It’s Just Sex, Right?

I never knew how much fun blogs could be.  There are a lot of different types of blogs out there and I admit that many of them do not hold any interest for me.  I’ve happened across a lot of blogs where people take pictures of the food they have in restaurants and write a journal entry about it.  I have only one thing to say about that.  Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

I have read a lot of blogs where people take trips and write about what they did.  Often those are the same blogs as the ones mentioned above.  I guess the difference between good ones, and bad ones of these blogs is whether the author is really a writer.  If you can write something with a lot of artistry and beauty in your use of words, it barely matters what it is you write about.  On the other hand if you write like you’re writing a Dick and Jane book (See Dick’s lunch.  Dick had good lunch.  Dick cleaned Plate.  Jane had good lunch too.  Jane not cleaned plate.)  (I guess that sounds more like a Tarzan and Jane book, but you get the idea) then your blog isn’t going to be interesting to read.

Some people write their blog entries as a blow by blow report of what they do.  I usually skip over those pretty quickly.  It’s like reading my own writing…  From the 7th grade.  A good blog will recount a tale, or an event, or an experience, but in a way that is interesting and attention grabbing.  It’ll provide all the pertinent facts without boring you with unnecessary details and time tables.

Here’s an example of what I mean.  Back in April I went with a Green to Las Vegas.  Now I could recount the trip thusly:

Our flight was scheduled to depart Oakland International Airport at 9:36 a.m. but didn’t actually leave until 9:50.  We landed in Las Vegas at 10:47.  After we got off the plane we went straight to the bathrooms.  After we finished using the bathrooms we went to the luggage claims and found our carousel.  At 11:37 the luggage started coming out and after a few minutes my suit case came down the shoot.  I grabbed my suit case and we waited for her suit case to come down the shoot.  We waited and waited but it never came out.  Then we went to the baggage office to find out what happened.  They checked the computers and the piles of luggage outside the office, and called the baggage handling area to find out if anyone had the suit case but they didn’t find it.

So Green was pretty unhappy about her suit case not showing up and was worried that they wouldn’t find it.  We gave the lady in the office a description of the suit case and told her we where we were staying and gave them Green‘s Cell Phone Number.

Then, we walked outside to where the shuttles were, found the ticket office and bought our tickets and found our shuttle.  We had to wait in the shuttle for about 20 minutes before the shuttle driver decided their were enough passengers to make the trip.

We were the first stop on the trip and we got to our hotel around 1:00.  Then we walked inside.  Then we went to the front desk.  It didn’t make any sense because they did not have a clearly marked line.  We didn’t know where to go and we though we were in line.  Then an employee came over to us and offered to help us find a line and we got in line.  Then we got to the counter and then we checked in.  We asked if they had any upgrades available.  Then they showed us the options and we chose a room with a “strip view”.  We were excited because we always wanted a room with a strip view and we never get one.  After we checked in we went to our room, but we were disappointed because the view was not of the strip.

Boring, right?  I felt like a little kid while I was typing it to the point that my rhythm of my typing even became very staccato.  Dah dah dah dah DAH.  Dah dah dah dah DAH.  Dah dah dah dah DAH.  Boring!

I could however have told the same story thusly:

Green and I absolutely love Las Vegas.  We are always looking for an excuse– er, opportunity to go.  This year we decided to go in April as a joint birthday celebration having chosen this time because it falls rough in the middle of her mid-March birthday and my mid-June birthday.  Right between our birthdays, but better yet, before the weather there turns to full blown summer and the sun feels as though it will incinerate you where you stand.

We were expecting a great trip, staying in a new (to us) hotel, the MGM Grand, and tickets to Zumanity, the Circ du Soleil show we’d been itching to see for several visits.  After our first visit to Las Vegas, a New Years trip that had a departure time scheduled for 6 something in the morning which we missed resulting in a six hour lay over in Fresno International Airport (and if you’ve ever been there, you know what a joke that is) we learned our lesson and booked our departure for a more reasonable hour.  Our flight was delayed taking off by about 10 minutes but fortunately, as they so often do, the pilots made up the difference in the air.  But the “adventure” was not to end there.

Upon deplaning in Las Vegas we made a b-line for the restrooms because sadly, the very public restrooms in a busy airport are favorable to a cramped, Southwest Airlines jet bathroom, and then headed on down to Baggage claim.  This is always a dicey time because you never know if your luggage is going to make it or not.  Fortunately for me, after just a few revolutions of the carousel, my suitcase came down the shoot just fine.  But as the crowd was thinning and the frequency of the bags passing by slowed, it became apparent that there was a problem.  Green‘s bag was nowhere to be found.

Green immediately began to worry about not having her suit case and not having any of her clothes or toiletries and whether she’d be reimbursed if her suit case never showed up and the $100+ flat iron she had inside was lost to her forever.  We went to the baggage office where we looked at all the unclaimed luggage sitting around but none of it was her’s so we went in to file our claim.  The attendant did her due diligence and searched the computer, the unclaimed bags and called the baggage handlers, but sure enough, Green‘s suitcase did not appear to be in Las Vegas.

The attendant immediately began the process of opening a claim and tracking ticket and we provided her with the necessary information of how to contact us when the suitcase arrived, while answering all our questions and doing her best to reassure Green that they’d make it right with her if the bag didn’t turn up.

Once that was completed it was time for the jaunt to “the strip” where we were to check into our hotel.  We got out to the transportation section and found the booth to buy our fair on one of the many shuttles to the strip, but unfortunately we did have to wait about 20 minutes till the driver felt he had enough passengers to justify the trip.  And while we waited we were fortunate enough to get to listen to the drivers gangsta rap music he had playing over the speakers…  While he was no where around.  Thankfully, the MGM Grand is one of the first stops and we weren’t on the shuttle for long.

Walking into the lobby of the hotel we were immediately impressed with the grandeur and beauty of the place but as we approached the front desk we encountered our next obstacle.  There was a mass of hotel guests waiting to check in, and no clearly delineated line.  We must have looked pretty lost because pretty soon a woman wearing a blazer and a golden name tag came over and asked us to follow her while she lead us to what looked like the next most expeditious line.

When it was our turn to check in, which really did only take a few minutes, we asked the front desk clerk if they had any upgrades available.  They did and she showed us what our options were.  We chose a suite that was on the 18th floor – we prefer to be higher, but all the higher ones weren’t non-smoking – and that had a “strip view”, however when we got to the room we were sorely disappointed because what they consider a “strip view” is a sliver of the back of the next hotel over and a sprawling view of the rest of Las Vegas proper.

Now, I admit, the second version has more words, more paragraphs, but isn’t it more interesting to read too?

I read a lot of blogs, and I hope a lot of people will read mine.  I just hope that mine fits into the better written, more interesting to read, category.

“““““““

Now to the real point.

I do read a lot of blogs and I admit that I’m greatly interested in the blogs of people who write about sexual encounters, be they real or fiction.  They’re usually interesting to read and exciting and quite often get me going.  I believe another term for these entries is “stroke writing”.  But I also admit that I can only suspend my sense of reality so much and I’m often shocked and disturbed by some of the behaviors people write about.  Many accounts of random, anonymous sexual encounters, unprotected bareback sex (I do only read the gay ones) and other forms of complete irresponsibility and frankly, I don’t know what to think about them sometimes.  I wonder, “Do people really do these things?”  “Is this really a favorable way of getting what you need?”  “Do these people not regret or feel ashamed about their actions?”

But I’ll be honest.  They affect me.  And sometimes, when I’m feeling really lonely, and I’ve had a little too much to drink (read: an extra bottle) I think, maybe…  Maybe I could give it a try.

Such was the case this past Friday night.  Halfway through my second bottle of wine and leaning toward my third, I’d read all the “stroke posts” and looked at all the sexy pictures on my reader and I was horny, and feeling lonely, and not as inhibited as I normally am.  So I turned to Craigslist.  I knew I couldn’t be the predatory one, and I knew I couldn’t drive, or “travel” as the post authors always say.  So I posted my own ad, something I’ve never done before.  The post was something about being “newly gay” and needing a teacher, both of which is true.  I put down that I needed to be taught about gay lovin’ but that I would have to be convinced because I was frightened.  And I attached a grainy, unclear, cell phone picture of myself, naked and sprawled out on the floor that was taken some time ago while I was drunk and Green, my former room mate, was trying to get me to bed.  You couldn’t see my face, and I was not trying to hide my physical appearance.  I was saying “Boys, this is what I look like and if I actually see this thing through and you come over here, this is what you’re going to find.”

Almost instantly I got two e-mails from guys who had seen my post and suggested they might want to teach me.  I was emboldened by the vino and I thought, hey this is great.  I replied to the e-mails with answers to their questions and questions of my own.  Still figuring that there was no harm in pursuing this.

One of the guys dropped out after a couple e-mails but the other guy was serious about moving forward.  He was ready to take down my address and head on out and that’s when reality struck!  In an instant my head cleared and the fear took over.  My mind was racing!

Oh my God!  Is this serious?  Could I really do this?”

“Crap!  The house is a mess.  I need to clean the bathroom!  I haven’t changed my sheets in months!”

“I don’t know anything about this guy and while that may have sort of been the point, it’s really risky!  Plus as ‘anonymous’ as I’d like to believe it is, it’s not really ’cause if I do this he’ll know where I live.  He could very well be genuine and sincere, but he could just as easily be coming here to case the joint.  I don’t have a lot that’s worth stealing but I do have some.  For that matter, he could be a serial killer and I would have invited him in.”

“And it’s sex.  Really sex.  Not just I-contemplated-it-while-jerking-myself-off sex.  And that would change everything!  There’s no going back from that!”

And so, I contemplated it while jerking myself off.  And then the “need” had passed and I turned off my computer and went to bed.

The next day I felt like shit!  Two and a half bottles of wine will do that to you, but it wasn’t just the hangover and the headache and the diarrhea and the shakes.

I was ashamed.  Still am a little bit.  I’m relieved ’cause I didn’t follow through. I know I’m still safe.  I know I still don’t have any diseases.  I know that I haven’t opened myself up to be a victim of a crime.  Yes I could still get robbed.  It’s part of life.  Yes I could still be attacked on the street.  That too, is a part of life.  But I didn’t invite a complete stranger into my house and tell him to take a look around and see if there’s anything he’d like to come back for, uninvited.  And I didn’t open myself up, figuratively and literally, and make myself as vulnerable as a human being can be and risk a life changing result from an “anonymous donor”.

Yet, I can’t help being ashamed of myself for having gone there in the first place.  Sex should be a wonderful thing between two people who care for each other.  Right?  That’s certainly a lovely sentiment and I’d like to feel like I can apply it.  But let’s call a spade a spade.  I’m not a social person.  I don’t meet new people and I haven’t got anyone in my life so the likelihood of meeting someone I can feel a connection with and start a relationship with is next to impossible.  Meanwhile, I’m still human.  I’m still male.  I still have needs that need to be fulfilled.  And it is just sex, right?

This isn’t the first time I’ve found myself in some semblance of this situation.  I’ve been on Gay.com many times.  I’ve had on-line chats with local guys while looking for a little “inspiration”.  But inevitably, it always goes the same way.  They don’t want to just talk about what they’d do.  They want to come over and do it.  And it’s always the same thing with me.  I’m horny.  I’m probably inebriated (only time I have the nerve to do anything sexual.)  I’m naked, with my cock in one hand and the computer mouse in the other and I just want to get off.  And then I start to wonder whether I should take it a step farther.  And then they say it!

“Can I come over?”  Cue the thunder clap and the lightening bolt.  The scratching record.  The sudden silence of the crowd.  The dramatic “plot thickens” organ music.  And suddenly it’s not a game anymore.  It’s not just fantasy, or what ifs.  it’s not just masturbation.  It’s an opportunity.  An opportunity for something, I actually really do want…  sort of.

And in an instant, I’m overcome.  I’m sick to my stomach.  I’m shaking.  I instantly go from the “could I?”s to the “how could I?”s.  All the blood drains from my body.  Where I was hot and bothered, now I’m frozen and terrified.  I’m weak and shaking and, eh’hem, everything goes limp, to jelly, turns soft.  And I chicken out.

And in spite of all this, I can’t really decide if I think that following through would be a bad thing, and make me an amoral person, or if I think it would be a perfectly natural thing to do and I’m way over-thinking?  And it doesn’t really matter because like it or not, my sub-conscious won’t let it happen.

Yes, I’m relieved, because I didn’t follow through.

But I’m also kind of pissed.

‘Cause I didn’t follow through.

One Response

  1. […] Friday was just a long, hard day and it culminated in my shameful humiliation on Craigslist and my disgust with myself on Saturday.  What I haven’t previously stated is […]

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: