“I would definitely bring protection.” No one ever intentionally fucks a retard. Even those cases where fate has deemed someone socially acceptable enough to pursue sexually, it’s not like they know what they’re doing. For something to be intentional you should know that it’s a mistake every step of the way. Having said that I should first point out that to this day I’m still unsure if the guy was actually slow or not. I had my suspicions, but it has yet to be confirmed. He was perfectly capable of holding a coherent conversation so for all intents and purposes I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt. We met online. I’m a part of the gay cultural phenomenon known as Adam4Adam. For those who don’t know what it is, in a nutshell it’s a website designed for gay men who wish to cut out the awkward small talk of meeting at a bar and would rather just get right down to the sex. It’s wonderful and my participation is guilty for almost 50% of my hookups over the past two years. I should really get rid of it. However, I digress. He seemed normal. He looked normal. Sure he could have been a serial killer, but he didn’t look disabled. From the moment he walked through the door he was silent. He dropped to his knees and got down to business. We didn’t kiss on the mouth. I’m like the Pretty Woman of gay hook-ups. I can’t bring myself to make out with a guy in a no strings attached situation. Especially in a situation where a guy may or may not have downs syndrome. I’m such a prostitute. Jesus. When he finally spoke is when I knew there might be a problem. “L-l-l-lie down. I wa-wa-wanna be on t-t-top.” Maybe I’m mistaking a disability for a stutter. Thinking back on it i’m sure it was just a speech impediment. The problem is the fact that I mistook him for a Special Olympics hurdler. That should give you reason enough to assume that it was awful. I giggled until I came. Yes. I still fucked him. Don’t judge me. He contacted me again a few days later. I explained it was probably better if we let it remain a one-time thing. There was no possible way I’d benefit from it…. I mean, he had a speech impediment. Or downs syndrome. Like I said… I still don’t know. Nor do I intend to find out If Juliette Lewis and Giovanni Ribisi’s performances in “The Other Sister” have taught me anything it’s that “special” sex is socially accepted… I mean, between two people with downs syndrome, but still I don’t feel as guilty about it as I should.
- Thomas | The Ringer
“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again… Sluts just heal quicker.”
- Sophia Petrillo | The Golden Girls
Dating is quite possibly the most difficult thing I’ve ever tried to do. It’s probably the reason I prefer not to do it.
There is something about being vulnerable to another person that just doesn’t sit right with me. You lower your defenses and suddenly this person has access to your weaknesses. I shouldn’t even be in control of that side of myself, much less anyone else.
Yes. If you haven’t noticed I’m jaded.
The worst part is I can’t blame anyone for this except myself. I do awful things to good people and in return, good people do awful things to me. Call it karma. Call it fate. Call it dating. Call it what you will.
And yet, I don’t hate them. I can’t. So they hurt me? Things happen.
Dating is not about morality. It’s never about good or bad. It took a long time before I realized it has only ever been about attraction. If he stops calling or decides it’s time to date someone else, it doesn’t mean he’s a terrible person.
People misconstrue the idea of attraction into thinking simple choices make them awful people. Reputation is never at stake for an honest decision, it’s how you present yourself that will give you a bad name.
If you’re not attracted to me, you’re not made to be. Why the hell am I going to kill myself try to get your attention? Is it a game? Sure. Is it for fun? Sometimes. However, you have to know when to stop playing the game. If you think about how easy love and sex and flirtation are when they’re really right you wonder why anyone ever tries so hard. It’s autopilot.
We’re the arrogant ones thinking we have some sort of say in it all.
I have been trying my goddamn hardest to give boys a chance. Don’t fuck them. Don’t lead them on. Get to know them. If you have a crush, go with it.
I’m not cut out for this sort of thing.
I am the way I am for a reason. I rarely stray. When I stray the path I’ve laid out for myself I only lose my way and end up hurt. I would rather sleep around and be alone than be hurt in any capacity by the search for “the one”. One night stands don’t break your heart.
Whatever. Occasionally the heartbreaker gets his heart broken.
“I guess you’re not required to like me, but did you fake it just to spite me?” The worst idea I’ve ever had was deciding on a whim to let a complete stranger spend the week with me. He found me online through a popular blogging platform. He was under the impression that his ex and I looked a lot alike. He was right for the most part. We possessed similar facial features. It was pretty creepy. If a person you’re interested in dating tells you that you look exactly like their ex, you should probably just start looking for someone else. Things progressed quickly from there. Within a few weeks he had booked a flight to come and spend a week with me. Despite initial reservations I came to the conclusion that if he was convinced I wasn’t a serial killer then I may as well believe he wasn’t either, and to just go with the flow. It was awkward. Painfully awkward. Even as I did everything in my power to ensure he had a wonderful time on his trip it remained awkward. Things came to a head at a club about mid-way through his stay. We drunkenly argued briefly in a back alley because he thought I was upset because he wasn’t putting out. While I did think my effort required a little more recognition, I was more upset that throughout the his visit he was being so fucking cynical. It was outrageous. I suppose that’s what happens when two strangers spend every waking minute of every day together. For a week. After a few more drinks we ended up fooling around. I had work early the next morning so I left him naked in bed. I can’t fathom what must have been running through his mind when he woke up. His final days dragged on. The situation only became more uncomfortable. On the drive back to the airport to break the defeaning silence I asked, “Do I still remind you of your ex?” I could hear the disappointment in his voice, “No. You’re nothing alike.” They had broken up just a few months before this incident. Shortly after his ex found someone else. At the airport I hugged him goodbye and watched him go. If this situation taught me anything it was that you should never mistake your loneliness for horniness. His number one mistake was believing just for a second that by spending time with me he would be able to effectively forget that he was still in love with his ex. My biggest mistake was assuming anything good could come of the situation. Of course that wasn’t the case. You can’t substitute one person for someone else. You’ll just end up missing the one you love more, wishing that it was their breath you felt on your skin, their sweat that mingled with your own, their body that you wrapped yourself around. Contrary to popular belief you cannot fuck the pain of missing him away no matter how hard you try. You just feel the distance between the two of you even more than you ever did. The more you deny what you feel the more you’ll feel it. I like to think he finally realized this about mid-week. The past is what it is. It’s over. You have no choice but to accept it. He called just once after he left to let me know his plane had finally landed. That was the last time I ever spoke to him. I cut my losses the minute I hung up the phone.
- String A-Long Song | Jay Brannan
“Can I say something? And don’t take this the wrong way because you know I’ll be your friend no matter what.”
- Shira | No Strings Attached
There are things that I’ve done to guys that really solidfy the reasons why I’m single. However some of the things I’ve done to a few of my closest friends, a.k.a the people who stand by me through everything and refuse to judge me for any of my sexual escapades, are much worse. My skewed reasoning states that if you’re my friend, then you have personally chosen to put up with me and therefore you cannot get angry at the things I do — No matter how terrible.
One of my very close friends went all out for her twentieth birthday. We had a nice dinner, she organized a large group to go clubbing, and despite the fact she lived in town she even rented a room with two queen beds at a luxury resort for the week.
After a night at the club my friend and I, along with another member of her gay harem, stumbled back to her room to hang out and continue to drink. Within the hour she was passed out and I was left alone with her friend whom I had just met hours earlier.
Since I had become friends with her I had heard ramblings of this kid’s flawed existence, but I never had the pleasure of actually meeting him. People warned that when he saw something he wanted he worked fast to get it. Basically he and I were the same person.
He was overzealous, obnoxious, and moderately cute. The only thing working against him was his attitude and his smile. If you can picture a retard kissing glass, then you’d probably be able to envision this kid on a good day. He had the type of personality and looks only a mother could love.
He had been flirting with me all night and now with the birthday girl out cold, he moved in for the kill. In the bed parallel to us our friend slept while we proceeded to have sex.
This moment was my first taste of the trashy ways of a slut.
Two nights later we hooked up on his half-deflated air mattress. We occupied the majority of the space while a totally separate friend hugged the edge of the bed, curled into the fetal position hopefully drunk but more than likely fully aware of the events occuring next to her.
The birthday girl would inform me years later that she always knew what was happening. “I’m not stupid, Jon. I can’t believe you guys did that.”
This coming from a girl who sat on a coutertop with her legs spread wide while she offered up her nipples for tasting to a line of drunk guys at a halloween party. Or a girl who assumes the answer to potential unwanted pregnancy after a racuous night of unprotected sex is just a quick trip to the amusement park/county fair.
I love her with all my heart. No judgement. No questions asked.
If it weren’t for keepin’ it classy, then we probably wouldn’t be friends.
Disclaimer: To my closest friend — I’m sorry I made fun of you for that time you let guys suck your nipples at that halloween party. And I’m sorry for taking photos and telling everyone. And I’m sorry for repeating it now.
“Preparation is vital. No detail can be overlooked and the ritual is intoxicating”
- Dexter | Dexter
Before doing anything sexually with a guy I have a bad tendency to closely examine his genitalia. With STDs running rampant among the sexually active and knowing very well that I am probably not the only person in the world with my type of sexual appetite, I just feel better giving guys a pretty thorough physical. If there is anything strange or abnormal then he can pack up and head back where he came from.
I don’t know how I missed it.
We had fooled around pretty consistently over the course of a week. We had done everything imaginable.
When I threw him down on the couch in the early afternoon for a quick blow job I never expected to find what I came across, but there it was. A big, gaping hole. About the girth of a drinking straw. Right underneath his urethra. A black hole that most definitely disappeared into the nothingness of his erect dick. It stared back at me. If his dick had the ability to speak I’m sure it would move and tell me in an ominous tone, “This could happen to you!”
I looked up at the guy. His head was thrown back, eyes closed in ecstasy. I said, “I didn’t know your dick was pierced.”
“It’s not.”
Out of embarrassment I glanced around the room, knowing full well I was the only person there. I shrugged my shoulders and went down on him, It wasn’t the first time we had hooked up. If I was going to catch something it would have already happened.
I came across another guy who hooked up with him months later. When we went into discussion over the fact we were eskimo brothers, or two people who share a common sexual mistake, the first thing he said was “AND DID YOU SEE THE GIANT HOLE IN HIS DICK?!”
Yes. Yes I did. It’s just unfortunate that sometimes even the biggest details are overlooked and go unnoticed until they are staring you in the face.
Thankfully, in case you were wondering, my dick is still very much intact.
“He could deal with another man, but he’s havin’ trouble with the father, the son, and the holy ghost” You know that old adage about how God is everywhere? Some people have a real problem with that. He’s always watching you? So creepy.With his vengeful eye fixed upon the world it’s hard to escape his wrath when you give into temptation. Fresh out of high school and barely out of the closest, I met a guy during my involvement with a community theatre project. Over a few weeks I really began to like the kid. I was still young and hardly jaded. At this point in my life I was allowed to have a crush. Following a late night rehearsal he needed a place to crash for the night. I offered up and he hopped at the chance. Lying next to him I never assumed we would’ve ended up where we did, but I was mistaken. Things got hot and heavy. Now when I say heavy I don’t mean sexually. Shit got emotional. He came and within moments was shaking violently in the bed next to me. “Are you gonna be okay?” I had always known people that were closeted, but I had no clue that some people hid within the confines of that tiny room with the door locked and airtight. He was so deep in the closet he was in Narnia. He flipped out. The boy leapt from the bed and rummaged through his jeans. He produced a pocket sized bible, took a seat on the floor at the edge of the bed, and began to pray. Whether you consider sodomy a sin or not I was pretty sure that the few other places we went left no room for forgiveness. When I fell asleep he was still there sobbing on the floor. By the time I woke up he was already gone. I scoured the house to check for any missing valuables. Everything was present and accounted for. Tacked to the fridge was one of those “change your ways or burn in hell” pamphlets that bible thumpers hand out in the streets. He wrote a note at the bottom of the page. It read, “He hates your mistakes, but he will always love you.” Sad to say it but I craved altar boy’s attention, and not the man upstairs. As hard as it was to admit I had to come to terms with the fact that just maybe he loved Jesus just a little bit more than he loved me.
- Truvy | Steel Magnolias
“I needed money cause I had none. I fought the law and the law won.” I never wanted to go to law school. I don’t really seem like the law school type, do I? I mean I know lawyers tend to be some of the more fucked up members of society but my checkered past doesn’t seem to be any indication of all the good that could come from me being one of the privileged few who upholds the law. Actually… I want to do criminal defense so I’d really be twisting the law to get bad people out of their own bad situations. That seems a little more like me. Unless you follow my Twitter It’s rare for me to give a glimpse into my life in the present. Other than the fact that I’m trying to manage my sexual escapades there really isn’t much in my day-to-day life that’s different from anyone else. I’m just miserable. Law school sucks. And don’t tell me, “Everyone hates it their first year” because I already know. This is different. This isn’t like the normal hate associated with being knee-deep in busy work. This is hate in the purest form. I shouldn’t be doing this with my life. I try not to be preachy here. I set out to accomplish a goal and that’s my top priority. It’s easier for me to present the facts and let you make your own assumptions about who I am and why I do the things I do. Sleeping around and law school have taught me many things, but one thing in particular sticks out like a sore thumb. I would like to offer just one piece of advice. Don’t put yourself into a situation that you’re going to regret. Don’t ever do something that you can look back on and know you should’ve done it differently. A life of regret is not the life you want to be living. Trust me, I wake up to it everyday. It takes a strong person to do something and to do it unapologetically. It takes an even stronger person to know whether or not all that effort is worth it in the first place. Sleeping around, going to professional school, being in a relationship, or waking up and living your day to day life; Whatever it is that you’re doing, just make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons or at the very least reasons that you can live with. And no matter what… don’t go to law school.
- I Fought the Law | Bobby Fuller Four
“Can you tell me how we got into this situation? I can’t seem to get you off of my mind.”
- Human | Jon McLaughlin
It had been almost two years since we had originally met. He was in a relationship with an alcoholic and I was two months out from leaving to finish college. During this time we grew closer. Our conversations lasted longer. We spent even more time together. And we started hooking up.
It couldn’t have been good for either of us. There he was in a turbulent relationship and there I was head over heels in love with him. I thought it was what he needed. Yes part of it was my own selfishness but there was a tiny part of me that genuinely believed at the time it was what he needed to get through a bad situation.
In the midst of all the chaos I still knew there was little chance that we’d actually end up together. I wished that there was some chance we would, but knew it was unlikely.
A month before I moved to finish college I met a boy at the club. It’s last call and he’s asking if he can come back to my place. He was cute. I was horny. I brought him home. It was the first guy I had hooked up with since “the one” and I had started fooling around.
For some strange reason the guy from the club was different. “The one” wanted gory details. He demanded to know his name. Then wouldn’t you know it… the boy from the club was one of his ex-boyfriends. I’d only ever heard him referred to as a nickname. How was I supposed to know this kid ever existed? And more importantly, how was I supposed to know he was off limits?
Yeah. He was pissed. Less than a month before I was set to pick up my life and leave him behind he cut me off. He stopped talking to me. He deleted me from all forms of social networking. And now, two years after the incident, he won’t have anything to do with me.
Every now and then I try to add him on Facebook or reach out to him and I’m generally met with opposition.
I don’t like to think about the how’s or why’s of the situation. I don’t enjoy dwelling in the fact that things could’ve happened differently. Were we on the track to becoming an item? Guess we’ll never know.
Everything really does happen for a reason.
I’m convinced he is the one I was meant to be with. I know that under different circumstances things could’ve been different. I hope that things will still work out.
That’s all I can do… Hope for the best.
“What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you?”
- Breakeven | The Script
We all have that one person in our lives who resonates so deeply within our soul that no matter how hard we try we will never be able to shake them. We love them unconditionally. To this day they could approach us and say, “You know I made a mistake. We belong together” and the world as we knew it would stop. It would trigger something in us that would lead us to drop everything and submit ourselves to them. They mean that much.
The boy in question wasn’t anyone special. It wasn’t love at first sight. In fact I didn’t really even like him on our first date. He bitched about me being ten minutes late after I got off work. During dinner he called me a slut. He talked through the movie we saw. When we parted ways that night I was sure I wouldn’t see him again.
I was wrong.
Having been born in Louisiana I was raised to be an exceptional cook. During our first date he had informed that he’d done a stint at a college in Louisiana and out of habit I promised I’d make him dinner. On our second date he sat nursing his jambalaya and said, “You probably put out pretty quickly, don’t you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh. It’s a Louisiana thing. All the boys there did. It was the heat and whatever they put in the gumbo.”
It was the second date that I found the spark. It’s also where he lost it. I tried my damnedest to get it back and nothing worked and we lost touch.
Around a year after out initial fling we reconnected as friends. We spoke everyday. We hung out. We talked about our sex lives. He was the only person I had ever known (even to this day) whose debauchery rivaled mine. The only thing that was off limits were the boys we dated. When he was in a relationship he wouldn’t share photos or personal stories. If he did discuss them he used nicknames and asked that I do the same.
The closer we got the harder I fell and he always knew. He would try to hook me up with friends or find me someone and would always fail. I would always come back to him.
It didn’t stop me from sleeping with anyone I could get my hands on hoping someone would replace him. Hoping someone would capture my attention the way he had.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t blame him for my being a slut. That’s asinine. I built up the bulk of my sexual partners during the time he was in my life. I blame myself for not being able to let go.
“And now I’m trying hard to make it but I still think that saying goodbye was our mistake.”
- “Our Big Mistake” | Marc Broussard
Out of the numerous guys I’ve been with there have been very few who’ve left a real impression. I could probably count them on both hands. I’ve found myself thinking about these boys a lot lately.
As I’ve remembered some of my strange sexual encounters and a few entertaining one-night stands over the past few weeks the important boys are always in the back of my mind beckoning me to tell their stories. Whenever I peruse my list of old hookups for whatever story I want to tell next their names glare back at me from the paper.
Last week I discussed the how this project would bring out some of the skeletons in my closet. These are the ones I’ve tucked away in the farthest depths of that closet. I’m afraid to revisit the memories these boys left behind.
I think it would be best to let it all out. It might help me in really getting over whatever feelings I harbor. I just don’t know if I want to let go. Most of these boys broke my heart but regardless of that I think about how happy I was. I don’t feel that way very often. It’s just so wonderful to remember.
I’m not attached to them anymore. I’m attached to that feeling.