I once tried to look into a mirror (those sliding door ones that reach from the floor to the ceiling) while fucking a guy. Definitely wasn't about to recreate "American Psycho" and start winking at the man I saw there. I turned away a second later and kept my head forward from that point on.
I'm not vain enough to want to be checking myself out in the mirror when I'm having sex. But I'd like to reach a point where I don't have such an adverse reaction if I happen to glance at one during. I might even let myself have one cheeky wink at that point.
One thing I found about exercising is that it makes me feel really horny. Maybe it's the combination of the sweat and shortness of breath and having a high libido lately. I'm trying not to jack off in the hope that someone will be available in the next two days at least (if not later today), but it's getting hard to resist. It does kind of make me wish for a better mode of transport and wider roster of willing guys. I am currently waiting for one in particular to get back to me, hopefully saying to get over there right now. Not likely, but I can hope. Otherwise I have to count on a new guy pulling through for me.
One's just shown some interest, so fingers crossed.
Wednesday, 21 September 2011
Foundation
There were a couple of reasons, or plans, I had in mind when I decided I'd start a sex journal.
It originally started on Tumblr, which still exists in a mostly-abandoned form that I may revive at some point (possibly merge with this). Though it mainly focused on pictures, which is what Tumblr seems to do best. Plus, it was easier to follow other Tumblr blogs with an account. Having updates appear on your dashboard is more convenient than having to check each blog separately.
The second was that while looking at different blogs, I found the ones I liked the best were the ones that had a bit more than just pictures. Like personal stories from the blogger. As nice as pictures are, I guess there's just something about hearing other people's personal stories that makes it more interesting. So I wanted to do that with my own blog by adding captions to relevant pictures. This blog, however, will probably be light on pictures. They were never pictures I had taken myself anyway, so I thought I might as well focus on what was original and unique to me.
Third was talking about my own sex life. There's not many people (especially when I started the original blog) who I felt I could talk to about it, and I had kept these kind of thoughts bottled up for a long time before then. Even the people who I do talk to about it, I hide certain elements. So in lieu of people I knew well, throwing it out there to complete strangers was a start. Writing it down and putting it out there, even if no one did read it (and I don't expect to have thousands of followers or anything), was one way of doing something about it. Being anonymous helps speak more freely than when the words are attached to the identity you have to live with.
The fourth, and one of the reasons for this reboot, was rather than just recounting my sex life, to try and sort out my thoughts about sex topics I've been thinking about. I'm still finding my way through life, so there's a lot of things I haven't figured out yet. I find writing about my feelings/questions/worries about a topic I'm trying to figure out helps to get my thoughts in order a bit. (Though maybe not a lot of order.) In a better world, some comments offering the reader's views, experiences, or insights into the topic would be nice. But in this world, maybe just writing them down will help in some way.
I don't think I will update an awful lot, but hopefully at least once a week. At least not at the moment, since circumstances in my life are cutting into the time and chances I have for having sex to write about. It's not been that wild a sex life, anyway. Honestly, most of it would be either past stories (possibly with some question or opinion formed from the experience) or my thoughts and ramblings on sex related subjects. If you're hoping for a lot of nice and erotic stories, you'll probably have better luck elsewhere. Some posts might contain no sex at all, though probably will relate to it in some way.
As for the blog title: 'Ameinias' is the name of a man given in some accounts of the Greek myth of Narcissus, who appears as one of Narcissus' jilted lovers who then kills himself in front of Narcissus' home. I like mythology and am gay, that's all there is to that. But the story does fit in with the next part. 'Melancholia' has a bit of a personal meaning for me in the past, a worldview I'm trying to move beyond into something more positive and productive. And a lesser, superficial one at the moment I'm writing this. Melancholy might be a good way to describe some of the things I've written for this so far. I never have been that good at coming up with titles, though. Could have done with something simplier, looking at it now, but I'm not going through all that work to make another blog now.
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