Homosexual Suspect

A blog addressing the trials and tribulations of a real-life (mostly) gay sex addict. Designed to raise awareness of the reality of this disease, the goal is not to glorify or make light of a terrible affliction, but rather to candidly illustrate what it's like from my perspective. For sex addicts, sexual compulsives, romantic obsessives and the friends and family thereof. Title derived from the title of Jenny Garp's bestseller Sexual Suspect in John Irving's classic The World According to Garp.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

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.

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