queen street station

so i've been in toronto for just over a month now. still looking for work, still broke but mysteriously not at all freaking out. when i had tons of money to burn i was flipping out about something or just being an anxious mess... sure i need to churn something up for work soon, but even then i'm not freaking out. it'll happen.

more importantly, i'm not freaking out about the move. friends, those who, er, shall we say enjoy schadenfreude a bit too much... haven't been especially cool about it. i don't get questions on if i'm happy or not. only "you must hate it" or my favourite, "so do you regret it?" come on, shitheads. i revel in the misery of others too, but not overtly. i pull the George Castanza and firmly believe that i don't do that shit to people's faces. so, still sniveling, but a classy one? ok i got nothing. still, the fact remains that some people are nibbling on their nails waiting for this whole thing to fall flat. NOT EVERYONE! if you're pouting i don't mean you. jesus. go see what's on tv and get a life instead of dwelling on this.

ANYWHO, so yeah. i have some mopey chums waiting for this whole thing to die a slow death. and you know what? it might! or i might really enjoy myself here and never leave. or stay for 10 years, snap and move to the middle of nowhere. i have options. and that's the point. i'll take things as it comes.

and i can chalk it up to jealousy, but why?! who the fuck would be envious of me being a total r-tard quitting my cushy & shingles-inducing job and moving to a totally new city? who knows. i keep my distance and i think i'll work really hard to stay out of waterloo for a while so avoid feeling like i should have opted for something safe and comfy.

my moment of the day came after a haircut. i freaked 3 weeks ago and got my mane chopped at a hairdressing school. and while it was classified as "adequate" for the first week, it soon turned into "fucking ugly uneven picket fence i'm going to wear a beanie forever to hide it". not good. i lined up a job interview for next week and let's be honest, i'm not batting at a high average here look-wise so i pony up with nice hair and totally bukkake the interviewer with my wit & poise. not even being stuck up, i do well in interviews.

whatever.

so i put the feelers out for a good hairstylist and my neighbour/my roommate's ex boyfriend's roommate's boyfriend [yeah you just try to keep up] was suggested. he lovingly took my hair from horror show to something very stylish and sleek. tho i noted that my grey hair has gone from a smattering to supernova rapid growth. sigh. after getting that done i had to take the subway home from Queen street. i... had to ask someone where the station was. SHUT UP! he was tickled that i was polite and didn't ask him for change so it was a good stranger interaction. on the subway, after checking my blackberry 10 times that i was on the right platform, i hopped on and put on a stony face while standing. looking at myself in the window as the stations zipped by i got to indulge in my latent vanity checking out my new hurrrr... and then it hit me.

"you're in toronto. you LIVE in toronto. full time. this isn't just a weekend trip. you live here, bitch."

wow! ton of bricks. like, i've been happy but i don't think it clicked up until that moment. i wound up grinning and scaring the shit out of two chicks in front of me... but hey, it was a good thing. i waived to them when they got off at the next stop.

so i'm making friends all over the city.

fun stuff!

to be continued.

tandem handy

brad came in struggling with bags of groceries. i didn't bother getting up and interfering. more specifically, i didn't really have any desire to get up.
"hey guess who i saw out with Darren?"
huffing and struggling he grunted as he opted to slug it all to the floor.
"i.... ah... ah... i don't give a shit."
"fine then." i went back to doodling with a fountain pen. after some obligatory sorting and moving i could tell brad's ability to hold back was failing.
"well go on then, who was Ken Doll with?"
"who? oh.... oh no matter. it's just gossip. i should bite my tongue."
"don't be a coy cunt. who?"
gnawing on my bottom lip i became transfixed trying to make evenly spaced cross hatching lines. i always fuck up after the 20th swipe and it looks like garbage.
"nathan! who!"
"can you grab me a glass of water?"
"don't drag this out."
"don't make me drag it out. we play this little game and you like it. let the tap run a bit!!"
didn't sound like he spent a lot of time picking a glass out. i hate that. think!
"here! here. confess!"
gulping down a few mouthfuls i gasped. i was always on the verge of dehydrated....
"ahhh... Josh."
"THAT LAZY EYED FUCK?!"
"wasn't that the one who always swallowed?"
"yeah... like, i think he liked it more than fucking."
"hey, no judgement here man. we all gotta get off right?"
"look, no! don't change the subject. why the fuck would Darren go out with him? they're both such dedicated bottoms..."
"maybe they just waive their asses in the air like cats and kinda clap assholes together?"
"wuh...wah... no. oh man. i dunno what they do."
"you look perplexed. is it insane to think of them together? maybe they spoon like little puppies and tweeze their eyebrows in tandem?"
"see, shit like that. that's why people think you're homophobic. or at least self-loathinng."
"ohhhhhhh don't bring that up again. humor at the expense of others transcends gender and sexual orientation. everyone's up for grabs. just so happens i love mocking bummers."
"you're a bummer."
"i know. see, it's like this cycle. i, the hero...."
"NO. no we're not doing that Northrup Frye shit again. you lured me in once and that was QUITE enough."
"you GOTTA read the books! you're a fucking english student! it's your civil duty...."
"did you talk to them?"
"what? who? the boys? yeah i sat and had a beer with them. i got a tag team handie under the table."
moment trying to read me...
"ha ha. very funny."
"so quick to think that i'm bullshitting are we? so outrageous to think i'd get a double handy from two twinks, eh?"
"patience... running out... blood sugar so low... must... kill... old fag."
"go make a sandwich or something. you're useless to me unless you can focus. make me something too if you're up.?

CL ad... and yes, this is real

"don't be hating on me because i'm getting all the love from this ad."
he was horrified. sticking a bloody turd in his ear would have garnered less of a reaction.
"oh PLEASE i am not going to get jealous over you on craigslist."
i leaned back on the couch and popped some air out of my spine.
"no no, i know it's tough to swallow my creamy load of creativity sometimes. especially since you know i wrote a better one than you did."
he pushed his newly purchased glassed up his nose and sniffed. "i don't HAVE a craigslist post."
"liar. liar and charlatan."
"i don't need to rely on seedy websites to get laid."
"oohhhhhh SURE stick the knife in. wah wah, i can't get a guy to suck my dick at the bar, instead we just text for a half hour and decide who's hosting. you're so accurate. my way is just deplorable."
"sometimes i think you perceive me as a total slut!"
"quacks like a duck... makes the younger duck swallow on the first date... looks like a duck..."
he pinched his lips a little and tapped on his tea mug. we were both feeling irritated and awkward talking without any wine. we still drank behind each others backs, just nothing overt. i'll tell you, the amount of mouthwash we gargle with is staggering. i imagine it smells like rubbing alcohol and fermented grapes that fell behind a radiator all the time. but the point is we were being responsible liars.
"i don't think you're a slut. slut is a state of mind, you know? just that you get tail when you want it, i have to do a little bit of leg work."
Blip. my phone went off again. another email.
since i posted my craigslist ad i had received at least 4 to 7 emails a day responding. i had confessed to brad and i knew the brat had done an ad for himself with little response thus far. stellar.
getting older and also not getting laid for a long time had lead me to getting irritatingly horny. it was almost chemical at this point. i was like a grumpy terrier growling and giving the shank eye all the time. i jerked off 4 times a day, which is a huge increase since i can go 2 to 3 days without needing it. i will always be a camel with orgasms. i don't shrivel and die if i don't get laid... fuck, if that was the case i would have perished a long time ago.
still, i do have my limits. thusly we come to me at this stage in my life. i get hard using the toaster. i burned through all my good spank lube that usually lasts me months in 4 weeks. i was irritated with porn because it was never hard or nasty enough and found myself in the ennui of smut apathy. i had been getting a ton of coffee dates with Nice Boys who all wanted to get to know me before we got fucking. nice.
my wank sessions had been out of control. short of inviting a midget, it was a free for all in my brain. i had been burning for a guy to bottom for me but i had also been thinking about women. a lot. i've fooled around with a chick before but it was so boring it made me want to just call it off and go cum in the bathroom by myself. but these days i was so hot to trot i couldn't stop thinking about chicks either.
i had taken the time to craft something that would catch people's eyes. i didn't want to get the usual menagerie of swingers and sex addicts....
m/wm - 30 - downtown
queer guy who's curious about having a nite in with a couple. not
looking for swingers per se, but curious to know if there's any
nerdy/cute hipsters pref. on the chubby side. this is because i'm
chubby so if that's not yer cup of tea, no worries!
i'd like to fool around with a couple and really enjoy that dynamic of
having fun. NSA, laid back and willing to meet up first.
one little ad, so many replies. it was nuts. sure there were a ton of skeevy jerks but astoundingly, there were amazing people who wrote back. you just got the impression that the post snared a lot of people who wouldn't normally go trolling around for a threesome. the pictures ranged from adequate to luscious. some just wanted dirty email exchanges... a couple did call me to make plans to meet up. nothing had progressed yet, but i had an inbox full of potential meet ups and some luscious pic exchanges. shit, even if they were fakes it was thrilling enough to fantasize about.
i was bursting with thoughts and asking about if i was more likely to be murdered & raped [yes i'm aware of the order i put that in] in a hotel room or if i should meet up at a house after a bar meet & greet. Brad seemed bemused thinking that i wouldn't get too far but turned horrified when i was actually taking my pick and discussing the finer points of what i wanted to experience.
i didn't have the heart to tell him i was pretty sure i had been emailing his older brother & his bi girlfriend for the better part of 3 days. like, it might be him? maybe? no need to worry until i get a last name. which, amazingly, life on the internet dictates i get a cock picture THEN a last name.

one month out of a bag - click images for better resolution pics

so... for those not in the know, i've been a smidgen homeless this month. i was trying to get a new place for September but that totally fell through trying to compete with students. i took the plunge and couch surfed for September and i'm no worse for wear.

i had no idea just how homeless i was going to be. i didn't know if i would literally be on my own bouncing to multiple places or if i'd be lucky enough to stay put.

the latter was the case. for 2.5 weeks i looked after my friends 1 bedroom while he was in Europe. from there i've been able to stay with another friend. 85% of the week he's staying with his girlfriend so i have the place to myself and access to laundry.

before i moved i ordered the largest duffle from MEC. it could fit 2 twinkies or one tall guy if you chopped the legs and arms off to pack in around the head & torso. this won't seem morbid if you've ever gone purse shopping with me. i literally ask the sales staff how many adult male heads can fit in it. nothing to do with man hating, just to make it clear i'm looking for a larger circumference of a head. plus i freaking hate someone hovering over me buying a purse [i buy 2 a year and it's a big fucking deal when i get one] so it's startling enough to gain some space.

well, back to the story at hand.

i'm too much of a fucking princess to actually live lean. like i had these big visions of having a toothbrush, a pair of boxers, panties & 2 pairs of socks. then a pair of jeans and 1 tshirt. naturally, this was utterly retarded for me to think of since i'm a closeted princess. more like a prince. in that faggy kind of way. nothing to do with girlish endeavours, purely panic over not having all my shit within arms reach.

now i'm really fucked to try and cart this shit TO toronto... i'll have to come up with something.

anywho, i realized the spinal cord twisting monstrostity of a duffle bag was totally a waste. i only wore a handful of outfits over and over again. i decided to take on a little project as a strict reminder that i can live off of FAR FAR less if i need to couch surf again. the only thing not taken pics are the 2 pairs of jeans, one pair of black capris and my 3/4 length board shorts that i wore. add boxers, boxer briefs and some y-fronts [as dave chappelle would say, i "wear underwear wit dick holes in 'em] for gitches.

now, this would just be a small endeavor, but i JUST so happen to be staying with a friend who has a sewing dummy in his living room. he found it at the curb to be trashed!! jesus, i think these things are expensive. it doesn't adjust like new but it's surprisingly cool. i couldn't pass up an excuse to use it.

i KNOW i have the same outfits just in different colours... but that's the point. i love them so much they never make it more than 3 days without me caving and wearing them. tho i seem to consistently wear them around animals and getting them furred to oblivion after one day of wear.

here we go... all i really needed to pack to wear while everything was in storage.


American Apparel - The Summer Shirt: i worship these. this is the sluttiest style i have in shirts and they require me to skip my usual sports bra in lieu of a push up. i have them in multiple colours. i am a loser.


American Apparel - Unisex Tri-Blend Cardigan
i wash these like tshirts, incredibly rough on them and i have it in 3 colours. again, i can't justify it, but they look nice, feel nice and they can stand up to me washing them every goddamn week,


American Apparel - The Track Shirt - again, this shirt, multiple colours. they're so soft. they feel like the old shirts my dad gave me from the 70's/early 80's. that uber worn cotton feel but not transparent. they look good on my boxy/thick torso and hang juuuuuuuuust right.


Elements - Reversible hoodie with thumb holes, double lined. this is a hoodie i don't stray from for very long. the kid at the store sold it to me wearing it saying, "man, it's like business on the one side, party town on the inside! admittedly i don't really wear the loud pattern on the outside often, but it looks great poking out. the hood is a perfect cut for my pumpkin head and anything with thumb holes makes me happy.


Joe Clothing - Loblaws clothing section... $19 and again, wash it like a tshirt/really tough on it. this is my fall back thin sweater choice. fits me nicely and i will wear it for business formal over a collared shirt but most likely with jeans. not much else to say other than it was stupid cheap and from a grocery store.


Kukuxumusu - tshirt store from Spain. my friend brought this back from Barcelona for me. beyond the cute design, this one fits me perfect. i do pick and choose when i wear it due to the stoned sheepie, but it's a default "hey i don't mind advertising i'm a massive pothead who enjoys humourous comics."


http://www.kukuxumusu.com/shop/ highly recommend checking them out! i have other shirts and they're all super well made & obnoxious. check and check!


Ashbury tshirt. this was a rando find in a skateboard shop. because i'm always 16 and shop in stores for teenage boys. the line is a cool psychadelic vibe compaired to the usual urban and earthy imagery used in a lot of skate stuff. i have another in red of a mod dude in a cowboy hat pointing a gun. you are a better person for knowing this.


any time i do laundry i have about 15 1 inch pins to take off... this one was made by my friend. hairless twink ass with sparkly pink speedos. sometimes people see it from a distance and ask if it's a chick. if you know me really well, you'll know that odds are always it's gay boy shit.


this is not a test. this is the same damn caridgan and the Track Shirt from American Apparel. the tshirt is my absolute fave of the moment. i usually shirk away from red tones because i'm so Scottish and red-faced all the fucking time, but this one works. this is a newer colour in the cardigans... and... you guessed it. love it.


i will blow your mind... American Apparel Acid Wash Flex Fleece Hoodie. i can understand that this straddles ugly and questionable. when i picked it up off the sale rack it stunned me how super soft it is. and once i pulled it on, deal done. I would pay $19 for this, but not the $50 fucking dollars full price. i have no idea why i get stuck up about that but pay $50 for a cardigan... well, whatever.


American Apparel Track Shirt in black. i could buy 5 of these and wear them as an undershirt until the end of time. THE END OF TIME!!

that's it man. i could have just left them in a knap sack and i would have been fine. oh well, live, learn, realize you embarrassingly only wear the same outfit incarnation all the time.

god bless, Young Offenders Act

8 months on house arrest. i don't think that's too shabby. friends have served more than that and i'm assured i can do it standing on my head, but i do know how nuts they all wound up. and none of them made it much past six months without snapping.
oh yeah yeah yeah, i get it. i could be getting 4 fingers slammed up my twat getting called Sugar Cookie in jail. lock ups do scare me.

i haven't served any time since i was a teenager. and even then, that was juvie. which, let's not put that experience down, it was brutal. lilly white and meaty i wasn't appreciated by my fellow ladies on the native or black side of things. well, initially. my gift is my fat fucking mouth. i'll take the licks if someone jumps me. i'd rather talk my way out of it. annoying someone into leaving you be is an art. or they'd be so squirreled around that they wouldn't realize i had yapped my way out of a fight. naturally you need to keep a tally of those run ins. it's helpful math when trying to think about the odds of getting a tray smashed over you head at lunch.

god bless the Young Offenders Act. i mooched and screwed the system on the inside long and hard. slapped it on the ass and pulled its hair to milk it for all it was worth. no one knew how smart i was so i aped an epiphany of education to boost my appeal. it was the fucking Miracle Worker. my teacher was a loser with a teaching degree who couldn't cut it with kids. to be fair, i wasn't removing him from any students. my sisters in chains weren't really interested in more schooling so really, i was just making sure he didn't kill himself realizing his lack of usefulness. i looped this guy around and around my finger at a steady pace. it was pure joy to think in my bunk about how i could maintain the whole scene without being too stellar.

at night i chewed on my cuticles reading "under the volcano" and Henry Miller that i had never gotten around to checking out. i hid them and toted around "to kill a mockingbird" as my gee-golly-shit-i-can-done-learn book. don't get my wrong, i do like the book, just that i had read it in grade 2.

teacher-teacher was thrilled with my progress. i do feel that i was justifying his job with his fat Pygmalion dyke impressing with my learned skills. the head of the training and education bitch clocked me, but i held strong. she would try to trip me up dropping big words and theories on my head. just baiting me to come out and reveal my pantomime... always in character i didn't make it too overt. this shit all chalks up for a speedy release.

the fights i got into were minimal and the few times i laid a thrashing on some cunt we shook and made up before the guards could separate us. i'm willing to part with lunch for a few weeks to shut someone up. it was swill anyway so i didn't miss much.

i kept my head shaved and received many little looks and kisses from the white supremacist chicks and rednecks. pretty gross cunts but i guess everything looks good when you threaten someone into eating you out when you're on work detail. i hadn't been raped, but admittedly i wasn't entirely thrilled about the whole scenario. just not stupid enough to kick up a stink. there was no option for me getting some muscle to help out, just every broad for herself. my roommate was a hard as fuck native chick who hated my guts but i unrelentingly engaged her in stories and conversations until she told me to shut up. sadly i finally got a laugh with 4 weeks to go in my stint. i didn't derive enough pleasure from it to stay pen pals after i left, but still, a new fan is always appreciated.

packing up my cell, teacher-teacher came to say goodbye. he looked at my book pile lovingly mailed to me by my cousin who stole them from the library at home.

"these.... these are adventurous! i'm so glad you're setting the bar high!"

my roommate was napping/pouting and refused to roll over.

"teacher-teacher she calls you... but that girl could teach you. isn't that right, doc?"

"doc? heh, that your nickname?"

"YEAH man, we call her doc 'cause she smartest bitch on the block. could be a professor. teach you something, man. you so stupid."

i leaned on my bunk and smiled softly. "you should really read this one, my fave in here. went through it 4 times."

forking over a busted copy of "the brothers karamazov" he turned it over and looked up stunned.

"i was supposed to read this in second year... never got through it, just got the coles notes... guess i should read it."

"ya man, good stuff. thanks for the help. keeping book smart made sure i got my ass out on time. YOU SHOULD THINK ABOUT IT, LADY."

"ah shaddup. go home."

"i will... want me to write?"

"want me to knock your fucking teeth out before you go?"

teacher look scared and i just shrugged like it was some whacky sitcom dialog.

"i...well... hope to not see you here again."

"yeah me too... i'll do adult prisi if i fuck up again so juvie was just a lucky break. catch you on the flip side, man."

he looked dejected. did i ruin his faith in everyone? probably. was he going to kill himself at christmas? probably. but i'm not to blame, i'd just be one microscopic fuck up pain point. not the catalyst. in theory.

"i'm a lady" - santogold

Brad and i were having a dysfunctional sweat lodge. we had locked ourselves into the bathroom sans cellphones, booze, coke or that clutch of opium i had that never seemed to dissipate no matter how hard i tried to comsume it all. magical really, but i'm not here to present that phenomenon. no, tonight brad and i were locked int the bathroom only with joints. all natural paper. shit, the glue was probably made from sort of monkey spunk that was all organic.
admittedly, we had been... doing it up. often. as in too often. the boy couldn't even blame me any more. he was the one who seemed to come home more with the drugs. i acted stuck up and did them all before i came home to make it seem like i wasn't the dealer anymore.
we had been been well behaved otherwise. Brad was too fragile to poke into a fight. the publisher had told him to take a fucking jump off a cliff with his new book. like, 'give me my advance money back, bitch' kind of pissed. it was a seeming mystery since he had previously been a solid meal ticket with well-received books under his belt. i even did a little recon with my connections around town. word on the street was Brad concocted a steaming pile of shit and no one would back it.
had i read it? well, i told Brad i had. i read about every 15th page or so and made mental notes of descriptions to bring up in conversation about the novel. i actually like how he writes, so it's nothing to do with taste. they're hard hitting descriptions that bring the story to life. people like that shit... but i didn't have time to read 300 pages of his latest opus. i'd like to chalk it up to pure laziness, but no, i have to fess up to you and confirm that i was overwhelmingly jealous. i have a million stories in me but i can't get them out. ever. let alone select the appropriate verb tense. ever! so that issue did halt me from actually getting into his newest book. i'd make it about 3 paragraphs and then stare off into space pouting that *i* should be making this shit. i should be writing shit down. but therein lies the problem: i couldn't be bothered to try.
my madness aside, the 6 months that brad had been living with me were action packed. and i did love the kid to bits. but drugging and drinking and partying were catching up to him. my Australian Paw-Paw ointment was all but gone last time i checked from him skimming it around his hungover eyes. normally i would have a massive faggot attack over it because it was my fix-all for piles and singed assholes. what? it's true.
looking into the red tub i sighed. too much.
brad had been trapped in the apartment for close to 2 weeks with overwhelming agoraphobia. i had tried dragging him out the door on the weekend and his terrified screams were enough to drop him before we even made it to the door. he did nothing but sit out on the patio floor chain smoking or lie in his twinky nest on his bed swaddled in blankets. we've all been there. i can't point fingers. i spent the better part of 5 months of my life like that. a couple weeks won't kill him. the lure of getting more coffee since i refused to buy more beans [plan a] or me setting up some blind date requiring him to leave the building would get him out.
i wandered out with the empty tub and found his bedroom door open. he was burning coffee scented incense. my incense. jesus, man...
"kid, staff meeting. bathroom. now."
"no|!"
i was on a bit of a short fuse... i dashed into his room and grabbed his ankle to pull him out. hey presto! he had underwear on! better than the last time i tried this. that was embarrassing. well... for him.
"let's go, blondie. we're having a talk."
he moaned yet let me drag him by the ankles. i hauled his legs up and leaned him against the wall. he had to finangle to get comfortable again and actually sounded like he was crying and swearing.
"staff meeting. all present and accounted for. jesus kid, what's the deal?"
"my fucking BOOK! my fucking book.... months. this was it. this was the story i had in me... get it out... on my fucking mind." thud. his head bopped onto the floor. there was little to no memory of the last time that we had cleaned the floor. i'm very sure i mopped it after i barfed last month. yeah. yeah he's fine.
"kid, i know this is fucked up. you have the story, it's done. you can't change that the publisher has a dick up his ass about it. do what your agent said. you shelve the book and start another."
"i'm not a fucking wind up toy!!"
"sure you are. get some other drafts off your hard drive. offer them up to the publisher, see if you can get a delay on this whole business. show that you'll flesh something else out. something, you know, different"
"I can't. i can't write anything else."
"which leads me to agenda item number 2: our current stasis of partying. all the time. non stop. to the break of dawn. we keep that party goin' on...."
"I GET IT."
"get it? good! guess you want me to cancel that order for an 8 ball?"
"no! we're going out for a birthday party tomorrow... and... ugh. ok. ok point taken. and received. and acknowledged. i just... needed to go a little crazy."
"oh for sure. i get it. i really do. but i booked us in to see a therapist this monday."
"wait... us?"
"I told my friend we're a couple and we're getting a great rate. i figure we can get both our shit on the table and dealt with AND it's only half the cost!"
"you're serious?"
"No. dick. i'm not, but we're detoxing. effective today."
"i see weed doesn't count."
"you know, man.... you just can be a little pill sometimes, huh?"
"sensitive. fine. let's have this joint and discuss further."
"no further discussion. i'm lighting this and we're not drinking, coking, tripping or eating anything unhealthy for 2 weeks. i have some ativan for you to take, we order in a few loads of groceries and just get our shit on straight, ok?"
"you've done this before?"
"piece of cake. plus i have this little friend who'll bring us over shit to make smoothies."
"how lovely.... please just light that and let's get this thing going. i need a change of scenery."

coming closer

nothing beats pawing at someone warm watching mindless movies on the couch. nothing. not even getting down to fucky fuck time either, i'm just talking about that close quarters mob up playing with hair and attempting to find the perfect posture to be as close as possible.

i shifted one more time to get my delicious couch mate flush up against my front. snaking an arm over his solid chest i grappled for his right hand to knead in my fingers. he sounded like an over fed rotweiler in front of the fireplace, grumbling contently and melting just a bit more into me.

"your hand and wrist muscles are so tight."
"i didn't realize. just keep doing whatever it is you're doing."

his big hand slipped around in my fingers as i pushed into the skin and really fought to separate the terse muscles. his knuckles were all dents from chipped out pieces of skin and forged knuckles worn down from their original state. some of the tattoos on his hands were nicked and interrupted in places from heavy abuse.

i have to admit, i have a soft spot for visible tattoos and when i first met him i noted the sweeping lines extending beyond his dress shirt. being a buttoned down type came with the territory of being an admin assistant for years. it's too conservative for flashing heavy tattoos, or at least at the places that i managed to stumble into. so it's all the more thrilling when i can meet someone who doesn't give a shit and has a ton in hard to miss places. tho i find it hard to meet guys like that. i'm not a bajillion piercings/blanketed in ink person so those lads assume i'm not interested in them. which is total bullshit. i'd probably maybe think about quitting my job at doing reception at a tattoo studio, i like the scene! but whatever, it's usually just me staring at a hot guy on the streetcar thinking about dazzling sleeves wrapped around me. but.... but i had lucked out. oh well, i mean, this isn't the boy you bring home to mother. but that's my favourite type of all.

we had made a firm agreement not to fuck around right off the bat. the pace had originally been set that it was all contact and we'd get to cum at least twice when hanging out. *i* was ok with it. i mean, holy fuck! i don't have a lot of thick, dark eyed men wanting to show up and have me strip them at the front door. dating be damned, i'll take it.

Anto's Croatian sensibilities short circuited a little when he finally figured out he was a homo. so much of what he had programmed in him had to drop. yet, there were odd flare ups that were stunning to see. you can't escape your childhood i guess.
we had met though work where he was an associate for a major club owner in town. and by associate, i mean the blooded mob that did all the security and other clean up items for the golden goose. i had been over tired and worn down from a couple high maintenance smut stars i had been babysitting for a week. i was either going to break a bottle off in one of their asses or attempt to sleep in the coat room when the club owner spied me up for a chat.

he wasn't even the usual shitbag owner either. rather efficient and knew the game inside and out. didn't do drugs, didn't slut around, but was a solid winner for his financial backers. Anto was lingering around behind him trying to look at the walls instead of the bacchanal of hot men and dancing vibrating all around. the owner shook my hand and made a crack that i should go home to bed and take my boys with me. great, they weren't just pissing me off either. i looked back at them and shook my head. the owner laughed and clapped a hand over my shoulder. told me not to stress so much and just enjoy myself.

i didn't take the owner for a queer at all. lots of fag bar owners are just super wealthy people who know an investment when they see it. you gotta at least be tolerant to be on the floor like this tho and i appreciated that he didn't give me the shank shame eye when i was wrangling whores all night. like trying to keep a dog in the bathtub. oy.

the owner leaned into my ear closely. "this is my associate Anto. he's a new boy so he's been hanging off me like stink. take him for a bit, yes? i'll get your boys into the vip room. you get a break, and me too." popping a none too subtle glance over his shoulder Anto was oblivious to being traded around with porn stars and questionable men in a dark club.

he was eye-poppingly hot. like that tall and thick that you just wanted to climb up and hump until you finally have a blood vessel pop from over excitement. ok wait, let me take a step back and quantify.

i hate saying i find non traditionally good looking guys hot. it makes it sound like "i like ugly guys because i'm ugly too!" which.... let's be real honest here, is fairly accurate. still, what i consider upper echelon hot might not be in a magazine but it was teeth-grittingly arousing to me.

Anto was maybe a hair taller than my dubious 5 foot 9 inches of stacked shit. the main difference is that he was more familiar with the inside of a gym than i am or ever will be. brown eyes turned black in the poor lighting and some plush lips with a solid scar cutting through top to bottom. which causes me some sort of bizarre hormonal reaction further impacted by seeing all the tattoos crawling out from under clothing.

there was a rush intro and Anto seemed stunned that he had been swapped over to me. it's like leaving your dog at a friends place for the weekend. they look a little frantic and dumbfounded that they could ever be left behind.

"hey, did you want a drink?"
"sure... no... i'm working. I think?"
"let's just get a drink."

i found the optimal spot to talk and not feel like you have to be shouted at to be heard. we kibbitzed and he didn't even put on airs pretending he was terribly committed to being straight. he enjoyed being away from all the din of jackassery and i utilized my impressive cold reading skills to drill into him and find a goldmine of conversation. more drinks and he took off his dress shirt to relax in a dastardly tight t shirt. not for one minute did i assume he'd put the moves on me. without even over thinking it it, i just believed that he'd get randy from the drink and kicking back to go out on the hunt. but.... he stayed and leaned in closer. resisting the urge to lean in an bite at his nipple through his shirt i called his bluff and leaned in more. i love getting near someone and getting the sent of them warmed up with their heart beating heavily.

more drinks, more talking, more sussing him out and absorbing as much as i could. finally a hand on the inside of my thigh. i'm sorry, i don't give a shit who the hand is attached to, but put a move on me after months of inactivity and i'll respond. there's nothing tastier than laying into a deep kiss with someone who fancies themselves as a top and spin the dynamic around to make them feel like a shaking bottom. sucking shared breaths out and firm grasps is merely guidance. you just have to see what the reaction is. i do surprise myself with the number of times a top in the moment has a little breakdown and craves being the one on the bottom so to speak.

i don't even really recall how we got home. and it was out of this world for me to ditch clients. i said a silent prayer that they'd make it home and not raped and dead in the bottom of the lake and pressed up against Anto in the elevator. i think i've been in this apartment complex before? maybe? yeah that doesn't make me feel like a whore at all. that surge of personal anger spilled out inside the apartment. my usual polite self dictated that i would ask if there were roommates to mind but instead i just told him to strip off in the doorway while i waited. stunned look, yet he complied like a good lad and we trotted off to the bedroom. sparing you the details it was a little more than rough but nothing that i would say is beyond the intensity of a make up fight fuck.

we had been in a steady rhythm of meeting up and pounding each other with lovely come down sessions of weed and chatting in bed. this was perfect for me. someone who texted me once a day and then would let me tie him up for a while to mack all over his tattoos. and scars. both of which there were plenty to sample from.

Anto finally asked to meet up for a coffee, which i found
strange since i would be put off trying to feel up his cock in the middle of starbucks.
"can we...."
all the scenarios... what the fuck have i been doing? don't call me. never tell anyone about this, i've been high on PCP the whole time and really made a bad decision.
"can we date? i want to actually be with a guy, not all physical stuff you know?"
"oh! really?! sure! jesus, i thought you... well, you know, the mind makes stuff up and... yeah never mind. let's date. we'll get a coffee and talk about boys and then we can go to the AGO."
"The what?"
"Art gallery. if you want to date, that means i get to drag you out to places that you have little to no interest in visiting. those are the rules."
"ha ha, smart guy. i LIKE art so i win."

it... it.... it was kinda nice. i didn't tell another living soul that we were dating, or even any mention of it. it felt like if i said anything out loud it would evaporate. i mean, it had to end, but right now in the irresponsible moment it felt fantastic. even now on the couch i loved resisting the urge to dig into his jeans and squirm around in a sexy closeness.

psycho ex's and jizzy bed sheets

"hey, question: is there any chance you had sex in my bed?"
"No, i have memory foam on my bed. i like getting the extra support on my knees when i'm going down on a guy."
"yeah, well it definately looks like someone fucked in my bed this weekend."
"really? did you swab it? is there a mouldering condom in there?"
"I make my bed in a REALLY specific way!"
"Fuck you are INSANE. No. I didn't fuck in your bed."
"Who did?!"
"Why don't you ask the only other person you were stupid enough to give our spare key to?!"
Stunned i watched him rapidly digest the thought. On through the process of going from who on earth.... to oh god damn it.
"Jimi was here?"
"So, remember when you stomped in the house and i said 'oh hi i missed you and we should talk about something?""
"this is what we need to talk about, I guess."
"sit."
I slid onto the floor into the cup of a pillow pile and invited him to join me. no one likes giving bad news, especially me. thankfully i had essentially chugged a bottle of wine out of panic and stress waiting for Brad to come home. so that lubed me up enough to feel motivated to talk. i did have to caution myself not to run off like a greyhound as i usually do when i'm drunk and chatty.
"I got in from Vegas early..." which was bullshit. i wasn't even in vegas, i went up north to get topped by some older dude for the weekend. i just didn't want to tell anyone in case it was a total wash out. oh hey, no, i do tell people. but it's more to give a cell number and address in case i got murdered. you know, safety first. "vegas" was my catch-all excuse to be gone for the weekend. it suited me fine as most people assumed i was in some porn industry orgy. i'd rather they have that fantasy and damned if i want to tell people when i'm going to sit in a sling for 2 hour rounds doing poppers and seeing if i can finally get a proper fucking.
"how early did you get in?"
"Saturday... it was a write off and whatever i came home super early."

truth? my ass hurt too much to take more reaming so we got lunch, had a kiss in his truck and i took the bus home.
Being an awfully good liar i had made sure to move my car out of the parking garage so it looked for realsies that i had taken off.

"I pulled in and noticed Jimi's car down there and I thought maybe you had come home early as well. Up to the apartment and i can hear the tv on and some bustling in the kitchen so i walked in and screamed 'Lucy! i'm home!' and Jimi was in the kitchen naked and let me tell you, he's kinda gone to seed since you two broke up." nice. way to throw in a diss. that'll solve everything! fuck.
"WHAT?! he was just in the apartment naked!?"
"yeah... and remember last month when we got high on that really shitty e..."
"that was just speed?"
"that night. do you recall how we wound up in a screaming match about how you thought i was eating your expensive hippy cereal and i thought you were scamming my l'occtaine shampoo?"
"ah not one of our finer moments..."
"So THAT mystery is solved. he was eating a huge bowl of the cereal and you know how that shampoo just flutters around in the air with that delicious smell? clearly he had jumped out of the shower after putting a handful into his hair."
Brad was still stunned so i kept things moving. it was an impending crisis and my instinct is to be wordy and take my time getting to the punchline.
"i asked him if you were here and he shook his head no. that's when i, you know... freaked the fuck out."
"what the hell did you do?!"
"lunged at him and shook the shit out of him like a rag doll screaming at him for being in my apartment and gave him a big shove into the living room."

my anger was propelled beyond my normal limits knowing that this piece of shit had gotten me banned from my favourite bar for 6 months due to him fighting with Brad and I. and another violent rush from me came from thinking about seeing Jimi grab Brad's arm so roughly it left him bruised to the bone.

"I took my jacket off and stood over him screaming. it made no sense, but i was clearly upset." that's the dumbed down version.

truth?
"you rotten little piece of shit! how did you get in here? tell me you don't have a key!" a mighty slap across the face. he was suprised by my entrance so i had to ride this wave before he stood up to me and most likely curb my jaw off the toilet bowl. i gripped his wrist in my patented owch hold and pinched deeply. i wanted to break his arm and knock out what few real teeth of his remained after a long childhood of abuse and neglect. i knew if i broke something i'd have to talk to the cops. fuck that.

Back to the Brad Version.
"He screamed at me, "Stop! Stop!! i have a key! i didn't think anyone was home...."
"Stop stop what?"
"uh... stop stop...being... mad?"
"real convincing... did you hurt him?"
"Nothing permanent. Do you want to hear this... or?" god help you if you interrupt me telling a story.
"Nathan!!"
"ok ok speeding things up. He said he didn't think anyone was home and that's why he was hanging out at the house."
"How would he know?"
"easy enough to find out that you're out of town. my car was moved out of the garage... i mean, i obviously moved my car out to go so he tailgated someone into the garage. I think he was waiting to see me leave as well."
Brad looked sick. this whole rant was started with a terse investigation on who fucked in his bed and knew the ending wouldn't be good.
"so he clearly had a key. did you give him one?"
"of course not! never. even when we got back together."
"Cute. so he took the key and got it cut."
"wh... who... was he here with someone?"

Truth?
I was just about to dummy this fuck head in the face a couple of times and saw someone sit up on the couch.
"well who in the FUCK is this?!" ready to get tag teamed i reared up like a trapped animal to look much bigger of an opponent than i actually am. 8/10 times it works. for the other two times you get your ass kicked or you run away.
the new naked boy clamped a pillow to his crotch.
"THOSE WERE MADE BY MY DEAD GRANDMOTHER! DO NOT GET YOUR DICK CHEESE ON THEM! DROP THEM!" new naked was crying and looked scared. ok, so he's on the back burner. the one in my grip was the main issue.
"You've been coming in here while we're gone and using it as some sort of swanky fuck shack, haven't you?! this isn't some villa for you to escape to! you go to the bathhouse like every other stupid whore and you get a fucking towel rental!!"

Brad looked so sad. let's get it over with.
"yeah he was with a guy."
"who?"

Truth? it was The Boy. The Boy being that one boy who got away from Brad. The Boy provided a steamy affair and was the muse for his second novel. which actually was my least favourite that he did. it was too lame and happy. i like tears and Irish famine-levels of despair. Brad wasn't the type to get his heart whisked away so from the assorted conversations we had on the topic i knew how much Brad liked him. he said after the novel came out he spent the better part of 8 months suicidal and incredibly depressed after The Boy dumped him to be single. he was thriving on all the attention from being that guy in the book. no one can blame him for wanting to cash in on it. so The Boy broke Brad's heart and as much as he had fucked, screwed and blew his wad on a ton of great guys, i was never convinced it was ever resolved.

"ah, man.... listen. i don't want to hurt you."
"don't... i'm just going to pull the sheets off my bed."
"want to sleep in my bed? let me tell you, that memory foam really cradles you while you're trying. trust."

in all honesty, i'm too intimidated to put up an actual craig's list post

i was busy working on a new craigs list ad looking for dudes to let me play with their feet when brad interrupted. "any word on if they're hiring at your friends place?"
"huh? yeah... no nothing yet."
"is there anything i can do?"
"just, uh, just gotta sit and wait i guess." fussing with the wording i hated being distracted.
"please don't let me bug you...."
"oh shut it. you can barely maintain eye contact with me if there's a hot guy on the tv in the next room."
"i'm really worried about this!"
"i told you, i can cover rent for a couple of months. just take your time and find something if you don't think the publisher's going to foot the next advance payment."
"i feel sick to my stomach...."
"i'm sorry i insinuated you'd have to take your clothes off to cover the rent. it was a joke."
"no! not that... i feel sick thinking that all this time i put into the book was for nothing."
"you've been able to sell everything you've penned thus far. so what if they don't like this draft? they're just dicking you around to try and squeeze some money out of you. did you talk to your agent like i said?"
"he's on vacation until next week."
"you didn't leave 10 messages on his voice mail freaking out did you?"
"Just three."
"not bad!" i turned back to my laptop and clicked around some more hoping he'd get the hint and vacate.
"what're you working on?"
"an ad to solicit men to let me do sexual things to their feet."
stunned he sat there looking back at my glib expression.
"seriously?"
"yep. i've just had feet on the brain. i want to get a guy to let me wash his feet, then manicure and file his nails. then go to town on them."
"i... see? i didn't know you were into that."
"THAT. That... that? you make it sound like some sort of pooping fetish."
"it's not common!"
"right. it's not doggy style in front of a mirror, must be perverse."
"see, you get so fucking defensive when someone doesn't immediately get your point of view."
"probably because i have a fairly straight forward view on things and it annoys me when someone that's smart and hip gets caught up in what's acceptable vanilla sex and what's taboo."
"really don't need this."
"you can either sit there and help me edit this or you can make a pot of tea and we can sit out on the balcony for a bit."
"maybe i should write out a craigs list post?"
"or we can take the streetcar down to the strip club and get you on stage for amateur night."
"wow! you had that ready to go didn't you?"
"fuck kid, even if i weighed another 60 pounds more than you, i'd be stripping full time. not my fault if i have an eye for talent."
"i just couldn't...."
"$3000 first prize, you know."
"jesus!"
"jesus ain't got nothing to do with it. you think me giving a toe job is bad...."
"what would i have to do?"
"take it off. and i mean, it ALL comes off. last kid i saw win got his junk shaved on stage and got blown for a solid couple of minutes. THAT'S entertainment."
"no! no way i could do that."
"guess you're making tea then huh?"
"maybe i could help with the ad instead."
"suit yourself." [ahem] "M4M 34 y/o looking for nice man feet to worship and suck...."
"forget it. i'm making the tea."
"no wait, i'm not done!" i raised my voice for him to hear in the kitchen. "let me pamper your feet and caress them with my tongue for hours on end."
"ok i get it!"
"...i'm ok with oral or hj's, not looking for sex just your big fee..."
"LA LA LA CAN'T HEAR YOU! TEA PRODUCTION IN PROGRESS!!"
"you're a baby. what the hell do you do in bed? just clean each other like kittens and pass out after some stoic dick kisses?"
"why the fuck do i even talk to you?"
"because all your little friends are vapid and even you need some teasing to remind you that you're smarter than your twinky pack but you're a big fish in a little pond. i'm here to remind you about the ocean out there."
"good GOD! and you're stoned too! what was all this talk about you not smoking weed for a couple of weeks?"
"I said nothing about opium."
"OPIUM! no, like, for real..."
"ya for real. just smoked some before you got in."
"maybe it's better for you to just get stoned."
"no, a promise is a promise. i said no weed and i'm sticking to it."
he popped out from around the corner to look at me. "Can i have some?"
"god no! you can't pay rent, you're sure as shit not getting opium."
"honestly! again! do you think i need that?!"
"what? the opium or comments about rent?"
"fuck this, i'm going to chuck this whole kettle on you."
"go for it. i'll just put up another craigs list ad for someone to come be my sexy nurse and change my cock bandages."

2 white pit bulls

"nah nah, it's insane. you have to experience it for one day and then you'll really get the breadth of the cuckoos nest they have festering."
"how can one restaurant chain have such a disparity between locations?!"
"i know! i told antony he should do a paper on it for his MBA. it'd be off the hook to do a deep dive analysis of what the fuck is happening. no matter, even the few shifts a week i pick up there are entertaining. like, i know i get to leave and come back here so it's more like a safari."
"you have GOT to be fucking kidding me. this place?" george gestrured wildly towards the restaurant we were sneaking in a joint behind.
i sipped on the smoke for a rapid succession of tokes before launching into my best Fargo impression. "Oh-a yeuah."
"don't even believe you for a minute. you're just trying to get me to cover your shift if you have to work there, aren't you?"
"oh jesus boy, you're so PARANOID!" i knew that gave him a pang of hurt hinting that he could be anything like his newly minted ex boyfriend. who got the boot for being an unrepentant coke head paranoid basket case. which i shouldn't have brought up. let alone mock george for being paranoid... and i really shouldn't have kept saying to myself before my shift "make sure you don't bring up coke, paranoia or money with george tonight" since i know i fixate and can't NOT blurt it out when i'm saying it over and over again. it's like a baby stroller careening out into traffic in slow-mo. my brain is screaming, "aahnoooooo!!" trying to reach for my id kicking me to say something stupid. too late. i had already absently asked george if he wanted to split an 8 ball with me this weekend. and i REALLY didn't mean ask him for that $50 he owed me. i don't even fucking need the money! but boom. this'll be a good conversation! idiot.
and now this. george was looking at me stunned and i put the joint into his mouth.
"i'm sorry."
"did you tell yourself not to say it?"
"yeah."
"did you practice all the way en route to work?"
my head drooped. "oh yeah." sometimes it's a relief when close friends have a working knowledge of your mental illnesses.
"well...." he took great long hauls on the joint and made it clear that i wasn't going to be getting it passed back. "i understand that you tried and failed." he pulled his glasses off the top of his head and tapped them back up the bridge of his nose as he leaned in to me. "TWO WHITE PIT BULLS!!!"
i threw up my hands and let out a hearty italian scream of "OH!"
while it's great when friends know what's poppin' with you on the sanity front, it can be a disadvantage. especially when they're privy to phrases that make me obsess on them for hours, sometimes days. over and over again when i'm walking alone... listen to music, trying to take an order at work. it's nothing terrible, but i will repeat it over and over again. eventually it just fades away, but until then, it's enmeshed in my consciousness.
"well thanks for that, george. you're a fucking saint. you know that?"
"honestly! you hear yourself speak!!"
"hey puppy cakes, you think i can fucking help it?"
"no, well yeah well... fuck it. we better get back in there. you should drop the visine."
way a head of him i was already plopping it in and wiping my eyes down. i had to wait behind him as he put his drops in with him bent over forward. for some reason he'd never been able to you know, DROP them in his eyes from above.
i waited until he was mid fuss to put visine into his other eye and jostled him from behind. "COME ON NOOBINZ! we're going to be late."
"agh! FUCK! really?"
i put my hand up to make a crack about having a lack of impulse control due to brain damage when i actually stopped myself. better add that to the list of shit i shouldn't bring up. wait, i shouldn't put it on a list. or.... like a list but don't think of the list?
"come on you god damned man child! keep this up and you're not coming out to baseball this week."
"oh no! you know how much a forced endeavor that requires me to be outside and do something sporty makes me horny!"
"you shouldn't have signed up as a sub in if you didn't want to play."
i hustled him back into the kitchen to make sure we didn't catch hell for taking a long break.
"YOU! YOU signed me up and told me about it after! you're the one who needs to get a god damned fag hag to do all this shit with."
"you're perfectly aware of how annoying i find straight women. we have an agreement that you cover off all the shit that's missing in my life outside of fucking, dating and clothes selection."
"again, that little arrangement thing was drafted without my consent or knowledge. i'm not going to really buy into it until you get my lawyer a copy to review. look sharp, people already think you're some little polish mail order husband of mine so don't bicker with me."
he spun around to lay into me but thought better of it when he saw my apron being tied on. usually that's when the serious face came out and the guy you talked to on break wafted away leaving a much more severe and unfriendly character.
i strode to my section and mumbled under my breath, "two white pit bulls." shit. this is going to be quite the night on the line.

Bel Ami Shall Not Be Interrupted!!

My roommate had couch surfers over on Sunday and they went on a party tear. It's actually a really cool way to meet people and they were having fun. No biggie! I was a little loathe for them to come over because literally, it's people she hasn't met before who are sleeping on the couch. they were super cool kids tho, so i was definitely unfounded in my paranoia.

The roommate borrowed her parents car for a couple of days before she went out east on vacation. We live in a 3 unit apartment house and there's only one person with a car full time. That being said, the guy with the car doesn't ask for much in terms of the occasional time there's a car. only to give him a heads up. I did attempt to remind her to contact the neighbor. he has the personality of a hard boiled egg but we can just text him.

Sunday Afternoon:
“did you call the neighbors and tell them you’re parking in the driveway?”
“I don’t have to do that…”
“can you CALL so it’s cleared up??”
“whatever. You’re paranoid.”

Cue midnight. Roommate is long gone. I have the upstairs to myself knowing they’re all at a party and won't be back for hours.

Long shower consisting of decadent hops and bergamont body wash and a tiny dot of my roommates super expensive l'occitane shampoo and conditioner. Let me tell you, there IS a difference between $5 and $25/bottle. I shave, worked on my poorly tended to feet and wrap up in the shower.

dosed in clean and delicious scents led me to prance around the house like a freshly scrubbed puppy. i loped around making some tea and smoking a joint without being hampered by pants. as i dried off i began to feel like i should really take advantage of the empty house even more.

So, yeah, this is over-share, but it's worth it for the benefit of a story.

I go to my porno movie collection on my computer and hum over what I want to select. I opted for a newer and younger themed movie. my usual is early 90's pre-condom bear daddy stuff or something decidedly muscular.

But I've watched the burly dude stuff to death and need a change. I go with a super hot BelAmi movie with TWINKIES, which isn’t my usual selection but hey, might as well mix it up.

So I’m literally at the 50% mark in terms of lift off, no clothing, just rave music on the stereo and twinkies and OH! They brought a friend. Hot… yeah that’s hot… so hot… you like it when that Russian comes over to borrow a cup of sugar don’t you? Wuff… oh YEAH! You don’t even wear underwear under your jeans, do you? That's so convenient! Yeah… little sloots…

[wrrrrrrr]
Shut up phone.
[wrrrrrrrrrrrrrr]
F*ck it.
[wrrrrr wrrrrr wrrrrrrr]
JESUS!

[using elbow to turn on phone]
*UNIT C* Oh what do they want… let me guess.
*UNIT C* 12:04AM: “Hi, can you let me know what you’re doing with the car? I can’t pull in.”
GAH!!!

I slap some hand sanitizer on and text the absentee roommate. “YO, need to move the car or text the neighbor to let him know what you’re doing.”
[no response]
*UNIT C* 12:29AM: “hi, I’ve been out here for 20 minutes… what are we doing with the car?”
Texting Roommate: “SAM I can’t move the f’ing car, what do you want me to do?” [i literally can't. i don't have a drivers license.]
Roommate Response: “KEYS ARE DOWNSTAIRS!”
Texting Roommate: “so the neighbor can move your car?”
ANGRY ROOMMATE RESPONSE: “YES!!! GOD!!”

So I’m preeeeeeeetty ticked off at this point.

Like I can’t hear most sounds or process colour because I’m that furious.

I just barely dress in a tshirt and my rattiest shorts and storm downstairs to grab the keys. My hair is soaking wet, my tshirt is on inside out and I managed to grab the only pair of shorts on the floor that legally require me to wear them with underwear. never mind that there were 4 other ones i should have grabbed.

Flinging the door open, I see the neighbor on the porch and snap my fingers to point at him like some d*key Clint Eastwood.
“HEY! Can you move the car in further? I don’t care if you wreck it.”
“oh.. uh… sure I can move it no problem…. What time does she need out of the driveway…”
“F**K HER. IF SHE CAN’T GET HER PLANS SORTED TO DO THIS I DON’T CARE!”
“oh… uh… it’s not a big deal I just didn’t want to get a ticket parking on the roa….”
“WHATEVER, just move it and throw the keys in the bushes after!!!” [I’m pretty sure I was foaming at the mouth by this point]
“okay…?”

Buddy moves the car and brings the keys back. “Hey sorry to have woken you up I apprecia…”

At this time I’m muttering to myself smoking and really sounding like I’m some schizophrenic homeless guy and he just slinks off looking over his shoulder.

It took me another 40 minutes to loop back to the point where I was pre-interruption and let me tell you, it was an angry, angry w*nk. And I don’t think those twinky boys deserved to be called all those names.

Gorillaz - Rhinestone Eyes

1/2 a pack of smokes every day, sometimes more. too much weed: always. buffered by alcohol, assorted recreational drugs and a passion for red meat made me a thick boy. thick and out of shape. but no matter what the state of my body was, present me with a chance to brawl and i will bound into action. it was a thrill to get torqued up and go nuts. something that i didn't get to enjoy often but i was panting softly and warm with my own self-worth as a fighter.

naturally, the first night that Brad allowed himself to go slumming and take me to the bar with him this shit happens. i was a good boy, hanging back and only chatting when engaged. never stepping on his dick if a hot guy wandered past. strictly decoration.

i made sure i was muzzled down with a 1/4 bag of blow. where the average cat can't shut up when they're on it, the same doesn't happen with me. in real time, i never shut up. ever. but flip that up my nose and all i can do is nod and listen. one night when i split an 8 ball with my ex we counted 128 words that i said over the course of 8 hours. i know that it's an easy fix when i don't want to open my trap and embarrass myself.
i slugged back a bottle of water and walked to the bathroom. everything flipping in and out of the lights. arms up dancing, arms around bodies... my arms pushing back my shoulders to give them some purpose instead of diddling the baggie in my jean pocket. i wonder if my eyeliner looks ok still?
springy steps with a small turn up of my lips. happy to get high and happy to be drowning in steamy dance floor funk. oh my wonderful urban life! look! there's a boy grabbing another guys dick! and there's that bartender i submitted a demo tape for! [he couldn't get it up on command]

i caught the look at two boys standing by the hall to the can. as always i assumed it was disgust seeing my fat body walk around with an unheard of confidence. or at least their understanding was that the ugly didn't have any confidence. nothing to me. i was so close that no one would hold my attention for long.

girls washroom is for taking a piss. boys is for fucking and drugging. never mix those things up in a gay bar.

i walked in and heard a thud of someone being pressed up against a stall in use. joyous rapture! there was an empty stall with a buffer between the sweet love that was on the verge of spurting out.
a scooch on the tiles made me turn around. a friendly blond parasite had followed me in with another little bud. i was thrilled that brad would tolerate being in such tight quarters with me, save the addition of a friend.
piling into the stall i made the tag along take the tight spot and i was afforded the luxurious wall with no toilet paper dispenser on the side. key out, dip and whiff.
"it's good..."
nodding vigorously.
"hey are you ok?"
"he's fine. he can't talk when he's on it."
"really?! I can't shut up!"
eyebrow up and nodding.
he looked to brad, "seriously, he won't talk?"
"ugh. you can talk to him he just won't reply unless it's really important."
"oh... my turn!"
doling out the medicine to the babies i had a final one for myself. i pointed to the door to herald our departure.
sniffing and schwacking noises of raped sinuses trumpeting our arrival to the hall. the tag along was giggling and walked a head to go grab another drink at the bar. brad and i checked our phones and walked in tandem. i was in the middle of deciding who i was going to respond to when i saw brad fall behind. i looked back and he had turned around to talk to someone. or at least i thought it was talk. a tanned hand gripped his forearm and applied noticeable pressure. he yanked brad in and said something harsh.
i swell in those moments. saturated in my muscle memory of being beaten or seeing violence looming in a patient when i used to work at a mental hospital. it's that big moment where everything in me expands and i'm king fucking kong coming onto the scene. moving quickly back to brad a hand grabbed my by the shoulder and hauled me roughly.
"where are YOU going? this doesn't concern you."
turning around i looked up at some Slavic cheeks and a mean stare. well, sorry punk-ass. daddy says not tonight.
gripping his wrist i turned the screws on and pinched it. it's a tidal wave of agony to experience. and that's why i was so good at it. the eyes tell everything. and it radioed loudly that it hurt. yanked him down to my face and pushed my fingers down even harder. he was full of panic that he was in over his head and his backup was busy. which reminded me, time to save the baby.
goon trapped in one hand i dragged him over to the other scene.
"let him go. brad..." head gesture of c'mon.
"MAYBE YOU SHOULD LET US TALK!"
"maybe i break his arm?" i hauled up goon two's arm for a look-see and he groaned.
the associate was now squeaking and panting. "let... let... let me go! it's going to break!"
"no, long way off. brad. now."
we were having a standoff. two arms snapped in a rage trap and neither of us willing to let go. normally i'm an eloquent bastard in these situations. talking around someone to diffuse a bomb or being so smarmy that the attention was focused on me. my powder muzzle wouldn't slip off and i couldn't say a word.
"who's this?! who's this guy?!"
"it's my..." his head tipped backwards in reaction to the grip. "my roommate."
"so this roommate and you just like taking off to fuck in the bathroom?"
"no that's not what... we..." deep sucking breath and i know he was in pain.
the hand goes off goon two and i rushed at goon one. this time i went for the throat and plugged my palm over his adams apple and dug an index finger and thumb under his jaw. apply pressure and be ready for hands to grapple your arms. no matter, it just makes me grip harder.
he made a glucking noise and didn't know what to do next. that's when i got the punch to the back of the head. Goon two had made a recovery and pegged me in the back of the head. stunned i let go to turn around and duck a fist and swoop my knee up to blast his crotch. threat down, turn around. in that short time the unnamed goon had started laying punches out but Brad had finally kicked into gear and was fighting back. trying to go back to help i realized we were all getting herded out by security as we clawed and flailed around. who says fags can't fight?
my tenure at Ironwood Bar gave me the luxury of never getting turfed out. they assumed it was me being picked on and i threw my hands up in a silent "woo!" as the goons were pitched down the stairs in a whirl of white shirts and well-made jeans.
Brad was shaking and standing behind me as i turned to a bouncer to try and stammer out some sort of sentence.
Down the stairs the monsters were woozy but coming back to life.
"YOU FAT PIECE OF SHIT! I'LL KILL YOU! YOU DON'T CROSS ME! I KNOW WHERE YOU TWO LIVE, I'LL KILL YOU AND I'LL KILL THAT STUPID DOG I ALWAYS SEE YOU WITH!"
boom.
no, you can call me fat. you can call me a piece of shit. because i am, in fact, a fat piece of shit. but you don't tell me you're going to murder my godchild Maude. not ever.
after the fact, my friend Jason who was out having a smoke recounted my epic fury. there were only 4 steps to the sidewalk but i leaped up like a berserker Wolverine and jumped on them with my fist up. A collective "oh!" came from the smoking section and i dropped my fist into whatever face i could get a hold of. all i remember is being pulled off by three bouncers as the goons were laid out, woozy and winded from 215 pounds taking a flying jump onto them. they took off before i could tell someone to grab them. slobbering in tongues i was delirious with anger and didn't care when i was dropped from waist height onto the neighboring stoop.
typical wimp, after it's all done is when i start to cry. or at least i would have if the coke wasn't still burning through me. i wanted to yell but nothing would come out. just take a minute. catch your breath.
noise noise out of my view and Brad was chucked out and told to not come back. i kept looking up as his shoes padded over to me.
eyes looking down from the sky. "good god, are you all right?"
nodding.
"i've never seen you go off like that."
"i've never seen you get roughed up like that without kicking up a stink."
he plopped down and checked out his hands. blood and rips and smears. we were both biohazzards.
remind me to never go to the bar with you again.
too bad i couldn't actually say it.
out of breath and thinking about puking i laid on the stairs waiting for Brad to say something.
brad slumped over up and patted at his already swollen lip. he didn't look too bad. nothing an icepack couldn't fix. then he dipped his head down low in reflection to sigh.
chills, horror, sickness...
an enormous hank of his hair had gotten yanked out in our small fisticuffs exchange.
there it was. the dimensions of a fist spread out... bare skin with patchy outcroppings of hair in between. something that would be simply impossible to hide.
"oh.... no."
"oh no what? hey, what the hell is wrong with you? you're so pale."
slowly pulling myself up i leaned over to him and put a firm hand on top of his head to turn it sidways. My shakey hands reached up and touched the skant patch of ripped out hair. i was shocked he couldn't feel it throbbing, must be riding high on the chemical joy of brawling.
"wh... what?" his hand darted up to feel. now i really wanted to get sick. that kind of rage has a texture... a feel... and it was pouring out of him.
"brad, wait."
up and steadying for a moment. we were a little punch drunk at this point.
"Brad...i..."
i'm sure the night air zipped over the bald spot making it tangible. he was striding out like john wayne down the street, no doubt trying to catch up with the goons. great, this isn't settled. i was thankful that i didn't have a bloody nose at least.

the feeling - peter, bjorn & john

i was too self-occupied to have guests over, but i made a concession for Helen. i should say i would always make time for her since she was one of 3 women that i was insanely sexually attracted to. and that says a lot. i'm not one of those annoying fags that scream, "EW FUCKING SICK!" if mention of a woman and her sexual urges was dropped in a conversation. in fact i enjoyed hurling hard objects at men who did that. where the fuck do you step off talking about erupting streams of cum and plugging up some asshole on the weekend... but no one is allowed to talk about a woman having a gspot orgasm? YEAH, that makes sense.
i'm sure i feel so passionate about this since i have had a few lone broads who have confused the shit out of me. i get stuck thinking, "so do i like them just because they're a pal and i want to get in on that? do i actually feel sexually driven to be with them? is this some sort of latent loathing where i pursue these options to be normal?" fuck normal. that's definitely not it.
i couldn't imagine having to tell everyone that has labelled me a queer that now i'm slipping it into pussy. do you send a post card? do you write out some en masse email to send out with the subject line of "so you'll never believe it..."
all that assimilation stuff aside, i HAVE felt attracted to a select pack of women. nothing ever happened. of course not. i can barely score with dudes let alone luring in some poor woman for sloppy guesses under the blanket.
There was that Swiss exchange student in high school that i jerked off to a lot... but i think that was more from the closeted boy i was fucking publicly declaring his lust for her. so it was wanking by proxy for lack of a better description.
Eye was the most lovely girl i met by chance through friends in university. Japanese, funny and an insanely talented musician. I spent many weekends snuggling in with her in bed as she strummed the ukulele. then the added bonus of me dragging her inner goth out as she broke things off with her tool bag boyfriend. naturally, her friends deemed me the bad influence for the seemingly sudden interest in corsets and black lipstick but it was always there. Eye just never had a chance to let it out. now for sure i was in love with Eye...that much i know. but it was packed up and dumped into the garbage after i had a melt down wondering if i was slowly going straight. after some heated interventions with my best friend the asian dyke, i classified it all as misguided friendship. it was beyond her being a girl, i was in love with a close friend who i wanted to be around all the time. it was silly. just being stupid and nothing would ever happen. i couldn't see thin and quiet Eye settling down with a very loud and hairy faggot who'd never get rid of my bear porn dvd collection. i'm not really the type that you'd be dying to settle down with. it all came to a head when i lived with Eye during my incredibly awful stint at college after university. being depressed about living in a lame city and feeling like your roommate is unavailable just piled it all on and i snapped. i moved out in the middle of the night and left 2 months rent cheques on the desk. i know she could hear me move but she didn't come out. it was heartbreaking for me, but my ego dictates that she didn't actually care... it's not like i heard her sobbing on her bed every time i walked past the door.
After Eye i was on the Cock Train hard and willing. slews [so for me that's like 2 a year] of idiot boyfriends and acceptable sex romps distracted me for a long time. if i had been attractive and/or hated myself more to be a complete slut i would have been happy with two cocks in each hand and 3 in my mouth. there's nothing wrong with a little gay pounding, especially since each go 'round pushed Eye further from my thoughts. no more "what if you'd be down with going straight?" that was getting annoying and there is no better plaster for a broken heart than getting your ass glazed after the bar.
Helen was essentially the female equivalent of myself. she had hippy tendencies, but like myself, actually hated hippies. she could whip my ass at comic book trivia and indulged my late night calls to talk about Batman when i was shouted down on the forums for pushing my fan fic of Bruce Wayne and Harvey Dent dating in college. she was butch and wore the same clothes as i did... a secret fetish of mine was borrowing clothing from people i had crushes on and then lending them some of mine. it made me feel delicious and content to zip myself up in one of her sweaters and seeing her walk out my door in a worn tshirt she had been bugging to borrow from me.
a little bit older, a little bit more jaded i didn't fall into the temperamental trap of straight? love. and you say straight with an inflection and tilt your head over to the side. strrrrraight? love? a night of plugging back stout manhattans and watching cartoons on dvds left me with a warm feeling. one that made me think about crawling over the couch arm and snuggle into her shoulder like a koala bear. a very heavy koala bear with a wafting fart cloud of bourbon coming out of my maw.
BUT
i didnt.
i said good night like a gentleman and went home to jerk off furiously thinking about her soft curves rolling around my body. that's always been my test. if i can pop a load thinking about someone then they've obviously made an impact. once in a while a woman shows up in the fantasy but i never actually go through with fucking them. i think about snuggling into their tits and kissing soft shoulders but the story abruptly ends long before anything super sexy materializes. that's what i'm used to. that's what i've come to expect. just a deviant twist to thinking about beefy jewish bears smothering me as they cover me in oil. what? wanking is a private affair, i can't properly explain why i think these things.
Helen had texted me to say she was in the hood with some amazing comic book finds and bad mood notwithstanding i invited her in to splay them out and talk about why each one was amazing. in the skint 20 minutes that we were alone May wound up texting me asking what i was up to. she had infallible radar for when people were talking to Helen to the point that i assumed she was mystical or just stalking her around the city.
May had spent a great deal of energy trying to convince Helen she was a lesbian and resented anyone taking a moments time from her when she could be getting it. it was a wonderful and fucked up circle of friends i ran with. it's not something i'd want to waste too much time analyzing and instead focus on important things like how to avoid their toxic meltdowns for mysterious slights against them.

really? [head tilting to side] REALLY??

recently i've had the luxury of mixing up the gay men in my life. i love the boys in waterloo, but as always i enjoy a solid infusion of something just a little different.
since i'm incapable of actually being happy with what i have, i often harken to the what ifs when things remain the same for too long.
as well, i feel like i can sound off more because the bulk of waterloo boys [daddy jr. not included] couldn't give a shitass about what i enjoy writing let alone reading it. that insulation presents a wonderful forum for being somewhat rude and also kill some time while my friend bounces his boyfriend off his cock on a bunk bed. [listening as it gets more frenetic]
a new homo in my life is the quintessential twinky. lithe, hairless, and honestly? an exceptionally natty dresser. bonding over libra qualities is always helpful but i can't help but think about how yes, he's hot and just perfect, but not something i hold up as hot in my personal tastes. isn't that fucking lame? i piss myself off sometimes. enough quid pro quos, let's continue.
deep down, i'm a bear at heart. if i had been a dude, i would be unshaven [more because i'm fucking lazy] and also just a bit of a werewolf. as a gay broad who watches more gay guy porn than any other genre it's just what floats my messed up little boat.
in hanging out with my dear friend from highschool in toronto, i've had the good fortune to meet a lot of gay men who are anything but a custard cup of twinky. twinky body types such as skinny and slight, but hairy with scratchy facial hair and unrepentant chest hair accumulations. talk of men never seems to be in the vein of boring [to ME] and my ah-ha moment was over the summer at a birthday party where i was a tag along. one guy was musing about looking for mr-right-now-to-bend-my-ankles-over-my-ears. he said, "god, i just want some werewolf to split his ass apart." wow. no, not about the ass splitting, more the idea of "hey remember when you weren't embarrassed to bring up liking older/hairier guys to your gay guy friends? implicitly, i just dropped mentioning it to avoid the awkward conversation of trying to explain that i like sucking on tits yet jerk off to meaty gang bang scenes.
i find some of these toronto lads [no, not just because they're fro the big cit-ay] aren't so... eeeerrrrrrrrrr clueless. they're aware that dykes exist, general working knowledge that they have sex and that there's some kind of motherfucking DYNAMIC at play.
keeping audience with two beautiful waterloo twinkies a couple of months ago, the topic was brought up about sex. there was a sympathetic glance to me when they were talking about anal sex. "well, not like you'd know anything about THAT stuff!"
[awkward swizzling of wine glass]
"uh, yeah i do."
"oh no honey, we're talking about actually DOING it, not hearing about it from gay men."
[elongated sip of wine]
"ahh... that's nice wine. no chump, i've had butt sex before."
[metaphorical feathers being ruffled and flying all over the place]
"WHY?! Why would you even bother!!?"
"You know the idea of you've tried the rest, now try the best?"
[blank look and me realizing i only make sense to myself sometimes]
"look, in a nutshell, i've done it a bunch of times."
"i just don't get why two women would do that."
"don't get it or don't know how we'd do it?"
[in unison] "both."
i will talk to you about fucking and sucking and rutting all day long, but i have an interesting quality of never really getting into details unless i know the person. because i can be so open and trusting, i've learned that i often tell too much and wither if i find out that i'm mocked about it after. how does one talk about getting reamed to an audience who recently discovered that two women can have dominate/submissive roles? [see below] you just don't. you skip it and soak up the attention of side glances for the rest of the evening.
which dovetails nicely into another tale of two twinkies. the same duo were talking about trying to find a boyfriend who was in sync with their tastes of being a top or bottom. again, the sad little "aw"gaze that indicated that i couldn't understand.
"wait, WHAT? do you think two women can't find that type of dichotomy?"
they seemed kinda stunned. usually i can be calm, but rage and humour often cut into my tact receptor. "what the FUCK do you think we do? sit in bed and argue about who gets to be the little spoon when cuddling that night?!?"
"oh... no, just... it's not like you can have a top or a bottom with two women."
you know that part in Fantasia where the devil rises up into a fury? that's kinda a LITTLE bit of my reaction.
"WHAT. THE. FUCK!!! are you RETARDED?! do i need to go through the ways women fuck and suck?"
"Ew, god no."
"NO! I think maybe i do!"
"But *really*, you've actually been in a dominate/submissive set up?"
"Are we talking about a whip and 'call me sir or i'll whip your pussy' kind of dom/sub or are we talking about who's in charge vs. who's taking it?"
[one dry heaves after "pussy" and"spanking" come up at the same time]
"The LATTER option."
I'm just beyond stunned at that point. when i think of how i've grown in relationships, developed into knowing what i want and like... how fun it is to not be restricted and just go with the flow.... i simply went blind with anger. for someone like me who rarely if ever relates to traditional lesbians, i got surprisingly dyke-centric at a moments notice when i felt like i wasn't a person that these guys could actually see as a human. ok that's harsh, but more the idea of you can imagine, gay men, straight people but i'm some enigma that you've relegated to some notion that i just frotage and mewl after kissing like lost kittens in the night. i often find myself muting what i'm actually thinking in these conversations to just avoid causing a q&a session when i really feel that in terms of what's out there i'm still kinda vanilla, but according to some folks i know, come across as some kink-o fanatic-o.
i composed myself, stood up and walked to the fridge to get a glass of wine. they were still waiting for me to respond.
"you want to know what i am with roles? I'm a loving top and an arrogant bottom."
there was some thinking and the topic was changed.
the best part is, when i mention this tale to jr. bears/otters they burst out laughing. can i get a what what to those boys out there?! at least i get a lot of milage out of my indignant trauma?