Archive for December, 2010


i think it is fair to let some of it out when am out and i see a bigwoman all my body start moving my mouth get wet an juicely wishing to see her with out all that clothes on licking all over her sweet juice dropping in my mouth climing all up in her than i come back from day dreaming i am a good looking guy with long dreadlocks hair love to keep myself nice

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I have been so wanting sex lately and so disliking men. Their hard-on’s, their hard emotional edges, their rough skin. Last date I had the guy smelled icky and was so unaware of his body that he kept bumping into me and even stepped on my feet. Another one went on one date with me, told our friends he thought I was hot, and then acted like I didn’t exist next time we ran into each other. huh? Last guy I had sex with I had to have a big negotiation to get him to wear a condom every time we had sex. Lame. And scary. So I’ve been celibate for a bunch of months, with my sensuality and sexuality simmering under the surface.

A bunch of years ago I went out with friends bar-hopping and getting wasted on New Year’s Eve. Midway through, I started talking to some random woman and we were both wasted and giggling and laughing about girl things. My friend’s friend started hitting on me and I wasn’t into him so I moved from the bar to the restroom line to avoid him. The random woman came along too. We sat together on a bench and started casually making out. Sorry to be cliche but her lips and everything about her was so soft. It was so easy and effortless to start making out with her. I didn’t feel pressure to do more or even feel embarrassed or self-conscious. Just softness. Everywhere.

This year this holiday week I think I feel too fragile to have sex. I don’t know if I feel like having sex with a man. But I know I want to go out and get wasted and feel free and let my sensuality and sexuality out without feeling scared about it. This New Year’s, maybe I wanna kiss a girl again.

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My friend is adorable. She’s 10 years younger than me but probably a good decade wiser. She told me this awesome story about herself when she was a kid and her favorite thing to eat in the whole world was ravioli.

My friend would ask her mom every morning (every single one!) whether they were having ravioli for dinner that night. If her mom told her “yes” then my friend would be a crazy little wiggly beast all day at elementary school. One time her mom was picking her up after school on one of the ravioli days and the teacher reported that my friend’s behavior had been kind of crazy and wound up all day in class. Her mom replied “Oh yeah, it’s because we’re having ravioli for dinner tonight.”

Sometimes I’m like that when I meet a guy. It’s kinda rare that I’m attracted to a man and then even more rare if that same guy likes me back. It only happens every year or two. And I get totally nuts excited. I am wiggly and distracted at work. And want to see them and talk to them and have sex with them all the time. And tell them everything and share everything with them. Sometimes I’m really wrong to do this.

So let me say this to you now: “I’m sorry I ravioli-ed you. And I’m sorry if it scared you away.” And let me say this to myself, I can’t wait to meet a man who wants nothing more than to be ravioli-ed by me. And that man is ready to ravioli me right back.

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Remember in high school when you got up the guts to go talk to someone you thought was cool but made you nervous? Then you went over to them and smiled and asked them questions and they wouldn’t even make eye contact? They answered your questions with monosyllabic responses and let you know with everything about the way they stood there that they didn’t want to be talking to you? That’s how you made me feel the other night.

My knees were shaking a little bit because I thought you were cool and I was attracted to you but you hadn’t texted or called me back. But we have mutual friends I care about a lot and that introduced us and I wanted to take the high road and be friendly. You were such a cold dick! You stared straight ahead and wouldn’t even make eye contact! What the fuck is wrong with you? You told our friends how beautiful and hot you thought I was. Then you ignored my invitation to go to the movies and acted like a total prick when we saw each other again.

It’s too bad. I thought you were interesting and handsome and a gentleman and your smile is killer. You’re fiery and opinionated like me-we would’ve fought, but maybe in a hot, awesome way. I would never have been able to run over you like I can with other pussy boys. You’re a soccer player and you’re built like a rock-I would’ve liked to see what you look like under your clothes, past your bullshit and the chip on your shoulder. But you’re too much of a frigid bitch for any of that.

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Could you love me? I am turning 39 in 3 months. I am still hot and youthful. I still dance and laugh and crawl around on the floor to play with kids and have sex with lovers and clean up. Could you love me? I am still learning new things. Like how to ride a motorcycle or spin fire or speak another language. I have come through the rage and pain to have compassion for my mom and develop a friendship with her.

Could you love me? I have grey pubes and I’m probably not fertile anymore. My knees hurt sometimes. The skin on my hands and feet is always dry. I have to get my hair dyed every two months because I am going grey so fast. And I nap. A lot. None of that really matters though. And if it matters to you, I don’t want you anyway.

What makes me old is this- I have hardly any hope or tolerance. I was open to dating a young, poor man until he started doing drugs and fucked me over. I was open to dating a guy with three kids and a bitchy ex-wife, until he dumped me. I was open to being friends with my girlfriend’s husband until he hit on me. I was open to dating a man shorter and uglier than me, until his insecurity made him mean and insulting. The more critical question: Could I love you? Can I love any man anymore.

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i’m not even sure how to begin. i guess i should first say that i love you. or, to clarify, that i am in love with you. i suppose it’s obvious to everyone else. i hope it’s not. i hope i have been hiding it well. from everyone else, and from you too. but probably not. if i admitted it, i doubt many people would be surprised. maybe you would be, though. one of the reasons i never want to tell you is that i don’t want to give you the satisfaction. you can be a little arrogant, sometimes.

the past few months have just been an extended series of goodbyes. maybe that’s what has made me realize how i feel about you. i hate always saying goodbye. it feels like i’m always saying goodbye. this last time when you left, i cried the whole way home from the airport.

i don’t think you feel the same way, and i’m not sure you ever could, and it makes me miserable. this misery feeling is something new. i am a mess. all i can think about is how much i miss you, how i wish you were here, how i know you don’t feel the same, and how you are off living your life and dating other beautiful girls whom i already hate on principle. it all just makes me feel so sad. heartbroken. like i want to cry all the time. it’s awful. it’s uncomfortable. and i can’t admit to anyone that i feel this way so i am carrying it around with me everywhere and it is getting fucking heavy and i want to explode.

i want your forever. i want to spend the rest of my life with you there every day and in my bed every night. i want you to be the father of my children. i want them to have your genes. even the bad stuff. because, on you, the bad stuff doesn’t seem so bad. jesus christ, i would change my last name if i married you, and i never saw myself doing that. that’s how much i love you. i want to be a family with you. forever. and oh my god, how fun would our wedding be?

from here, i have no idea where to go. i guess i should make an effort to date so i can move on with my life. i just don’t know how that can be possible when i know that you are the best person ever. remember that sunday morning? we were lying in the bed at our friend’s house. we were hungover as shit and i had my arm around you and you were nestled into my side and you made me laugh so hard the sound bounced off the bay windows and i was worried i was going to wake someone up. i was overtired and had a headache and was pretty sure i was going to throw up and i felt great. i was with you, and i felt great. i used to have a mental list of some of my best days ever. just that one moment with you blows them all out of the water.

so yeah, i love you. i am in love with you. i feel pretty certain that i always will be, and that this love will also certainly always be fucking unrequited. how poetic for me. but if you change your mind, if you realize you want to be more than best friends, i promise you that i will drop whatever i am doing to be with you. i will walk away from a job, a relationship, my family… i will start all over, i will give up everything, i will take nothing with me if it means i get to be with you, to see you, to touch you, to hold you, to love you every day. forever.

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We met at a time when I was determined to date and fuck around and have fun without anyone getting attached. You were an exciting prospect because you already had a girlfriend, so there was no risk for any of that gross feelings business.


I distinctly remember walking up to you sitting at the bar, and putting my hand on your back. It’s rare that I have such a natural inclination to touch someone upon meeting them. There was some kind of magnetism, the kind that you make a lot out of in hindsight. But I swear it was really there. There were funny things that made me like you right away. The way you meticulously folded the foil around your leftovers at brunch the next day, for instance.

Many months later, after we had dated and broken up and I had moved across the country, I didn’t know how I was going to feel when I saw you again. Having spent the previous night with you, I still didn’t know how I felt, except that I still really enjoyed being around you. But I was also feeling guarded and weird and prepared for you to disappear back to your coast. We’d been talking on the subway about what I look for in a partner. I think I included things like, “He has to make me laugh and call me on my shit.” We walked up the stairs from the train, probably laughing, and when we got to the street you said, “I have to tell you something.” I felt a knot of dread in my stomach; in my experience, this phrase usually precedes something bad. But you said,

“I love you.”

All I could think to say was an astonished, “Really?” But of course, of course I said it back. You are totally the person I was describing on the subway, even if I didn’t realize it then. You make me laugh, you call me on my shit. You’re this amazing combination of romantic and rational that I never thought existed in real life. You’re my favorite person to cook and travel and dance and sing with. You put me in a good mood when I wake up next to you, even though I’m not a morning person at all. You’re my cheerleader, you’re my partner in crime. Happy birthday to a wonderful man. I’m so fucking glad you were born.

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