What I Thought About "I am a Sex Addict"

Friday night, after Oreo and I went out and about with some of the choicest New York Bloggers, we headed over to the West Village to catch "I am a Sex Addict" which was showing at the IFC Center.

I should preface this story by letting you all know that I technically discovered "I am a Sex Addict" after I stumbled upon the director's (a man named Caveh) blog on the google during a quick search for blogs about sex addiction. I glanced around the blog but didn't really pay too much attention to it, because I was just glancing around. Well, then, of course, Craigslist intervened. Oreo was once again scouring the "Men Seeking Women" ads and found a most peculiar ad. It seems there was this gentleman who was looking for someone to go spend the afternoon with him at a showing of "I am a Sex Addict." Is it just me, or is that, without a doubt, the worst date movie in the history of the world? I mean, really. That would be a bad date in the first place, but to go on a blind date to that movie just seems too funny even for my blog.

I went to the movie for all of the obvious reasons, and Oreo went, because, well we were dressed really cute and she likes to be seen with a handsome man in his best spring Seersucker jacket.

This movie is funny. It's even funny to people who don't like to hear about sex. I think this is because Caveh is not an attractive man. In fact, I think part of the ultimate irony is that this man is a sex addict, but you just can't imagine who would ever want to have sex with him in the first place. In fact, Caveh is actually a sex addict with a prostitute fetish. I would venture to say that "prostitute fetish" is really just code for "If ugly guys are sex addicts, then since they can't get anyone to have sex with the for free willingly, then they either wind up as sexual predators or people with prostitute fetishes."

Caveh and I don't have a lot in common, short of a penis. He's from Connecticut and into film and the indie scene (hell, for like 90% of the movie, he is in this outfit of black pants, a white shirt and this heinous black vest). I'm just not either of those things. But, we definitely have a similar sense of humor about our sex lives. As he progresses deeper and deeper into sexual addiction, he makes light of the situation and talks just as matter-of-factly as yours truly. That was how I was able to recognize that the movie was certainly based on reality-- it definitely struck a cord.

The whole movie focuses around Caveh's three major relationships throughout his adult life and how he struggles the whole time to deal with sexual addiction as the relationships crumble. In the end, he realizes that he might have and addiction, and goes to a Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting to cry, testify, and presumably go through a 12-step program, all in the last 10 minutes. Then, of course, the movie ends with Caveh in a church getting married to someone.

You might have noticed that I seemed to really enjoy the movie but still hate the ending. That's because it felt like a cop-out. It's so easy to make the process of sexual addiction funny. It's easy to make light of all the ridiculous decisions the brain of a sex addict deems wise and judicious. In the end, it would be great to see a movie that really shows the difficulty of recovering from this addiction. (By the way, I realize that at the moment, my blog is all about focusing on the funny parts of the addiction, but I know that over time, things will bounce in and out of serious. Yeah, I'm mostly a hypocrite, but just bear with me.)

In the meantime, I'll settle for "I am a Sex Addict" just because I know that at least between the creepy AA sponsor on Desperate Housewives and this new film that long over-due recognition of this addiction.

Round Peg update: Nothing new. Things are quiet... too quiet. I did discuss the situation with Annelle (my friend in LA) and we talked about how funny it would be if he took posted the flyers around and pasted my face onto the body of a naked guy. See, I never took naked pictures, ever, so all he has is a face pic and the subject of my post "Get Your Dick Sucked." Really, I see his plan as just basically free publicity. And even bad publicity is still publicity, right?

Round Peg Interruptions

Holy hell. What a night.

Work was very stressful today and my brain just was unable to comprehend facts or write clever things about movies I saw last weekend.

Then, to top it off, I got home to find 4 messages from my new Craigslist stalker, Round Peg.

He offered the usually psychotic bits of messages, including things like, "What are you up to?" to "I see you and your lies after lies."

Great. But today, the email battle ends. It's just not worth it.

Today he wrote the following,

"I am seeing your true colors. lie after lie after lie. I am going to forward this and other mail and your posting on cl that I saved to all addresses and some very special ones known to you. I was just checking out how sincere you were of the apology. Not at all interested in meeting you. I am goin to do this and the posting in the bldg. I also have the pics that you took off from the website. I saved them before you could even think about it. ?

(at least this time, he spelled everything correctly, the nasty bastard.)

To which I (should have) dutifully responded,

"W. T. F."

But I finally came up with this:

"[Round Peg],

I am through. I have done all I can and offered my schedule when requested.

I wish you all the best and I'm truly sorry things were unable to be resolved. At this point, there can be no resolution to your satisfaction.

Take care and have a nice night.
[HS]"

And here's why-- really, what the hell do I care if he sends emails to guys on Craigslist or even posts that I'm a whore?! First off, I'm not in the closet, or even discrete/discreet. Second of all, I kind of am a whore. Maybe I'll get some good play out of it. Secondly, if he does jump me, that would be awesome (assuming I'd survive) because I could use the money from the hate crime settlement against the nasty son-of-a-bitch. Finally, if he does post pictures up in the building,I'll just deal with it. I've dealt with worse before (coming out to parents who were retired drill instructors in the United States Marine Corps coms to mind). I also sat through Miss Congeniality 2: Armed and Fabulous.

So, I blocked him from my email account and I'll just wait. Let's Google him and his email address really quick. Hold, please. Ok, I got nothin'. If things get out of hand, I'll be sure and alert the masses. In the meantime, watch the news for hate crimes in New York. But, do try and keep the blog out of it-- I am trying to be anonymous here.

Tomorrow, I promise, my review of Caveh's "I am A Sex Addict", a discussion of going out with other bloggers and friends, and a look into the gay pick-up artist scene. Also, I'd like to start a discussion about what happens when acquaintances all of a sudden start sending text messages with "..." and other suggestive punctuation.

BUT WAIT, just as I was closing ou the blog... this came:

"Cliff,

I got your mail. Your call kept me up as I was anxious to see the mail. Not surprised. I have seen this face around. Lots of flames out here and so I do not bother to look at them. I am surprised at the post and the boldness that one would so foolishly give the address. The guy must be really frustrated. I will give you a call tommorrow.

Ciao
Attached Message
From: Round Peg
To: Yet Another Sick Bastard
Subject: Fwd: get your dick sucked/fuck some ass - 23
Date: Mon, 24 Apr 2006 11:54:19 PM Eastern Daylight Time
Hey bud,

This is the guy from your bldg that I was telling you about. This was his posting looking to suck and get fucked. I was reluctant to show you the pic out of respect for privacy. I am sending you one so you may know the face if you have seen him in the bldg.
You could forward him the mail when you get it so he knows it, but do not communicate or even call if he gives you his tel#. He could be nice and rude too. After what I told you he did and the apology and games. He has blocked my mail and so I am goin to do what I never intended even though I said. Are you able to print color copies of the pic and mail in your office printer as you have privacy at your workplace Let me know or I will get it done elsewhere. Call me tommorrow [sic]."

I am just going to wait until it all blows over. Sigh. But at least it's entertaining to watch them put so much energy into it, when, as mentioned before, it's actually not too big of a deal to me. Hopefully we'll get a few good blogs out of this one. Psycho.

Update

Too hungover form long weekend/ was sick mid-week...

But prepare for tomorrow's triple play of fun and frisky HS postings....

1. Review of the film "I am a Sex Addict"
2. Discussion on the Gay Pick-up Artist Scene
3. homage to other NYC Bloggers I met this weekend

Stay tuned.

Lies My Roommate Told Me

Oreo did bring home her Brooklyn Bridge man last night (which is quite a trip for them). I received a rather innocuous email whilst at work this morning:

"Oh, I hope you didn't hear anything last night/this morning."

What? What the hell is up with Oreo and her stupid, cryptic messages? Just come right out and admit you really wanted to get some and you were horny.

This confirms a suspicion I've always had about people who don't talk about their sex lives. I know, deep down in my heart of hearts, that I do have this problem with sex and that everyone else doesn't. I also know that addicts always think they're normal and that everybody else has the same problems they do. But seriously, I really think that some people just need to fess up. Let's call a spade a spade for God's sake. We have absolutely no reason not to talk about our sex lives. We learn a lot when we talk about sex. For instance, if it wasn't for me watching porn and then talking about it with a friend after sex, I would never have been prepared when I was faced with the prospect of double penetration (two penises, one asshole).

All too often, I think people are still freaked out by the idea of talking about their sex life. Short of sounding too much like Samantha from Sex in the City, there are times when talking about fucking just makes sense. That is, after all, the theory behind sex education, right?

To illustrate another story of one of the online hookups gone by, I'll offer up the story of my stolen wallet:

It was the summer after my senior year of high school. I was working at the mall, hanging out with friends, and checking out AOL chatrooms every night. I had a favorite porn site at this time. Now that I think about it, that summer, when I got my first credit card, I ended up signing up for my first membership to a porn site. Looking back, I can't imagine how the hell I managed to look at porn with a dial-up connection. (Maybe that is how I built my stamina; but I digress.) At any rate, porn you pay for is just basically paying for convenience. It's not like you CAN'T find enough for free online, but usually you only get like 10 pictures for free in the "tour" section. If you pay for a site, you get access to so many to so many pictures immediately, that there's no reason to click around all over the internet looking for that picture that's going to finish you off.

That summer, I met a guy online in a chatroom who was in his 20's. He seemed all right online and we planned for him to come over for some fun. He pulled up in one of those brand new VW Beetles that everybody wanted that year. Since I didn't have any condoms on hand I got in his car and we drove off to get some at the gas station. It was the first time I had gotten in the car with a complete stranger (and, of course, my "Stranger Danger" alert was going crazy). Anyway, we got back to my house and this guy just was not worth anything. He was a bad kisser, had a bad body, basically no dick, and because of that, he surely couldn't fuck me.

Hey, here's a quick question: why do guys with no dick still think they should be allowed to top? I'm not talking about ROY, he had a small dick, but it could get in there and do something. I'm talking about this New Beetle guy. He had maybe a thumb's worth of a cock. The other night, Oreo and I were watching Sue Johanson again on the Sunday Night Sex Show and a caller asked about the male G Spot. Sue said that you had get at least 1 and a half inches in the anus to get to the anterior rectum that presses on the prostate and makes you feel good. So, do you think I'd be completely rude to ask someone with a dick that small to just use a dildo already? (By the way, all of a sudden I have this amazing mental image of a tattoo on my ass that is like one of those things at Disneyland; I can just picture Peter Pan with a ruler right next to my asshole declaring "You must be at least this big to ride". Damn that is funny.)

Ok, New Beetle and I really couldn't have sex. The mechanics just didn't work. So, he left and we went about our business. Oh, but after he left, I noticed my wallet was gone (!). Now, this was perhaps days after I finally convinced my mother to let me have my Social Security Card. I ended calling this guy every day for one week. He finally agreed to bring my wallet back. It had all of my information in it, but was missing all the cash. Moral of the story-- be careful with your wallet around complete strangers. I just hate the buzzkill guys like Round Peg and this New Beetle bastard who make you get nervous about hooking up online.

Oh, by the way, anyone who caught the reference to the Lifetime movie "Lies My Mother Told Me" should be very ashamed of him or herself.

Oreo Grows a Set

I received a very harrowing text message from Oreo today while I was at work:

"I was invited to go to Brooklyn Bridge he loves it. Should I go?"

Ok, well, so many thoughts went running through my head right from the start. I mean, seriously, who invited her to go to the Bridge? What does one do at Brooklyn Bridge (drive? jump? cross the river?) And what does he love? How do I respond to such an odd text?

I did the only thing I could think to do in this situation- be unabashedly honest with Oreo.

"What about Brooklyn? I don't think you'll like it that much when you never see the guy again."

See, I think it hit me right then-- oh my God-- I am some how glorifying anonymous sex in this blog. By finally talking about this, and explaining that even a normal, relatively together guy can look like he's got it all, but also fuck like a wild man and not even care who gets it. Somehow, I thought of all the folks out in cyber space that might be getting the same idea.

Holy shit. Ladies and gentlemen, boy and girls whose parents don't pay enough attention to what you view on the web: THERE IS NOTHING GREAT, GLAMOROUS, OR EVEN EXCITING about living the lifestyle of a sex addict. In fact, nothing in my life should be envied. From what you've read at the beginning, you've seen the tales of a dirty old man, and some rather unfortunately endowed men my age. That was the beginning. What follows is a nasty case of rectal gonorrhea, a fight with the Department of Health, a prostitute in Vegas, a man who paid me $150 to piss in his mouth after fucking him. Oh, and did I mention that I can offer the first name of not more than 28% of the men I've slept with? If you want first and last names that percentage drops to the single digits.

I called my best friend. We'll call her Annelle. Annelle is also someone that I had always had the sneaky suspicion that I somehow influenced to explore anonymous sex. When we first graduated college and I was living in New York and she in LA, I mentioned I was meeting men on Craigslist. As time went on, Annelle kept looking at ads on Craigslist for men to have sex with her. She was just kind of lonely and horny at the same time (ain't that a bitch that those feelings always come together?). Well, when she finally decided to meet a guy, she called me freaking out, and gave me his address and phone number in case she ended up dead in the LA River (ha). When she got to the door, she freaked out when a very large man who looked nothing like his photo answered the door. ( We've since dubbed him, "The Butter Fatty.") Fortunately, that was enough to scare Annelle away from Craigslist for good.

And that is the difference that Annelle so poignantly pointed out to me today-- what separates people like Annelle and Oreo from people like me (read: Sex Addicts), is that they don't sleep with creepos like Butter Fatty (I would've sucked it up and closed my eyes and gone to town to try and finish it off as quickly as possible. Yeah, it would have been gross as fuck, but getting off is still getting off, right?) . Additionally, sex addicts don't learn their lesson when something bad happens. One of the easiest ways to recognize an addition is to identify persistent use despite negative consequences.

So, while we don't yet know if Oreo is going to continue in this path (who knows, maybe she IS sex addict), I hope I've made it abundantly clear that there is nothing romantic or exciting about the life of a Sexual Addict.

Before I wrote this, I checked in with Oreo, who has been out on Brooklyn Bridge for at least 5 hours now. She responded, "[I'll be home] Eventually... he has roommates and I don't give it up on the 1st date. We're have a drink at some random bar."

What a bitch. Now, see there, self-control-- THAT is something to be envied.

Round Peg Strikes Back

Oh boy.

So last night, I finally got a response from Round Peg. Apparently, he thought it over, and he finally decided that he wouldn't post the pictures of me around my building. Except there was a catch. I have to "do what [I] said I would at least 4 times." Umm... what is that about? So, I asked what exactly I said I would do. His response, "I want my dick sucked. Isn't that what you like to do?" Now, is that a fair question? How could I say no? Moreover, 4 times? What is this, like some kind of like penance? Something like, "Okay, my son, please say 10 Hail Mary's and your sins will be forgiven"? Wow. Luckily, I've been able to defer and try and evasion tactics, and he seems to be friendly now. Oreo is very nervous about me inviting this guy to our place anyway, so I can use her as an excuse. Really, though, the way I look at it-- even if I did suck his dick 4 times, I still don't think he would go away. I just need to slowly cut ties to this guy. I am hoping, like so many other guys out there, he'll just go away.

What pisses me off is how he and the other guys like this all seem to be ruining the potential fun and (relative) harmlessness of my beloved Craigslist. Assholes like this guy who can't take no for answer, pricks who just collect pictures, and freaks who can't just let someone get on the site and request a specific type to hook up with (you know, those guys that say, "No Asians" or "Black guys only") are absolutely ruining what should be otherwise a very private/satisfying experience.

On another note, I think I may be corrupting Oreo. The poor girl has been home sick from work all week and we've been chatting a lot about Craigslist. Lately, she's been looking at ads on the "Men Seeking Women" page. I keep telling her it's just not healthy and that bad things will come out of it. Luckily, she's already had a few amazing experiences. I'm kind of jealous, because I can only imagine the kind of awesome ads that women can respond to from straight men. Here are some of the Oreo vignettes that I'll highlight right now for your reading enjoyment:

1. Oreo finds Jesus: Oreo found an ad that apparently talked a lot about fucking girls with tattoos of Jesus on their ass, and then lighting a candle and dripping the wax on their ass. I'm not sure why, but she responded to the ad, only to be immediately spammed by a religious message lamblasting her for being a sinner and the offering her a free Bible.

2. Oreo gets Herpes?: So, some guy posts an ad looking for someone with Herpes. Now Oreo things this is hilarious and responds. Her thought process? "Oh, who would actually say they have Herpes on Craigslist?" Poor, naive Oreo. He responded to her with stats and information and then, Oreo asked him if he really had Herpes. His response, "Yes." And then there was no more interaction between Oreo and her would-be suitor. Note to all out there--- just as people use Craigslist to satisfy that little fetish for feet or whatever, people also use it to find a lover who doesn't mind if they have any STD's or whatever.

3. Oreo Opens Her Mind: Oreo asked me to define a few of the terms that are so loosely thrown around the site. I ended up having to explain to her that "skiing" means blow and "420" means pot.

I'd like to present these 3 vignettes to the jury as proof positive that this girl is a hot mess and should steer clear of Craigslist until she's better prepared for what's in store for a girl like her.

A Whole New Look/ Going Forward

So, here is the new look. I like this template better than the last one. I'd really like to make some little edits to this template but I don't know enough about the whole html coding. If you're reading this and you do know something about this stuff, drop me a line and maybe you can help me with it. I've also added some new suspect sites that link you to even more crazy (and dirty if that's possible) sex blogs on the net. Note to all ye sex bloggers who read this: Go ahead and link to me on your site and let me know if you want a link on mine. It's only fair that we share the love and really link ourselves to each other.

Moving on, quick Round Peg report: nothing is up as of yet. I'm still waiting to see what happens with that.

So back on to the history of Homosexual Suspect. I think at this point it's important to note that, despite my best efforts, this blog will never be able to document every sexual encounter. Simply put, I just can't remember them. Moreover, they won't come in any kind of chronological order. To that end, you should probably get a quick handle on where my life has gone and where I've lived.
1. It all started back home somewhere in the middle in one of those red states.
2. Next, we go to college in a hip town filled with lots of eligible college students.
3. Finally, I ended up in New York working in the travel industry. Lots of travel= lots of bad things. Currently, I'm still in New York, only now I don't travel anymore.

After my disappointing encounter with a guy my age (and his ears), I think I finished my senior year the way any young sexual compulsive/addict would- with another guy. This time, though, it was actually legal for me to find a guy to hook up with. Looking back on it, there really never was a better hook to catch guys online than, "Hey guys! It's my 18th birthday so be the first to wish me a happy birthday and tap this legal ass." Seriously, I remember lots of guys responding to that ad. (Come on, cut me a little slack; momma said that it was just a little white lie that'll never heart nobody.)

I was lucky enough to find a very attractive military man in his 30's to come and just lay there and let me take care of him. Looking back on it, this is the kind of sexual relationship that I have wanted to see duplicated in all my future relationships. This guy was built with broad shoulders and just enough stomach to make him real. He also had a little chest hair, and good strong hairy legs. In today's online world, he'd be in his 40s and ugly, I'm sure. I guess back then I was a daddy seeker. That's a scary thought. Of course, he had a great cock, and an even better attitude. He came in knowing that all I wanted was a birthday fuck. He was the first guy that I think I was using just as much as he was using me. I rated this guy a seven in my book because I don't think he lasted very long.

In my current life, I'm not really sure exactly what kind of guy I'm looking for or interested in, but I know what kind of sex I want and that was definitely it. Thank God for men who know what they want and go out and get it. I was recently reading The Truth About Cocks and Dolls http://cocksanddolls.blogspot.com and got into a discussion with Dolly about the tragic absence of the aggressive male in today's New York dating scene. I have a couple theories on this apparent revolt against our natural instinct. If you think about it, even going back to old school Neanderthals, the men are supposed to be the naturally aggressive ones who go out and get what they want and continue to court their mates. (I am loosely applying this theory to the gay Neanderthals as well). Now-- go with me here-- I see New York as so far removed from the natural habitat of man, that we can hardly blame men for not taking a club and beating the shit out of each other just take us back to their cave to have their way with us. However, I do see the tide turning and, starting with Uggs and now Abercrombie's summer line, it appears that fashion is becoming increasingly rugged. Maybe there is hope after all.

In the meantime, I encourage you all to join me on my quest to spread one simple message to all the chicken-shit men out there who pussyfoot around commitment and dating: GROW A SET.

Quick Detour

Today's post will focus on two very odd and traumatic things that have happened to me in the past two days as a direct result of consorting with Craigslist. Don't worry, for those of you who want to hear more about my disgusting/funny/gross/painful sexual history, I'll be getting back to that in due time.

So I was at work the other day when the first incident happened. A new guy was hired in a department right next to mine on my floor. He looked kind of familiar and all, but whatever. Well, at the end of the day yesterday, I was giving out donuts to the whole gang that we had leftover from a meeting and I finally stopped at his desk. I figured I'd introduce myself and all and I might be able to figure out where I thought I knew him from.

"Hey man, I've seen you all over the office and just never stopped to say hello. Hi, I'm Homosexual Suspect," I ventured.

"Yeah man, I know. We've met before," he replied.

"Oh, did we, like, work together or something?" I asked innocently.

"This is the first time we've met in the office," he said with a cocked brow.

"Holy shit," I replied in my head. We met off Craigslist the night before your interview here and now you're working five feet from my desk. And you weren't one of the rare hot men you meet on Craigslist, but rather, a relatively forgetful one. I can't even remember who fucked who. (And you all can attest that I must have a good memory if I can keep track of all the other bad fucks like VOM).

"Oh, right," I finally said aloud. "RIGHT."

"Yeah," said Blast From the Past.

Let the awkward games begin.

Well that encounter ended up paling in comparison to my next incident.

So, the other night I started some basic emailing with a guy off Craigslist. It seemed harmless at first. He lived near me, but was "discrete/discreet" and wouldn't share pictures (really, this is a readily recurring- albeit that it definitely happens less now in this age of digital cameras. For me, I get so delusionally obsessed with getting off while someone else is with me that I end up not really caring if I even come close to seeing what they look like first. Case and point, VOM).

Well it took a few days but last night he emailed, "Hey man, I'm gonna take a walk, I'll be on the corner at 11 if you want to come meet me to see what I look like." Well, Oreo and I were watching some good movies, but I quickly made an excuse and ran out to see the guy. He had described himself as 35, 6'1 in good shape with an 8 inch cock. Well, that doesn't say much since, unfortunately, most guys don't walk around naked, and every guy looks tall and 35 to me. Great. So I walked to the 7-11 and back and didn't see anyone making eye contact with me. I saw a young looking Indian (as in from the country India) but he didn't seem to fit the bill.

Well I got back and emailed the guy to see what was up and then it all went downhill. Turns out it was the guy that didn't fit the bill. We'll call him Round Peg. According to RP, I was walking quickly down the street pretending to talk on my cell phone. Now, this is true, but only because none of my standby bullshit talk friends were available. So, really this could be all their fault. Next, he started emailing me with some crazy shit.

"For being so rude I will get you. I just spoke to a friend in that bldg who says it was cheesy of you to do that and then not respond or apologize. I will print your posting with you [sic] pic and post it all over the bldg."

Now, what the hell is this? Really, what is this? Who does this? So, I had to make a snap decision- get defensive and drive the lunacy in deeper, or just start apologizing and placate the bastard. So, I tried to apologize, reason and even use works like "miscommunication." Well there was no response until...

"I have nothin [sic] more to say. You obviously were not responding because you knew you were out of line. Never ask someone to leave their place and walk over so you could get some thrill out of it and then pretend [sic] . Everybody has their own taste bus [sic] some level of respect prevaills [sic]. That's what fags [sicK] do not decent folks. I am not vengeful but you so boldly pushed buttons and then lie instead of apolozing [sic] . Its [sic] just nice that I am not an evil person. Someone nasty would probably jump you. When folks in the bldg see your post and the pic you will know what the feelin [sic] is like. I will make sure its [sic] there by the weekend. I have nothin [sic] more to say."

So now it got physical. Can you imagine me getting jumped for something like this? WOW. I sent another request for understanding and got nothing again until the final...

"So you never do that to anyone again. If you were honest and sorry you would have responded to the mail. You ignored and then responded after knowing that I was annoyed and would do what I said and then lied about goin [sic] to sleep. So what keeps you up now? My friend in that bldg is so curious to see the post. Since he is married and closeted I cannot e mail it to him to respect his privacy. I dont [sic] feel good about it at all but sincerely annoyed . I will think about this tmrw as he will be comin [sic] over to my place on Sunday since he is goin [sic] out of town. I do not even like the thought of doing it or showing him the mail. I have 2 days to think it over. You may be a nice person but never play such games again. At this point I am not interested. There are plenty of them in this neighborhood and I do not really associate much. I have recd you subsequent mail and I will think about it but do if you do not hear from me either tmrw or sat that means I am not interested in knowing. You could e mail your cell# and I will call if I feel like it.

Have a good nite [sic]."

I'm not sure if he will actually follow through with his threat or not this weekend. After all, nothing says, "He is Risen," quite like having your face and most intimate sexual desires posted all over your new apartment building for all the little kiddies to find on their Easter Egg Hunt (ooh, wait, they're all Jewish. But still, even little Jewish children shouldn't be exposed to that kind of image). I will keep you all posted on what Round Peg decides to do or if I hear from him again. What a mess.

Incidentally, I have only had one other slightly sketchy experience from the internet dating scene and it happened when I was like 17. This one involved an asshole who stole my wallet after we had a failed sexual encounter (read: He couldn't get it up). But more on that later.

To allay any fears any of you have out there: HS got his semi-annual STD/HIV check up and is still negative, clean and free. We'll get to the STDs at some point.

I think I might use a part of this weekend to revamp my blog. I mean, it needs to have a better layout. Additionally, as it would appear I've finally found a good and real purpose for this blog, I think I may need to make a new description for this blog so that it actually reflects my goals and intentions. Stay tuned for more.

Frustration (At Least He's My Age This Time)

No wonder I went with such an older guy. At least that was worth taking my pants off for.

Obviously, after my encounter with the Very Old Man (VOM) who offered to buy me a printer, I was understandably a little shaken and very deterred from AOL. What if it happened again? What if I got someone really creepy who would abuse me and kill me? What if I was a victim of some creepy child predator (again?).

LOL.

It was several months later over the summer before my junior year that I finally was able to set up another online tryst.

OH, at this point I think it's important to note that I had great parents, but that by the time I was 16, mom decided to make more money and work 3rd shift and dad went to bed early and in our big old house, the basement was a safe bet for turning tricks. Just a heads up that I realize things could have been more restrictive, but my parents literally had no idea any of this was even happening. Read into what you will, but God love my parents (or at least, I'm sure that dirty VOMs everywhere are indebted to their negligence!)

Ok, this guy hailed form a rival high school and was a band geek. He was younger than me (a new first!), but seemed like he had done this a lot. When he came over we ended up making out a lot and eventually engaged in my first my 69 (hooray! another first... Those were the days when everything was a first.)

This guy had a relatively average dick Abut frighteningly disproportionate ears. I mean they were huge. I remember at one point just grabbing on to THEM during that hot "press the head down" move that I believe is reviled by less-slutty men and women everywhere. What I came to notice during this event was that all three guys I had hooked up with to date had TINY balls. I suddenly realized and gained a whole new appreciation for my own sac. This time though, I experience my first frustration with oral sex. I do appreciate the idea that oral sex can be good foreplay or a good substitute or teaser but I think that it works when you have another relationship and also have penetrating sex as well. Otherwise, blowjobs to strangers, while hot, aren't as fun as getting fucked. They just aren't. I got really frustrated (and still do) whenever I run into any guys who are just apprehensive about fucking.

I never saw Ears again. It's kind of a shame because he wasn't that bad. I think he was my first example also of why 2 bottoms can't get together. This was, of course, long before I realized what those words meant and which role I played. So much more to write about.

In real life news, I was at the gym today and, at my gym, there is a plethora of men in European speedos in the locker room. Anyway, I am determined to begin an HS examination of the locker room and gym sex shenanigans so analyze the scene there. Expect periodic reports.

Another First

The first guy I hooked up with online was easily over 55. If you're keeping score, that means the second guy I slept with was at least 3.5 times older than me. I wouldn't put it past him to say he was in his sixties.

I remember we met on some random night in an AOL chatroom. This was before you had to send pictures, and even though I was only 16, I'm sure I must have lied and said I was 18. Either that or he was happy to get some illegal booty.

However it happened, it was a pretty horrifying experience. In general, I remember being happy he had at least a dick worth looking at. He was fat, old and worst of all, I just felt like I was having sex with my dad. Even at 16, I knew enough about Freud to realize that was pretty fucked up.

My favorite part of being fucked by this guy (who, oddly enough, isn't actually the oldest guy I've fucked) was that afterwards he asked me where I was going to college. He then offered to buy me whatever I wanted (funnily enough, he started by offering me a printer, which is definitely still the weirdest thing anyone has ever offered to me during our post-coital bliss.)

Now, this came long before I actually did start taking money for sex, but at the time I began to wonder why it is that older men always want to offer money for sex. I mean, seriously, I know that being old doesn't make you feel hot, but clearly if you are old there are still horny ass guys like me out there who'll do it anyway.

Apparently you just have to know how to get my attention by typing. Fucking guys off the AOL circuit was certainly pretty easy, it just requires a certain literary knack. And you need to be persistent and have good control of the copy and paste function. (Otherwise you're typing the same self-statistics like 800 times).

The End of the Innocence

I never really thought I'd give it up when I did. For some reason, even with all the porn, all the jacking off, I still thought I'd have a very romantic and easy going first time.

Instead, I had a good old trashy one. Like all high school students, I worked in the mall through school. There was this one boy back then who looked remarkably like the guy from Rookie of the Year (I think the actor's name is Thomas Ian Nicholas, but I digress). Anyway, we'll call this guy ROY. He was pretty much the only out gay guy (who wasn't super gross and creepy) I knew from high school. Well, one night he picked up from work. The date was December 23. I remember going back to my parents house and watching some movie called "The Shadowlands." ROY kept complaining of a back ache and I remember finally deciding I would offer him a massage. I believe I created some statistic back then where I said that a back massage was the second most sexual thing a person could do with their clothes on (the first, of course, being dry humping. Duh.) Well in the process of massaging ROY's back, I got around to ROY's crotch. There are some interesting things to bring up at this juncture. First, we were in my parent's house at Christmastime and, well, mom was definitely awake upstairs immersing herself in holiday merriment with cookies and the whole nine yards. Second, I ended up giving ROY a blowjob long before we ever made out. Jesus, I was sucking cock before I even had my first real kiss. What the hell is that?

ROY had a tiny penis. Even in my "This is my first" state I knew it was small. (Hell, he was two years older than me and two inches shorter than me, not to mention inconsequentially thick). Somehow I knew it was a good idea to have sex with him because it just couldn't hurt. After all, at this point I had a very intimate relationship with our plunger. And ROY had nothing on the plunger. For the record, I still can't look at a plunger without remembering all of the adolescent flings.

With ROY, we didn't have a condom and he didn't have lube. Instead, he ran out and got massage oil. WHAT?!?!? Do you have any idea how much it burns when your ass is ripped open and all that you have rushing in to soothe it is some fragranced massage oil?! BURNING. That's all I remember of my first time is the smell of some massage oil, that awful movie, and BURNING. Yeah, yeah, I know we didn't use a condom, but even at 15 I knew enough to make him pull out first. Not good, I know. History is history.

Boys and girls reading this: Always use a condom.

There I said it.

ROY and I had a few other notable trysts. Once again in the basement at parents' house. Same massage oil, same quick end. I don't think I lasted 8 seconds. The third time, in an increasingly sick twist, was in my sister's bed. But this time we used Jergen's. Much nicer. This was the first time I did it doggie style and actually lasted awhile this time. In fact, I think we came together. How romantic.

The other times with ROY were all pretty much the same. He never wanted anyone to know to was happening. A few times he came over late at night during a school week after we had chatted online all night and got each other worked up (early itchings of online whoredom). Also, ROY had pretty loose parents, insofar as he could do whatever he wanted. My favorite time was later that summer during a party at one of our friend's GRANDMA's houses (this was one of those parties where you got the grandparents to leave for the night so everyone could spend the night and someone could get booze and you could all have one sip and get stupid.) Anyway, we had some good sex in the laundry room at 5 am one night. Notable from this encounter would be when he asked me to "squeeze" him while we were going it. Obviously, the squeeze technique should be reserved for power bottoms with experience. All I ended up doing was farting. It was my first really embarrassing sex act.

ROY was a good start insofar as he was someone who I knew. That should've been a good thing, right? When I look back, my sexual relationship with ROY ends up easily in the top 5 most healthy.

ROY was also the first guy I ever hooked up with in a car. I ended up sitting my naked ass on the horn, but the music in the car was so loud we never noticed until it was too late. Ahh memories. In the end, with ROY, I just got angry, because I really wanted to fuck HIM. After all, I had the bigger dick and that's how it works, right?!

Oh no. Not at all. More on that later.

History 101

Where did life go so wrong so young?

I think it all starts back on spring break of seventh grade when I used to watch scrambled Cinemax porn. I remember it so clearly, I can even hear the opening sequence music. At any rate, I knew how each episode went. Scene one- random girl and random guy fucking. Scene two- random girl masturbates until she is "interrupted" by random other girl (usually a maid or something) who then joins in for the lesbian scene. The third scene was always the hottest- hot guy, hot girl (sometimes a three way, if you were lucky). I don't remember what happened in the fourth and final scene-- but for me, I never cared (usually done by then-- 45 minutes was the apparent attention span of penis). All I ever wanted to see was the penis. I mean really, you saw like every possible angle you could ever want of come girl's "bearded axe wound", but no matter what, they always passed over showing you the cock shot (and, while we're at it, the money shot.)

The first time I ever got off was during that spring break in seventh grade. I was wearing these horrible hunter green cotton shorts and probably a shirt that had a tiger on it with some message about that tiger being endangered underneath . Of course, the shirt was tucked in, and my hair was slicked back. I definitely blew my first load all over those shorts and then, as if I were in some movie, my sister came upstairs. For all those guys who can recount the first time they got off, I was a) paralyzed, b) confused, and c) quick to make a really good excuse as to why there was a huge wad of tissue sitting next to me by the TV. "Oh Jesus, sis, I just had this awful sneezing fit."

Right. It took me a while, but I quickly realized how I could get off without the TV anymore. What a treat. Too bad it took a lot of Vaseline and then who knows what other lotion I was able to drum up from mom and dad's bathroom (also gross). It became a ritual, me, the lotion and my scrambled porn.

It just got old after a while, even though it always got me off. I remember the day I decided to watch the episode so closely I could find some address of the production studio (mind you, I was 12 or 13). See, I intended to write a letter to the directors, the producers, even the editors, so that I could DEMAND to know why they just weren't showing any dick. I just didn't think it was fair. But that was before I discovered gay porn. Oh, for the record, I wasn't quite sure I was gay yet. I thought I was taking a stand for civil rights or something.

Who knows why, but I never thought they made gay porn. Luckily, the internet happened and porn was pretty much everywhere. I have such mixed feelings about kids getting "NetNanny" or other cyber censors. I just feel like porn and the internet were such a vital part of my development, you know? So, of course the internet also led to that inevitable time my mom walked in on me looking at porn/pants down/going at it/etc. GREAT. I even remember saving pictures to those little 3 1/2" floppy disks and then printing them or even putting them in my own little slide show of porn. SICK.

But, that was high school. And middle school. And that was just before real sex. So, I guess in trying to analyze my sexual compulsion, I have to start by looking at the internet and porn. It all started there.

After the pictures came the cyber sex. Who knows who/where the guys were. Who knows who/where the girls were. I do know that the typing was always ridiculous and the words werealways fucking retarded. I mean does it really get you off to read things on a screen said by someone else? Does it?

???

?..

...

DAMN RIGHT it does. It's like choose your own adventure erotica and you get to pick all of all the factors. You make up how hot you are, how hot your fuck buddy is, where you are, what you do, and best of all... What you're capable of. I mean, how cool to be able to say that you can get fisted during cyber sex, when you know damn well that in real life, there is no amount of Crisco in the world capable of actually letting someone put their whole FIST anywhere IN your body. (Just to allay any fears/deter any of you in light bondage or fisting-- I have never been fisted nor will I ever fist anyone. I think I saw fisting happen once. But my personal best is three fingers. That is all.)

Basically, it all kind of comes down to this: scrambled Cinemax was a gateway drug for me that became internet porn, cyber sex, and eventually, as you all know, phone and cyber sex. Any real relationships I had were merely a coincidental side effect of my natural beauty.

But that is of course what we're all most interested in, right? So, without further ado, we'll kick off the 100+ days of 100+ men tomorrow where I'll recount the tale of men and women gone by.

It's Gonna Be a Bumpy Ride

Rather than focus on those obvious inexcusable reasons I haven't written in so long... I'd rather just lament the fact that writing in this blog someow became like going to the gym. You know how, at firstwhen you sign up, you always get really excited to go to the gym? Initially, you're ready to do it and you go all out because you want to see instant results.

But then like you don't lose weight and then your schedule doesn't allow you to go one night and you realize that it's really easy to miss a night. So then, well, you just stop all together because you see like all the other things you could do in that time you spend at the gym. Like watch TV. Or jack off.

Well, to that end, writing in this blog just kind of took a major back seat as I settled into my new job and new apartment and new found financial freedom.

But, like every fat-ass gym promise I've broken, I am now rebounding with a vengeance. After all, way too much shit is going down for me to let it all just it all go by without properly recording it for all to read.

As I moved and began to consolidate my whole life, I ended up with all the memories from my whole life, minus the two teddy bears that my mother refused to let go. The more I went through those memories, it became clear that I was actually tracing the beginnings of my sexual compulsion. Hell, I even found the page in my old-school journal, that lists all of my former sexual partners (many not even by name just because I really just don't know them.) My favorite part of this is that I actually took the time to score them each on a 1 through 10 scale. Oh that, and the disclaimer at the bottom that says that "NOTE: All of this blank doesn't have to be filled up." There is also a little scribble at the bottom that offers a brief warning that "reading this page makes me very horny." Finally, I did include a short disclaimer declaring that this number actually includes +2 handicap, to account for those men I may have forgotten (which is probably many more than just the two).

I think it would be beneficial for me, and maybe fun to read for any who read this blog, if I try and recount the tale of each and every one of the men on this list. This gives me a guide to follow. Plus, maybe it will be good therapy.

So, starting this week, we'll go through the whole gory story of sex and relationships (however short-lived). One boy/girl per post. Fasten your seatbelts, bitches, I'm not sure even I'm going to be able to hold on for the ride.

Oh, and P the fuck S... no more definitions at the start of each blog. I think it's a little too Bridget Jones.