Monster

Men are the cause of most of my troubles. Men are also the cause of many of my erections and fantasies. The latter never flourishing into actual actions or encouters tends to provide fuel to the main source of my troubles whereas I lay in bed at night, grinding on a pillow or two imagining what it must be like to be a complete slut and have no moral compass whatsoever. I keep to myself alot. It's not always the best plan but it is the current plan. I stray from that plan almost by accident every now and again when some wandering perv decides he'd like to spice up his libido and pays me a visit. Most of the time I have fun, more often than not though, I am left disappointed by some guy who's spent most of his time polishing the gun but never seeming to squeeze the trigger. I guess that is why I have been in seclusion for most of my 30's...if they can't see you sweat or see you cry, then they can't hurt you in the process. Sadly, in the process, I learn things about myself and about others. I learn that I have more tastes sexually than I ever had in the past and can now verbalize them in waya that can almost sound pornographic. I have also learned that men can't really make up their own minds as to what they want unless it is part of a youth obssessed, culturally absent, perfection dominanted and STD/HIV friendly queer online spacecamp. I've tried the online game many times. Profile after profile, site after site, and the best thing that someone advised me after my ill fated adventures was "giving up doesn't help, buddy?" If only giving up were an option.

I have learned that men in relationships still need to fool around. That was nothing new from anything that I learned in my twenties. I learned that even with somewhat good looks, someone else will always get what I want because they look better. Even if I work hard for it...what it is, isn't mine, and probably never will be with the attitude that I have. Looking back on this piece of writing days later I am able to come to a conclusion that I was not quite myself when I first started writing this. Sensibilities had overtaken me along with doubt and depression. I love to be expressive. I love writing and sometimes my best thoughts hit me at the worst possible moments. Sort of like the urge to pop one off when I see a hot guy! It comes, it goes, and then I wait for the fires of creativity or whatever to burn inside of me again.

If my life were like a sitcom I wonder how it would play out? We don't see to many boring people living the life on television or in movies. THose are usually the people in the background pretending to have conversations while the main characters keep our attention. I know my life would have many seasons, and just like many shows out there it would have storylines and drama like you wouldn't believe. Some characters would be bit players and others would be regular cast members. And every 35-54 minute episode would be wrapped up with a bow by the time the show came to a close. The men, the fashion, the food...oh it would definitely be a good show to watch!

My drought continues...and my character remains pure (for now). I have to remember that in the event of telling a good story, I will actually need to spill my guts and purge something out that is worth telling. So far everything is locked up in my head waiting for a blank page to be place on. It's just like the monster under my bed, in my pants or in my soul...begging to get out.