When I was 23, I started to learn about my sexual side. The dating guy decided to follow the call of physical desire and to be honest, that was quite a year. I kept track on my sexual encounters and even took pride in seeing the body counts growing bigger than all of my friends’ combined. Some were bad, some were just for pity sake, but some were gorgeous. Some have gotten away, some stayed, some have become my friends and some don’t want to speak to me again. My bedroom, his bedroom, their bedrooms, the sauna, the dark valley, the office tables, on a bike, in a bush, the cinema, the back of the bar, the hostel’s locker room, the swimming pool, the beach, threeway, gangway, they’ve all turn places where I see the silhouette of certain people along with the accompanied adventures. There were days when I had a sex marathon with 3 different people back to back. Most of the time, they were mesmerized by how my cock was constantly in this hard mode even after cummig. It was a great feeling, knowing that you were wanted, desired and focused, knowing that you were in control, of your body and of the other’s too.
When I was 23, I fell deeper in the mini sitcom series I’d visualized for my daily routine. Every moment is a chance for me to drop a punch line or to turn into an embarrassment and then I waited for the laugh from the audience on my mind. Most of the time it did happen in reality and I felt happy about it. I don’t mind making a fool out of myself a bit to brighten up the day. But then, I started to realize that those were just the characters. Sometimes I was the air-headed one, saying silly things in a clueless manner, sometimes I put on the control freak, pushing myself to the verge of getting pissed since things didn’t go as planned. Some other times I was the man, the loving one, with big heart and wanted to put the guy under my shelter. As Richard said, I was the most sexually confident guy he’d ever met. But as Son said, I was still that guy who didn’t know how to fit in a new group of people. To Alan & Maxime, I wanted to be bigger to cover them all. But to Jorge, I just wanted to craw under his arms, play with his chest hair and slept. I don’t think they were all made up characters though, but the core of it is attention. They all demanded attention.
Attention is exactly what it is that drove the course in my 23. Even with just short term dating like Steven, DJ Man or Owen, I set it straight to them that I only wanted them for myself. I asked Johann not to mess with any of my friends behind my back (which eventually happened) even though I had no intention of pushing things further. It was selfish and unreasonable, I know, and it wouldn’t be comfortable if it was me in their shoes but I just couldn’t help it. My only excuse is that maybe deep down, I’m still that afraid of losing. So the strategy is to gain and keep collecting, in case one goes wrong, you still have another one.
When I was 23, despite the characters, I learnt a thing or two about my personal interest. I tended to romanticize every single memories, took interest in anything that appeared to be doomed from the very start, grow fonder to those with personality struggles or buried tragedy, listened to darker music, took a closer look at details in movies and in daily routine. I kept them, treasured them and turned them into the songs that I wrote, hoping one day they would be completed and see the light of day. I yearned for another Jorge or Ben just so I could feel the endless flow of strings being plucked out of my chest upon their departure, leaving me breathless and then finally inspired to transcend them all to my writing or photos. It’s destructive but also mesmerizing. Maybe it’s the invisible loop that Bathrobe and the law teacher tried to show me and dragged me out but I still lingered on.
When I was 23, I saw friendship as something even more fragile than ever. I tried to avoid AM so that her marriage wouldn’t trouble me, despite her call. I thought Milo & I could heal and become acquaintance but somehow things I did clearly offend him. Friendship is hard to keep, gay relationship is even harder. I had this idea of having a gay friend with whom you could share everything, from people you’ve shagged to night clubbing and party hopping. Gay travelling buddies were even better. And I thought I had one, in Bathrobe, in Damian and most of all, in Alan. But somewhere along the way, I managed to mess it up, lead both sides down the wrong direction and in the end, received nothing but resentment or the desire to shut me out for good. I took the blame for everything since I knew it was me, but never did I mean to hurt any of them. I thought I could understand where it came from and always tried to avoid another similar situation but clearly, it hasn’t worked so far. “Intoxicated,” that’s a word that hurt used to describe me by Bathrobe. And it always twisted in my chest how Alan said he chose not to care about about me anymore.
When I was 23, things shattered. Concepts regarding relationship that I had had before, even with the previous one, were somehow proven wrong. I preached about monogamy, about an ideal faithful partner, putting people around in uneasy exclusitivity and condemned those who failed in such tests, which all ended up in half baked romance. The saddest part is that I was the one to violate these principles that I’d erected to guard what I had from what I considered mundane and superficial. I lied and cheated. I gave in to temptation. I put the pain others had to bear aside to enjoy one more sexual adventure, one more point on my scoreboard which I thought had disappeared. And after that I came back, crawling to him asking for forgiveness with the excuse that it wasn’t mutual.
My plan today: a birthday blowjob?