Over Labor Day Weekend, Ralphie came back home for a couple days and spent one last night in my bed. One last night feeling my big cock, one last night straddling my hips rubbing his smooth ass against my shaft, one last night whispering "Hey Tiger" and "it's so big" in my ear. And then he was gone.
I talked on Facebook with Max the other day. He's dating another boy now.
I emailed Joe. He's also dating again.
Over the past year, those three gents were the mainstay of my sex life. Obviously, not the only three people I slept with, but those were the the three regulars. They were the three who I enjoyed hanging out with, who spending a night with didn't just mean sex, it meant conversation, jokes, cuddling, company. They weren't relationships in the standard sense of the word, but there was a commitment, a permanence to them that didn't exist with the others I slept with.
Between the three of them, I was practically guaranteed sex once a week, if not more (often more). And not just the same vanilla sex, all three of them had wonderfully variant techniques and styles. With Max and Ralphie, I was the top, the big guy with the big dick tossing them around on the bed. With Joe, I was the boy, tied up straining against the ropes, grabbing the sheets in ecstasy as my ass was pounded. With Max, it was fast, passionate, sink teeth into the shoulder style sex. Animalistic and alive. With Ralphie, it was gentle, soft body, soft sheets, sardonic comments and warm summer night breezes. Between the three, it was an invigorating and exciting balance.
And over the course of a week, they're all gone. The core of my sex life, my stable of reliable fuck buddies, gone.
On top of that, I'm not really sure I want to replace them. I don't know if I want to go back to having a stable of guys at my beck and call. These days, I might actually want a relationship. And... that's weird.
Here's where it gets weirder. The other day, while mulling over these thoughts, my older sister called.
"Hello?"
"Hey Jack... um... can we talk?"
"Yeah sure, what is it?"
"We've always had a good relationship where we can talk about anything, right?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Okay... well, over the Fourth of July, I went through your phone..."
"Well... that can't be good..."
"Right... and... Look, I have a lot of gay friends, so I know about Grindr, and I know about the whole hookup culture... but... please don't hookup with guys you meet online. I mean, I know you already do... but... stop."
And so we talked for a good 40 minutes. About life, about her work, my studies, about relationships and sex, and when it came down the end, she asked me to stop hooking up with guys I meet online. And frankly, I've kinda run out of good guys online to hookup with. I've burned through most of the hot interesting ones.
So, even if I wanted to replace Max, Joe, and Ralphie, I'm not sure how I'd go about it. Online is out. Troll the bars? That's never struck me as savory. Become the campus slut? No, I have standards.
Maybe... and this thought strikes me as very odd, maybe I should abstain from sex for awhile. Reorient what it is I'm looking for. Spend some time actually writing Liam's Mistake. Start actually dating people, with no expectation of sex. Maybe find a girlfriend, or a boyfriend.
Maybe... I should delete my online presence. I've already deleted Grindr. That means going through Adam4Adam, Manhunt, and Recon, and taking down my profiles. Maybe I should go further and sever myself from forums I used to frequent. God knows I barely check in with any of them anymore.
But then where would all of this leave you, dear reader? That implies I actually have readers. The stats say I don't. And besides, I use this as a touchstone. This will stay up, even if I dismantle everything else.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Saturday, September 3, 2011
One Night in Babylon...
Yes, I did just use two relatively obscure pop culture references smashed together for this post's title. Deal with it.
But more importantly, last night (I wrote this post in mid-January) I was at Babylon, the gay nightclub downtown. Of course, like all names on this blog, that's not its real name.
To find out what the pop culture references were, read my story of last night, and find out what it all has to do with the boy below, please follow the jump:
But more importantly, last night (I wrote this post in mid-January) I was at Babylon, the gay nightclub downtown. Of course, like all names on this blog, that's not its real name.
To find out what the pop culture references were, read my story of last night, and find out what it all has to do with the boy below, please follow the jump:
Why I should stop drinking
It's been a while since I posted. At first, that's because I was fucking Ralphie and emotionally I felt myself getting involved, which made me hesitant to post. Then, Ralphie left, and I started getting wasted with far too much frequency.
Here are some notes from those lost weeks of drunkenness:
-On August 17, I celebrated a friend's birthday. His 21st, in fact. Since he's half-french/half-australian, he's been drinking since he could walk, but since we're in the states, he can now legally buy alcohol. Right, so with him and a group of friends, we hit the bars, and luckily, we weren't carded. Probably because it was Wednesday night and we don't look like teenagers. Ralphie texted me while we were drinking. I invited him to join us, but he declined. He did indicate that he wanted to come over though. Since it was only a few night before he had to leave, I agreed. Relatively early, at 11 Pm, the party broke up, and I drunkenly biked back home with a friend while singing Flobots - Handlebars acapella. Ralphie arrived, we climbed in bed together, he told me I reeked of drinking. Which I did. I was near blackout drunk at that point, and I struggled to perform well, but apparently, I performed adequately. Although, he did have to suck me off to get me hard.
-August 25. That Thursday, my friends wanted to go to Babylon, the local gay club, to watch the drag show. They let in 18 and up, but only serve drinks to 21+. Being the only one in the group under 21, I pre-gamed. Specifically, I had 4 shots of vodka so cheap and strong it could be used as paint thinner, then some beers and ciders. And I did it under half an hour. By the time we made it to the club, I was smashed. I held it together long enough to get in, and had a good time, which is saying something. I hate Babylon. I made a post about the last time I visited back in February that I never posted. I should, because I hate dancing and I hate Babylon, but I was drunk enough not to notice. A friend took a picture of me, sweaty, drunk, mastering the 1000 yard stare. Good times.
-August 27. Saturday night, the rugby house threw its first party. Which was mostly just rugby guys, their women, and some extra friends who tagged along. As the night wore on and the drinks grew stronger, we all started wearing hats, which had appeared from somewhere. So, as I was sitting there, drinking a cup of whatever was in the gin bucket at that point (probably sprite, vodka, and gin), a tall lanky fellow wearing a bright red pimp hat and holding a bamboo pipe, pointed at me, and looking into my soul with wild crazy eyes, he majestically intoned "Good sir, would you care to blaze with me?" And I said "sure." So, standing outside in the warm summer evening, still wearing ridiculous hats, we lit up and smoked. Shortly thereafter, the party began winding down. Tall McPimphat asked if I would care to walk back with him, as we were quite far from campus. Since I lived on the other side of campus from the rugby house, I concurred, and hatless, we headed off into the night. Somehow or another, I believe on his suggestion, we found ourselves in the middle of a cemetery. Realizing that there are only three types of people who invite you alone into a cemetery, I asked him "Are you gay?" He wasn't. Since he didn't want to hook up, that left only axe murderer or just crazy. Eyeing him, I thought I could take him, so I politely asked him not to axe murder me, and we continued along. At this point though, enough alcohol had sloshed its way through my body to warrant a piss. As cemeteries lack open public facilities in the middle of the night, I anointed one Chris Griffin, or Cliff Giffords, or Griff Cliffords grave with my piss. May he rest in peace, as he has since the 1980s. Or the 1960s. Or the 1890s. I don't really remember.
-September 1st. Another rugby party. This time, upon leaving, I elected not to go through the cemetery. Partway home, I lay down on the sidewalk just to rest a bit, since I had previously consumed yet another gin bucket. Security found me there, and after some fun but polite and coherent drunken antics, they politely drove me home. Once home, my roommates and I went out to our favorite diner, where I got a philly cheesesteak and we talked with out favorite waiter. Crashing in bed later that evening, I realized: I drink too much.
Here are some notes from those lost weeks of drunkenness:
-On August 17, I celebrated a friend's birthday. His 21st, in fact. Since he's half-french/half-australian, he's been drinking since he could walk, but since we're in the states, he can now legally buy alcohol. Right, so with him and a group of friends, we hit the bars, and luckily, we weren't carded. Probably because it was Wednesday night and we don't look like teenagers. Ralphie texted me while we were drinking. I invited him to join us, but he declined. He did indicate that he wanted to come over though. Since it was only a few night before he had to leave, I agreed. Relatively early, at 11 Pm, the party broke up, and I drunkenly biked back home with a friend while singing Flobots - Handlebars acapella. Ralphie arrived, we climbed in bed together, he told me I reeked of drinking. Which I did. I was near blackout drunk at that point, and I struggled to perform well, but apparently, I performed adequately. Although, he did have to suck me off to get me hard.
-August 25. That Thursday, my friends wanted to go to Babylon, the local gay club, to watch the drag show. They let in 18 and up, but only serve drinks to 21+. Being the only one in the group under 21, I pre-gamed. Specifically, I had 4 shots of vodka so cheap and strong it could be used as paint thinner, then some beers and ciders. And I did it under half an hour. By the time we made it to the club, I was smashed. I held it together long enough to get in, and had a good time, which is saying something. I hate Babylon. I made a post about the last time I visited back in February that I never posted. I should, because I hate dancing and I hate Babylon, but I was drunk enough not to notice. A friend took a picture of me, sweaty, drunk, mastering the 1000 yard stare. Good times.
-August 27. Saturday night, the rugby house threw its first party. Which was mostly just rugby guys, their women, and some extra friends who tagged along. As the night wore on and the drinks grew stronger, we all started wearing hats, which had appeared from somewhere. So, as I was sitting there, drinking a cup of whatever was in the gin bucket at that point (probably sprite, vodka, and gin), a tall lanky fellow wearing a bright red pimp hat and holding a bamboo pipe, pointed at me, and looking into my soul with wild crazy eyes, he majestically intoned "Good sir, would you care to blaze with me?" And I said "sure." So, standing outside in the warm summer evening, still wearing ridiculous hats, we lit up and smoked. Shortly thereafter, the party began winding down. Tall McPimphat asked if I would care to walk back with him, as we were quite far from campus. Since I lived on the other side of campus from the rugby house, I concurred, and hatless, we headed off into the night. Somehow or another, I believe on his suggestion, we found ourselves in the middle of a cemetery. Realizing that there are only three types of people who invite you alone into a cemetery, I asked him "Are you gay?" He wasn't. Since he didn't want to hook up, that left only axe murderer or just crazy. Eyeing him, I thought I could take him, so I politely asked him not to axe murder me, and we continued along. At this point though, enough alcohol had sloshed its way through my body to warrant a piss. As cemeteries lack open public facilities in the middle of the night, I anointed one Chris Griffin, or Cliff Giffords, or Griff Cliffords grave with my piss. May he rest in peace, as he has since the 1980s. Or the 1960s. Or the 1890s. I don't really remember.
-September 1st. Another rugby party. This time, upon leaving, I elected not to go through the cemetery. Partway home, I lay down on the sidewalk just to rest a bit, since I had previously consumed yet another gin bucket. Security found me there, and after some fun but polite and coherent drunken antics, they politely drove me home. Once home, my roommates and I went out to our favorite diner, where I got a philly cheesesteak and we talked with out favorite waiter. Crashing in bed later that evening, I realized: I drink too much.
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