For those of you who didn’t know it, she’s the woman I met while donning just a pair of sneakers and bikini briefs.  Of course, it was an underwear party so it was completely appropriate.  I had no idea that approaching her would lead to a lunch date, though it almost unraveled before it even began.

Running a bit late and my nerves on edge, I texted to relay that I was on my way.  I wasn’t sure what kind of response I’d get and especially didn’t expect the following:

On my way to meet you

Who’s this?

Captain Underpants – It was an appropriate inside joke considering our email banter.

Wrong number.

I couldn’t believe it.  I knew it was the number she had given me.  Was it her way of showing how ridiculous I was to believe a woman would want to spend time with me?  Could she be so cruel?  My heart immediately sank, low, deep into the recesses of despair.  With the recent upsets I’d already faced, I wanted to cut and run.  But what if I was wrong and she was waiting for me?

I sucked it up and swallowed my pride, facing the possibility that I’d enter a restaurant devoid of the woman I sought and have to retreat to a world of hurt.  When I opened the door, there she was, innocently perched on a stool.  Unfortunately, being late meant she went ahead and ordered.  I hated to start off on such a bad foot but was overwhelmed with relief in seeing her.

As I sat down across from her, I must have been beaming my classic smile.  She’s so gorgeous.  She showed up.  I was in shock.  I could barely believe I went up to her in the first place, with no alcoholic courage or pants on for that matter, remember the underwear party and the resultant nickname.  She’s the first woman I’ve ever had the courage to approach in public leading to a successful meeting.  Did I mention how beautiful she is?

There’s something about her that makes her presence pop for me.  I think it lies in her eyes.  They’re intense, open, gateways to what could be a beautiful soul.  She’s definitely encountered her fair share of turmoil and it’s created a depth that is reflected in her gaze.  It’s truly intoxicating.  I’d never met someone who’s single glance could impact me like hers does.

It’s a powerful expression.  Her eyes narrow a bit, gather a misty curtain that doesn’t hide, but rather draws back to reveal a certain appreciation and embrace.  It’s like a soul kiss.  I can imagine how it’d make me melt if yielded in a moment of actual passion.  Like I said, I’d never encountered such a gaze from anyone.

It seemed to start when we first met, our ocular embraces, but as it occurred across from each other, sharing intimate details of ourselves, I was stunned.  I literally lost my train of thought, derailed by something greater, nervous and yet thrilled, blushing and yet emboldened, eager to progress forward and yet cautiously aware of her power to impact my heart.

I had to apologize, which made me blush even more.  I had to figure out what it meant, as I’d been wrong in reading some of her cues before.  I confessed that it felt as if she looked upon me with a certain understanding.  She agreed.  For someone who’s felt utterly alone for most of his life, vastly misunderstood and forced into boxes in which he doesn’t belong, it was incredibly disarming and cathartic.

It’s as if she sliced right into the core of my most vulnerable insecurity, gently grasped it with both hands, and caressed it, saying that who I am is worthy of being cherished.  I’ve never had such a sensation in my life.  I never dreamed it would come from a woman.  I never expected it could be felt after only a few hours of conversation.  Then again, I don’t hide much and with her open attitude, I revealed by inmost thoughts.  I shared my true identity with her and for once it seemed like someone finally understood me.

It makes sense.  She’s an omnisexual as well and yet nowhere near a sex addict.  Before her last relationship with a man of thirteen years, she’d been with a woman for five years.  She seemed to have a comfort concerning the fluidity of sexual interest whereas I am new to it all.  She couldn’t have been a better compliment or a better first encounter with the feminine side of humanity.  She confirmed everything I knew to be true in my heart.  I’m going in the right direction by opening myself to women.

However, I’m so desperately insecure.  I just don’t have the gall to act like I know what I’m doing.  I have no clue.  I need to be led by a gentle hand.  I need to be assured that my desires are within a context that is agreeable and mutually beneficial.  I need to take it slow.  I want to relish every moment, every gaze that sets my heart to fluttering and my skin to rushing red.  It’s all so new, vibrant and exciting.  I couldn’t be luckier to have found this woman.

I already know that she’s beautiful, understanding and loyal.  Who knows what more time shall reveal.  I don’t know if there’s anything more to our initial attraction.  I don’t have any clue as to why she agreed to meet me.  I have the suspicion that she’s eager for a change in her life and I present a unique avenue to explore life through a different set of eyes.  I don’t know if it’s romantic or sexual in any sense.  I don’t know if I am ready to know it either.

When I realized that this woman is special, beyond compare with any other woman I’ve met through her ability to disarm me, I knew I had to focus on what matters most.  I’m not looking for a quick fuck with a girl to see if I like it.  It just doesn’t seem right.  I’m looking to have that first occasion of sexual intimacy with a woman mean something real, deep and intense.  I want it to be loving, emotional, spiritually charged and downright sexy.  It will take an investment from whoever that woman might be.

All I know is that I’m encouraged in the path I’m allowing myself to wander down.  For her role in it so far, I’m incredibly appreciative.  I have no idea how much further down the path she might join me.  I want her to be a part of this journey, first and foremost as a friend.  I’m open to more, but only time will tell if that’s in the cards for us.  I wish I didn’t have to leave for three months, as so much can change for us both, but I eagerly look forward to seeing her when I return.

I was still in school in the deep South, soon after I’d been kicked out of my fraternity.  My circle of friends at college had virtually vanished and I was living off campus with an older gay man I’d met through a mutual friend.  I don’t know where he was that evening, but he was out.  Upstairs, there was a party going on.  It was a birthday party, because I could hear them singing the song above my head.  I wanted to slit them wrists and call it a night, not really but I was certainly feeling down.

However, for some reason, someone from upstairs came down, knocked on the door and asked a question.  I don’t recall what the question was but it led to the discovery that it was my birthday as well.  Suddenly, I was swept upstairs to the party, surrounded by strangers, who relished in the opportunity to sing the serenade again.  I cringed as I maintained a polite decorum and retreated back downstairs as soon as I could.  I preferred being alone at that point than surrounded by virtual strangers.

Another factor that added to the misery of that birthday was that I didn’t receive a phone call from my parents, who only lived thirty minutes north of me.  It didn’t depress me for our relationship was fairly non-existent as it was.  It was just one more reason to feel sorry for myself.  In the end, I shed a few tears and committed to never spend my birthday alone again.  It’s when I started making my own plans and have ever since.

So for my 32nd birthday, I threw together a few events since I knew most of my friends had conflicting schedules.  I wasn’t all that excited about it, but figured I should do something for my birthday and no one was leaping at the chance to plan it for me.  For my actual birthday, I decided on happy hour and a movie.  Little did I know that it would almost fall completely apart.

I made invitations through Facebook which could have been my fatal flaw.  People seem to be more willing to flake from a Facebook invite than from any other.  As the theory goes, so did events transpire.  I received a few last minute cancellations.  I almost called the whole thing off and struggled to fight back tears as I walked alone to the happy hour destination.  I wasn’t sure who would show and I was mortified that it might be one friend who was already waiting.

He was there by the time I arrived.  If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have shown up to my own party.  I would’ve gone home and probably cried my eyes out much like I did eleven years ago.  I’m so grateful he did.  Because over the two hours before the movie, friends trickled in one by one.  Even though it was just five friends, they were friends that I was grateful to see, good friends.  I don’t know if they realized how much I appreciated their presence.

Only one went on to the movie with me though which was more than I expected anyway.  It was a friend that I hadn’t seen in a long time and it was great to reconnect with him.  I look forward to spending more time with him when I return.  However, I spent the rest of the evening on my own, as other plans crumbled and I received a call from my best friend.  She had birthday wishes and tough times of her own.

We commiserated on the phone together, wondering how much of it was others and how much of it was us.  I’ve come to the conclusion that I am guilty in the part that I play.  Instead of seeking others attention, I will let them fade away.  Instead of putting myself in a vulnerable position, I’ll be the first to look the other way.  Instead of making the effort to create real, lasting friendships, I’ll bow out at the first sign that there might not be mutual interest in such an endeavor.

However, I know I’m not to be solely blamed for this reality.  Others aren’t making the effort either.  In an age when you feel insulated by friend counts on Facebook exceeding 500, who needs to make the effort?  Then again, what’s the use of being surrounded by virtual strangers.  It’s not like I don’t have real friends.  I do.  I have amazing friends that I cherish and vice versa.  The majority live in other cities and the ones here I never see enough.  I need to make some changes so that next year I don’t have another bout of the birthday blues.

I already started.  I started by making drastic cuts into my Facebook friend count.  I deleted 200 friends in one fell swoop.  So my audience has drastically shriveled to only those I care the most about.  Already I can notice a difference in my profile page.  Every face I see is one I want to see, especially in person.  Not every person is a die-hard friend, but I’m interested in pursuing those friendships that aren’t rock solid.  I couldn’t focus on 300+ friends, so why bother to have such a large count?

There might be some backlash from some of my editing, but I hope those that remain will do the same if they don’t feel the bond of friendship between us.  If I cut too deep, I’ll be the first to remedy the situation if the one removed feels motivated enough to bring it to my attention.  So often we don’t express how we really feel and who means the most to us, but we can make a difference and challenge the current trend on our profile pages and in our lives.  I hope to be a better friend to everyone that remains on my friend list and I hope that they’ll be at my next birthday event.

One of the first calls was to a schizophrenic situation, where a brother was trying to commit his mis-medicated sibling who obviously refused, resulting in a conflagration outside of a strip mall.  The cops had already handled the combative brother by the time we showed up.  As my buddy walked past him and his possessions, piled on the parking lot surface, he caught a serious whiff of l’eau de toilette, the homeless blend.

After searching through the possessions, it was discovered that the multiple canisters of dip were actually repositories for fecal matter.  I felt awful for the officer who had to make that discovery.  She was able to shirk it off with a laugh and it was undeniably apparent to everyone just how mad this man was without his meds.

Soon afterward, we were called to visit a potential witness of the would-be ax murderer.  She was just about as crazy as the last person, who had been involuntarily admitted to the local mental institution.  Her home was beyond decrepit.  The front porch literally bowed under the weight of my buddy’s footsteps.  I had no idea wood could become so flexible from such excessive weathering.

A bug-eyed dog without any desire but to bark incessantly darted back and forth across the main window.  It appeared as if no one was home and a neighbor clued us in to the woman’s concern over the ax murderer, who was nowhere near their vicinity.  When she finally appeared from her other neighbor’s house and divulged her information, it was clear she hadn’t seen the man in question.  Apparently, these are typical occasions, lonely and irrational witnesses who wish to speak to an officer as long as they can.

When we finally extricated ourselves from the situation, we got another call to attend to an assault between students at a school for psychologically disturbed teenagers.  We embarked upon one of the saddest experiences I’ve ever witnessed in regards to how mental health is regarded in our country.  The school was in lockdown when we arrived and the teachers or taskmasters were milling about with a look of fear in their eyes.

Apparently, an older student was frustrated that a younger student was being disobedient.  The teachers were unable to get him under control so the student grabbed the resister, put him in a head lock and proceeded to take matters into his own hands.  Technically, it was assault.  If the parents wished to press charges, this student was to be hauled off to jail.  Without knowing his mental issues, I was outraged that a team of mental professionals were so inept that they created conflicts through their lack of ability and then used the city’s resources to address them.

The head of the school, the only one to question my presence, gave me the impression of the worst type of businessman.  He’s the kind that deserves an ax to the head, milking the system for whatever profit he can, using the city’s resources to circumvent his own responsibility and wasting a child’s chance at health and education through mismanagement.  I hated him the instant my eyes fell upon him and before I knew the back story behind it all, just based upon my intuition.

When we left, we started doing routine traffic checks, pulling over minor offenders until we came across a woman with an outstanding trespass warrant.  I didn’t realize such women existed in this world.  She could go from docile to insanely irate, yelling at the top of her lungs for brief outbursts of complaint.  It was like watching a caricature drawn from the Simpsons.  With hesitation and verbal assaults, she finally submitted to arrest and imprisonment.

The remainder of the day was fairly calm in comparison.  However, I’d been lucky to have seen so much in the course of one ride-along.  At least that was what I was told by my buddy.  If you hadn’t pieced it together, this is the one and same buddy who’ve I’d had the pleasure of other, more sexual adventures in the past with him and his partner.  It was interesting that it wasn’t until the end of the day that any sexual tension arose, but I’m not at liberty to divulge any details out of respect for his professional integrity and the fact that it was primarily just tension without any proper release.

I did receive release of another sort though.  For this is the same couple with whom I’d have entertained a throuple.  I never heard a response from that post and I’d figured it was out of the question.  I did learn though that they’d aligned with another couple to create a frouple of sorts.  I wouldn’t normally assign such a designation to two couples that fuck around on occasion, but there’s more than just sex there.  There’s a level of trust and intimacy I was jealous to discover, by accident of course.

But it was before that discovery that I questioned my buddy point blank.  I simply asked if it would ever be a possibility, the illusive throuple.  He assured me that it wouldn’t and I sighed in relief.  I knew it wasn’t but I had to hear it from him.  I just wanted that affirmation of closure, that yes, my fantasy was indeed crazy.

Though they might enjoy sexual encounters with me as well as a friendship, there’s no interest on their part in anything beyond it.  I wasn’t hurt in the least.  Not until I later found out that this couple had yielded an intimacy I didn’t think attainable to that other couple.  It was only then that I felt a pang of jealousy, remorse and insecurity.

If it happens to work out, I might be able to join in the frouple for a frolic, but there’s no way it’d become a pouple, if such a thing even exists.  Regardless, the entire day made me realize just how sane I am.  Despite being open to a fault and fearless of sharing intimate information, I’ve no desire for affirmation and no compulsion to write.  I choose it all of my own free will whereas these others seemed incapable of controlling themselves.  Crazy is as crazy does but being verbose isn’t a crime.

Granted, I don’t think that it’s constitutional to discharge qualified soldiers based on their sexual orientation, but I also don’t think it’s necessary for soldiers of a homosexual inclination to feel the need to declare their sexual proclivity.  The question truly becomes whether or not someone should hide it.  The answer lies in whether there might be benefit in doing so.  Surely, one shouldn’t have to do so, but let’s get real, bigotry exists and will not disappear simply because people start living in the open.  It will only vanish when it becomes a moot point.  Part of that genesis is rooted in preserving some sort of restraint over disclosing you sexual desires.  Bigots must recalibrate their attitude only when someone they love suddenly reveals a sexual bent they once despised and must choose between a cherished friend and an archaic perspective.

Furthermore, for each soldier, they must choose the experience they desire to have in the military.  Surely, clinging to your sexual identity as the most important will lead to a separatist attitude, seeking out others of your ilk.  Suddenly, your band of brothers becomes fragmented and you cordon yourself off from the highest camaraderie possible.  Does it really matter whether you praise a soldier for tapping some ass or some woman that anyone would recognize as a conquest?  I only ask the question, because I must determine how I’ll behave and to what degree I’ll align myself with my fellow soldiers.  However, I am lucky as an omnisexual.  I can truly relish in my brothers sexual pursuits at the same time I harbor divergent ones of my own.  Do I feel the need to commiserate on those?  Hell no.

I’m surprised that I’ve come to adopt this mentality.  I don’t think I would have a few years ago or without having traversed the sexual wastelands of a somewhat sober five months.  I used to believe in declaring my sexuality with a fervor that stilled into more appropriate moments of shock and dismay.  I can understand the shame of a hidden secret and the desire to be accepted wholly for who you are.  It fades though.  I am not concerned about what someone else believes about me or whether they might accept my sexual tastes.  To be honest, I’d rather hide it at times because it can be limiting for it to surface.  Being an omnisexual, I just rest on the other side of my sexuality and share whatever proclivity is appropriate.  I recognize how fortunate I am in being able to retain a shred of sincerity in all situations, but I wish I had chosen more wisely in the recent past.

I’ve been contemplating this dynamic for one reason and one reason alone, my friendship with my personal trainer.  I find myself enjoying his company much more with each occasion that we spend time with each other.  If I was foolish, I’d fall for him.  But I’ve gained some wisdom in the gap that is twelve years between us and realize that there is a drastic difference between feeling the warmth of friendship and burning with the passion of sexual embrace.  I’ve never felt the latter for him, but the dull ache of friendly adoration does burn brightly.  So instead of wishing to see him erect and on top of me, I find the desire to promote his interests, aid in securing his dreams and be a support in any way I can.  I imagine it might be what a father could feel for his son, though I do not look down upon him as such.

I see him as an equal, especially when his words have challenged me to face myself in new ways.  My last interaction with him begot another challenge and a great regret.  I wish he never knew of my sexual desires for men, or at least not from the outset.

We recently spent close to ten hours together, nonstop.  I was assisting him on an entrance essay and he was attending a dinner hosted by two of my best friends in Seattle.  They happen to have been a couple for over twenty years and are a great inspiration to me.  When we showed up at their house, I was greeted by a birthday celebration that obviously took some time and effort to put together.  As busy as they are, it warmed my heart to have them honor me as such.  With my buddy along for the ride, it turned into an incredible evening of great food, laughs and awesome stories.  Afterward, we went back to his apartment to hammer out the last details of the essay, staying up until the wee hours of the morning.

Whether it was because he was tired or because he was beginning to be more comfortable around me, a side of him came out that I didn’t expect.  He’s a total goof.  He was making me laugh like crazy.  I could have been tired too, but there was a problem with our banter.  It was decidedly sexual in nature, me being the aggressor and him being the defender of his sacred anal virginity.  However, it wasn’t that I wished to break him down and engage in sexual antics.  Quite the opposite, I desired the intimacy of friendly interaction and jibing each other with joke after joke.  Because he sees me as a homosexual more than an omnisexual and is certain in being straight, we’ve been handed a preordained arrangement.

Granted I played into the role as much as he did, but it was the rules of the game.  After having left him that night, I was crestfallen.  I hated that I had allowed that sort of banter to be the one to dominate the evening.  I had let it happen because I was afraid that sincere and friendly intimacy might be misconstrued for amorous intentions of a degree that simply does not exist.  There’s a sacred bond between men that I’ve known from both sides, as a “straight” man and as a “homosexual”.  I’d much rather engage in that “straight” dynamic.  I find it much more rewarding and intensely more intimate.  I have the unique opportunity to do as such because of my sexual orientation as an omnisexual.  I wish I’d done so with my personal trainer.  I think we’d be much better off as friends and there wouldn’t be that ever-present suspicion between us both of questioning whether he yearns to be more than just friends.

Porn is easy.  You can find most anything your sick little heart desires for free and download it to your personal library.  Trust, I have quite the impeccable collection.  There’s always new movies being pirated and new porn stars to peruse.  However, when it comes to actually crossing the ether into reality, there’s much less successful hit rates.

I know this and I’ve spent way too much of my life in the past online, lost in the promise of a kingdom-size come.  The problem is that once in a blue ball moon, you do meet up with someone from online and it does lead to satisfying sex.  Chances are that they are just as frustrated and horny as you are.  Whereas they might not give you a second gander at the bar, online they are much more willing to entertain you, especially if you have the right assets.

One of the hottest lays I’ve ever had took some convincing, but eventually was at my door.  He turned into a semi-regular fuck buddy that still drives me wild just thinking about him.  It was one of those rare gold rushes.  And just like the purveyors of the wild west panning for precious metal, there are more hours spent with your neck craned over the reflective surface, prying for that minuscule glimmer of gold amidst the rock and worthless rubble than spent with your hands polishing a worthy stone.

I definitely had a problem before I began this year.  I could spend hours before the screen, searching for something good.  I’d multi-task my search for boys while perusing the latest porn updates, priming the pump in case it was called into action.  Often, it led nowhere but to a mammoth waste of time.  So many profiles were fakes or flakes and few had the motivation to actually connect.  Since I’ve been back on the scene, I’ve spent a little time at old habits.

However, it’s not the same as it used to be.  I’ve not returned to any of the sites I once rummaged through.  I’ve stuck to just one, a new one that allows me to look without having an account or online presence.  It fits into my approach to meeting men in the real world, letting me look without getting sucked into the vortex of illusory promise.  Sure I could create a profile and see what happens.  I might actually, but I’m in no rush and my intent is merely to see what’s going on.

It really isn’t much to be honest.  There’s only been three boys that are worth even a mention.  The first one is someone I’ve seen at the gym lately.  He keeps staring me down and he resembled a guy on this site, dudesnude.com.  The next time I saw him, I was careful to take note of any identifying marks, i.e. tattoos.  Lo and behold, there was one that would surely show in his profile.  When I went back to verify, it was there.  This man was the one and the same and so were the nude and erect photos and video clips of much more.

The second man is actually someone I’ve messed around with before.  Whenever we’re both on IM, we exchange a word or two.  He’s eager to reconnect.  What he doesn’t know is that it’ll never happen.  He has a boyfriend and it’s only sex to him.  I’m not interested in the least.  However, that doesn’t mean I don’t get a kick out of riling him up.  It’s one of the few times where I take the distance provided by the internet and use it to my advantage.

Finally, the last man, who I’ve lusted after for years, suddenly popped up in my perusal.  I’ve run into him on site after site, with the same pictures and profile name.  It’s one of the few profile names etched into my mind.  I wonder if we ever met in person if I might accidentally call him by it.  Anyway, he was online the other night and I had to reach out and touch him.  I sent him an email, expecting no response.

However, to my surprise, he did respond.  I knew he had a boyfriend and lived farther away than was plausible for an impromptu meeting, but I couldn’t resist.  When I sent him a picture of my newly chiseled body from the camera on my phone, he responded in favor of taking the next step.  We texted back and forth, getting each other riled up to the brink of disaster.  However, there was no way for us to meet and we were both crestfallen.

From his email response, I had his full name.  Some boys just aren’t as savvy when it comes to being an internet super sleuth or discreet super slut.  It was all I needed to learn a bit more about him than I already knew.  Facebook was the ultimate tool.  In seconds, I had a whole slew of photographs and personal information on him.  One piece was surely sad though.  That night was his birthday evening.  I couldn’t believe it.

Even though he has a boyfriend, he’s spending his birthday online, searching for sexual connections.  When it was apparent that we weren’t able to hook up, he went off to bed.  I just imagine him lying there, pining away for something more as he lay next to a boyfriend that obviously didn’t do enough to entertain him on his birthday.  Surely, my overactive imagination is at work, but it still made me feel a tinge of pity for him.

So the next day I sent him a picture he had requested and I had denied.  He seemed to enjoy it, actually, more than I expected.  Our innocent texting had turned into hardcore sexting and I was happy to entertain it.  I just wanted it to turn into the real thing.  We had to leave it at a promised rendez-vous when I return.  We’ll see if he remembers me.  I surely won’t forget him, but yet again, these internet connections are fleeting and yield so little fruit.

Actually, one of them is a friend who’s been reading this blog for quite some time.  It just so happens that he’s even better friends with the man I met last Saturday.  Apparently, his prying eyes were rolling when he read the account of that night and it wasn’t drug-induced.  Seeing that there’s more to tell, who knows what his response might be.  The awareness of his focal purveyance definitely has my mind on the heftier side of editing my words.

The second set of eyes is none other than that Italian stallion himself.  It may sound trite, but he’s pretty much a stud in every bestial sense of the word.  He also has this way of looking that would set any heart aflutter.  I noticed it while we were having a late lunch.  He was trying to navigate back to our table through a crowd.

His head was slightly downturned, his movements fluid and suave, yes suave, his eyes slightly tilted up, looking sheepishly as he made his way through.  It’d make any women wet.  There was something about the way in which he sauntered back, like a raging stallion held back only by the social graces beaten into him, his wild spirit flashing beneath the surface.

It’s pretty damn sexy, and now he knows my thoughts on it, as he surely could be reading this now.  Part of me would rather not admit it, as who would ever dare say such a thing to his face?  It’d create an awkward air, wouldn’t it?  However, am I one to edit myself?  Obviously not.

I cannot resist to reveal the romantic observations I make, the sensations I experience, the life I live as I see it.   Could it have negative impacts upon how I actually relate and engage those around me in daily life?  Absolutely.  But there’s a certain sense of detachment from it all.  I’m not as invested in anyone as much as I am in communicating these images through my craft.

Some would call it courage, but it comes down to simply not giving a flying fuck.  Anyone who can’t handle a bit of self-reflection surely wouldn’t want to be around me to begin with.  Imagine how much more I speak about such matters, let alone announce them to the world.  I just don’t have any shame about the life I’ve led nor the one I’m choosing to lead into the future.  I love myself without question, so it’s easy to share even the most embarrassing moments.  I am who I am.  Why hide it?

Part of who I am is someone who appreciates the company of a gorgeous man, who not only has the physicality to offer but the mind and maybe even heart to go along with it.  I’m beginning to wonder what lies beneath the surface.  I’m starting to question whether his cool demeanor is more of a mask.  I’ve had glimpses of something more, something deeper, a reserve and wealth of emotion that wouldn’t be shared quite so freely.

Anyone that knows me also knows that I am a sucker for such men.  I love winning their trust, their confidence, being one of the few out there to whom they can open up as they truly are without reserve.  I love being able to speak love to those sort of men, to encourage them with unconditional favor.  It’s a sick fetish I know, but one that is fairly irresistible.  Hence my current conflict.

I’m a quick judge and I already know that this man, despite some of the challenges I know he faces, is the kind of man I recognize as one I’d like to keep around.  However, in light of yesterday, I know it’s an unhealthy trait of mine, that I’m latching on to an idealistic apparition that simply doesn’t exist.  I have to take a deep breath and focus on the present.

The problem is that I’ve enjoyed the present so much that I cringe to be leaving for 10 weeks.  I will change in that time as will he.  We might both become even more buff and ripped, but it’s on the inside that matters most.  He’ll probably have moved through at least two or three guys in that time frame, not because he’s a whore, but because he’s that attractive.  He’s already turned down someone I’d lose a testicle to fuck around with.

The fact that he came up to me, apparently the second time he’s done so, yes I am giving myself major props, still confounds me.  If he still comes around after reading this post, I’ll still be confounded.  If he still finds me interesting after I’ve been gone for 10 weeks, I’ll be beyond confounded.  Then again, maybe I don’t see what he sees with his prying eyes.  Maybe he’s able to read between the lines to know that if I’m willing to air my inner life with such abandon, he’ll never have to worry that I’ll deceive him.

Brutal honesty is brutal honesty no matter which way you look at it.  To be honest, I don’t know this kid well enough to say anything of real substance or merit.  However, I do have my initial impressions.  Based off of those, I am feeling a bit of remorse about having to leave.  It even interrupted our time rolling around together, though he may not have noticed.  I was trying to connect to him beyond just the physical interaction, on the level of intimacy I prefer and it kept looming in my mind.

I kept returning to the notion that here I was, about to disappear, surely to be forgotten.  I kept trying to force it out of my mind.  I kept returning to it every time the kissing was so intense that I didn’t want it to ever end.  I kept trying to forget that I was leaving in a week.  I kept returning to the regret of having met someone I just wanted more time with, time that won’t be won, time that is not available to us.

Why is that time so important?  Because it’s only through the passage of time that one can understand if the passionate embraces will fade or grow.  Only over time can one realize if they actually enjoy this person or just the idea of them.  It’s with time that we can determine if the mirage is actually an oasis in an otherwise barren land or just yet another shimmering lie.  No matter how much our eyes may pry in the present, it’s only over time that we can truly see someone for who they are.

The same is true when we take to heart those moments of epiphany that strike us.  Yesterday, I commented on the pebble that was my interaction with my trainer.  In the pond of my psyche, the immediate ripple effect was documented there.  However, it took until late last night and this morning for the  stone to settle at the bottom of my soul, kicking back a cloud of confusion.  It was time for me to face the second ripple effect.

I hinted at some of the challenges that have faced me in yesterday’s post, but they can all be conglomerated into one aspect of my existence.  I’ve never had a secure social support network.  Surely, I’ve had many instances where friends have come to my aid in times of need.  I won’t ever forget or diminish the importance of those times.  However, I have to face a fear I haven’t wanted to face.  It’s been up to me.

I think when you come from a strong social support network, you don’t necessarily realize how much you rely on others for support.  Whether it’s simply seeking advice from a trusted parent or a little cash to carry you through a rough time or encouraging words to overcome your challenges, how many of us have had to live in the absence of such support.  It’s a frightening existence when it just isn’t there, especially when you feel weak.

It’d be one thing if I had been a strong motherfucker when I was growing up.  The truth is that I wasn’t at all, nowhere near it actually.  I fumbled through life as best as I could, but it wasn’t a fluid movement, but more of a herky jerky mess.  Whenever something did go wrong, it upset the very foundations of my existence.  I had no one to turn to then, so I turned to the only source I knew that wouldn’t abandon me, God.

Over the years, through religion and a community of friends, I found the strength to carry on.  However, I never saw it as an internal source of strength.  It was all external, ripples on the surface, sent into a frenzy of concentric circles by the compassionate embraces of those who loved me.  Who I am became an issue though, and my imagined world of support crumbled into dust.  I left God behind and turned toward sex.

However, the passionate embraces of others led me to no greater comfort even though I was accepting myself in a new way without judgment.  It wasn’t until I moved away to Seattle in search of more that the ripples from striking rock bottom bubbled to the surface.  I began to find happiness and security in my identity.  I was transforming from someone of weakness to someone of inner strength.

The problem though was that I’d been giving credit to all those who surrounded me.  I didn’t take it for myself.  I felt saved by my friends instead of seeing the reality behind the myth.  I was never weak to begin with, but always had an immense amount of strength.

It’s hard to look outside of yourself, or rather, to look beneath the surface with enough clarity to see the impact of who you are upon your life.  I never wanted to see myself as someone of strength because then all of my failures rested solely on my shoulders.  I couldn’t be a victim and reside in my assumed weakness.  It hadn’t been until this pursuit of a military career that I’d pushed myself hard enough to realize the store of inner strength waiting to be utilized.

When I began running twelve weeks ago, my immediate thoughts when its difficulty became apparent was, “I can’t.”  Now, it has transformed to, “I can.”  I never saw that I had a defeated attitude.  I was just as surprised when it transitioned to one of a champion.  I have succeeded in my physical goals.  I can take credit for that accomplishment.  It’s about time I did it for my spiritual and psychological successes as well.

This morning, I looked back on some of the times that I had to rest on the assistance of others.  Each time, I did so, it wasn’t because I didn’t think I could make it deep down.  No, each time, it was simply because I didn’t want to awaken that self-reliant beast that was slumbering within me.  However, now it needs to awaken.  I need that strength to carry me through the next ten weeks and beyond.  The acceptance of its presence and influence has drastically altered how I see myself and my social support network.

I realized this morning that I have been all the social support network that I need.  I’ve been the one to pick myself up off the ground and keep going.  I’ve been the one to peer deep into my psyche to learn as much as I can from every experience of life.  I’ve been the one to create my own illusions in order to carry me through, whether it was a deity or a denizen of friends.  I’ve been the author of my own survival and I need to realize who I have always turned to in times of distress, myself.

Yes, there’s a certain sense of detachment from others when you realize that you’ve been self-reliant all your life, especially when you tried so desperately to mask it.  There’s a certain lack of willingness to compromise your character, especially when you feel that others fail to accept you for who you are.  There’s a certain store of strength that will never abandon you, especially when you’ve been the only constant in a long life of upheaval.  It’s what some may mistake as a narcissistic bent, when it’s simply the ripple effects of having been raised the way in which you were, having survived the only way you knew how and having accepted who you are without shame.

Yes, it’s been a long road since the days when the hottest junior in high school sought me out for friendship, but somehow I’ve been transported back to that frame of mind.  The players have seemed to change, but unfortunately there are parts of me that are very much the same.  I’m just not used to the idea of being a desirable friend to total badasses.  It’s something I need to overcome before I become one, as a soldier of course.

If you hadn’t guessed yet, I’m talking about my trainer.  Even though he’s ten years my junior, I think of him as a complete and utter stud.  Not only is he built like a brickhouse, but he’s trained his body to become a specimen of the highest calibre, an ideal many never seek let alone achieve.  Furthermore, he’s got the smarts and personality and insight to round out a complete package.

But before that bullet is lodged in the chamber, I insist that there’s not the same sort of infatuation I had for my football star of former years, or his wrestling star younger brother for that matter.  Regardless, I feel the same emotions of mistrust.  It reveals a much darker part of my persona than I’d like to admit, which is why it’s imperative for me to address it without fear.  I never thought hot, straight men would ever desire to befriend me.

It couldn’t be further from the truth.  All my life, I’ve either opened myself up to those sorts of men or they’ve been interested in pursuing friendships with me.  Wait, wait, wait.  I’m going about this all wrong.  It’s why I need to examine this side of myself and figure it out.  Hot, straight men don’t pursue friendships with other guys.  They just happen.  Here’s where the major disconnect lies.

When it comes to relationships, I invest too much thought into them, especially in comparison to my straight buddies.  There’s a reason for that though.  It stems back to my school age days when I would walk into situations where I was the topic of conversation.  It wouldn’t be a nice conversation to walk in on.  Furthermore, I was ousted by my fraternity, by unanimous choice.  When it crumbled all around me, I learned from a trusted few that it was the second time such a plot had been attempted against me.

Without going into too much further detail, I’ve recoiled from such experiences with a general mistrust of others and their intent.  I assume that at most times there is some ulterior motive and that I’m unaware of it.  Henceforth, I’ve always questioned the desires of others and been adamant about surrounding myself with people interested in the long haul.  I’ve been lucky enough to have a small crowd of such friends, but they all materialized over time without a narrowing eye of suspect upon them.

Sometimes my insecurities get the best of me, as they did last night.  I was sitting across from my trainer, after having helped him with an entrance essay for school, and I couldn’t restrain the impulse.  I had to ask him.

“So how do you see me?”  Of course I meant it in the way of how we might proceed once the business of training and essay writing had come to a close.

He responded instantaneously without thought and a smirk flashing across his face, “As a dirty whore.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Yeah, well, it’s true.”

“Seriously, what do you want from me?  I mean I’m ten years older.  Isn’t that weird?   I know you’re not bi-curious or looking for anything in that sense, right?”  Maybe somewhere I hoped he might be wanting a foray to the pink side.  Silence that seemed eternal ensued.

“Awkward turtle.”  He made the hand gesture when I questioned what he meant.  Apparently, there’s a tutorial on YouTube about it.  It’s supposed to be used as a transition in awkward conversations.  I should know it as I have a knack for them.

“Sorry, I just need to hear that you don’t want . . .”  At this point, I dived into a long-winded explanation of where I was coming from, why I was asking such questions that wouldn’t normally be necessary to ask and what my intent in doing so was.

“Hey, don’t put so much thought into it.  I enjoy your company, that’s all.  We may hang out for now or a while or who knows, but I don’t think about it that much.  Why feel the need to define it?  I guess I just don’t feel the need to establish a definition for people in my life.  They’re random.”  Ouch.  Being schooled by someone ten years younger hasn’t happened to me before.

He was right though.  My own philosophy was being spouted right back at me.  I knew what he meant to say, that being prematurely attached to people isn’t natural.  People can come and go, for a brief period or for the long haul.  They’ll be that way whether you label them as such or not.  When I reflect upon those of my friends who have been around the longest, it was never necessarily agreed upon.  It just happened.

However, coming from a family where I wasn’t assured of support or loving words or financial assistance for that matter, I grew to find my social network through other means.  The drawback was that they were always less stable, less certain and liable to disappear without a trace.  Another repercussion was that those who had families of strength couldn’t understand why I was latching on so dearly to a friendship.

It’s friendships that have helped me survive and to friends whom I owe my greatest loyalty.  Imagine not having a family you can turn to and you might get a better idea of what it means to be a vast segment of us out there with less fortunate backgrounds.  However, I can’t let my past handicap me going forward.  I can’t keep seeking to fence in those I want to be around for the long-term.  No one wants to be fenced in, not even me.

I ran into him like most every time, from a distance, a crackle of recognition as we draw nigh.  Surely my heartbeat races a bit at the sight of his bulky frame.  Surely a bead of sweat bubbles upon my neck as I watch his cool swagger approach me.  Surely an instantaneous smirk flashes across my face as I draw close to those luscious lips.  As always, I was off to meet another friend.  Within the few minutes we did exchange words, his were full of heartache and family woes.

My heart sank as I embraced him, a genuine desire to ease his pain and bring some sort of comfort to him.  The embrace lasted a bit longer though and I began to noticeably swell in response.  Both responses came without thought, automatic and immediate.  It must have been a bit odd, the mixture of sweet and sultry within seconds of each other.  He seemed to accept and embrace them both though in some sort of appreciation.

There was an awkward pause.  Interest in seeing each other was exchanged.  We parted.  He was high.  I with a sigh.  I hate to hear bad news about those I care about.  It was obvious that I do care about him, though our relations are by no means on a firm foundation.  It’s random and seems to work out that way.

As I was headed home from an evening workout at the IMA, the UW gym slam-packed full of college boy hotties, I received a text from him.  He was at home and looking for some company.  I knew there might be some sexual context, but I couldn’t bring myself to share over text my current state of urethritis.  I also knew what news he had shared earlier and wanted to be by his side regardless.

Within 15 minutes, I was standing before him, smiling and embracing him, giving him a salutatory peck on the lips.  Within 30 minutes, we were engaging in much more passionate embraces.  Maybe that’s the secret to the ever-present attraction, the passion.  It’s always there, powerful, intense and forceful.  How could I resist?

However, when I revealed my sticky circumstance, he seemed a bit put off.  I could understand though, especially after our last engagement, after which I left him high and dry.  We discussed what could be possible without broaching the boundaries of ill effect and settled on mutual masturbation.  It was incredibly satisfying.

I don’t know if it had to do with the intimate information we’d shared earlier in the day or with the embraces or the general spirit of it all, but it was physically intimate in a very special way.  I’ve known him long enough with enough history that it was more than just a circle jerk for two.  It was much more.

The orgasmic convulsions were present to back it up through a physical manifestation, as well as the over-the-shoulder shot.  We continued to hang out in ascending states of nudity as it came to go our separate ways.  When I walked home, there wasn’t the slightest hint of shame or regret, but a smile of complete joy.

I’ve been noticing a drastic difference in the last three encounters I’ve had since I quit the commitments.  First off, the assertion of desire.  In each situation, my partners longed for more sexual activity to occur than I initially desired.  Granted, by the time I was in full swing, I too was wishing that we were doing more, but yet my mind had been firm on holding my ground.

Without realizing it, I’m still reserving anal sex for a more intimate exchange.  I haven’t given that to anyone, either way, since I began the year.  I’m in no rush to do so and I think there’s still a part of me reserving it for someone who earns it.  How?  I don’t know, but I’m holding out on that act for a while.

Second, I have been extremely more passionate and orgasmic.  In the past, I’ve been able to engage sexually without the need for partial release during the act.  However, ever since I’ve been back to the plate, I cannot keep myself from orgasm without ejaculation.  I need it.  It seems to be tied to each experience, demonstrating a fullness of connection I have longed to attain.

Finally, when I finish, it’s been more explosive and voluminous than ever before.  What’s stunning beyond the actual output is the consistency of its occurrence.  I’ve yet to have each and every time be of such intensity.  Partly, I attribute it to the heightened experience of physical intimacy I am successfully securing.  By seeking to explore another without a frenzy of sexual deviancy, I’m being rewarded by a depth I hadn’t known before.

All in all, it means that I do not regret any of the sexual encounters that I’ve had since I ended the sobriety.  For me, that’s a huge victory as a sex addict.  It’s when you regret having sex that you’re treading on thin ice and spiraling out of control.  These experiences have been tremendous in every way.

However, it’s essential to note that each one has not been sought by me.  Each one was initiated by my sexual partner.  Apparently, I need not worry because the sex will find me, especially when anyone could be a sexual companion.  For once, I’m feeling a certain sense of peace about sex and it’s availability to me.  I don’t feel the need to be a predator on the prowl.

It seems the revolutionary changes I’ve sought have solidified into a reality I never expected.  Now, it’s just a matter of whether I can stay grounded in what I know and what I want.  I am certain I can maintain such a state if I choose it.  The serenity of such an evolution is beyond compare.  Though others may believe I have failed, I consider this year a tremendous success well before it’s over.