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Wry Wrambling of a Rebellious Rimbaud

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Aquaman Movie Review

Starring Jason Momoa as Arthur/Aquaman, Amber Heard as Mera, Willem Dafoe as Vulko, Patrick Wilson as King Orm/Ocean Master, Nicole Kidman as Atlanna, and Yahya Abdul-Mateen II as Manta. It was directed by the wonderfully talented James Wan, the creator of the Saw Franchise.   Aquaman takes place shortly after the events of Justice League. This bit of information seemed to be slipped in right away to make sure we all know this is part of the DCEU. But just as Wonder Woman carved her own path away from the sadness that was Man Of Steel, Batman V Superman, and Justice League with a story that focused on plot supported by CGI, Aquaman at its core, is a character driven film that made me care about the characters and their journey.   Aquaman lives somewhere between the dark vision of Zack Snyder and the playfulness of Patty Jenkins, taking elements from both while carving a visually stunning film. I would venture a guess that the script was heavily rewritten multiple times attempting to course correct after the tepid reception of the Znyderverse and the sheer fun factor of Wonder Woman. The downside to what I am assuming is heavy rewrites, leaves us with a film that doesn’t seem to know what its suppose to be sometimes from moment to moment. Is it a light-hearted underwater tale with horrible dad jokes or a morality tale of sons paying for the sins of their fathers? As I type this, I still can’t tell you what this movie is about. In one of the darker moments of the film, Arthur takes out a bunch of pirates as they try to steal a submarine. While this sequence is visually stunning and really showcases the raw power Arthur can command, Arthur allows the father of one of the pirates to drown, thus creating one of the major villains in Aquaman’s cannon.   This act really shocked me, as it was hard for me to believe that considering Arthur’s own mother was killed when he was young, that he could dismiss the pleas of a son to save his drowning father so flippantly.   This sequence reminded me how I felt while watching Black Panther last year. Like Killmonger, Manta has a great back-story and a reason for revenge that makes his story arc believable and compelling.   And in almost the next scene, Arthur and his father are in a bar drinking beer for breakfast when several scary biker looking guys approach them. This scene is played for suspense at first, when one of the guys barks out, ‘are you him’. Arthur turns around and for a moment, you think it’s about to go down. Then the scary biker looking guy exclaims out like an excited child that he wants a picture of Aquaman. This is like five minutes after Arthur kills numerous pirates on the submarine. And to make it a bit worse, there is a collage of Arthur drinking beer and taking photos with the scary bikers. The transitions between the dark and light moments happens so fast it was rather jarring at times. Yet Amber Heard was delightful as Mera, and has one of the coolest powers in the movie. Mera is far from being a damsel in distress. Not only does she stand toe to toe with Aquaman, but manages to save him numerous times and is a complete badass in her own right. Amber’s performance is well-rounded as I’ve seen in a long time. Plus, she’s a great strong female character for young teens.   Orm makes a great villain and is almost underplayed by the talented Patrick Wilson. Though his motivation flips between his hatred towards Arthur whom he blames for the death of his mother and his hatred for the surface dwellers that has polluted the worlds oceans. I did find it a bit odd that his hatred for Arthur seemed misplaced as it would make more sense to hate his father who ordered the death of his mother.   Take away the over the head message of the dangers of pollution, the jumps between light-hearted dad jokes, and brooding craziness, the core of the film is entertaining and I would recommend you watch it as the CGI is breathtaking.  
 

News Programs and Do you Still Watch?

Fox News, CNN, MSNBC, AP, BBC America, CBS, ABC, we could go on for paragraphs just listing the different news programs in this country alone.   About ten years ago, I stopped watching news programs on TV and its probably not the reason many of you might suspect.    Once upon a time, reporters would actually inform you of the current events in your local area as well as over the world. If you missed the nightly news, you would have no way of getting the information until the next day.   There was no spin, no slant towards a certain agenda, no talking heads telling the viewers what to think or feel about any certain topic. Reporters were hired to give an unbiased view of the news. They were also for the most part a money losing program for the network. It was understood by the executives that the news didn't make money and never made a profit. Instead the news would bring acclaim and prestige to the network which would bring advertisers for the other shows. And for a time, the big three had the most respected anchors in the country.   The big three, Dan Rather CBS, Peter Jennings ABC, and Tom Brokaw NBC, ruled the airwaves for over twenty years. They brought a gravitas and respect to their respective networks.    Out of those three, Dan Rather, who from 1980 until the mid 2000's, was arguably the most respected and most watched news anchor in the country. This was before his fall for presenting questionable documents regarding President George Bush's Vietnam service papers.   Then Ted Turner came along with his visionary idea called CNN, the very first 24 hour news channel in the early 80's. But it wasn't until the Gulf War when the world first stood up and took notice. For the first time, CNN overtook the big three with an unprecedented scoop. They were the only news outlet to report from inside Iraq during the initial hours of the bombing campaign with live reports from a hotel inside Baghdad.   Almost ten years later, CNN would also go down in history as the first cable news channel to report the attack on September 11th showing the first live footage of the plane crashing into the World Trade Center.   And with the success of CNN, an Australian publisher, Rupert Murdoch, joined forces with philanthropist, Marvin Davis, to purchase a media company under the banner of 20th Century Fox, to compete with the big three in early 1985. By the third quarter of 1986, Murdoch led the company to earn 5.6 million dollars. In contrast, the year before of the same quarter, there was a 55 million dollar loss. For one of the first times in america, there was profit in the news and people started to notice.   Some would say this was the start of the decline of traditional news programming as networks implemented new standard operating procedures to garnish quarterly profits. And those shows that didn't turn a profit, those anchors that couldn't compete with the more sensationalized reporters were slowly replaced.    Now reporters were replaced with personalities pushing narratives the network demands as they started to divide into Republican and Democratic propaganda machines.   Traditional reporting was now regulated to newspaper only as networks focused on agendas and pandering to the advertisers. Thus paved the way for internet news shows who dove deeper into partisan politics with overt slants in one direction or the other. As of right now, no matter what side of the political spectrum you follow, you can find bias reporting that only reinforces your worldview and/or opinions.   But none of the above reasons are why I stopped watching TV news programs ten years ago.   The I-Phone brought a powerful computer in your pocket that gives you real time sources to find any information your heart desires. Why watch the nightly news that teases a story before a commercial break and then makes you wait now sometimes longer than 3 minutes. I just pull out my phone, and get the information from Twitter, Facebook, Google and I get the information without the talking heads spinning some story that happened ten hours earlier.   Who still watches news programs and if you do, which ones do you watch in 2019?

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

On Writing Blocks and How to Avoid Them

I was perusing the Blogs over at GayAuthors.org when I happened to read a new Blog called Marty's Musing. I don't know Marty but the title caught my attention and I urge everyone to go there and read it as it is definitely the "muse" that started me down this long rambling entry of my mine. https://gayauthors.org/blogs/entry/17900-o-muse-where-art-thou/   To briefly give everyone an overview, Marty once upon a time use to write a fair amount but for the last ten years or so has focused on other things in his probably amazing life. And a few months ago, he started getting the urge to dip his toe back into the writing pond and was having some difficulty finishing a story he began all those years ago. He also had a few new ideas but after writing a page or so he would find himself getting discouraged and abandon the words on the paper. At the end of his post, he posed these three questions.   1. What is the cause of writers block? 2. How does an author overcome writers block? 3. O muse, where art thou?   After reading Marty's post, and it's only about five paragraphs long and I have included the link above so I urge you to read it. As of this writing, there are about five comments and they are perfectly nice, encouraging words that I have come to expect from the members of GA.   Things like don't force it, let it come naturally, just take some time and wait for good ole "muse" to return. Things like, go to the story prompts and see if anything gets your mojo flowing again. And for some reason, these positive answers who's sole intent was offer encouragement to someone that was feeling a bit down got me a bit fired up and I starting to respond to what had been said before me.   And then much like I always do, my reply got to be pretty long with some colorful language, some blunt honesty, and childish musings about a subject I might not know anything about. So after a moment, I decided to post my reply in my Blog to keep from hijacking someone else's entry and to ensure I don't hurt anyone's feelings.   I don't believe in the traditional idea of "muse" and its whoring reputation it carries around the world. You know the one I mean; you first meet "muse" at a coffee shop. You have a double shot of espresso with almond milk and you tell everyone you're sick of everyone raping the cows for their joy juice but secretly wish you could enjoy real milk in your beverage but don't want the judgmental guy behind the counter to give you a disappointed stare when you order. So you sit there, sipping your dairy free beverage and suddenly, "muse" walks in the cafe.   "Muse" skips past the guy with the ironic mustache trying to construct the perfect sentence in his essay about the dangers of drinking milk. Pirouette's around the housewife peering intently at her Hawaii Five-0 fan fiction crossover with Magnum P.I.. Frowns at the out of work screen writer who is steadfast in his belief that he alone has the script that will finally show the amazing talent that is Nicolas Cage before sliding into the seat across from you and give you that dirty little smile as if to say, 'how you doing'.   "Muse" seems to be very impressed that you are drinking a dairy free beverage and starts to gently rub your instrument under the table, discreetly at first. Suddenly your fingers are flying over the keys, your writing so fast you can't help but look around to make sure everyone can see that you are writing so fast and that the elusive "muse" has settled on you to employ its magic.   Ironic mustache guy leaves in huff, his hopes of stopping the consumption of milk dashed forever as "muse" continues to do dirty things to your instrument. Housewife leaves, her face a little flushed but completely stumped how to finish the scene where Chin Ho Kelly and Magnum finally consummate thirty-seven chapters of longing on the hood of the iconic red Ferrari. While the out of work screen writer continues to struggle with the perfect script for Nicolas Cage. And sadly, this screen writer never stops at this attempt, never.   Because now "muse" is no longer content to discreetly stroke your instrument. Now "muse" has progressed to doing something so dirty I can't even describe it with human words. But that doesn't matter, because your fingers are flying over the keys. You have a look of ecstasy on your face and everything is right in the world and you owe it all to "muse".   This behavior continues for hours, days, maybe weeks that turn into months, and sometimes it could even last for years. You and "muse" seem to have an understanding, you'll keep writing in public spaces and "muse" will continue to rub your instrument.   Once upon a time, I use to produce a fuck-ton of content. I have nine complete novels posted on Nifty and seventeen short stories that I uploaded over a span of about four years. I'm talking a hundred thousand words plus novels. I also wrote dozens of poems that some might have read once upon a time.    And trust me, I'm not claiming that these stories and poems were great or even good, I'm just saying that I use to produce a lot of content when I was younger.   I will also say that I am rather proud that save for one sequel, every story I ever posted online is complete.   When I was younger, I wrote a story that attracted some reader attention and garnered me hundreds of encouraging emails that stroked my fragile ego. And when that story finally came to an end after 32 chapters, the encouraging emails stopped arriving in my inbox. And I missed those glorious words.   So to keep those emails pouring in, for the first time I started writing and posting chapters immediately after finishing them. I skimmed over them barely but really didn't have an idea on where I was going. But I was confident that I knew these characters and didn't think I needed to worry about the end. I knew I would get there.   The first chapter was posted, and again, dozens of emails. The next chapter, I only received half the amount as before. And with each chapter after, the emails all but dried up. So by the time I got to chapter five, I was completely lost and the story fizzled away and I abandon it to the internet.   The fans who loved the first story lost interest in the sequel because truthfully I didn't really have an idea I was just winging it and it showed in the writing.   I didn't know then but I was scared. I wrote about some characters people liked and hoped to capitalize on my earlier success by offering up a shitty premise. Not even my sub-conscious mind could work out a plot that was so paper thin before I even put words to screen.   I think a lot of people believe "muse" to be a fragile creature, one that is meant to roam free, to traverse where it will without any guidance or structure. As if any attempt will stifle the creativity it brings you. Many writers treat "muse" in this manner, with kid gloves, hoping not to anger the delicate flower that could leave you at a moments notice to rub some other instrument.   Like one day you'll be at a party, you and "muse", and you turn your back to get a tuna poke on a piece of kale appetizer and when you turn back around, "muse" is off in the corner giving someone else a hand-job. And the frustrating thing, you've seen this other person's instrument, and its not as impressive as yours, but "muse" is going to town and suddenly you feel taken advantage of and then your instrument shrivels up until its barely a tip and no amount of writing in a public space can bring "muse" back to stroking your instrument.   You continue to go to that same coffee shop, order the same boring milk free beverage, you sit in the same spot, hoping to attract "muse" again to your instrument. But "muse", that fickle so and so, rubs everyone else's instrument but yours. You get depressed, eventually you start ordering espresso with real milk cause you just don't give a fuck anymore and one day you wake up and you aren't even writing, you just surf FaceBook and comment on cat photos.   I think writers tend to create blocks as they try and appease this thing called "muse". Whether its sitting in the same spot every day, listening to the same piece of music, having the room at the correct temperature, complete silence or even chaos. All these rules and structures they somehow believe will get "muse" back to where it belongs, under the table stroking your instrument. And in the end, writers allow these things to rule their creative life.   Merriam-Webster defines muse: to become absorbed in thought, especially to think about something carefully and thoroughly.   You don't get to the more popular definition of muse until definition number three, a person or source of inspiration. And that definition is the second one if the word is used as a noun.   So why do most people believe that "muse" is more the third definition over the first. The definition where it clearly defines what "muse" is, to think about something carefully and thoroughly.   So to answer Marty's first question, what is the cause of writers block. Maybe you didn't carefully think through the story in the first place.   I'll add a question of my own, how can you hope to finish something if you have no idea where you want to go?   I know there are writers out there who post chapters online as soon as they are written with little or no thought of where they are heading. And those same authors will argue they allow the characters to take them on the journey and they as well as the reader will find out together how the story ends.   But how many of those stories are ever finished? Maybe 2%, if we the audience are lucky.   Or the other side of the same coin, the never ending saga. You know the one where the author keeps rambling on for dozens of chapters chronicling in great boring detail events that never seem to progress the plot forward. Seriously, every story has to have an ending; its the nature of what we do. Overly long stories are nothing but a glaring sign screaming 'I don't have a clue where I am going but please take this journey with me and hopefully there will be a resolution sometime if "muse" allows it'.   And let's be brutally honest here, most of these type of stories are complete shit. And the ones that aren't complete shit would never have a chance at professional publishing.   Much like Marty, I too left writing some ten years ago to focus on a career that I ended up hating. I am currently trying to change my life path and have gotten back into writing almost every day.   And like Marty, I went back to an old unfinished story and struggled for about three months to complete it. I already had seventeen chapters finished with a dozen more that had half-baked ideas but I could never get it moving in the right direction.   The frustration was there mixed with a lot of fear that maybe because I stopped writing all those years ago, I somehow lost the ability to put words on the screen. And for a moment, I faltered.    I went over my past writings, hoping that "muse" would again grant me the inspiration to start writing again. I found an old outline I wrote on June 25th, 2002 on a yellow legal pad during a slow day at work.   As I read the twelve page outline, a few things stood out among the shit. Some really cool characters, a few great scenes, a ton of out dated technology and some really stilted dialogue. Even without a strong idea, I was convinced this was my next project, my grand return to online writing.   It was a constant daily struggle to accomplish anything. For every good scene I wrote, I would delete entire pages of shit that just didn't make any sense. It was the most difficult time I've ever faced attempting to do something that gave me so much pleasure in my younger days.   After one particularly rough day, I took a break and went outside to empty the trash and then it hit me. The reason it wasn't going well was because it was shit. If its only a collection of cool ideas with some half-drawn characters but no plot to speak of, was it any wonder I wasn't moving.   I was trapped at a certain point and no matter what little trick I did, I couldn't gather the "muse" long enough to do anything except stare at that dreaded blinking cursor. I hadn't thought about it carefully and thoroughly.   Which leads to Marty's second question, how does an author overcome writers block?   Merriam-Webster defines writers block: a psychological inhibition preventing a writer from proceeding with a piece.   Makes perfect sense to me, most of the things we encounter in our life begins in the mind anyway. Why would a block be any different?   What are some of the reasons one might get writers block besides the things I already covered above.    Fear is one that comes to mind first. Fear of letting other people read what we wrote, to voice our opinions, our viewpoint, or whatever it is we are trying to convey.   Perfection is another. I can't write until its perfect. We fall into this trap of not even attempting until we think its perfect.    I hate to bust your bubble, but perfection takes time, and re-writes, and editing, followed by more re-writes. Perfection will come, but it will take time.   Timing is another block. You start writing something like I did, but you really didn't have more than the seeds of an idea and quickly you lose focus and the story dies on the page. Ideas need time to be nurture, water the seedling and then shape it until you have a usable idea that will be turned into a realized story.   So back to Marty's question, how do you overcome this dreaded affliction? Before I give you the definite and only answer, and I do have the answer. I'll give a few ideas on how to get some movement on your thought process.   Lets pretend we are back in our favorite coffee shop with our diary free beverage and "muse" isn't stroking our instrument. Get up and go for a walk. Change your environment and ruminate on the idea at hand. Maybe change your music selection, read a few pages of your favorite book, play video games. Sometimes getting your conscious mind off the problem will allow for your subconscious to tackle the issue without you banging your head on the table in front of everyone.   There a thousands of ways to alter your frame of mind, and all of them have one thing in common.   There is a famous saying, 'the only way out is through'. Sometimes you have progressed so far that it is easier to continue the path ahead then to turn around and go back.   Whether you change your environment, or your music selection, or the task you are accomplishing, all of these are paths of movement. You have to move from the place you are currently to somewhere else. Sometimes that movement might be forward, sometimes that movement might be sideways, or sometimes that movement is backward. And like in my case, sometime that movement is starting over from scratch. Standing still will never defeat the block in your life.   J Michael Straczynski is a well respected writer of television, movies, comic books, books and any other medium that involves creating. He created Babylon 5, Sense 8, reimagined Thor, transformed how people write Wonder Woman and is hired often to re-write screen plays and polish them.    He is also famous for writing every single day. No breaks, no vacations, no holidays, no time off. Just like Steven King, who once stated that he wrote at lease five thousand words every day, JMS continues to write on a daily basis.   That is the answer to Marty's question. You can only overcome writers block by writing. Writers get blocks, authors do not. Somehow authors have learned that writing is not a gift from the "muse" of legends. It's a skill that is honed by doing your ten thousand hours. It's getting up every day and writing before work, or after work, or on the train commute, or however you do it but all authors do the very same thing, they write every day.   After I gave up on my old work, I saw a prompt as I was going through some Blog posts on GA.   Prompt 706-Creative
Tag-Sleep
The patient has been in the hospital for longer than you have been alive. They barely look eighteen and doctors keep running all sorts of tests. You were hired to exercise the patients muscles, keep them groomed, and clean. While bathing them today, the patient woke up, what happens?   I didn't happen overnight. I thought about this prompt for the rest of the day. When I cooked breakfast the next morning I thought about this prompt. A few days later when I was doing laundry, I thought about this prompt. The next week while playing video games I thought about this prompt. This idea consumed me for a few weeks before I sat down and wrote this paragraph...   "Nuresh Rajendran whistled happily as he pushed the cart down the brightly lit hallway. He had just celebrated his 65th birthday the week prior and had been awarded a small gold watch. That watch signified thirty years of service, and though he moved a bit slower than he once, he still hadn't lost his love of the job."   So to answer Marty's third question, oh muse, where art thou? It's where it's always been. In the idea that is carefully and thoroughly thought out before attempting to write it down.   J              

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

Writing Stages of Life

Four months ago, at least from the outside, most would say that I was on top of the world. I have a good job, a great apartment, and an amazing boyfriend. I had a good start on a saving account, a brand new car with all the bells and whistles. If I was a normal person, I would have been content at the success I enjoyed. Yet for all those possessions, something was lacking in my life. I first started working in hospitality the year I turned 21. I really didn't have the opportunity to go to college, and didn't really have any other avenues to traverse. What else could a cute gay boy do for work besides shake his ass as a bartender. And though I moved from working in gay bars, then stopped bar-tending completely, only to move into serving before landing a job as a manager a few years later. Truthfully, at least professionally, it was the only thing I was ever good at. And I can say with complete modesty, I am very good at my job. From the time I was a young boy, my only dream was to be a writer. And until I turned thirty, I followed that dream. But then I got sidetracked, I started listening to others telling me that I had to secure a future. So I guess you could say, I fell into the hospitality business. I built a career out of the one thing I was good at and for a time, I was content to do so. But content is not happy. The future was starting to cement, I started growing my savings account. And I had built up quite an impressive resume with some of the most successful people in San Francisco.  I calculated each move, every time I left and took a new position, it was for a better future for me. I sacrificed a five year relationship and more friends then I would care to admit in my single minded ambition to secure a future.  For a time, I told myself that when I reached success, when I finally made it, then I would focus on my personal life. But truth be told, the more successful you become, the more time and energy it takes to maintain that success. I started to wonder when enough would be enough.  Then I met "N" two years ago. Three hours after meeting him, I told my friend that I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. I just knew it. Two months later, I had gave up my condo in Daly City and moved into San Francisco with him. Again, from the outside, most people would say that I had it all.  But I wasn't happy. And yes, I could mask it at work, I am a professional after all. But the years of 14 hour days, six to seven days a week, working every single weekend. Sometimes not getting home until 1am only to get up at 4am and then head back to work for another 14 hour day.  "N" understood the long hours, after all, he is in the same business as me. The difference, the owner he works for truly believes in work life balance, and he rarely works more than 40 hours a week and always gets two days off a week in a row. I am not so fortunate.  In the dark parts of the night, snuggled in bed with "N", I told him about my long forgotten dream of becoming a writer. Of course he was interested in reading my work as any good "N" would be, I showed him my past writings. And he started to encourage me to take up the words again. And over the last two years, I have slowly dipped my toes in the water of creativity again. Though it had only been occasionally and in brief spurts only. And much like the discovery of an old friend, I started to realize how much I enjoyed sitting down at my laptop and spewing forth nonsense onto the screen. The dedication it takes to operate at the level I had managed to achieve is total commitment. It's working 14 hours in the restaurant, then spending another three hours at home answering emails from the department managers and various vendors that need my attention it seems daily. I will admit, I probably worked more than I needed too but the restaurant brought in 12 million a year and I was responsible for every dollar of it. So yes, my focus was on the bottom line for more than just my quarterly bonus. It had been brewing for a while, my unhappiness at work. And I can't blame the owner for wanting to make the most money he possibly could. But I started to wonder how much money was enough. I knew the numbers, I knew the magic number. Once the restaurant makes this magic number, anything over that amount is profit for the owner. And he was a single owner, he had no partners. So when he set the budget for this year 25% more than last year, I had to wonder what he was thinking.  He's the owner, he can set whatever budget he wants, its his right. And as a professional, it was my job to try and hit that budget. I"m not so naive that I don't understand business. He is only in it for the money. And its his money and his right. Any of you that understand budgets and how the restaurant business works, it is highly unlikely that any restaurant, unless something out of the ordinary happens, to grow a business by 25% over the previous year.  Especially when 35% of your business is tied up with the Moscone Center and their convention business. I'll give him the unreachable budget. When it was written the year before, he did not know Moscone Center was going to be in construction and all the conventions we enjoyed in 2017 would not be there in 2018. Nor did he realize that international tourism is down due to our current political climate. Add that to our out of control homeless problem and several large conventions citing homeless issues as the reason they are no longer booking in San Francisco, and its no wonder all restaurants in the city are down fifteen percent city wide. After talking with friends in the accounting world, he should be happy he's only down 10%. He is actually doing better than most currently in San Francisco. I have lost count of the high end restaurant closures and the celebrity chefs that are struggling to keep the doors open. I know the main reason he raised my budget so high, was to help cover the cost of his new restaurant that was opened in 2017 and was struggling, to put it mildly, in the current climate. For full disclosure, I started losing my happiness at work the moment I met "N" and realized he was something outside of work that was more important than anything. It had been brewing for months. So when the culture of the restaurant started to change and the owner started to show his stress more and more. So during the monthly meeting when he demanded what I was going to do to attain this budget, I brought out the numbers, a bit more in detail than what I describe above, and he looked at me and responded that it was only excuses and he didn't pay me to give him excuses. And he is right. He didn't pay me to give him excuses. So I said the first thing that came to me. And trust me, I had given better speeches over my career. And it might have been a mistake, but every fiber in my being said it was the right thing to do. I can't say what I told him, I don't really remember. But I resigned that day. For the first time in my life, I walked away with no notice and no prospects. San Francisco is a small town, every owner knows all the rest. And leaving like I did was not the smartest thing I could have done, but that was the day my happiness returned. And I will be honest, it wasn't just because my owner is an asshole, he is. But I don't think my life has room for something that is so demanding that takes me away from being happy in my life.  So for two months I've sat in my great apartment with my amazing boyfriend and made time for myself. For the first time in ten years, I have nothing to do. Everyday I spend time with "N" before he goes to work. Then I clean the house, I do laundry, sometimes I play video games, sometimes I get hammered in the middle of the day for no reason, but most of the time, after I do my house chores, I sit down at my laptop and write.  I write like I did in my twenties when the desire was strong and I didn't know what the future held but I was excited to face it.  My vacation payout alone was two months salary and I figured I was going to enjoy every moment. We aren't rich and my little diversion from work won't last much longer. After all, this is the most expensive city in the country to live and he won't let me be a bum much longer. I think my time in hospitality has come to a close. I think my next job will be something that will allow me to pay my bills yet leave me time to focus on what really matters in this life. The night I left my job, I went out and bought my amazing boyfriend a ring, we are planning on getting married next June and life could not be happier for me.

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

Jurassic World Fallen Kingdom

Just returned from watching Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom.  Or should I say dragged to see the flick.   I should start by saying that I am a huge fan of Jurassic Park, a satisfied fan of Jurassic Park 2, a meh for Jurassic Park 3, and a very disappointed viewer for Jurassic World.     For all the amazing CGI of the first one, they did not skimp on the story and characters.  All I have to say is Alan Grant.  Jurassic Park 2, the sequence when T-Rex squared pushes the camper off the cliff is stunning, again they did not skimp on the story and characters.  I know they have plot holes and characters that were only half developed.  But the entertainment factor of Dr. Ian alone carries that film that is re-watchable each time I see it on cable.  Jurassic Park 3, sees the return of Alan Grant, one of my favorite actors from the 90's and eerily attracted to in a carnal way, returns to an okay horror film.  I love the moments with Eric Kirby, he has some of the best lines in the entire film.  Plus, you have the human eating birds attacking our steadfast heroes.  Lets not talk about the spinosaurus as a villain.      Then you have Jurassic World some 17 years later with the amazing B.D. Wong and the over-hyped Chris Pratt and his abs.  Great CGI and a pulse pounding action scenes but with under developed characters, kids in danger for no reason, and a deeply unsatisfying ending that is a bit too nostalgic for my taste.  I felt that Star Wars Force Awakens suffered from the same malady.  A fan that grew up and made a homage movie to their childhood fantasies.  In both films, each writer and director focused more on feelings that actual story, spectacle over substance, and nostalgia dripping from the screen that makes me wish instead of essentially re-making a classic, they would have been better served in just re-watching the originals.     So when "N" insisted on us going to the movie tonight on my one day off this week, I was prepared for another Jurassic World.  After all, Chris Pratt has already given me a sequel that was boring on the surface, sub-par in the meat of the story, and just plain awful by the discovery of the villain.  Of course i am speaking about Guardians of the Galaxy Chapter 2.     I offered other opportunities, even went as far as begging us to go to Las Vegas last minute just to avoid this movie.  And much to my chagrin, he wasn't having any part of that strategy.  And once the credits rolled, damn was I impressed.  For the first time in a long time, Chris Pratt was more grounded as an actor since I first saw him on Everwood.  The writers/directors kept him from his Prattness and he acted the shit out of a smart, believable script that didn't seem like over two hours that it ended being.  Bryce Dallas Howard stopped being the damsel in distress/high heels from the previous one and held her own against the new villain of the piece.  I will give zero spoilers but finally a sequel to Jurassic Park that was promised.  I didn't stay past the credits so I don't know if there is a post credit scene., but they set up the next installment perfectly that made sense in the framework of the story.  Completely understand why its making all the money.     I would say watch this movie, you won't be disappointed.     J    

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

Buffalo Wild WIng Encounter

It’s Thursday, September 21st, 2017 and I’m in Daly City California.  It’s my day off, nothing special about that except that “N” is working the morning shift and I have the whole day off to do whatever I want.  If I want to stay in bed all day naked, watching YouTube videos, I can.  Or if I want to do a marathon of jerking off to free porn on the whole interwebs, I can and no one can say anything about it.  And don’t think I didn’t contemplate that last one this morning after waking up with a full on robot chubby that wouldn’t go away that defies all logic for a forty-two year old man.  One of the reasons I was so happy with growing older was the mistaken thinking that my libido would diminish with the onset of old age. And yes, I know that forty-two isn’t old compared to some of the other humans that populate this planet nor am I saying that forty-two is old.  All I’m saying is that I was really hoping that I wouldn’t be the horny man I was in my twenties.  The man/boy that slept with the butt-crack of dawn for no other reason then I couldn’t think straight the moment things became erect.  And to be truthful, that was the only reason I slept with a little person when I was 22.  And because I wondered if his cock looked like a normal sized cock, for the record it did.  Nor was it because I wanted to see how massive my cock would look like going in and out of his little butt.  For the record he was a top…but that’s another story. Why at my age do I still wake up with a hard-on?  And even more curiously, why am I still horny the moment my boyfriend walks into the room?  When will I get the dreaded EDS the TV tells me happens to every man over forty?  For Christ sakes, I’m in my forties, do I still have to contend with my cock boning up with every stiff breeze that comes along? My boyfriend left at 7:15 this morning to go to work.  Apparently he had a few private parties and several larger groups for breakfast and needed to make sure he was there in plenty of time to oversee this madness.  And right after he left, I lay in bed with my other head ready for some fun.  So I did what every man/boy does when his penis is taking over…that’s right, I got up and turned on my X-Box 360 and started playing Assassins Creed 3.  And if you are wondering, I did not feel like a pervert playing games at 7:30am with a boner.  Nor did I have a brief/thirty minute fantasy what it would be like to have sex with Conner from the game.  And I am talking about a full thirty minutes of constructing a complicated story of what point in the game we would meet, the details of our first awkward encounter that slowly builds over time until we climax on the grass overlooking the manor with Achilles somewhat reluctant approval as he looks on. Besides my raging hard-on, the only thing I wanted to do today on this glorious day off, was to get hot wings from Buffalo Wild Wings in Daly City, Ca in the Serramonte Centre.  I believe that everyone who has been reading my Blog for any amount of time…mostly a few years ago when I actually updated my Blog more than once every few years, would know that I am quite addictive to all things hot…exclusively hot wings.  I will go to any amount of trouble to acquire those artery clogging morsels of ecstasy.  Lie to policeman, check, leave work early on a faulty pretense, check.  I’m not saying I would kill a human for those tasty treats, but don’t be the asshole that makes my life difficult at work and then stand in between me and those chickens that are fried in fat and then tossed in hot deliciousness.  Seriously, don’t do that because I’m not sure what or who I would choose.  Better to error on the side of caution then test my morals when it comes to hot wings. When “N” left for work, I was horny and really needed to release but I started playing video games instead of taking things in hand as it were.  Then after driving myself to the brink of madness wondering what it would be like to have sex with a 3-D construct, I really needed to curb my horniness with something tangible.  I played Assassins Creed 3 until 11am.  I know, that’s like three and half hours playing a game.  But all I was doing was waiting until Buffalo Wild Wings opened so I could indulge in man’s simplest pleasures.  Okay, seeing as I was talking about jerking off, I wanted to indulge in man’s second simplest pleasure, the consumption of Hot Wings. At 11:25, I called in my order to Buffalo Wild Wings.  May I have a medium traditional wings, all hot BBQ extra extra extra extra wet, with a side of Blazing sauce, a Chili Queso Dip with no pico de guillo.  I don’t really give a shit if I spelled that wrong. I’ve lived in the Bay Area for thirteen years.  I started going to Buffalo Wild Wings sometime in the last three years.  Just so I can give you full disclosure, I’ve ordered the exact same order at least once a week for the last three years.  It might have been longer/shorter, but I’ve spent way too much fucking money on this addiction that will probably put me in an early grave.  I arrived at Buffalo Wild Wings at 12:30pm, because I stopped at the grocery store to buy Fosters beer and Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey.  But before I talk about my Buffalo Wild Wings experience, I stopped at the local Lucky Grocery Store to do two things.  First, I wanted to exchange my bag full of coins, they have a coin star that you can exchange your coins into money.  When I first walked into the store, can you believe there was a line to use the coin star machine.  Three people in front of me and I joined the line as I was listening to Penn’s Sunday School Podcast and really not in a hurry. After about five minutes, the guy leaves and the next guy goes to the machine and places a paper bag on the counter.  His actions was hidden with his body, but after a few minutes and I didn’t here the sounds of the machine counting the coins to convert into money, I peered to my left and noticed that he had a paper bag filled with already rolled and packaged coins.  The type of packaging that looks like when you get coins from a bank.  And he was slowly breaking open the rolled coins and putting them into the counting thingy.  “Fuck this” I thought and walked back to my car to place my oversized container in my trunk.  All I wanted to do was cash in my coins, it wasn’t like I needed the coins to buy my groceries.  I then walked back into the store and grabbed two bottles of diet coke, three 24 ounces of Fosters beer, and a 750ml of Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey whiskey.  I walked to the front of the store, and they only had two registers open, and they had to have at least ten people in each line.  Of course, the self check-out lines was completely empty, but seeing as you can’t buy alcohol in the self check-out lines, that really didn’t help me.  “Fuck this” I thought as I dropped my basket and walked out of the grocery store.  After all, I had lots of places I could buy beer and whiskey without waiting in line on my day off. I drove to Serramonte Mall, where Buffalo Wild Wings opened a massive store.  When I walked into the store, it was 12:30, almost forty minutes from the time I called in my order.  I walked up to the counter and there was three younger girls behind it talking amongst themselves.  It felt like five minutes before I was even greeted but it was probably less than a minute.  But sixty seconds is a long fucking time to stand somewhere where three different people can see you and no one even says hello.  Seriously, right now, just start counting to sixty in your head and imagine you standing at a counter with someone standing behind it yet not saying a single word to you.  It feels like forever right.  That’s how I felt. Finally after three hours/thirty seconds, someone says hello.  I give my name, they read my order back to me, medium traditional wings, all hot BBQ extra extra extra wet, side of blazing sauce, chile queso dip no pico de guillo, that will be 30.92.  I give them my card, I total it 35.00 dollars and she says, your order isn’t ready it will be another five minutes. I sit down on the bench and continue listening to Penn’s Sunday School podcast.  After eight minutes, I walk back to the counter and inquire about the status of my order.  This is when the girl behind the counter decided to tell me, “There was a mix up of your order and they are re-making it, it’s not that busy so it should only be another 15 minutes.” I’m not mad that they lost my order, I’ve worked in the restaurant industry for more than twenty years, I understand that mistakes happen and orders get lost.  If they would have said something to me when I paid for my order, I would’ve sat there quietly while they figured it out.  But they didn’t tell me that when I paid, what they said was it would be another five minutes. And yes, I was really enjoying Penn’s Sunday School podcast, but I was also watching them.  It’s a habit I’ve picked up over my years of running restaurants, I always watch the staff members.  And in my watching, I saw that they were talking amongst themselves, pointing at me, and pointing back at the kitchen.  Then I also observed them getting on the phone, gesturing towards me again, and then a minute or two later, a manager walked up to the front and started looking at the computer while looking at me everyone moment or two. But I understand that things happen and though I knew deep down in my heart that something happened to my order, I was waiting patiently.  But after waiting eight mintues, knowing that something was wrong, and rightly/wrongly waiting for them to explain what happened to my order, I walked up to the front only to be told off-handedly, that they were re-making the order and that something happened. No apology, no saying they are doing everything they can to fix it, no offering a soda while I wait for the order to be corrected, nothing from the manager at all.  And I will be the first to admit, I was pissed.  From 7:30 in the morning, all I could think about was getting Buffalo Wild Wings, getting beer and whiskey and watching the remake of Magnificent Seven.  And once again, Buffalo Wild Wings fucks up my plans. Earlier I told you that I have been ordering from Buffalo Wild Wings for longer than I can remember.  What I never admitted too, was that they screw up my order at least 1 out of 5 times.  Now before you ask me why I continue to go back to the place that fucks up my order that often, I will point out that I have an addiction and I will always need hot wings in my life.  Always. I am rather proud that I didn’t yell, or demand some kind of free stuff, all I said was I’ve been waiting for almost 50 minutes and I want my money back.  I want to say again, that Buffalo Wild Wings have screwed up my order so many times that I am immune to their incompetency and always check my order before leaving the restaurant.  Over the years, I’ve gotten to know the front of house staff, and have seen lots of staff and managers come and go.  And usually all I do is smile and take whatever bad experience they throw at me because in the end I get what I need, Hot Wings.  I’ve seen great FOH staff, who cares but mess up continually, bad FOH staff that can’t get an order right if there was a gun to their head.  And everything in between. And before you say, the FOH staff can’t control the kitchen, I know that.  But Buffalo Wild Wings put the ticket on the bag, and I’ve seen the ticket never mention that I want no pico de guillo in my Chili Queso Dip.  I’ve seen tickets that never says extra extra extra wet on my Hot BBQ wings.  That is not a kitchen error, that is a FOH mistake.  And what really pissed me off today, when the manager told me they lost my ticket and was remaking the order, what pissed me off, she turned away and started talking to the girl next to her about the date she had the night before.  And I will be the first to admit, I’m not a nice guy sometimes.  I have a sharp wit and sometimes it can be extremely harsh when I’m not at work.  That didn’t happen today.  I was calm, and politely asked for my money back.  The manager looked at me, and said okay.  She processed my order, gave me the slip that said my order was voided and that my card would be credited for the amount.  She then turned away from me again and resumed her story about the night before. For the first time in my life, and it has already been established that I am forty-two, I looked up the corporate office and sent an email detailing my experience.  I didn’t demand my money back, nor did I swear and lose my mind which is what I would normally do.  Instead I detailed my experience today, and asked for them to try and fix the issues that seem to happen at each and every Buffalo Wild Wing I have ever frequented.  I said, “I wish I could quit you, because after giving you so much money over the years and having so many issues with your staff, I wish I could quit you, but I probably won’t because I love hot wings so much”. It’s been five hours and I haven’t heard anything back from their website complaint department and I wasn’t really surprised.  When you are such a huge corporation, people are going to give you money no matter what and that they believe that with all the new guests they get each week, they really don’t care about existing guests.  But that logic is flawed, and what they don’t seem to understand, sooner or later they are going to run out of new guests and there will be no one left to try their restaurant.  I spend so much of my energy making sure that all my guests are taken care of, I sometimes have nothing left to give to my boyfriend after a long day at work.  I left Buffalo Wild Wings with the idea that I would go to my local Hot Wing place that doesn’t really have spicy hot wings but have decent hot wings that I could purchase and then add my ghost pepper sauce to kick them to another level.  But when I arrived at their establishment, they were closed for remodel.  And then went to another hot wing place in Daly City and they were out of hot wings until 1pm because there shipment didn’t arrive on time. It’s now 5pm and I’m at home.  I did get my beer, and my whiskey, and I’m rather drunk, which is why if this Blog entry has mistakes or a rambling feel to it, it’s not my fault I’m on an empty stomach and rather drunk.  I still have a hard-on, I have no hot wings, and my boyfriend isn’t home yet from work.  Sometimes life just sucks no matter how hard you try and maintain positivity. 

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

Day off...Cleaning...24

I have the day off, first one in a pretty long time that the Boyfriend is working.  Not saying he isn't the cleanest person on the planet, but he's messy as fuck.  So I really needed to clean the house while he's not around so he won't distract me by dancing around the house in his undies.  Though that does make me feel like fuzzy bunny slippers when he does.   So I needed some motivation to clean this filthy house.  I searched through my almost one thousand movies and decided on re-watching Season 5 of 24.     I made myself some tuna salad, toasted my artisan sweet batard bread, thinly sliced some sharp cheddar cheese, salt and vinagear chips on the side, sat down in my kitchen and switched on Hour number one.  Five hours later, the house is not only still dirty, I haven't cleared the dishes from breakfast, so in fact, it is actually dirtier than it was when i started.  And to make it even more upsetting, I think I fell in love with Keifer Sutherland's ass.   So much for cleaning motivation.  Though to be honest, I do have the urge to...err..polish something else entirely, thus making the house dirtier still.   Having a great day off.     J

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

Untitled & Unfinished Story

It's been a long time coming but I am finally writing again.  I have several more chapters complete and having a blast creating this world.  It's like a comfortable old blanket and I wrapped myself tightly with it.  Hope you like it.     The sun had long set behind the mountains of the town of Glacier Bay.  The moon bathed the town in a soft light with a backdrop of twinkling stars in the October sky.  The trees gently swayed in the offshore breeze that hinted at the bone chilling weather that was to come but for now, the air was crisp and refreshing.  The leaves had changed giving the streets and parks a colorful facelift that brought in visitors from all around.  The last influx of outsiders bringing their pocketbooks before the long winter brought snow and ice and all the winter games along with it.  Some folks said that winter was gods way of testing the human spirit.  Much like the grass and trees, humans tended to go into a hibernation mode throughout the winter.  Surviving on the nutrients they had gathered in the spring and summer to get them through the harsh starving months of winter.  The world seemed a bit sadder in the winter months, most of the habitants of Glacier Bay walked with their head down, their faces covered by scarves and bundled up in colorful hats, gloves, and bulky winter coats.  In the summer, they would wave and shout out to their neighbors, most times stopping for moment to ask about families and goings on.  But with the onset of winter, one was lucky to get a polite wave as they rushed by seeking indoors over the blistering cold. On this particular night, Scott Taylor was staring out at the glacier that gave the town its name.  The glacier, brightly lit by the moon, reflected across the bay giving off the illusion the water was ice, calm and still.  This illusion was ruined every few minutes when a gentle wave would crash into the bottom of the glacier echoing off the mountainside.  Scott tucked his long blonde hair behind his ears and looked towards the town he had lived in all his life.  Glacier Bay, nestled at the base of a range of mountains that almost saw snow on the peaks all year round.  The glacier snaked its way down the mountain until it spilled out in the bay that was protected by a natural seawall.  When the town was first settled in the late 1800’s, the townsfolk had carved a deep channel for boats to enter the bay safely in the natural wall.  This was once upon time to protect the fishing vessels that were moored at the docks during the winter months.  Nowadays there was not much commercial fishing anymore.  All the boats moored at the dock were built more for pleasure and unused for most of the year except when their rich owners could get away from the city for a few short weeks and enjoy all the town had to offer.  Many local boys like Scott, made really good money taking care of the boats for their absentee owners throughout the year as well as maintaining the carefully manicured lawns and removing the snow from their vacation homes throughout the year.  It always amazed Scott how much someone was willing to pay to keep a house they would visit once or twice a year.  It seemed like a waste of money that could be better spent in other ways.  But Scott was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. As he peered across the bay, he eyes drifted to the lighthouse.  There was no need for a lighthouse since the 1950’s and it had long been turned into a tourist destination with daily tours during the summer months.  A small gift shop in the base of the lighthouse offered those who had the need to buy souvenirs and keepsakes to remember their trip to Glacier Bay.  It had been closed for weeks now, abandoned until the spring.  Too many things in Glacier Bay seemed to be dormant for his liking.  Scott glanced at his watch and wondered again what was keeping his friend.  His eyes drifted back to the high school.  Thirty minute ago the lights had all but been turned off, signaling the end of the play and the participants headed home for the night.  Even if there was traffic leaving the parking lot, his friend should have arrived twenty minutes ago.  He pulled his coat around him tighter, it wasn’t that cold yet.  But sitting still on a bench for almost an hour had caused a chill to sink into his bones.  For the hundredth time, he checked his phone to see if there were any texts.  Since he had arrived, his sister had texted him three times about the ending of the play, his mom wanted to know what he was doing Saturday night and if he was free for dinner.  And a few more from random friends, but there was nothing from Jake.  Silent; much like the last week had been.  The old saying was true; you almost never miss what you have until it is no longer there.  And after a week of silence from his closest friend, he found that he missed him terribly.  Scott reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes.  It was definitely a habit he was trying to quit but the craving was always worse when he was bored.  He hadn’t so much taken his first drag when he heard footsteps on the gravel walkway below.  Jake must have ridden his bike, otherwise he would have seen the headlights of his car as he drove around the lake. Though the moon was bright and the sky was clear, he couldn’t make out the face of the figure as it approached him.  But he would have known that shape anywhere.  He had seen that shape for eighteen years.  He peered intently as the boy walked towards him.  Once he was close enough to see, Scott could see his face was drawn, his eyes intent as he looked at the ground.  His hands were shoved in his pockets and his breath steamed in the night with every exhale.  He had ridden his bike. Jacob Rainer, his next door neighbor for most of his life.  The one person that knew every secret, every prank, everything he had ever done in his life.  They were together when Scott got the bright idea to jump off the roof with sheets tied around their necks; they were also together when Scott convinced his friend that crossing the bay in old man Thomas’s row boat was a good idea at 2am in the middle of winter.  From the time they could walk, they had been inseparable. The two boys, both eighteen and heading into their final year of school, could not have been more different.  Neither in looks nor in personality.  Jake was average size, short cropped brown hair, and always seemed to ponder each decision carefully before acting.  He was well liked by his peers and received mostly A’ and B’s in all of his classes.  Being the middle child, at home he would disappear as his younger sister seemed to garnish all the attention and his older brother couldn’t keep from arguing with his parents about everything.  Everyone who knew him would testify that out of all the kids, he was going to be the one that made it and made it in a big way.  Scott took another drag from his cigarette and waited for his friend to sit down next to him on the bench.  But that did not stop him from looking at his friend with an expectant look on his face. Jake moved his hand in front of his face, trying to avoid the cigarette smoke that lingered around Scott’s head like a halo.  “I really wish you’d quit those.” Scott shrugged, “Everyone needs a bad habit.” Jake settled back into the bench, and stretched his legs out in front of him.  “Nice night.  Won’t be long until winter arrives though.  I can smell the snow in the air.” Scott threw the cigarette on the ground and stamped it out with his foot.  “It is almost November.  Hell, Halloween is just around the corner.” Jake looked at his friend sideways.  “What are you going as this year?” Scott turned his head and looked at his friend, “Are we really doing this?  Small talk, like you haven’t said a word to me in a week, and you want to know what I’m dressing for Halloween.” Jake ignored the outburst, something he did often.  “I’m going as a father,” he said quietly. Scott’s eyes widened at the declaration.  “Well shit.” Jake stared at the ground, not wanting to make eye contact with Scott.  Instead he dug his toe around in the dirt.  “Remember the fall dance at the club back in August.” Scott couldn’t help but chuckle as he remembered that night.  That was the night he dumped two bottles of whiskey in the punch, one hour before he puked on Mrs. Turners shoes.  As much trouble as he received for ruining her shoes, it would have been worse if they would have known he was the culprit that spiked the punch.  “What about it?” “Christine and I…” “Christine?” Scott interrupted.  “Blankenship.” “Remember, Becky and I got into that fight.  She was mad at you for spiking the punch,” Jake explained.  “Becky went home with Julie and Christine was pretty drunk, so I offered to give her a ride.” “Yeah you did,” Scott said, laughing.  Jake stood up, and spat out angrily, “This is why I can’t talk to you sometimes.  Not everything is a joke.” Scott stared up at his friend for a moment.  Then he said in a quiet tone, “You’re serious.” “I’m gonna be a father Scott.  And I’m scared shitless.” Jake stated before turning around to face the glacier.  “Wait a minute,” Scott said, shaking his head.  “You slept with Christine the night of the dance and didn’t tell me?” Jake glared at his friend.  “Not everything is about you.  And no, I didn’t.” Scott pulled out another cigarette.  “Okay, lets start at the beginning.” Jake rubbed his eyes tiredly.  “Christine was hammered that night.  I would never take advantage of someone like that.  But she was all over me, and managed to kiss me before I kicked her out of the car.” Jake sat back down next to his friend and grabbed the cigarette and took a long drag before exhaling the smoke upwards.  “That’s how you do it.  Not in your friends face.” “Rodger,” Scott said with a grin.  “Continue.” “Becky and I were having problems.  She was so worried about what would happen at the end of the year when we go off to college.  It was so frustrating, I mean, why couldn’t we just be happy now, and worry about next year, next year.” Jake stated with a sigh.  “A few days later, Christine showed up at work, being all flirty.  Wondering if I wanted to get coffee after I was finished.  It was nice, hanging out with her, just being in the moment, not worried about college, and how many kids we needed to have, where we were going to live, you know.  Just two people enjoying each other.” Jake stopped for a moment and eyeing the cigarette before taking it again.  “So we hung out off and on for the next few weeks.  And I swear, nothing happened.  We were just talking.” “When did Becky find out?” Scott asked as he lit up another cigarette.   Jake took a another drag, looked at the cigarette in his fingers, and threw it on the ground.  He stated with a frown, “You sure seem to smoke a lot nowadays.” “What can I say, I’m an addict.” “Three weeks ago, Becky saw us at the coffee shop, she went crazy.  She wouldn’t let me explain, she started accusing me of cheating on her with her best friend, calling us all sorts of names.  It was in the middle of the coffee shop.  I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.” Scott shrugged.  “I’ve been busy.” “That was the night it happened.  Right over there,” Jake gestured at the end of the walkway.  He grabbed the cigarette again and took a long drag. “Look Jake, I don’t mind if you smoke my cigarettes but you have to stop putting them out after one drag, their expensive,” Scott said with a frown.  “Are you sure she’s pregnant?” “She was pretty sure after a week because she missed her period.  Three tests later, and I’m gonna be a father,” Jake sighed.  “At eighteen, just like my father.” “That’s heavy,” Scott stated with a grimace. “And the really messed up thing,” Jake said quietly. “I don’t love her.  I love Becky.” “Does she know?” Jake shook his head.  “No one knows.  Just Christine, me, and now you.  Not even her parents.” “No wonder you’ve been avoiding me all week,” Scott said, his eyes wide in disbelief.  Jake stared off into the distance as he said, “I told her.  That I didn’t love her and that I wanted to be with Becky.” “How did she take that?” “She just starting crying,” Jake said, rubbing his hands through his hair.  “I can’t seem to do anything right lately.” “There is one thing you did perfectly,” Scott blurted out.  Jake stared at him flatly.  “Don’t be an ass.” “I’m just saying maybe you should’ve tried for that ass and you wouldn’t be in this situation.” Jake couldn’t help but chuckle.  “I’m not a pervert like you.” Scott laughed.  “I’m not a pervert anymore; it’s legal now in almost all fifty states.  We can get married and everything.” Jake shoved his friend playfully.  “What you do I wouldn’t call it legal in any state.” “They have all been consensual,” Scott said, pausing before adding with a grin, “except that one time but we won’t talk about him.  He deserved what he got anyway.” “Gross,” Jake stated dryly.  “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” “Is she going to keep it?” Scott asked carefully.  “I’m not sure.  I didn’t know how to bring that up.  Fuck, I already told her I don’t want to be with her, I didn’t think asking about abortion was appropriate.” Jake admitted.  “I’m such an asshole aren’t I.” “Best thing to do is talk to your dad.” Scott offered.  “He’s going to kill me,” Jake said with a frown.  “He always told me not to do what he did.” “Look on the bright side,” Scott stated as he stood up.  “You didn’t, you’re not going to marry the girl you knocked up.” “Oh, you are so dead,” Jake snorted and started chasing his friend who had starting running towards his truck parked in the lot down the path. “You could never catch me slowpoke,” Scott called out over his shoulder before really turning on the speed.  His long legs made running seem effortlessly, and he had been running his entire life.  On his best day, Jake couldn’t keep up with him unless he slowed to a jog and this time was no different. By the time Jake caught up to him, he was leaning against his truck and the motor was already warming up.  He did notice that Jake’s bike was already in the bed of his blue pick-up.  Riding out to the glacier in the middle of the night might be fun but no one wanted to make the long ride back. Jake half-jogged the last ten yards, his chest heaving as he took large gasps of air.  He held his side and winced.  “I don’t know how you run that fast and still smoke that many cigarettes.” “Genetics,” Scott said with a smile.  He smoothed down his long blonde hair and jumped in the truck.  “Get in before you fall over.” “I was built for short bursts,” Jake explained as he climbed inside the 4X4 truck with a grunt.  “I’m much better on the wrestling floor.” Scott turned on the heat full blast as he spoke, “And yet, oddly enough, I turned out to be the gay one.” “That is true.  I’ve probably had my face in more boy crotches than you have.  If I’m not gay by now, I’ll never be,” Jake said proudly.  “You are one of the few on the wrestling team that could honestly say that,” Scott said, moving his eyebrows up and down suggestively. “Those are my teammates, I don’t want to hear about what they might do with you behind closed doors,” Jake complained half-heartedly. Scott laughed, loud and deep.  “Remember that time we went to that away game in Hillersville, now that was a wrestler that knew which end of a boy was what.” For the rest of the ride back to town, Scott told one outlandish tale after another about his many conquests and crazy exploits.  Like most boys do of a certain age, there was a large amount of exaggeration and all out lies.  Jake knew that Scott was far from being a virgin, and he did have a more active sex life than most boys in the school ever dared dream.  Most times he just hoped that most of Scott’s stories were fanciful tales designed to get a rise out of his listeners.  Scott was well known around the school at having the weirdest sense of humor.  No matter what the circumstance, he could always be counted on to say the most offensive thing at any given time.  It was something that Jake actually respected him for.  It took a very confident person to say whatever and not care what everyone else thought.  Scott truly marched to a different drum than anyone else.  He was never sure which boy was the good influence on the other.  All he knew, Scott was someone he could count on to always be there.  No matter what. For his part, Scott was at a complete loss of words.  He couldn’t even begin to understand what his friend was going through.  So he did the only thing he could do, try to take Jake’s mind off his problem, even if it was only for twenty minutes on the ride home.  Jake was almost smiling by the time the blue truck pulled up to 803 Campus Circle at 11:53pm.  Scott put the truck in park and stared ahead.  “Talk to your dad.” “I’d rather talk to your dad,” Jake stated with a grin. Scott laughed again.  “He’d be so happy to talk about sex with girls with someone.  You’d make his day.” “How’s he been the last few weeks?” Jake asked, looking at his friend intently. “He’s getting use to it,” Scott said with a shrug.  “Mom said it was okay for me to come to dinner tomorrow night.  So that’s a good thing.” Jake reached over and put his hand on Scott’s arm.  “Look Scott, I’m sorry I’ve been so distant lately.  It’s not because…you’re gay.  I don’t care about that.  And truthfully, I kind of always suspected.” “Really?” Scott asked.  “Why didn’t you say anything?” “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jake countered. Scott turned his head for a moment and looked out the drivers window.  “I guess I was scared.” “Of what?” Scott turned to face his friend.  “I think I knew that you wouldn’t care, deep down.  But I didn’t want to lose you.  You are one of the most important things in my life.  And I was scared to take a chance that you wouldn’t accept me.  Or worse.” “Or worse?” Jake asked. “Like, if you thought I was hitting on you on those times we would wrestle around.  Or the showers, or sleeping together,” Scott said honestly.  Jake made a face and said quickly, “That’s gross.” Scott’s eyes widened as Jake continued thoughtfully, “One of the reasons I always thought you were gay was when we wrestled and you’d get a boner.” “I so did not,” Scott denied laughing.  Jake laughed, for the first time that night, a deep belly laugh.  “Exactly my point.  You are more like my brother than my own brother.” Scott stated through his laughter, “Truth.” “I didn’t know what to say about this Christine thing, I was avoiding you because it’s got my head all twisted,” Jake admitted.  “But I realized that you might think it was because you came out.  And it’s not.  Honest.” Scott sighed.  “Thank you.  I will admit I was wondering if that was it.  It was weird not being able to talk to you about this stuff.” “Hey, you can always talk to me, I might not understand it all, but I’ll listen,” Jake said with a small grin.  “Thanks.  And you’re not worried what everyone will say at school about you,” Scott asked.  He had already heard some of the things that have been said.  For the time being, nothing had been said to his face but he figured it was just a matter of time. Jake laughed again.  “Scott, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I wasn’t the only one that suspected.” Scott was truly stunned.  “Really.” “Becky and even Julie told me that years ago.  Mike mentioned it in passing,” Jake said through his laughter.  “I think everyone knew and probably no one really cares.” “Well shit, I could’ve saved all that stress,” Scott said thoughtfully.  “If only my father would’ve suspected.” “He’ll come around,” Jake said confidently.  “He just always wanted a grandson.” “Well, maybe he can adopt Christine’s baby,” Scott snorted out, not being able to stop himself. “You really are an asshole,” Jake said, shaking his head.  “Really, a big asshole.” “You could come over and visit him, bring him presents,” Scott said more enthusiastically, gesturing wildly.  “Take naps with me in my bed.” “Just keep laughing,” Jake warned, but the corner of his mouth was curling up in a grin.  “Though, you are a great napping partner.  You like to cuddle.” “One time,” Scott admonished. “Best nap I ever had,” Jake said laughing.  “That’s when you’re father should’ve suspected.  When he walked in on us that day, you had even drooled a bit on my shoulder.” “You’re laughing now,” Scott replied.  “But Mom asked me if you were my boyfriend.” Jake stopped laughing and asked, “Seriously?  What did you say?” Scott put his hands behind his head and said, “I told her it wasn’t my place to out other people and if she wanted to know she should ask you.” Jake smacked him right in the stomach, hard.  Scott made a sound, and grabbed his stomach, though he didn’t stop laughing.  “It doesn’t help that you stopped coming around these last few weeks.  No telling what they are thinking.” “Well, I can bet they aren’t thinking I got some girl pregnant,” Jake said wistfully.  “No, can’t say that they are,” Scott agreed.  “Anything you need, just ask.” “Thanks.  But it’s time for me to go inside,” Jake stated as he stared at his darkened house, a lone porch light shining a light on the walkway.  “I’ll see you.” Jake opened the door and headed towards the front of the house.  Scott stared at him until he disappeared inside and the door closed.  Scott checked his phone and read a text that brought a grin to his face.  He replied, “I’m on my way.” He started up his truck and headed across town whistling.  He had wanted to tell Jake about the reason he came out but didn’t think it was the right time.  Not when Jake was worried about being a father to a girl he didn’t want to be with.  Not to mention that when Becky found out she would probably break up with him.  No seventeen year old girl wants to be a girlfriend of an eighteen year old that is having a baby with her best friend.  But that was for a later time to worry about.  For now, he was going to see the reason he came out.  And for now, that was all that mattered.

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

Bottom(Less) Tales In Vegas

I’m back...and this blog entry is sponsored by “wingtip shoes” and candy apple cigarettes.   I could look this up but I’m a bit too much on the lazy side to figure out how long it’s been since I last posted a blog entry. But I’m sure it’s so long ago that even my one loyal reader has given up on checking my outdated blog and has disappeared into the ether.
Unfortunately I am regulated to posting to those that have no idea who I am or realize the sheer boredom the next few minutes will bring them as they read this blog entry called Bottom(less) Tales in Vegas 2016. So let me be the first to apologize to all of you for wasting your time.   But I am a gentleman so just to avoid all the confusion, let me tell you who I use to be a long time ago, twenty-pounds smaller, and a few thousand hair follicles ago. I was a rather prolific poet, blogger, and part-time storyteller known as Jason Rimbaud.
That was a long time ago when I was still messed up on pills, alcohol and a straight boy named Mark. Do you remember now?   Just in case you were wondering, I have put all three of those things firmly in my rear-view view. And if I were to be honest, the main reason I stopped blogging all those years ago , I really didn’t have much drama in my life and what little drama I had was a bit on the boring side to share with my loyal reader.   Trust me, no one wants to read anything remotely about me getting up to work, working all day, going home and sleeping only to rise and repeat. That should be the title of my life, Rise and Repeat (trademark pending). Literally nothing was going on in my life.   Okay, so judging from the title of this blog post, I’m sure a few of you are expecting something interesting happened to me one blistering hot day in Las Vegas.   I met a boy. Not really a boy, more like an amazing wonderful guy that from here on out, I will call “G” to preserve his identity. “G” is an Indian, his family comes from Goa but he was born here in San Francisco.   Lets go back to the beginning, a perfect place to start for this fuzzy bunny slippers kind of a tale.   I am currently sitting at the Luxor Casino in the quaint little dessert town of Nevada known as “Sin City”. This town is aptly named because I definitely found some sin in that city. Well, two sins to be precise.   It has been just over a year since I broke up with “G”. Matter of fact, almost in the exact spot I was when I first realized that we were no longer an “us”.   Have you ever been in a relationship and one day you wake up and realize that what you think was perfect was actually flawed and nowhere near the vicinity of perfect?   “G” and I were together for well over two years and I must say, it was the most adult relationship I have had to date. It’s been long enough that I can look back and see it for what it was…perfect for me and just average for him.   Before you go and think we had epic battles and tears were shed and bodily fluids were shared with other partners, you would be wrong. In the weeks before the break-up, we went about our daily lives in a comfortable routine. A routine that I guess worked for me but left him wanting something else. I don’t believe there was another boy that took him away. I believed he came to the same conclusion I did on that fateful day in Vegas, but he came to that much sooner than I.   I went to Vegas in March, last year, after a long stretch of long hours and missed days off. I had been texting him off and on all day, sharing with him my wins and my losses, when I started getting the sinking feeling that something was extremely wrong.   Have you had the moment via text, when you can feel the mood shift? That’s what I felt from him that day. I could almost feel he was just replying back to me because we were together and not because he really was enjoying talking to me.   We always had the most fun together, we enjoyed each other and spent most of our time laughing and joking and referencing all the inside jokes we had developed. Our texts were playful and flirty and were seldom one word replies. But that day, the replies were coming slower and slower and the words became fewer and fewer. I remember vividly sitting there at the slot machine, staring at the screen and then down to my phone, and the sudden clarity moment when I knew we were over. Matter of fact, six days later, we would be over and my life would be forever changed.   I’ll be honest, mainly because he will never read this and partly because I have always been honest in these blog posts, I was lucky to have him in my life for as long as I did. “G” is a great guy and though I believe I am over him, I still think about him often and wonder how he’s doing.   I am currently, as I type this, sitting at the Luxor Casino in a bar called Aura trying to get my head around the events that happened just a few minutes ago. I’m exhausted, and not in I need to pass out for twelve hours kind of way, but more like a contented exhaustion.   I awoke this morning and decided I needed to clear my head and work out the memories that have been haunting me for a year. While it had been a year since “G” and I broke up, I had yet to throw my ass into the dating world.   I might have been a bit too glib earlier when I acted like it was a mutual thing. It was the saddest break-up of my life. And that hurt, for a long time, and I was devastated. I couldn’t even as much look at another penis without a crippling feeling of loss.   Don’t get me wrong, I joined Jacked and Grindr but no one I met even came close to “G” nor did I really feel like getting someone else fluids anywhere near me. But that was then, and this is very much right now.   This morning I woke up and felt a horniness that I haven’t felt in a long time. So intense was this mental erection, I jumped on a plane and headed to my favorite vacation destination. And I did it right. I flew first class, I booked a two bedroom suite that came with a hot tub in front of the window so I could look out on the Vegas strip while soaking naked.   So here I was, freshly mended heart, looking out across the dessert in one of the greatest cities in the world and I needed human contact. It was so overwhelming, I knew it was an itch only a guy could feel. What was a boy to do? Damn right! I opened Grindr.
Twenty minutes later I’m sitting at the very bar I’m sitting now, chatting up this guy from Wisconsin. One drink after that, we were back in my room.   He was a bit younger than me, late thirties, tall and rail thin. His name was Adam. A fitting name I thought as I was about to be partaking of the forbidden fruit for the first time in a year.   I believe Adam was married and only played with men on his business outing. But he was horned up and for some reason, I was the reason.   He kissed like a straight man. So like a true reformed slut, I put a condom on his peen and sat down.   When I first met “G”, he was in a tragic relationship with a guy I really believe broke his heart. So much so, I don’t think there was ever a chance for us to work. He was coming off a relationship he thought was going to last forever, there was a ring and everything. Moving into my little world of craziness, he never really had the time to heal from that.   I’m not the most emotional guy in the world and with just a hint of clarity in my pretty bald head, we were probably doomed from the start. But fuck me did I try, more than I ever tried before. At least I know when I do meet the right guy, I will have no trouble diving head first and doubling down.   Adam had a great body, smooth and a perfect sized penis. You know the kind I mean, not so big that you can’t fit it in anywhere but not so small that makes you looked down and go “no thanks”.   Looking out over the Vegas strip, pressed up against the window, I realized that was something I had been missing for a long time. As I gazed out at the twinkling lights of Mandalay Bay, I actually let out a sigh.   I won’t describe the sex I had with “G”, that is for me and I won’t cheapen the memory by sharing it with you. But he was little, and I’m not talking about his down there parts, that was as close to perfect as you could get, but it had been a while since I was with someone that could really manhandle me around. I was so horned up and ready for Adam to stop kissing me, I didn’t even use lube, I just pushed back and took the pain. One, two, three, maybe five thrusts and he collapses against my back, shaking. As we kind of stood there, his weird breath on my back, silent for a moment before I said, “That was disappointing.”   Think about it, it had been over a year since I had any action and fifteen seconds into it, right when it just started to feel amazing, he finishes with a grunt.   I’m not sure what he was expecting nor the look that must have crossed his face when I said that. All I know is I felt him tense up, and he pushed off me and started walking over to his clothes. The condom dropped to the floor and without a word, he got dressed and left the room.   I was still standing by the window, still excited and wondering what the fuck just happened and what the fuck was I going to do now.
I could have taken it in hand as it were, but now I was like a man possessed. When you’ve gone a year without sex, fifteen seconds is nowhere near long enough to come close to satisfying me. No hand job in a poorly lit movie theatre, no wink wink nudge nudge, not even boom goes the dynamite. I needed dick, and for longer than fifteen seconds.   I stood there kind of confused, all my blood still pooling far away from my bald head, when I heard that magic sound every Grindr user recognizes.   I opened the APP, and the first thing I see is a bare stomach, two brown nipples winking at me, no face but that wasn’t what sent my stomach doing back flips.   “G” was probably the first guy I ever took without a condom. And I can remember that first time we did it, like we were connected in ways that all homophobes will never understand. I don’t want to get too graphic, but fuck me, it’s an amazing feeling.   Remember, it has been a year since I bottomed for anyone. An entire year, needless to say, it was a really tight fit. So maybe I can’t blame Adam for shooting so quick…maybe!   So I open Grindr, and under ethnicity, I see Native American, Navaho to be precise. He was hot, 6 foot tall, runner build, amazing smile and let’s not even mention the glasses, because fuck I do like my men in glasses.   What was a guy to do? I had never been with a Native American, the excitement was there, and that need to be fulfilled was still there, pounding in my brain. I told him my room number and promptly jumped into the shower to wash off Adam’s stink. After all it has been only ten minutes since Adam was all up in my business.   I really hoped that Sonni, yes his name is Sonni, couldn’t tell that I just had someone else ten minutes earlier, but I really didn’t care. I was definitely seeing red at this point.   Sonni was completely opposite of Adam. He was shy, so much so I also wondered how much experience he had with guys. That fear was quickly put to rest at the expert way he handled certain parts of my anatomy. But I am getting ahead of myself.   While Sonni and I were chatting by the window, he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to have sex, he was a bit more interested in oral pleasure at first. But luckily for me, he took one look at my willingness and threw those plans out of the window.   We made out for a while, doing a little bit of this and some dirty that, and I get another condom and in no time I am ready to go. He was bigger than Adam, one of the biggest I have been with on that end of things. But I was up for the challenge and slowly sat down.
One, two, three, eight and wammo, his toes curl and he lets out a whimper and I’m back right where I started. Horned up and still not properly topped.   The first time “G” topped me, the same thing happened. It was over long before it really began and after these two guys tonight, I am starting to believe I just might have a magic ass. Which might be quite difficult to accomplish at forty-one years old?
But I am sitting here in this bar, a bit sore back there, but content that I was still attractive enough that two different guys in a matter of an hour, shot off because of the sensations I caused them. And for those of you that say that isn’t me as much as it has to do with them, don’t rain on my parade. I needed a confidence booster.   The real difference between Adam and Sonni, Sonni isn’t leaving until Friday, that’s three days away. Who knows, maybe I can get him in my bed again for round one and half.   I think I would take “G” back if he would offer. I still love him. But I also know that we grew apart in ways that neither of us can recover the distance. And just because my track record is being the king of looking back and diving headfirst into past boyfriends and all that tangled shit over and over again doesn’t mean I have to wash rinse and repeat. I miss “G” in certain moments, the fun we had, the times we shared, and all the moments that we created as an “us”.   But then, for the first time in years, I was with two different guys in a matter of an hour. And yes I understand what that might make me, but after a year I think I deserved a bit of safe fun. Me and my magic ass deserve it. I’ve been in town seven hours and I already used up all my towels. What will the maid think of me when she cleans my room tomorrow?   As usual, I’ve rambled on for too long to disclose the remainder of my Bottom(less) Tales in Vegas or the time when Sonni came to San Francisco and we spent nine amazing hours in bed for his birthday. But those tales are for another time and some other when.

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

Anniversary

“It’s not that I didn’t like the gift…”   “You don’t,” Ron interrupted while flipping through a magazine.   “Right, but he doesn’t have to know that.”   “He will figure it out when you never wear it and it goes the way the rest of his gifts have gone, “Ron said gesturing towards the closet.   “It’s our fifth year anniversary, that deserves something more romantic than a brown coat and an even plainer brown scarf,” Daniel exclaimed, pushing his hair off his forehead.   “It could have been worse you know.”   “Really. How?”   “Remember the animal print top he bought you two years ago,” Ron said, putting the magazine down on his lap. “What kind of animal was that again?”   “Zebra.” “See, that would have been worse. A zebra printed coat.”   “Sometimes I have a hard time believing he is gay.”   “I doubt that,” Ron said as he rolled his eyes and looked down at the pages again. “I see how you walk into the kitchen after date night.”   “That’s what I mean,” Daniel stood up angrily. “You shouldn’t be privy to our love making sessions.”   “And you shouldn’t be calling it ‘our love making sessions’ either.”   “We use to stay out all night just talking. We’d go out for long walks on the beach under the moonlight. We’d hold hands and make out until the sun came up over the city.”   “And I remember when you thought turtle necks hid your tremendously long neck.”   Daniel ignored him and continued, “Now I cook dinner, he opens a bottle of wine. We snuggle on the couch while watching Alien Encounters before shuffling off to our bed promptly at nine pm where our love making sessions start and we are asleep by nine-thirty.”   “Sounds pretty bad to me,” Ron said as he stood and looked at his watch. “You have a man that puts up with your craziness, you family issues, loves you so much there are times I get physically sick being in the same room with you two. It’s horrible.”   “You know what I mean,” Daniel threw up his hands in frustration. “I think it’s over.”   Ron rolled his eyes. He loved his brother more than anything but there were times it was exhausting listening to his insecurities. “Come on drama queen, we have to go. The movie starts at seven.”   “I can’t believe he has to work late on our anniversary,”   “Damn,” Ron stated as he looked at his shoe. “I think I have a broken shoelace. Why don’t you go get the car and I’ll change shoes and meet you down in a minute.   “Okay.”   The moment the door closed behind Daniel, Ron pulled out his phone and waited for the connection.   “Is it set?” The voice on the other end asked.   “Little miss drama queen is heading down as we speak.”   “How mad is he?”   “You know my brother, he doesn’t even know how he feels moment to moment.”   “Thanks again for watching the house this week-end, you are my favorite brother in law.”   “I’m your only brother in law weirdo,” Ron said with a laugh. “Have fun in Bermuda.”   Ron returned his phone to his pocket and kicked off his shoes. He sat down on the sofa and put his hands behind his head and sighed loudly. “Finally some peace and quiet.”

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

I just sneezed

I should be here more often but my career ( what a weird thing to come from my mouth ) has me full up the last year. As it is, in a weeks time, I'll be leaving San Francisco to open the second restaurant in what I hope is the start of a national brand.   And though I'm not the owner or investor ( yet ) I am quickly moving up in the new company.   Can you believe they put me in charge of a multi-million dollar restaurant? And a celebrity Chef too boot.   How my life has changed in the last five years. I guess sobriety has its uses after all   Jason ( the happy one )   PS. I also have a great boyfriend

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

Top versus Bottom

In a forum somewhere on that one site, there was a discussion topic that asked a simple question…Top or Bottom.   And after reading all the comments in that thread, and believe me you should read them because they are extremely amusing, I decided to reply to that thread and offer up my perspective.   And then, as one or two of you might know by now, I noticed my reply was getting rather long winded so I decided to answer this question in my blog where there is less of a chance that something I might say would get me in trouble.   Besides, if you’re reading this blog than you are quite accustom to my long meandering rants that always seem to end before I get to the juicy parts.   Before I get to the meat of the problem, I want t ask a survey question…Can you make a good top if you’ve never bottomed before?   I would love to hear your comments about this subject since a few of my friends and I have a long standing argument about this very topic.   I do know that I will always be grateful to a little punk bottom twink by the name of John for teaching me the difference between a straight top and a gay top. But then I’m getting ahead of myself again.   If you’re straight, sex with a girl, even anal sex, is vastly different than having sex with a gay bottom. For one, it takes loads more preparation to get the guy ready which always leads to hot foreplay. And two, different positions adds a variety of sensations that changes the dynamic of just lying there on your stomach.   Now before I go further, I am not a woman so please don’t tell me where I’m wrong with the above sentence. Thanks.   The absence or presence of lube also changes the feelings for both top and bottom. I guess it depends on the need at the moment of penetration. And maybe the size of the penis that is entering me.   In my late teens and early twenties, it was usually decided, and almost always in an unspoken action, who would top depending on our respective penis sizes as well as physical size. It was almost like the larger penis meant more of dominance in the bedroom.   This is probably why my early forays into gay sex, while exciting and orgasmic for me, were usually ones I tended to forget the moment I left the room, or car, or park, or once a bus.   This lack of memorable sex was also due to my lack of experience with a talented top that knew how to make it pleasurable for the bottom.   I also observed back then that depending on my mood, whether I wanted to top or bottom, or to be completely truthful whether I was lazy or not, that I was drawn to a certain type of guy for each position. If I wanted to throw my legs over my head I was drawn to a more masculine guy, most of the time older than myself, and one that was more aggressive. If I wanted to have someone’s legs on my shoulders, I looked for a more feminine guy, usually smaller than myself as well as younger.   Remember this isn’t a broad statement about all guys but my experience. And I am quite experienced in that arena. Some would say I was/am a slut but that’s not what this blog is about now is it?   Why is it that younger guys tend to love bottoming? I’d love to hear some comments from some younger guys to see if they could shed some light on this subject.   I know there are loads of younger guys that love to top and have never bottomed before but I found that they were always lackluster in their technique. Though they did make up for this by their sheer exuberance and recharge abilities.   When I first experienced sex with a guy, and I’m not talking about mutual wanking, dry humping, or oral, it was with an older boy. I was fifteen and he was nineteen.   In my early teens, I “experimented” with another boy that went to my church. Quite harmless really, games of I’ll show you mine if you show me yours type of thing. There were loads of dry humping, no pun intended but gladly accepted.   And then, a year later or so, I was working at this trailer park cutting grass, I had my first touch of another boys privates. And this exploration, wanking off one another, lasted the summer. We had two glorious months of shooting in the great outdoors, and in the tool shed, in the pool, and anywhere we could get away with having our privates exposed. But once summer was over, we both with back to our respective schools and never saw each other again.   My fifteenth year was a year that I will never forget. Caleb, the nineteen year old boy that took my virginity, was the older brother of this boy I met from the public swimming pool. And being the walking boner machine I was back at that age, the moment I saw him in his cut off Levi shorts and his long blonde hair, it was lust at first sight.   Looking back I now can see he was a total predator but since I was a willing piece of prey, I bear him no ill wishes. I think I pursued him just as strongly as he pursued/seduced me. But that’s a tale for another time as I am currently writing about Top versus Bottom.   Caleb was that typical “straight” guy that plays around with other guys but never identified with being gay and probably had some reason for rationalizing his gay activities. He never once let me put my cock anywhere near any orifice of his body and only touched it once in all the times we played around.   But since I was a horny little boy and didn’t know any better, I pretty much let him do anything he wanted to do to my awakening body.   His favorite position for fucking me was me lying on my stomach with a pillow under my midsection. After barely any preparation, he’d shove it in and thrust away. I’m sure he was ashamed of what we were doing because he never wanted to look at my face and he wouldn’t make a sound except for his ragged breathing.   And he was the quietest guy ever when he came. He’d hold his breath, which was rather loud and always smelled of cigarettes, and he’d do this…half thrusting motion before pulling out and getting off the bed rather quickly. He’d always get dressed right away and then watch me as I finished myself off.   One time while we were thusly engaged, he kissed the back of my neck but most times the only part of his body that was actually touching me was his cock.   I do remember the look on his face as he watched me jerk off. It was like he was in pain but he couldn’t take his eyes off me. I once asked him to help me out but he refused very angrily. I was good enough for him to stick his cock inside me but anything else caused him to shut down emotionally.   Looking back I think he was molested as a child and was relieving some kind of trauma but I’ll never know as I lost track of him a long time ago.   And I’m not even going to go into penis size because I never really measured Caleb’s cock but I now know it was well below average. I’m sure this is why I didn’t need a lot of preparation and never really had an orgasm when he was topping me. I also can deduce that he wasn’t very experienced sexually with either girls or guys but that’s not the point.   All I can say was my first sexual intercourse wasn’t very fulfilling and for a time it actually turned me off guys all together.   The next year I turned sixteen and my next sexual partner was a girl named Christine and she was a demon in the bedroom. Sex with her was downright amazing and in her I found someone who wanted to touch me, kiss me, anywhere and everywhere and demanded that I do the same to her. And for those two months I can honestly say I was happy.   But sadly it was a summer fling and once she moved away I never saw her again. Oh the summer of my sixteenth year. But I wonder what she’d say if she knew the year before I was letting her best friend’s brother fuck me into straightdom/boredom.   My next partner was a guy named Brandon, and let me tell you, he was sex on wheels. He was so hot I didn’t care that my first go round with a guy was unfulfilling. I now know that the sex with him wasn’t that good but he made up for it in so many ways. Not only did he love shoving his cock inside me and touched me and kissed me into delirum, he also loved it when I returned the favor. Oh the memories of my first sixty-nine. He was also the first boy that fucked me when I was lying on my back. And after that little bit of magic, I realized that bottoming can be very enjoyable if you have the right partner.   It feels different, sex with girls as opposed to having sex with guys. And it’s not just about the different bodies, some softer and some harder, hairy or smooth. Guys smell different than girls and I found that most of the time I am attracted to the ways guys smell and turned off by the smell from girls.   Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always enjoyed my forays into straight sex. And when I have sex with a girl I go all the way, I do oral as well as penetration. Though I must admit I’ve never really figured out the female breasts, most of the time I just leave them alone and focus on the other parts. And not to put down any of my female readers, but guys just give better oral.   And there is something about giving oral pleasure to a guy that is always exciting and guys seem to just be tighter, on average, than girls and they grip you in a different way. Maybe because with each thrust there is a bit of resistance or maybe it’s just because I’m a gay guy that likes to have sex with other gay guys.   One of my friends believes that topping is harder work than bottoming and for a long time I tended to disagree. I thought a good bottom was actually the one who controls the speed, angles, and does…or should…do a majority of the work. And then I’ve come to realize in my later years that it takes two talented people to have amazing sex. I know when I’m bottoming I am giving just as much as whoever I allow to penetrate me.   Sex to me is like a partnership where everything is split down the middle. I’ve grown from my early years when I just laid there like a cold fish and let someone fuck me to an aggressive top that didn’t care about giving pleasure to my partner to where I am today.   Am I a top or a bottom? That depends on your definition of each term and if there is truly such a distinction. I know I won’t be with a partner that is exclusively one or the other.

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

Personal Questions

A boring look into the existence of Jason Rimbaud   In the forums of GayAuthors, in the Games and Humor thread, there is an entry called Personal Questions. Basically it’s a forum game where each person asks a personal question and the next person answers the question before asking his own personal question.   As I read through all the questions and the replies, I realized that there was numerous questions I would have love to have answered. So I thought it would be a good idea if I took some of those questions and answered them in my Blog for my one loyal reader who might want to know a bit more about me then I have shared thus far in my Blog.   Basically, I’m out of ideas for Blog Entries so I’m going to pretend that people want to read my answers to these questions they asked other more interesting people.   So without further interruptions or pointless digressions that go nowhere except to boredom. I give you personal questions as asked by lots of more interesting people to other interesting people.   What is your favorite item of clothing? You might think this is embarrassing but I have an underwear fetish. And before you get to thinking that I’m some kind of freak and that your laundry isn’t safe in the dryer while you run across the street to get a bagel and a chocofrapalatta. You see, I don’t perv on your underwear, no, I perv on my own stash of underwear. And not my dirty underwear either, I like to buy all sorts of underwear. So for the moment, my favorite article of clothing is a pair of Batman boxer briefs, so comfortable against my dangling bits.   Where was your first kiss? On the lips   Where was your first kiss? My first kiss happened on a park bench during a summer rain storm with a girl named Michelle. She was also the first person other than me to touch my no-no parts above the jeans.   What is the one gift you got that you cherish and why? Three years ago for my birthday, “M” bought me an orange fleece Hoodie that is as soft as baby’s tears and as warm as fuzzy bunny slippers. And though “M” is long gone and nothing but a memory, on cold nights I still like putting on that Hoodie and cuddling up in front of the TV.   What was the last date you went on and how did it go? It was this last Christmas Eve and this great guy took me out to one of my favorite restaurants. We had a great bottle of wine, awesome conversation and then later, because he paid for dinner, I gave it up to him.   What’s the story behind the worst scar you have? It was the summer I turned twelve and I came up with this brilliant idea that my friend and I should pretend that we were knights of the round table and go on a quest like King Arthur and his Knights. After a few hours of being knights, I decided that I should switch sides. Everything was going great until he swung Excalibur and I forgot to duck. His sword hit my face in a downward slashing motion that started at the top of my right eye, my eyelid, eyeball, and my right cheek. After I got out of the hospital, I realized that I would have to wear corrective lenses for the rest of my life. Luckily, the scar is barely visible.   What is the one thing you are most proud of accomplishing? My sobriety. I haven’t done as much as a taste of cocaine in five years, three months and six days. And it feels surreal, I can remember telling my therapist all those years ago that I would never do cocaine again and I wouldn’t need a rehab program to do it either. She was very supportive of me but she felt that a rehab program would be something I would need to continue onwards. I don’t recommend that other addicts tackle sobriety the same way I did. I’m just relaying the story how I reached the lowest point in my life and I knew I had to make a change. Everyone must work on their sobriety in their own way.   What would you say is your sexiest body part and why? Hmm, I guess my one loyal reader might guess that I would say my perfectly shaped cock or maybe I’d describe my prowess of lying on my back. Well, you would be wrong if you thought that my loyal reader. Because the sexiest part of my body is my blue eyes, the only good thing my fuck face father ever gave me.   How did you imagine your life to be now when you thought about it ten years ago? Ten years ago I probably thought I’d be dead long before I’d make it ten years in the future.   What is your favorite part of the day? Whenever I make it back to my apartment and close the door behind me and the madness that is humanity is locked out.   What is something that you do that everyone else thinks is weird? I never sleep with my head against the headboard of any bed. Matter of fact, my own bed is in the center of my room where I can walk around the entire thing. In hotels, I sleep with my head on the foot of the bed with my feet pointed at the headboard.   What is something that you do that everyone else thinks is weird? Whenever I first try on a pair of shoes I must try the left one on first. I find it very bad luck to put on shoes using your right foot first.   What is something that you do that everyone else thinks is weird? When doing laundry, if anyone, even my boyfriend, touches my clothes before they are folded and put away and then taken out and put on my body, I have to re-wash them. “M” use to mess with me all the time; he’d open one of my drawers and pretend to touch my clothes.   If there was one thing about yourself you could change, what would it be? It would definitely be to change my anal retentive behavior. Seriously, do I really have to make sure that all the rooms in my apartment are vacuumed in straight lines in sync with magnetic north? Does it?   If you had a free pass to have sex with any person in the world, no strings attached and your spouse/significant other was okay with it...who would it be? Considering this question doesn’t specify any person living or dead, I have to go with Elvis. There is just something erotic about the thought of fucking the King of Rock-n-Roll.   If we were in a relationship and I was breaking up with you what’s the worst possible thing I could do to hurt you...other than physical violence? Share my secrets that I trusted to you with your friends.   Have you ever been in trouble with the law and if so, what for? I have to just choose one instance. Let’s see, I was once arrested for being drunk in public. I also received a ticket for drinking in public years ago.   What is the biggest lie you ever told? I once told this really Hot Guy (who I actually quit my job and got a job at his restaurant just so I could be close to him) that his boyfriend was cheating on him. Though now that I think about it, that lie actually came true a few weeks later when I got the boyfriend drunk and had my way with him at a party. Hot Guy and boyfriend broke up a few weeks later and it took me another six months to get Hot Guy to sleep with me. Sadly, a few weeks later I realized that now that I had Hot Guy I didn’t really like him very much so I left him, drunk and passed out at a New Year’s Eve party one of my friends threw and went home with another guy.   Where was the strangest place you have ever been taken on a date? When I was twenty-one, and trying to be more “normal”, I agreed to go out on a date with a guy instead of just fucking him after too many shots behind the local gay bar. He was a really nice guy and ended up taking me to a Church game night. After the shock of not getting struck by lightning, and using all my willpower not to spill the beans that there was two queers in the middle of “gods house”, I vowed to never try to be “normal” again.   If you could physically change one part of your body to your complete liking what would it be? My cock, it has just the slightest bend to the right and I would love to be able to make it completely straight.   What’s the worst nickname you’ve had? Gutter Pants, you can imagine why I’d be named as such.   If you could go anywhere, where would it be? If I could go anywhere, again no one specified a real place or a fictitious place, so I’d like to go to Heaven and ask god why he’s such a fuck face.   What’s the biggest secret you’ve ever kept for a friend? That the night before his wedding he came over to my house and the two of us had sex for the last time.   Do you have parents that stayed together or are you a part of a single or blended family? Hm, a question about my family; I think I’ll pass on this. Well, they were never divorced so I guess I can say they stayed together.   What’s one thing that you wanna try but too embarrassed to tell anyone about? I’m not embarrassed to tell anyone anything that pops into my little head.   Who did you look up to growing up? Arthur Rimbaud...if you don’t know who this brilliant writer is, look him up.   What is your earliest memory? I was around eight years old and the neighbor boy and I use to sneak under my bed and dry hump each other. I have other memories but what fun are they compared to this.   What is the worst thing you hate/hated about your current/last boyfriend or girlfriend? “M” had the annoying habit of getting food to-go and then leaving it in my refrigerator. I don’t know if he even had the intention of ever eating the bits of crap he left for me to find weeks later.   How big is your...? Considering who ever asked this question never finished saying how big my “what” is...I’m going to finish it for them. How big is your cock? Big enough to make any guy go gay, if only for a few hours while he is with me.   What is something that is considered a social norm that you’ve never done? Cry at a funeral.   What’s your favorite sexual position? It depends if I’m topping or bottoming. Shall I go into details?   What makes you most nervous? Sitting down one on one with another human being and dropping the walls that keep me safe.   What type of things do you find funny? Really, that’s a question you want to know. Watching a baby running down the sidewalk before taking a header into the pavement, watching a bicyclist ran into the side of a car, Bill Maher, Tosh.O, any George Carlin CD. I could go on but then I’d start offending you politically correct humans.   When was the last time you did a random act of kindness and what was it? It was a few months ago, I went to Taco Bell and bought fifty taco’s and passed them out to all the homeless people I saw on my way to work.   What is the number one thing on your bucket list? I don’t believe in writing bucket lists, I firmly believe that you should never put off something you want to do for a later date. Live like today is your last, always.   Which is the shortest time it took you to like somebody? Again, this question is open for interpretation. Is it like somebody or like like somebody? So I’ll answer however I want. His name was Jason, some of you might recognize the name, and I remember the first day I met him. I looked at him, he smiled, and I asked if he wanted to smoke a cigarette with me, we went outside and by the time we came back inside, we were fast friends.   What is your favorite comfort food? Now, remember, comfort food could take whatever form brings you comfort. And my comfort food is sautéed asparagus. It brings me back to when I was a kid, before the devil gay inside me came out to play, when my parents still loved me. We use to sit around the dinner table, laughing and talking, just being a family.   Where is the craziest place you’ve had sex? I wonder if you’d believe me if I actually told you the craziest place...this guy named John and I once had sex on a public bus around 1am one night. We had just left the bar and were both extremely horny, had a thirty minute bus ride home, we couldn’t wait. He undid my pants, crawled up on my lap and rode my bent dick all the way home.   Where is the craziest place you’ve had sex? This guy named John and I, a devout but twisted Catholic, once did the dirty in a confessional booth. And I can honestly say that was the most intense sex I’ve ever had, it was amazing.   What is the happiest moment in your life? I’m still searching for that moment. Because each time I think I achieved that moment, something else that is equally brilliant happens and takes it place.   What’s the worst thing anyone could do to you? Make me fall in love and then turn their back on me. That would crush me in ways that would destroy even someone as jaded as I.   When it comes down to it, what is your ultimate dream life? My dream life is one that I cannot recognize or achieve so it’s best not to think about it.   Do you have a good relationship with your parents? Laughing, I’m laughing at this question.   Have you ever smoked marijuana? Exactly three times I smoked pot and ate brownies three times. I am not a fan of cannabis. But I’m not against anyone smoking it.   What’s the worst thing that has happened to you? Sobriety...it has given me the means to look back at a life filled with regrets with none of the tools to medicate the memories.   If you could murder someone and get away with it, would you? Yes, without even thinking about it. I’d kill my father. Sometimes I wish tombstones could talk back.   What do you consider your biggest failing? That even after all these years, my fuck face dead father still affects me.   Would you ever trust your online boyfriend with money? Never. Mainly because I’d never have an online boyfriend because I’m not delusional and can get a guy in real life.   If you could have one wish (for yourself alone) what would it be? I’d wish my family didn’t hate the fact that the person I love has a cock just like me.   Are you happy with your life now? Mostly.   Do you like peanut butter? Not on sandwiches but peanut butter is always fun to have lying around the bedroom if you get my drift.   Have you ever stolen anything? Yes, and let’s leave it at that shall we.   What is the one thing you wish people to remember you for? That I was honest...well almost.   Have you ever shaved “down there”? I’ve shaved down there, up there, around there, pretty much anywhere, not a fan of body hair.   When was the last time you questioned your own motives for doing something and why? I don’t question my motives; I usually just go with the flow. Why question things I’m going to do anyway?   What is the one thing you wish you had said to someone, but couldn’t bring yourself too? “M”, I’m sorry.   What is your favorite color? Blue if its shirts and such...black if it’s coats and pants, and red if it’s underwears.   Where are you ticklish? Why don’t you come over and I’ll let you find out.   What other windows do you have open right now? Awesomedude.com, AuthorsHaunt.com, GayAuthors.org, and HomoEmo.com. I really hope further down they don’t ask what I’m doing right now.   Do you sing in the shower? Yes, in the shower, on the toilet, in the car, on the train, on the street, on stage, pretty much anywhere except work. Though I guess I sing at work sometimes as well.   What time of the day do you usually get the most done? After midnight usually, I love the quiet time of the night after the weirdo’s go to bed.   How many sex toys do you have? Three, not sure if I should disclose which type of toys I own...fleshlight, vibrator, and duel headed dildo.   What’s the most creative thing you do? Answer these questions.   What is your favorite meal to make for someone else? Chinese food, it always leaves them wanting more in a few hours.   When was the last time you said, “I’m sorry” and why? Christmas Day, after getting an amazing blowjob and I couldn’t return the favor due to consuming too much egg nog that had my insides running in circles. Matter of fact, after several I’m sorry’s, I ran out of his apartment and straight into my bathroom for twenty minutes. Not fun.   Would you rather be the best looking guy in the world or date the best looking guy in the world? After careful thought, I decided I’d rather be the best looking guy in the world. I think dating the best looking guy in the world would drive me crazy wondering if he was going to go out with someone better than me. Yes, much better to be the one cheating on the uggo than the other way around.   What one trait can you not do without in someone? A sense of humor...because they are going to need it to date me.   Do you have any songs that remind you of certain people/places/times? Runaway Train by Soul Asylum...several years ago, an ex-boyfriend of mine accused me of always running away whenever I’d get close to someone. He was as usual, right.   What is the most vivid dream you’ve ever had, and why is it so memorable? I had a very erotic dream about my ex-boyfriend (one that I really wished never got away) and when I woke up, for a few minutes, I thought we were still together and I almost expected him to walk into my room and jump into bed with me. It was rather disappointing when reality came back and I realized it was only a dream.   Will you be willing to be a surrogate for my baby if I asked you nicely? Never in a million years will I use my baby gravy for anything other than for dripping down someone’s cheek/cheeks. One of the best things about being gay is we never have to have those sick, loud, pooping machines. Why would any gay guy in his right mind ever want to have a family like “them” is beyond me?   Have you ever wrecked your car? Nope, I’m a good driver.   What is your favorite movie character and why? It varies depending on my mood. Lately my favorite character is Eric Draven from the movie The Crow. What is more romantic than coming back from the dead to avenge your girlfriend’s murder? I know.   When did you break your heart the last time and why? I have never broken my heart, I leave that to the men I fall in love with.   Speaking of punishment, what is the cruelest punishment you’ve received by a mate? One of my ex-boyfriend made me go to his family Christmas dinner one year, sober, because I had promised to go to his nephew’s christening and while he was waiting for me to pick him up I was half-way to Atlantic City to go gambling with my friend, Jason, who was my secret fuck buddy for five years.   When was the last time you pooped? About seven hours ago. And it was a good one too.   What was the last dream you had about? Aliens had attacked the earth and my boyfriend and I was driving in the dessert trying to outrun the invaders in a Chevy truck. It was so good I didn’t want to wake up.   Have you ever tasted your own cum? Really...do I have to answer that? I’m sure my loyal reader could guess the answer to this question.   What is your biggest regret in life to this point? That I let Jason go without telling him how I felt about him.   What would you do for $1,000,000.00? Whatever it took.   Where would you never want to live and why? Texas, because everything and everyone in Texas is fucking crazy.   What is your favorite sex act? It kind of depends on if I’m a top or a bottom in said sex act.   Who is your best friend? Daniel, he’s the one person that always makes me feel safe no matter what craziness is encompassing my life.   What’s the worst thing your parents have ever caught you doing? I was sixteen, and my father caught me bent over the couch getting fucked by a nineteen year old guy. It was also the last thing my parents ever caught me doing.   What is the last book you bought? Nikki Sixx’s This is Gonna Hurt.   Who was/is your last crush? Again this question doesn’t specify online, real life, or fantasy so I’m going to answer with my online crush. Though I’ve never seen a picture of him, I have the hugest crush on the author known as Julian. Yummy yummy he is.   If you could choose to have one superpower, which one would it be? I’d like to be able to fly...then I could chase the sun.   What scares you? Honesty...the scariest thing on earth.   What are you wearing right now (underwear too)? A pair of slim fit black jeans, red boxer briefs, and black tank top. I know, boring right.   Have you ever had sexual intercourse with a female? Yes, more than one time. Every once in a while I feel like sleeping with a girl.   Where’s the weirdest place you’ve had sex? On top of a fire truck with a paramedic.   If you could throw everything away, what would it be for? Happiness, true happiness without faking it.   Which is the shortest time it took you to have an orgasm? It was the day after I first had sex with Jason, he was at work and I was thinking about the time we had. I went to the bathroom and in less than a minute I was rinsing out the sink. It was the most intense I’ve had by myself. And I still remember it though it was years ago.   Who do you think about when masturbating? It’s always the guy I’m on the prowl for, and never the guy I just fucked.   What is your ideal man/woman like? Preferably he’s a brunet, around my age, a nerd star that wears glasses, has a sense of humor, and likes me for who I am and not what I project to be.

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

Isn't It Ironic

A New and Improved Blog Experience Brought to you by the one and only Jason Rimbaud   The other day or maybe it was the other week, life has a habit of going by faster than the speed of light and sometimes I feel like I’m being left behind, I was at work and all I could think about was grubbing on some 4 Alarm Hot Wings from my favorite place in the world, SmokeEaters, in downtown San Jose.   For those of you that watch the Food Network Channel, and more importantly, Man Vs Food Nation, you might have watched the episode where SmokeEaters was featured due to their “world” famous Hot Wing Challenge. If you did watch that episode, then you’ll also know that Man defeated Food in a big way. But that really has nothing to do with this new and improved Blog experience I’m bringing you on this day so I’ll continue on my fairy way.   Well, I will say, briefly, that if you live in the San Francisco Bay Area and enjoy a good hot wing experience then I urge you to go to San Jose’s SmokeEaters and try them out. Tell them Jason sent you. Though to be truthful, that won’t really do you any good as I have absolutely no pull whatsoever there but maybe if enough people go there saying my name I’ll get a discount. Or better yet, maybe because I’m doing all this “free” advertising they’ll give me free wings for life or something like that.   Two years ago when I first started my new job in San Francisco, the very first person I hired was a twenty-three year old kid fresh out of culinary school. He was from a wealthy family and much to their chagrin; he was dead set on becoming a Chef with a dream of one day having his own restaurant. He was fresh from school and had zero experience but I saw something in him I liked so I took a chance.   Now before you say that I hired him based solely on his nerd star looks…I want to set the record straight right now and say that I hired him half on his looks and half on my gut feeling. And over the last two years, my gut proved me right once again and he’s turning into a talented line cook and a future that looks mighty promising.   I’ll forgo the fact that a few months ago he quit to take a better job with a greater chance at advancement but that’s how life in the service industry goes, you stay only long enough to learn everything you can before moving on to bigger and better things.   Six months into his tenure, he started dating one of my hostesses. I know it’s never a good idea to date someone where you work but I couldn’t tell him or her that and I knew they’d have to figure that out on their own. So I set back and waited for the inevitable clusterfuck that was sure to ensue.   For more than a while things between the two of them were proceeding at somewhat of a boring pace and if I were to be truthful, they lasted way longer than I ever thought they would. But once he left our restaurant to pursue his new opportunity with one of his old teachers from culinary school, things started heading south quickly. And much to my dismay, she feels like I’m the one person at work she can trust enough to tell her relationship woes too. I know more about their relationship then I’d care to and some of it is quite disturbing in a dysfunctional kind of way.   Oh really, what’s so disturbing about it, you might ask.   For an instance, they had a three-some with one of the other line cooks after a hard nights drinking. Apparently one of her turn-ons is to watch two dudes getting it on. Though on the other side of that coin, one of her turn-off’s is coming home from work early and catching her boyfriend and this same line cook in bed without her. I guess it’s only sexy if she’s there to watch and I guess participate in some way. Though I must admit I’d be pretty pissed if I came home and saw my boyfriend on his back with his legs in the air screaming out, ‘fuck me, fuck me harder you son of a bitch’. But then I might join in, it all depends on my frame of mind on that day.   So I’m busy at work, busy running around in my new shoes that aren’t quite broken in as of yet and starvin like a marvin. For ten hours straight all I can think or focus on is leaving my restaurant and rushing down to SmokeEaters in San Jose to purchase my favorite flavor 4 Alarm Hot Wings.   Of course I pretend to pay attention to the eight hundred guests I saw that day. You bet your ass I pretend to care about my employee’s and their numerous personal problems that always seem to crop throughout any given day at our very busy eating establishment in downtown San Francisco. But it’s all a show, my mind is firmly fixated on that burning sensation that is the only thing that can calm the ache that I harbor deep down my insides.   If the above paragraph seems like a cry for help for a very unhealthy addiction…it’s not. I am fully aware that 4 Alarm Hot Wings from SmokeEaters isn’t necessarily the healthiest of choices when it comes to nutrition but none of that matters. I fully realize that I have this addiction and I actually control it through moderation.   This practice of moderation is why I am so fixated on 4 Alarm Hot Wings from SmokeEaters on this particular day. At the time of this writing, it had been over two weeks since I had last indulged my addiction and I was starting to get the itch. I’m not quite to the point where I’ll blow some random stranger to get the time to head towards San Jose but I am at the place where I’ll give a Handy J to some random stranger to get the time to go to San Jose.   Don’t judge me until you ate a million 4 Alarm Hot Wings in my shoes!   I have been working more than a few hours over the last few weeks, though to be truthful; it’s been over a month since I started writing this Blog Entry. And even now I’m sitting at a bar in the beautiful Luxor Casino in Vegas drinking Absinthe and wondering why I’m sitting alone typing on my laptop.   It’s 11:00 pm on Thanksgiving Eve and I’m feeling particularly lonely. Maybe it’s because I found one of my ex-friends on FaceBook earlier today and I realized I missed him. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been connecting less and less with real people and withdrawing behind the walls I’ve created over the years. But enough of my pity party, let’s resume the Blog.   Let’s go back a few weeks. A day that I had decided the time was right to drive the forty minutes to San Jose for several reasons.   Reason One: we had no late reservations so I figured that I’d leave San Francisco around 10:30PM giving me over an hour and half before SmokeEaters closed. And that was more than enough time to get there and back to my apartment at a decant time before going to bed.   Reason Two: we have a new Chef and he swears by all that is holy that if I get him some of the 4 Alarm sauce he’ll be able to reproduce it so I can it so I can make it myself alleviating the need to drive to San Jose twice a month.   And Reason Three (and probably the most important): I’m a full blown junkie and I needed my fix.   And this is where things get fucked…because I only wanted my 4 Alarm Hot Wings but from the very beginning anything that could go wrong started to go wrong. A couple who were on a first blind date just would not take the hint that we were closed and I had to practically pick them up by the scruff of their necks and throw them out into the street much like you would a cat. And my bartender, beautiful but not very bright, somehow entered the wrong amount for one of his transactions that took me almost an hour to find and correct. Small unrelated instances but I didn’t get to leave the restaurant until 11:25PM.   By this time I’m frustrated at all straight people and yes, I was judging the whole based on a few, pissed off at my bartender for not taking the time to enter the numbers correctly and seriously thinking that I’d blow Satan himself if there was a way to go back in time so I could go to SmokeEaters in San Jose.   I arrive at my car at 11:30PM and start the engine. I am at war with myself as I stare into the mirror. Should I point my car south and drive like a bat out of hell or should I admit defeat and make plans to go to SmokeEaters in San Jose another time?   I know the next day’s reservations are such that leaving before midnight is a pipe dream that only a Republican could believe. So the question is; should I wait three more days to head out at a leisurely pace on my next day off and really take the time to enjoy my 4 Alarm Hot Wings from SmokeEaters?   I pointed my car south and floored the fucking thing.   Over the course of my life, I’ve had numerous liaisons with guys that their first names start with the letter J. I don’t know if there is significance or just un-luck. But remember that guy I hired right out of Culinary School, his name was James. And since his girlfriend, my hostess, caught him getting fucked in the ass he is now newly single. And a few weeks ago (as of right now it’s been six weeks) I met him out for a few drinks after work.   It started out harmless enough, he was bitching about losing his girl and yet excited about the new possibilities of exploring his newfound “bisexualism”. Apparently, with the exception of some mutual wanking in his youth, that was his first time with a guy. And newsflash, he loved it.   Normally I’m a very defensive driver; I give others the right of way, I use my blinkers, I never tailgate and I always drive the speed limit. So I figured I was due for some more aggressive style of driving than usual. And since I always respect the law of the road, what are the odds of me getting caught driving like some kind of lunatic on a werewolf bender?   Anybody care to give me the odds on this thinking? Anyone, anyone, Bueller, Bueller?   So a few other days ago, I’m at my local gas station and I see this large red machine with Coke plastered all over the side of it in the place where the usual fountain soda machine normally sits. I walked over and peered at the screen.   You read right, I said peered at the screen.   In the top portion of this Coke machine was a touch screen menu that gave you the options of what type of drink you’d like to purchase in a cup, Coke, Diet Coke, Cherry Coke, etc etc. It was the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.   Well, it was until I watched this twink getting fisted at a sex club in Vegas last night but that’s another story for another Blog.   I actually bought a Dr Pepper just so I could play around with this amazing machine.   But then it got me thinking, we can’t fix the budget, our homeless rate is growing faster than a Republican’s debt, our banking system is on the verge of collapse but hey everyone, we have a touch screen soda machine. I’m glad to see that we have our fucking priorities well in hand. I mean, really, do we have to have a touch screen soda machine?   There is a restaurant in San Francisco that has an I-Pad on every table. The I-Pad is the menu and you scroll through the food, wine, and cocktail options. When you find what you want, you order it and then someone brings it to your table.   What’s fucking next? We already have less and less human contact via the internet, now we don’t even have to talk to servers. In ten years, are we even going to remember how to communicate face to face anymore?   And while I’m on the subject, doesn’t anyone use a fucking phone anymore? Think about it, when’s the last time you actually made a call on your smart device. We use texting (sexting) emails and FaceBook, Twitter, and all the other social media so we don’t have to actually speak to anyone.   Have you ever felt that the world is just out to get you? That’s how I felt that lonely night driving ninety miles an hour down 101 Southbound. I think every stupid driver was on the freeway that night. From the grandma’s doing forty miles an hour in the fast lane, to drivers hitting their breaks and slowing down to a crawl to gaze at the accident on the other side of the freeway, to road construction that didn’t seem to be constructing anything other than traffic problems and didn’t seem to have a purpose except to narrow down four lanes into one. The traffic was so bad I actually contemplated believing in a god just so I could lament that he/she hates me.   Even with these crazy road conditions, I was actually making really good time. I’ll admit that I had to drive on the shoulder for a few miles but that’s not really illegal…right?   At one point in my hyper-motivated journey, I zoomed down an off ramp only to shoot through the intersection and back onto the entrance ramp to get around a large moving van and three buses who thought it was a good idea to drive so slow I could have sworn in open court that they were moving backwards.   At 11:40PM I call SmokeEaters and place my food order. I promised that I would be there in twenty minutes and to please not close until I get arrive. The young girl said she’d do her best but they lock the doors promptly at midnight.   My poor little car is purring/growling as I push it to speeds that it was never built to achieve. I’m nearing a hundred miles an hour and it’s starting to shake but I don’t care. Nothing is going to keep me from getting my 4 Alarm Hot Wings from SmokeEaters in San Jose. Nothing.   Three days ago, I started a fourteen day in a row stretch. I get to the restaurant at 7AM (to get there that early I have to get up at 5AM) and I’ve been leaving the restaurant around 10:30PM while arriving home after midnight. I’m tired, my shoes are now broken in but I’m getting a little bit grumpy.   The good news, we hired a new manager that starts on Monday (but by the time you actually read this Blog Entry it could be tomorrow or it could have been two weeks ago) and I couldn’t be happier. I think he’s going to be a great addition to our team but since he’s brand new, he can’t be left on his own which is way I have to work forever in a row.   Now the reason I have to work these crazy hours is our General Manager has taken a much needed vacation for two weeks. And I don’t begrudge him the time off but I am however grumpy as a withdrawing Meth addict that I have to work a hundred hours a day so he can get his freak on with all those Spanish hotties.   A few weeks ago, I’m pretty sure someone used one of my own poems to tell me to go fuck myself. And if they did, I think that’s pretty fucking cool.   So you all remember “A”, my friend with benefits that wanted to take it to the next level. Notice I didn’t type that sentence as a question because I know that everyone is fascinated with my life and they hang on my every word.   Apparently the new and improved Jason is an egomaniac and should be punished for his arrogance. Any takers?   Anyway, “A” grew tired of my lack of commitment and my neurotic behavior or maybe it was my lack of making time for him and after the both of us were silent for a couple of days, he sends me a text message something to the affect, ‘your poem un-remembered is my favorite one you wrote’. Then he never texted me again.   If my supposes are correct, he told me he would be better off when I become un-remembered. Can you believe that? He used my own words against me. A part of me wants to contact him again just to see if I’m right in my assumptions.   Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.   Update: “A” and I are fucking again.   I have enough shit going on in my life at the moment that doesn’t include my heavy work load or friends with benefits being mad at me due to my stupidity.   What do you mean? Are you speaking of trying to get to San Jose? Or are you referring to your ex-employee that just found out the pleasures of being a big ole Mo?   James and I are at the bar, doing shots and truly having a blast. I’ve gotten him to stop talking about his ex-girlfriend, not for any reason except that I had to hear about their breakup from her and I didn’t want to hear about it again from him. Plus the more I drank the hornier I was getting.   James and his Ex had a common problem, they still lived together even though they broke up because neither one could afford to move out alone. I’m not sure if I could do that but they are pretty young and broke as a joke.   Throughout the course of the night, James had made the statement it was hard to hook up with anyone because he didn’t have a place to go. And apparently, he was randy as a goat and looking to open up his experiences with guys.   The bar closes, we’re drunk, and James starts complaining that he doesn’t want to go home to face her at this moment. So being the nice guy I am, I offer him my couch. And believe it or not, I typed that sentence without cracking a smile once.   My car is whining and groaning but I’m not letting up as I fly off the San Jose Airport exit. My car’s up on two wheels as I careen down the exit ramp passing other vehicles as if they’re standing still. I’ve got Breaking Benjamin blasting in my ear buds and I’m chain smoking cigarettes like they are my lifeline to normalcy and I’m speeding like Charlie Sheen on a two week bender.   Off in the distance I can see the St James exit looming ahead like a beacon in the wilderness. I glance at the dashboard clock and see I have about eight minutes to make it to SmokeEaters. I grin wildly and step on the accelerator trying to coax every last ounce of speed from my poor little four cylinder car. I’m so close I can taste the sweet taste of victory. Straight people who wouldn’t leave and stupid beautiful bartenders, zero, and Jason the crazy obsessive addict, one.   And then I see it, or rather I see a blur…parked on the side of the road like some vengeful angel out of a Clint Eastwood movie. My dreaded nemesis, a CHP officer better known as a California Highway Patrol fuck face.   I blow past him at 91 miles an hour in a 65 mile an hour zone. And for a moment I imagine that I’m driving so fast that he can’t see me. Or maybe he was looking down when I screeched by him driving like a man possessed. Or even better, maybe he was one of those lazy CHP officers and he was sleeping off a donut induced high.   I mean, really, my exit is just right there, I think maybe if I can get off the exit before he starts chasing me I can lose him in the streets of downtown San Jose.   Then I see the lights on top of his car light up and I imagine I can hear the powerful roar of his engine as he lurches forward after me. I know I’m busted. I’m such an addict there is no way that I’d risk going to jail for trying to evade a police officer…or maybe I’m such an addict that I won’t risk going to jail and not being able to have my 4 Alarm Hot Wings ever again.   Even as I start slowing down, I refuse to admit defeat when I am this close to achieving my goal. I am forming a plan in my stupid head as I pull off the road and stare longingly at my exit which is only fifty yards away.   Surely there is something I can say or do, to or for; this CHP officer that will get me out of what I am sure is a hefty fine and maybe even a loss of my driving privileges.   I can hear some of you right now saying, ‘you’ll get what you deserve, driving like some insane person on the shoulder of the road, darting on and off exit ramps just to pass cars, speeding past police officers’.   Don’t you worry, I hear you loud and clear, you think I deserve a ticket.   Well, fuck you, I don’t. I’m a good person on the inside. It’s the fucking 4 Alarm Hot Wings I tell you.   The CHP fuck face pulls up behind my stopped car and I’m frantically trying to come with something, anything to tell this guy when he asks why I was driving so recklessly.   ‘Really officer, I didn’t know how fast I was going’, ‘I’m sorry I was speeding but I have to go to the bathroom so bad I’m afraid I’ll soil myself any moment,’ ‘I heading for the hospital, my uncle was in a bad accident and he wants to see me one last time before he passes,’ ‘I’ll do anything if you let me go…and I mean anything’.   These are just a few of the better scenarios that flashed in y feeble head as fuck face slowly approaches the passenger side of my car (who by the way is quite happy that I finally stopped pushing it so hard I imagine I can hear my car breathing heavily).   “Good evening sir, where are you headed tonight in such a hurry?”   If I ever needed to be quick on my feet, now was that time. I look over at him, squinting because he’s shining a flashlight (that’s not fleshlight you pervs) on what could only be a dumbfounded look on my face. I open my mouth and this is what fell out…   “I know I was speeding and believe me I’m really really sorry. I’ve never even had so much as a single speeding ticket in all my years driving but my wife is pregnant and she had this stupid late night craving for hot wings from SmokeEaters. I tried to tell her that they close at midnight and there was no way I could drive from San Francisco in thirty minutes.”   Now as I’m blurting this out in short strangled gasping breaths, I am getting my registration and insurance card from my glove box to give to the fuck face. But I’m not done; I continue spewing forth this shit…   “But then she started saying that I didn’t love her because I wouldn’t drive to San Jose and how bad of a husband I am because it was really all my fault that she is now fat and that her ankles have swollen up to the size of grapefruits and no one is going to find her attractive again. And that if I really loved her I would do whatever it took to get her hot wings from SmokeEaters. After all it was my sperms fault that she’s pregnant, right? Like I’m the one that forgot to take her birth control pills? Does this look like it’s my idea?”   “Um…”   “I know I was speeding but I only have four minutes to make it to SmokeEaters before they close and I’m afraid if I go home without these hot wings my wife is going to hate me for the rest of my life. Is there any way possible that you could follow me to SmokeEaters so I can get her hot wings? Afterwards you can take me to jail or give me a ticket? And believe me, right now I’m not sure which one of those options is more attractive at this moment but anything you could do would be amazing and I’m so sorry but she’s driving me fucking crazy.”   I finally take a breath and stare at fuck face with what I hope is a broken face.   No we all know the internet is no place for truth but I swear this CHP officer stare at me for a good minute before he asks this question, ‘how much of what you just told me is true?’   I grin, “not very much.”   James and I ended up back at my apartment watching American Dad on Adult Swim. And me being the good host, I offered him a beverage. We settled on cognac and cigars on the patio. I was regaling him with some of my funnier stories from my past exploits and he was filling me in on growing up with a silver spoon in his mouth. Who would’ve known he was so much more than a pretty face. Don’t get me wrong, his face is more than pretty enough but he was easy to talk too.   I’m not sure when we decided to call it a night but I do know sometime before the sun came up we were standing in my living room staring at my couch. Apparently my leather couch would give him a rash if he slept on it, and there was no way in hell I was going to sleep on my couch when I have a comfy bed to sleep on/in. So I made him a deal…   “You can sleep in my bed but you have to shower first, you stink like last year’s garbage and tonight’s kitchen grease.”   Seriously, I didn’t have an ulterior motive for getting him all wet and naked in my room. There really was no freaking way in hell he was sleeping in my bed before scrubbing away the kitchen smell and ball sweat from his working ten hours in a hot kitchen.   So we took turns showering and after we were fresh faced scrubbed I turned off the lights and crawled into bed next to him. I’m not sure why he asked for a pair of shorts to sleep in, the lights weren’t turned off for more than a minute before those shorts flew across the room and we got all sweaty again.   But after hearing about the time she caught him in bed with another guy so many times, I thought it was pretty ironic that it wasn’t long before his legs were resting on my shoulders and he was screaming out, ‘fuck me, fuck me harder you son of a bitch’.

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

Train Twink and Friends with Benefits

How’s it going?   What, not a good enough opening for you? I concur.   Howdy!   What, too hickish? Okay.   What’s up peeps?   What, too street for you? Check.   Where’s all my bitches at?   I could go on but what’s the point. f**k it.   So the other day I picked up a little train twink from the train. Well, to be more accurate, I got picked up by a little twink boy the other day on the train.   My life has been running smooth on all cylinders for the last few weeks. Now that I’m single, I have fallen into a comfortable routine revolving around work and an atom sized social life. I force myself to go out at least once a week with “friends” whether I feel like it or not. This seems to be working as I find myself in a better frame of mind than I have been the last few months.   What else? I picked up a friend with benefits that has kept my sex life moving forward.   Question: Is sex usually mind-blowing fresh out of the gate? Or do you find that sex at first is awkward only to improve as you become more familiar or open with your partner?   Last Friday night on the way home from work, I saw the funniest shit ever and if I wouldn’t have been a direct witness, I would never have believed it. I mean I’ve seen shit like this in a movie but I never thought I’d see it firsthand, live and in Technicolor as they said back in the days.   Which is such a stupid phrase, is it not? What does it mean, back in the day? And is there a special day they are referring too or are there numerous “back in the days” reference points? And if there are, who keeps track of all those events? Can anyone answer that for me, please?   It was 11:30 at night, I had just finished a thirteen hour day followed by an hour train ride to my car, followed by a twenty-minute drive home. And before you ask, yes, I was very tired.   After I exited off 101 Southbound I headed west before making a left turn on a fairly busy street. A street that stays busy even at 11:30 at night. So as I turned left, you can imagine my surprise when I see a 40ish Latino man running down the center of the street. Okay, running might not be the best description; he was shuffling down the center of the street and every few steps one of his feet would stamp down on the pavement. Of course I was curious as to the reason behind this odd behavior so I slowed down as I passed him. And that’s when I saw it…   A few weeks ago, I met this guy on Grindr…I have since deleted my account as it was fun for a while but I quickly became bored with all the freaks that populate Grindr land…I’ll call him “A” for now so you have a frame of reference. From the moment “A’s” lips touched…err…came into contact…err…sucked my cock, I knew I found something special.   You see, from the very beginning, sex with “A” was amazing. And each encounter since that first time, it seems to get more and more intense. And quite unlike myselves, with “A”, I am usually the bottom.   Maybe it’s because he’s older than me…maybe it’s because my expectations were that low when we first met…maybe it’s because it’s just not about the sex with “A”…or maybe it’s because I’m just that good that whomever I decide to f**k gets better just by being with me.   I would now like to offer a disclaimer: the above statement is made with my tongue firmly pressed up against my cheek. Even I’m not that arrogant…usually.   I had to report for work a bit earlier than usual due to a 9:30 am meeting the owners called for all the managers, front and back of house. So instead of catching the 10:02 train like I usually do every day, I had to catch the 8:02 train.   Here’s the part of this tale where I’ll explain I am so frigging happy that I don’t have to do that on a daily basis. If I had to go to work every day crammed inside a metal tube with hundreds of cranky humans sipping on their morning coffee like its crack cocaine, I would probably put a gun to my mouth and get it over with. Though if it weren’t for that early morning meeting, or the fact that train was packed to the brim, then train twink and I might not have ever met. So hurrah and some other stuff.   Two months ago, I had the opportunity to partake in a killer writing project hosted by Awesome Dude and put together by the wonderful and talented emu known as Camy. And since I’m not sure if the details of that project are public yet, I’ll not say what it is but it’s going to be freaking sweet. Anyway…   Once upon a time I was a fairly prolific writer on line. And over at Author’s Haunt, I have a handful of short stories, thirty or so poems, and who can discount my Blog, which I use to post in four or five times a month. I’m not sure when I lost the time or the drive to write but I’ve been pretty quiet the last two years or so.   But all that changed two months ago when I first found out about this writing project. Suddenly the fire was back and I started writing again like a madman. But unlike before, I wasn’t writing poetry or even Blog entries, I was creating original fiction again like I use to back in my youth.   Unfortunately I didn’t make the deadline for that Awesome writing project, but I’ve been writing my crusty balls off and have over fifty-thousand words written at present. I’m f**king stoked and I can’t wait to get it finished so I can offer my one loyal reader a new story to dislike.   As I slowed down to stare at the 40ish Latino man, and I swear on my bald head this is true, I realized that he was chasing what I can only assume was a twenty dollar bill that the wind kept just out of his reach. And he was laughing his balls off, as if to say that he couldn’t believe this was happening to him. He would shuffle forward a few steps, stamp his foot down in a poor attempt to capture the wayward bill, only to have the wind push it a few more feet away.   I damn near crashed my car as I drove past him due to my laughter. It was only after I parked my car that I could’ve kicked myself in the taint for not capturing the whole thing on video to post on YouTube. That would have been the next sensational viral video. But I didn’t capture it on video and there’s still the matter of train twink to convey so I’ll move along.   Even though sex with “A” is bordering epic…and even though I know he’d like to take it to the next level…I think I’m going to keep it strictly casual for the moment. I threw everything I had into Mark and I’m so not ready to go down that twisted road again anytime soon. But enough about that shithead.   So I’m sitting in my usual seat on the train, the handicapped sideways so I don’t have to ride backwards seat, and I’m reading a new story by Gay Author’s, Jwolf, called Big Haired Bitches. Have you read it? If not than you should go right now as it’s loads more entertaining than this drivel you’re perusing now. It’s so laugh out loud funny you just might poop yourself.   Okay, that’s pretty gross, forget I said that.   So I’m lost in the story and for two stops I don’t even bother to look around the train at the other passengers. But for some reason, at the third stop, I look up when the doors open and in walked this early twenties Asian twink with multicolored hair, skinny jeans, bright pink T-Shirt, and in his hands was a black hoodie. And glasses, this train riding twink was rocking the nerdstar in a way that made things stand up and pay attention.   In gay years I’m almost 80 and he was so young and so f**king epic hot I broke off eye contact because I didn’t want him to think I was perving on him. Which I so was perving on him. So I turned my head and glanced about the already crowded car to try and cover up my staring.   At the very next stop, the old smelly lady that was sitting next to me got off the train which left her seat vacant. Even though I’m reading my story I notice out of the corner of my eye a young hip professional looking bitch make a move at the empty seat next to me. But in a move that could’ve been right out of the Matrix, train twink pushed through the crowd that was exiting the train and basically dove into the seat next, lightly crashing into me as he peered at the young hip professional looking bitch with an innocent twinkle in his eye.   Now she’s glaring at train twink, so intent is her glare I’m surprised that daggers aren’t shooting out of her cold dead eyes. She shifts her gaze over towards me as if to say I should give up my seat. I fight the urge to stick my tongue out at her so instead I kind of shrug and go back to my story.   But now I can’t focus on Jwolf’s story because I am wondering what train twink is thinking about this situation and then I start imagining what’s rambling around inside young hip professional looking bitch’s ugly fat head. And before you ask, yes, these random thoughts cross my mind all the time at the most inopportune times.   When “A” and I are fooling around, I blurt out the most random shit. Sometimes it ruins the mood and other times it just makes us lose our rhythm because we’re laughing so hard. I don’t know why these thoughts pop into my head nor do I understand why I can’t stop them from falling out of my mouth. It is what it is.   Train twink isn’t sitting next to me for longer than two coke fueled heartbeats before his right leg falls against my left leg. I glance over and he’s slouched down in the seat with his head leaned back against the window, his black hoodie crumpled up in his lap, and it looks like he’s sleeping. Well, at least his eyes are closed.   As I look at him, I wonder if he’s asleep, or if he’s so tired that he doesn’t realize his leg is pressed up against a stranger or if he even cares.   Either way I move my leg over an inch or so and start reading my story again, though I am now even more distracted because I keep stealing glances at train twink. Two heartbeats later, his leg moves over and again comes to rest against mine. This time there is a bit more pressure in his “resting”, like he wants me to know he’s doing it on purpose. So I relax my leg and let it fall into his.   You know I don’t hold anything back here so even though I’m a bit embarrassed to admit this, I’m such a horn dog that this little bit of contact makes me feel all warm and fuzzy bunny slippers. I look over at train twink and though his eyes are still closed, he now has a small knowing smile on his face.   “A” is a really nice guy, seems stable, has a bit of money, a cool apartment filled with nice things, incredible in the horizontal games we play a few nights a week, and a blast to hang out with. I think I would have a hard time finding someone better.   And it’s shocking to think we met on a hook-up site like Grindr. Which makes me wonder if he’s still trolling Grindr, I only see him a few times a week, and if he’s as randy as I, he had to be finding fun elsewhere like I am.   Since I was a little boy, I’ve always been intrigued by the story of Peter Pan. And it’s not that I want to remain a boy forever nor is it because I really believe of Peter Pan is nothing but one long homoerotic tale.   I think the main reason Peter Pan holds my fascination is what I feel was left out of the story. The idea behind this story is dark, really dark. We have a pirate that is obsessed with “killing” Peter Pan, we have the lost boys that sleep together in a tree content to “play” with each other for the rest of time, magic, fairies, and treasure. It’s a faggot’s delight.   For going on twenty years I have an idea for a story based on the world and characters of Peter Pan, or at least the world as I have imagined it would have been had this story not been written for kids. In some of my more creative moments I wrote down all these ideas and outlined the story and I must say, I have some really good ideas strung together. And if I didn’t think so strongly against writing fan fiction I might sit down one day and write it all out.   But that day is far away in the uncertainty of the future.   Question: Did you stop reading this Blog entry and go read Jwolf’s story Big Haired Bitches like I told you to a few pages ago?   So train twink and I are sitting there on a crowded train, almost cocooned in a bubble due to all the people standing around us. All I can see is crotches and asses as the train jostles us back and forth. So it almost seems we are alone as train twink and I flirt like two boys who just discovered the wonders that dwell between our legs.   And the only thing running through my mind as we shyly flirt with one another is I hope the train doesn’t lose power, or the big earthquake everyone is predicting doesn’t happen at this moment, or that the tunnel that goes across the bay doesn’t collapse and the ocean doesn’t come pouring in drowning us all as we press our legs together.   Sometimes I damn near hyperventilate when I’m riding the train due to the scenarios that my brain weaves. This is so off topic but the story I’m currently writing was outlined, planned, conceived, and even partially written on my daily train ride. Two hours a day leaves a lot of time for tapping out useless words strung together by periods and what have you.   I look over at train twink and find him staring back at me with a playful grin on his face. He rubs his leg against mine and then looks down at his hoodie covered crotch. Of course my eyes follow and I look down as he lifts up his hoodie just high enough so that I could make out his obviously very excited self. My eyes widened with lust and he laughed, low and raspy like he just woke up after a night of smoking too many cigarettes.   I’ve lived in the Bay Area for almost six years now and I must say I’ve always had such great luck picking up guys on the train. Maybe it’s the motion of the train as it glides across the tracks. Maybe it’s the train system drugging the passengers in an effort to keep them calm as they pack us in like sardines. Or maybe it’s because I’m dead sexy.   Though now that I think about it, it’s probably because I’m a total whore and other whores can sense me coming a mile away. Maybe it’s a pheromone I excrete like yesterdays ball sweat. Either way, I’m not dogging a good thing I’m just making a general observation about the gays in my area.   Remember I’m on this earlier train because I have to go to a meeting that my owners have demanded we attend. And I’m a workaholic that puts my job before my own self interest. But I’m also newly single and…well…I’m a whore who is use to early morning delights. What’s a whore to do?   Question: What would you do if you were in my position? Would you get train twinks FaceBook info and go to work with the intention of contacting him when you have the time? Or would you blow off the meeting and have some dirty fun under the sheets? What do you think I did?   “A” keeps me pretty entertained and for the moment I’m content to keep playing with him right now. If this causes me to lose my slut card, then so be it. After all, I’m almost thirty-seven years old. Maybe it’s time I grow up and stop f**king every little thing that crosses my path.   f**k that…

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

The Art of Letting Go

The Art of Letting Go Written By: Jason Rimbaud   “You don’t have a f**king clue as to what you want much less what you want from me.”   Words, words, and more words designed to cause as much damage as possible without resorting to violence. Maybe I regret those words that were blurted out in the middle of a crowded restaurant the other night. You see, I think I might have come to a crossroad in my life and maybe this once, I’m taking the right path.   Work—where to start with that mess. After Mark and I broke up I did what I’ve always done when I feel lost…I threw myself into work with a frenzy that borders on obsession.   If I would’ve thrown half the energy I’ve been displaying lately into my relationship with Mark, we might still be together. What’s the saying about hindsight? With hindsight we’re all f**king savants.   I have baggage, but who among of us doesn’t? Considering my past and the mistakes I’ve made over the last decade of this so called life, I am somewhat amazed that I still maintain a semblance of positive energy. I enjoy my life and still chase my passions with a single-minded determination that breaks down barriers and move mountains; even if it’s only a pebble at a time.   “I survived the hazards of my past and I am proud that I am so much better than my father could have ever hoped to be.”   And I’ll admit it, there are times when the darkness that I suppress in myself overwhelms me and I fall into depression so black my friends are hesitant to leave me alone in a room with sharp objects. I’ve been known to go on weeklong binges, drinking myself into oblivion just to stop the noise in my head and steal a few hours of sleep before waking up and doing it all over again. And then there are times where I have such a lack of self-worth I start believing the shit my father said all those years ago.   And like all things entailing this journey of life, it’s all a process. And I’m working on it. I can feel my darkness retreating further and further as I work towards the light.   “You are the place I stayed too long, I got trapped in your nightmare and I don’t know how to get out.”   I’ve been accused of giving people small tastes, brief glimpses into my heart where I give just enough information to keep them fooled into thinking I’m something like human.   My capacity for grand gestures and storybook endings are movie perfect. It’s the next day, when the moment has faded into pleasant memory, is where I have the most trouble. The living day to day in the grind and sameness of life is where I feel the most uncomfortable.   I cut people off emotionally; giving just enough of myself to keep them interested before I pull back into whatever state of insecurity that rules my thought process It’s like I get them vested in my wellbeing and then I run away because the look in their eyes is too much for me to handle.   I guess it’s always been hard for me to receive acceptance. Especially from those I am interested in or have a relationship with. It seems I thrive on being the odd man out or at least project that I like being the odd man out. Deep down inside myself I want to be different from the rest of the world even as I strive to become just like everyone/anyone else.   Without going into a long dissertation about my current mental health, I just wanted to briefly link my thoughts together so I can get a better understanding of my patterns of self-destructive behavior.   Love, regret, sadness, joy, anger, contentment, and a host of other emotions seemed to have bypassed my genetic makeup.   One of my employees, F, called me the other day, so distraught he couldn’t string sentences together through his sobs. It seemed his mother, who had been battling cancer for years, passed away the day before and he couldn’t make it in to work that day.   In my f**ked up emotionless head, I’m thinking, ‘why the hell can’t you work today if she died yesterday, it’s not like it was a surprise. Besides how long does it take to mourn someone?’   Now before you go and get all high moral road on me and write me nasty emails, I didn’t say that aloud. I said all the right things, take as much time as you need, let me know if we can help you in any way, don’t worry about covering your shift, blah blah blah.   That is the proper response in that situation but the only reason I said it was because I know I was suppose to say those things. I truly could care less that his mother just died, nor can I fathom why he starts crying at random times three weeks later. This kind of emotional attachment baffles me on every single level.   I wonder if I’m alone in these behaviors. Is the apathy most humans display genuine or is it nothing more than doing/saying the right thing to fit into social norms? Is it a practice adopted by the world to comfort with false feelings those who “need” it?   I’ve always been good at doing and saying whatever I need to get my desired effect. In my professional career, I act a part. I’m polite, engaging, charming, witty, and extroverted in my dealings with the hundreds of guests I see on a daily basis. But at the end of the day, I do it because I have to pay my bills and make myself a life.   In my personal relationships, I pretend to care. I ask questions of my partner that I don’t care about the answers. I fake sadness when tragedy strikes them or their loved ones. I project happiness with their triumphs, and force tears when I feel it’s needed. Whatever I need to do at that particular time to make them feel better I do it. It doesn’t matter. And for the most part it doesn’t cost me anything.   But it’s all a charade. I don’t care on a very basic and honest level. Am I alone in this behavior?   This is how after three long years of obsessing over Mark, I can get up in the middle of dinner and tell him to f**k off without skipping a beat.   “You don’t know enough about me to give me what I need.”   Words, words, and more words that make up my particular brand of truth that day, words that do more harm than good to both parties in question.   I imagined my words having the desired effect and I think I can see tears forming in his green eyes. And I imagine him being dumbfounded, something that has never happened over the last three years.   Did I set out on that beautiful southern California night to break Mark’s heart and to end things noisily in a public place? I don’t know. Maybe.   Someone once wrote and said my Blog’s are too confusing because I tend to jump around with dates and time. So for you my dear reader, let’s go back a few days before the above incident. Back to Gay Pride 2011.   I had just met this awesome guy and we were really hitting it off. Matter of fact we had dirty gay hotel sex and it was hot. This guy, R, was really into me and I could feel the vibe between us growing. But the very next day after dirty gay hotel sex with R, Mark called and wanted to know if I’d hang out with him and a few friends of his that were visiting from Russia in San Francisco. And much like a crack addict, I jumped at the chance to get all close and personal with my former straight boy crush.   We had a great time in the city by the bay and we never seemed to have those awkward moments that sometimes creep up with ex-boyfriends. His friends were charming and so straight a little of it rubbed off on me and I actually started thinking about pussy for a quick minute.   Mark was a bit worried that his childhood friends might not be so accepting of his newfound sexuality. But I must say, if they were bothered by it, they hid it pretty well. All day long we’d play this game, when a hot chick walked past, Mark or I would point her out. When a hot guy would walk by, they’d point him out, loudly.   I was amazed by the type of guys they kept pointing out. They were all twinks, thin feminine type guys who fit every gay stereotype in the book. Of course it did cross my mind that they weren’t as straight as they projected but that’s neither here nor over there.   After more than a few drinkie poos, they started asking us questions about our relationship. Like who f**ked who, who was more like the girl; you know all the stupid questions clueless straight boys ask. And in a gesture quite out of character for me, I sat back and let Mark field all the questions. I only chimed in when I was asked a direct question.   Mark impressed me that night. Listening to him talk about “us” made me realize just how close our lives had become and how much I allowed the crazy Russian inside my neurotic mind. The more they talked together and the drunker I become, I started questioning our decision to end our relationship.   I mean we were good together, and the sex was so epic if we ever allowed others to view it they just might implode and become eunuchs because they’d know they’d never reach that level of intimate violence we perfected.   By the end of the night, Mark and I spent more time staring into one another’s eyes than we did listening to his straight friends try to pick up chicks in a gay bar. Seriously, that nights adventures alone is worth it’s very own Blog Entry because by the end of that night we were at an emergency room until two in the morning while one of the chicks got bandaged up after she was clipped by a taxi cab. But that story will have to wait for another day.   “Life is what happens while you stare up into the future looking for that perfect sum of one.”   The next afternoon I woke in Mark’s arms, hung-over and covered with last night’s pleasure. For a few moments I lay there, content to listen to the soft snoring that escaped his lips and reveling in the feeling of his heartbeat through my hand. With each brush of my hand across his chest, every kiss I softly planted on his neck, I sighed inwardly like a little girl who just finished reading the Twilight Sage and had decided which team she would champion.   “Contentment is a place where you find yourself after you given up on trying to control every aspect of your life.”   It took a moment for me to figure out why I had this overwhelming feeling of contentment as I lay there with my arms wrapped around my little Russian. Connection…plain and simple. We had this connection that a mere one night stand couldn’t hope to ever duplicate.   No matter what had transpired between Mark and I, all the hateful things we had said to one another, the way we used sex as a weapon of control, the callous way we approached our relationship with selfish intentions, none of that mattered because we had this undeniable connection from the moment we met that couldn’t be severed no matter the circumstances.   I’ve always thought connections were the single most important thing in a relationship. After the lust fades and the love becomes easy and predictable, the only thing that keeps two people walking in the same direction is their emotional connection. How intertwined have they become during their journey?   Love is what happens when lust goes horribly wrong. And being connected is what happens when everything falls into place and you forget about love and lust and focus solely on making a life together. Let’s face it, you will lose your looks, your hair will turn gray or fall out, and the little things that you find so cute once upon a time will slowly drive you crazy after years of repetition. What do you have left after that…connection.   That’s why a few days later Mark and I went on a little trip to Southern California. Maybe we forgot about the hurt we caused one another, maybe it was just easier to work on us that it was to find another “us”, or maybe because deep down inside neither one of us could admit that we failed at something.   Mark and I were good at sex, we were good at planning the future, but we weren’t so good existing in the moment.   Mark is stubborn and will never relent once he gets something in his head. And it would drive me crazy. He’d ask my opinion about something, and for hours and sometimes over days we’d discuss it, look at it from every angle and then he’d go out and do exactly what he originally decided to do even before we even spoke. It didn’t matter what my reaction would be, he’d stumble on seemingly without a clue. He hates to be wrong and never admits when he is.   I’m emotionally distant on my good days, during my bad days, I’m downright icy. I don’t like to chat about my day, I’m not that good at sharing my feelings other than anger, and it would drive him crazy. He’d badger me about what happened that day, he’d pry into my relationship with my brother, and when I’d get angry he accuse me of not loving him and not letting him inside. I hate to be wrong and never admit when I am.   “You can’t go on pretending that I don’t matter to you, I know I do. You’re just too f**king stupid to admit it.”   After all the words that were said a few days ago, after the dust settled down and we returned back to our homes and lives, I now realize that just having a connection isn’t enough. Mark was right. I am too f**king stupid to admit that he matters to me. Emotionally I’m still tender and raw around the edges and maybe my progress isn’t as far along as I thought…or hoped.   But I was also right when I likened him to a place I stayed too long. Love shouldn’t/isn’t that difficult, and if it is, then it’s not right. So what we were connected. Do we stay together when we are drowning and dragging each other down? Or do we severe the connection so that we both have a fighting chance at happiness?   “I’ve kind of been seeing someone.”   Mark is staring at me in his own unique way that made/makes me feel like I was the only human on this f**king planet. I looked at him, as if to say, really. More words, more platitudes, more selfish impulses designed to force the issue we always seem to avoid.   He met this guy at school and for the last month they’ve been seeing a lot of each other. He also tells me he really likes this guy. And as usual Mark babblings, he tells me more information about this guy than I ever wanted to know.   I don’t know what to say, what to do, or even how to act. It was his idea to take this trip together; he’s the one that needed to spend some time with me without any distractions. This was day three of a three day trip and we had been like newlyweds the entire time. I was f**king pissed.   Mark was the one person that really got me. He made me feel like I could have a shot at having a normal relationship. And right in the middle of my delusion, he’s “kind of” seeing someone. Why the hell did he even invite me to the city with him and his friends? Why did he spend the night with me? Why did he always pop back into my life right when I was beginning to heal?   “I love you and I want you to be happy and you’re not. I see it in your eyes; I can’t make you happy no matter what I do. And it’s killing me.”   And that’s the kicker, isn’t? I wasn’t happy and he knew it. No matter that every time I thought about him a goofy smile broke out on my face. Or that I thought about him more than I thought about myself.   I thought back to all the times we shared over the years and I saw us happy and laughing, enjoying the togetherness. Was I angry? Hurt? Confused? Yes and probably more emotions that would be pointless to list. Because in the end, words, words, words, don’t mount up to a possum’s ass.   “I don’t know how to end this?   In my head I’m screaming that we shouldn’t be looking for a way to end “us”, we should be striving to save our future. And then like some bizarre movie montage, images of our life began floating in my head. Scenes of Mark and I in bed, at dinner, sitting next to each other watching TV, endless combinations of our relationship and on the surface we looked peaceful, serene, and happy. But then I looked harder, like someone turned the focus screw and everything changed. I started seeing the fighting, the bickering, and the dirtiness that was under the allure of connection. We hadn’t been happy together in a long time and it was like somebody shined the light on the exit and the path ahead of me became clear for the first time in three years.   “Sometimes if you love something enough, you have to set it free.”   I’ve heard that statement many times in my life but it wasn’t until I was sitting across from him that I finally understood it. As long as I kept indulging our madness, I was preventing both of us at moving on.   “I really don’t know what to do to make you happy.”   For years I wondered if I was so jaded that I didn’t have emotions towards others. Or that I wasn’t like other humans and that I was somewhat flawed. Over the course of this Blog entry, I think I’ve answered my own questions.   I actually never said those words in that restaurant. You see, Mark wasn’t happy. He hadn’t been happy with me for a long time but felt torn between his love for me and his love for a better life. And hearing those words from him tore me apart.   “You don’t have f**king clue as to what you want much less what you want from me.”   That night I found out that I am selfless. I never told Mark that he was breaking my heart. And when I told him that we shouldn’t see each other anymore because we’d only end up killing whatever good feelings we had for one another, I think I meant it. I looked him right in the eye and lied but you never know.   For the first time in my life, I didn’t tell someone what he wanted to hear to further my own agenda. My motives were honest, even if I was dishonest in my delivery. So maybe I’m not as jaded as I like to think I am.   Maybe...

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

The Thing About Mark Is...

June 25th, 2011   The thing about Mark is…hard to define and I’ve tried to define it, shape it, and understand it going on three years. It could be his looks, he’s a real f**king hottie in a complete nerd star way. His personality? Maybe, he’s playful and caring and loves his friends and family with a passion that is scary for someone with my background. His work ethic? He goes to school full time and works full time. His drug addiction? He has to smoke first thing in the morning and several times throughout the day to feel normal. The thing about Mark is…I haven’t a clue.   June 20th, 2011   I know it’s been forever since I last Blog. So much has happened since my descriptive day in the life entry a few months ago I don’t even know where to start. Have you ever thought about how ridiculous that statement is…I don’t know where to start? Sure you know where to start, you just f**king started there.   America killed our biggest enemy, Congressman Wiener set pictures of his cock to the entire twitter-verse, Michelle Bachman decided to run for President, and Sarah Palin gave us a history lesson on Paul Revere. Oh yeah, that’s right, and I’m single again.   I know you’ve missed reading my boring Blog entries but I have a damn good reason for my silence. It all started about a year ago.   July 6th, 2010   “What are you typing over there?” Mark asked me as he devoured the egg sandwich I made him, two eggs over easy on white bread with a thin layer of mayo, cheddar cheese and extra crispy bacon. I was drinking a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice that I bought at Whole Foods.   It’s a mystery to me how anyone can eat first thing in the morning. I need at least two or three hours before I even began thinking about shoving something in my mouth. So he’s eating like a delicate flower, cramming the food in his mouth like it’s his last meal. Little bits of food are flying around the apartment like heat sinking missiles as he smacks and talks his way through breakfast.   Okay, most of that last sentence is probably an exaggeration but you get the idea. He’s not the most mannered eater. From the way he eats you’d think he was the smallest kid in a litter of twenty that always had to fight for every scrape his older siblings didn’t consume. He was skinny as a rail and ate thirty-seven times a day but does anyone really have to eat that fast? f**k, that steak cost $45 at least you could do was take longer than five seconds to eat it the damn thing.   “What are you typing over there?” It’s about six am on a Tuesday, a Tuesday that happened sometime last year around the end of summer.   “I’m updating my blog,” I informed him, dodging a bit of bread as it sailed by my head. I was still in the post-orgasmic bliss that he so often induced in the early morning.   I’ve been having sex for more years that I care to share at this time. And in all that time I have never met another boy as horny as he was in the morning. It didn’t matter how many times we did it the night before or what was going on that morning, he was always ready to drop everything to satisfy his early morning cravings.   He begins to read over my shoulder. “Who’s Mark? And why are you writing about him?”   An hour later, and after one of our biggest fights, he makes me promise that I would stop writing about our relationship in my Blog. For some reason the idea that I was putting up our arguments, our fights, our sex life, and everything else I’ve shared over the last few years unnerved him to no end. I didn’t understand what his problem was; I wasn’t even using his real name.   Side note: He hated the name Mark. He thought it sounded to trailer parkish. Like his name was any better. From what I understand, his name is fairly common in Russia and isn’t like an aristocratic name anyway.   June 25th, 2011   This was just one mistake in a series of mistakes that I made over the last year. The very first mistake, after that fight, was to give him the address of my Blog at Awesome Dude. And for that one person who reads it, you can imagine how upset he became after reading some of the stuff I’ve shared over the last three or so years. But that’s a whole other Blog post and would only make this one a bit more boring if I made you suffer through it.   So I would like to apologize in advance at the length of the entry. I haven’t written in a long time and I have some shit to get off my chest. So it’s probably going to be a bit on the boring side, but f**k it, no one’s reading my shit anyway so this is mainly for me…and to piss off Mark since I’m sure he’s going to read it eventually.   Though I stopped posting my thoughts on our life together online, I didn’t stop writing them down. So I’m going to cut and paste some of my thoughts in the attempt to cut down on the length of this entry to stifle your boredom.   August 23rd, 2010   This thing between us started so long ago; so long in fact that I can’t remember when it started. Well, that’s not really true; I do know when it started between us, I just can’t for the life of me figure out why or even how it happened.   It’s all about timing I guess. Mark was there at a f**ked up time in my life. At times he was the anchor that held me secure in an ocean of madness. And at times, he was the madness. It’s like the moment Mark came into my life, he’s been nothing but trouble for me. Oh what a perfect and fragile mess we are together.   And I was so over him; at least I thought I was over him. I had moved on with my life and left him and all his f**king baggage far behind me. At least that’s what I told myself these last two years without him in my life.   August 17th, 2010   “Have you ever been completely and perfectly blown away? Have you ever experienced a feeling so intense it rips you in half and draws you away like a rushing river, helpless, totally out of control?”   Mark said these words to me what feels like a lifetime ago. Back when we were still an us…when we were still in love…I mean…when we were in love the first time around.   I often wondered if he meant like falling in love because he then added…   “It’s like an ache deep inside your chest so haunting that when that one person isn’t around, you feel so empty and nothing can fill it…no drugs, no sex, nothing.”   And I often wondered; even after Mark and I split up that first time, if I had in fact ever been completely and perfectly blown away. I’ve been in lust, gut wrenching lust that is so powerful it threatens to rip apart your soul. And yet that lust always seems to fade with release. I’ve been indifferent numerous times, just going through the motions, insert penis, thrust, repeat, make an “O” face, fall asleep. I’ve felt infatuation, pheromone driven urges that seemed so epic for weeks at a time only to fade as the smell dissipates from my sheets. But have I ever been in love? I don’t know.   “Do you know the true thrill of life? Not the simplistic feeling of riding a coaster or driving too fast on the wrong side of the road late at night without the headlights turned on or even that moment of epic, perfect release. It’s not something one can explain; it’s something one has to experience for one’s self.”   June 20th, 2011   Mark is/was/will always be a pot head, so during the quiet times, normally late at night, he would often wax poetically about deep subjects that have no clear definition. Never quite grasping concepts, he seemed to only dance around the edges. If you’re head is hurting, you can only imagine how my head felt after he told me that one night while we lay next to one another after a particular emotionally charged round of sex.   What the hell are you going on about, Jason? I can hear you asking this question. Though I suppose if you aren’t asking this question or one similar, you should hit the back button on your browser because that’s the whole point of this entry; I don’t f**king know what I’m going on about.   But me being me, I’m going to try and figure it out as I write these thoughts down. And since you’ve decided to come along for the ride, I’m assuming you’re still reading this drivel, so be prepared for a few digressions, a tangent or two, and my usual way of meandering my way through random thoughts until I get to a point.   July 29th, 2010   We started two years ago, the first time. And I’m sure you all remember that first time so I shan’t go on about it again. And if you’re like the majority of people in the world and you don’t know what I’m talking about, then do a little research in my past Blog entries (especially on Awesome Dude) and discover the boring words that made up my life with Mark.   Because it really started six months ago for the second, first time. A time you haven’t been privy to as of yet because Mark is being a little bitch and doesn’t want me sharing with my one reader anymore. So perhaps I’ll start there.   Some of you out there that partake in the “harmless” addiction of smoking cannabis will know what the term 4/20 means. And for those of you that aren’t hopelessly addicted, I shall briefly (and that’s quite a feat considering I can’t do anything briefly) explain.   4/20 is a slang term used by pot heads to identify April 20th, as weed day. Many demonstrations are held on this day worldwide to try and get pot legalized. I know it’s f**king stupid, but pot has never been one of my addictions, but whatever makes you hard and spurting.   Side note: Most pot heads I know, and I’m talking about the everyday, three or four times a day smoker, seem to have a lowered sex drive, and I hear Dr. Drew, from Loveline, talk about it all the time as he fields callers questions. And the number one complaint from the partners of pot heads is their partner seems to have no desire to have a healthy sex life. Why would I ever want to smoke a drug that makes me lose interest in sex? Questioned answered!   So this past April 20th, I was out with some of my “friends” and we were having a few drinkie-poos and I did something very f**king stupid. And before you go all thinking dirty thoughts, I’ve been sober for a long time now so it wasn’t drugs I did on that lonely April day. It was something worse, far worse. I drunk texted, Mark, and that is just as bad as relapsing. Was I addicted to Mark? f**k you for asking.   Mark, my one time straight boy crush that finally admitted he more than liked me after a year and half and some six months of “fooling around” above and below the covers. He was also narced out by some rat bitch cum dumpster that he once dated to his mom after she found out Mark and I had been making out at a party in front of the world, or at least the entire campus, to see. And after all that, a few months later I ended up firing him from my hip upscale restaurant in Palo Alto for stealing. Yeah, you know that crazy Russian.   This is the text I sent Mark on that drunken night: ‘Hope you’re having a high time on this 4/20.’   I know it’s pathetic; you don’t have to inform me.   The time I sent the text was 8:30PM on that lonely Tuesday night. Here’s the text he sent back at exactly 11:35PM that same night: ‘who is this’   You felt that, right? It wasn’t just me that was filled with rejection. You can only imagine how I felt about that, especially because I had been drinking and lost deep in relationship depression.   Not only had he seemingly moved on with his life but had deleted me from his life as well…and by that I mean he deleted me from his phone. We all know it’s really over when you get deleted from the phone, because let’s face it, who the f**k remembers telephone numbers anymore.   There is only one thing worse than getting deleted from a phone and that is getting deleted from FaceBook. He had already done that the day after I fired him but I won’t get into a digression about that.   Who the hell has so much time on their hands that they go searching other people’s friends on FaceBook and then has the time to send me an instant message asking why Mark deleted me as a friend? Who has that kind of time? My nosey f**king friends, that’s who.   I was furious of course. Had I thought about deleting him from my life/phone? Hell yeah I did but I never had the courage to actually go through with it. And, Mark, the one that had dominated my life for so long and had affected me in so many ways actually did what I couldn’t do. You better your furry ass I was pissed. And hurt.   I stared at the phone for a few seconds/minutes/hours, however long it took my drunken mind to process the words on my phone, before I texted back: ‘sorry, wrong number’   And almost immediately he sent this text back: ‘liar’   And that’s when I ordered another shot. That’s also the last thing I can clearly remember for the rest of that blurry night.   The next day was one of those kinds of days where you hope the things you remember from the previous night really never happened and you hoped you only hallucinated the events. But I have no such luck.   While I’m on the subject, maybe all you computer programmers out there can help me. I need someone to invent an I-Phone application that somehow checks the user’s blood alcohol content. I don’t know, maybe you blow into the speaker jack and a few seconds later your phone registers your B.A.C. and if you have reached that pathetic point of drunkenness, the phone shuts down for five hours giving you enough to sober up. Do you know how much money I would pay to have an application like this? Mr. Gates, are you reading this?   I looked at my phone and saw that not only did I text Mark but he had in fact moved on and deleted me from his phone. I was crushed.   But then throughout the day I started obsessing over it like I tend to do in my hyper selfish way. I kept reading his last text over and over again. And then I saw a tiny thread of hope, so small an atom would look over and say, ‘boy that’s f**king tiny’. I started thinking he knew exactly who had texted him. I wasn’t sure what his game was but I knew that he knew who that text had been from.   Why else would he wait three hours to ask who it was? Why else would he call me a liar when in fact I did lie and said it was a wrong number? And for some reason, just knowing that I wasn’t deleted from his phone helped me move on just a bit more.   June 26th, 2010   Some of the gayer readers from San Francisco might recognize that date. For those of you that aren’t quite so gay or don’t not live in the Bay Area, its Gay Pride week.   I never really was that keen on attending Gay Pride Parades. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve gone to them and did all the drugs, f**ked all the boys, and basically lived out the life from Queer as Folk for years. But in reality, I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with Pride Events and mostly think it’s pretty ridiculous. Why do you ask?   I think it gives normal everyday queers like me a bad name with playing to the worst possible stereotypes and lewd in your face behavior that just goes to strengthen the bigotry of the religious right and homophobes that breed like jack-rabbits and brainwash their little heathens into hating for the sole purpose of hating. But that is not what this Blog Entry is about either. I apologize for those of you that read this last paragraph. But not enough to actually delete it, my way of punishing you I guess.   Where was I?   A few of my “friends” convinced me to go this year. I must have been asleep when I agreed to this but whatever. Up to this point, I must admit that I wasn’t hitting the dating scene much beside a few random hook-ups via gay bars, gym bunnies, or trolling about the Castro. I didn’t want to admit it to anyone, but Mark really broke my heart and I wasn’t in any way ready to jump back onto that horse anytime soon. Besides, I had been clean for a while and felt like I needed sometime to work on sober Jason without any distractions.   I didn’t tell my “friends” that I knew the real reason they invited me to watch the parade, and it wasn’t because they were dying for my company. They had someone in mind that they believed would fill the void Mark left inside me and they wanted me to hook up with him. They looked so smug as we drove to San Francisco I didn’t have the heart to tell them it wasn’t ever going to happen. Instead I just decided to let the cards play out to the bitter end. I’m devious like that; sometimes.   We met up with their friends at 10am on that beautiful sunny day and I pretended to be surprised that everyone seemed to have a boyfriend except me and this very attractive blonde boy that looked to be around 25. I was 35 at the time, why the hell they thought I would go for a younger man is beyond me. Except that Mark was younger than me and I guess they thought that was my bag.   Just so you could fully appreciate my day, and before you get a bad taste in your mouth about blonde boy, let me digress for a moment.   He was hot, seemed well-read, and didn’t seem to smell bad for being half a hippie. He was a typical little twink that didn’t eat meat because he couldn’t bear the thought of those poor animals dying so that he might live. Though he did seem to be fine about eating eggs and diary; a practice I find to be a bit strange considering those same animals that he didn’t want to eat were still living in horrible conditions to be milked as so forth but whatever makes him bend over and take it.   And as the day progressed, and as the alcohol started flowing, he started complaining about everything. He didn’t like the way the sun fell on him there, he didn’t like the cigarette smell here, the queens standing next to him kept leering at him; this behavior started to grate on my already fragile nerves. I was truly ready to throw him over my shoulder and toss him into the bay or just take him to a hotel and f**k the whininess out of him. Either one would have been acceptable and more enjoyable than listening to a hot blonde boy bitching about everything that came into his field of vision.   My “friends” of course were dressed somewhat scandalous. Two of them were dressed in black leather chaps, leather harness, and various studded bracelets etc etc. And a another one was only wearing a skimpy white pair of boxer briefs that were so tight you not only saw the side he dressed on but if he was circumcised or not. And for the record, he is cut and hates it.   I always teased him about it, I prefer cut dicks, always have. He thinks his parents mutilated him at birth. But I’ve always looked at it this way; at the end of the day, if it gets hard, what does it matter, I’ll suck it either way.   So blonde boy was dressed pretty Emo-ish. He wore tight black skinny jeans, with bright red boxers. I must admit he did have a real cute ass that filled out those jeans nice and wow. He wore a studded silver belt, and had a lip ring which he always played with…click…click…his little pink tongue would flick it back and forth against his teeth. His nails were painted black and his hair did one of those flippy things. I looked hot as usual.   We found a place to squat while we waited for the floats of gayness to reach us. Everyone except for me had been pre-gaming for hours so by this time they were all feeling a bit loose and crazy. There was a lot of kissing, groping, and in one case a hastily completed hand-job from the couple on my right. I didn’t get the handy-J, I just watched one do the other. I was sober and more than a bit bored and annoyed at the world around me. Bored Jason is never a good combination, never.   It reminded me of a time back in my younger days when I was hitting on this guy but not having much luck. This other guy, a f**king hottie, was getting close to sealing the deal. So to avert the attention from the hottie and onto me where it rightfully belonged, I did something so outrageous just so I would get noticed. I jumped up on the bar and started doing a striptease to Britney Spears Hit me Baby One More Time. I never did get the guy I was going for, but the old queens at the end of the bar shoved money in my undies so I guess I made out in the end.   I had almost reached that point where I could feel myself gearing up for some inappropriate attention. Blonde boy was becoming more of an annoyance the drunker he became. He was hitting on me like I was his last chance at finding sex, groping me, and he kept trying to shove his pierced tongue down my throat.   I already am not a fan of kissing, maybe after I’m with someone and the kiss means more than a prelude to sex, then kissing is fun. But for just hooking up, or even the first few weeks, you want to do something for me, suck on my junk.   Blonde boy was driving me so crazy I knew it wouldn’t be long before I either shoved my cock in his mouth just to shut him up or beat him within an inch of his life and then rush him to the hospital and nurse him gently back to health just so I could beat him again.   The only satisfaction I got was by chain smoking cigarettes. Because each time I lit up, he’d make a funny face and back away until I was finished. I smoked so much that day I thought my lungs were going to turn black and crawl out of my chest and walk away down the street. My clothes stunk, my fingers were turning yellow and I didn’t give a shit because for five minutes at a time, blonde boy left me alone.   ‘Can I have a light?’   I hear this, behind me, it’s a familiar voice. A voice I never would have expected to hear in the middle of San Francisco’s Gay Pride Parade. I noticed the looks on my friends face and reached in my pocket for my lighter and turned around and stared right into the eyes of a very timid looking Mark.   f**k me.   ‘Can I have a light?’   I must tell you, he looked good; like a proper nerd star. He wore blue jeans, just a little sagged, enough to just make out the tops of his boxers, they were greenish that day, a simple black T-shirt that said, ‘My Dick Tastes Like Your Chap Stick’. He wore a black hat with a single pink triangle on the front. Since I last saw him he had added an eyebrow ring over his right eye, he was absolutely orgasmic. f**k me.   All this I took in a single glance. What I studied just a bit longer was the look on his face. His usual confident mask was there, lurking in the background but he looked hesitant and just a bit expectant; like he wasn’t sure how I’d received his inquiry for a light.   “Hi.”   He smiled and looked down at his feet briefly. I brought the lighter to the end of his cigarette. ‘Thanks.’   That’s when I noticed he wasn’t alone. Standing just behind him was a very attractive looking guy. If I were to guess his age I would have bet quite a bit of money that he was only a few days past his eighteenth birthday. And the way he was staring at Mark’s back spoke volumes of what he felt about my nerd star. I hated him immediately.   ‘I thought you hated these things,’ Mark stated as pointedly ignored my “friends” who I’m sure were giving him dirty looks. Looking over to my left I could see blonde boy’s eyes darting back and forth between us, a pained look on his face.   I shrugged. “You know me; I’m always down for anything.”   ‘I remember.’ Mark smirked, a knowing look danced around his eyes.   “You remember everyone, everyone this is Mark.”   We all made small talk for a few moments. My “friends” are great, they did everything right after Mark and I broke-up. They talked shit about him, swore on future unborn children that they wouldn’t rest until my honor was revenged. But here we were standing face to face, and they weren’t sure how they should react. Should they be rude to him as propriety dictates? Should they act like nothing’s wrong as social behavior dictates? Or should they pointedly ignore him? They went with the latter.   ‘I didn’t really want to come but, Bryan, just came out and wanted to experience the whole “pride” thing first hand.’ Mark explained without anyone prompting him. I thought it was cute the way Mark made air quotes when he said pride.   I had just met Bryan and I could already tell he was completely in love with Mark. And knowing Mark as well as I did, I could tell he was oblivious about it. My hatred for Bryan slipped away like so much water from my back. I immediately switched my attention from unattainable Mark to safe target Bryan.   “So Bryan, what do you think of pride so far?”   Bryan’s eyes, when not fixed on Mark, were darting around the crowd growing larger and larger with everything he saw. Over there were two bears dressed in work boots and daisy duke shorts basically raping each other, while back over that way two fem twinks were arguing loudly. Apparently one of the twinks kissed another guy for a drink and the other twink, I’m assuming they were boyfriends, thought he had cheated on him. Down the street a ways, two older gay guys were standing there quietly holding hands and I swear they had tears of joy in their eyes. You know the usual suspects at Gay Pride.   ‘It’s amazing, seeing so many people come together. It’s like I can forget all about the last four years of high school.’   From that statement alone I immediately fell in love with Bryan, as a little brother. Something about the way he still looked at the world with fresh eyes gave him an innocence that drew me in and felt like I should protect him. Or get him laid and get some of that freshness rubbed off. So I went with the latter and got him drunk and then blonde boy busted his Gay Pride cherry in an alley off Market Street. But that’s not really what this Blog entry is about either so I’ll continue onwards.   I could tell that Mark and Bryan were at Pride alone and we sort of adopted them into our little group of wacko’s. Mark knew most of them and after a few awkward moments they fell right back into their pattern of playfulness. My “friends” pretty much decided that Bryan was our mascot and life was good that day.   It wasn’t long until the chemistry that is always between us came to the forefront and we started ignoring the rest of the group as we got lost inside our own little world filled with inside jokes and knowing looks that always drives my “friends” crazy. All those months of being apart did little to curb our connection and the past hurts melted away like the new spring. At first it was little jokes accompanied by casual touches, an arm there, a shoulder pat here. We had some clean chit and some dirty chat like we always seem to do. And by the time we were ready to leave, it was quite obvious that we were going to hook up again. Just being that close to him was driving me crazy and I didn’t care about anything but waking up in his arms again.   I had offered to drive everyone so after collecting Bryan from blonde boy, he was pretty much passed out by this time, I drove the three of us back to my house where we deposited Bryan on the couch. The rest of the night is/was for us and I won’t go into the details because it’s too personal and I don’t want to lose the magic that we created. It’s enough to know that we spent most of that night talking and in the morning light, we were an “us” again.   February 16th, 2011   Mark and I have been together since that Gay Pride Parade where fate stepped in and pushed us to confront the past and agree upon a future. And I’m not sure when it happened but the other day I couldn’t help but notice that we’ve spent almost every night together in the last four months. And I think he pretty much lives with me now; he has a drawer in my room, space in my closet, and my bathroom is littered with his shit.   I’m a clean freak, pretty much O.C.D. and Mark is what I call a f**king slob. He leaves dirty dishes everywhere; I once found a fork and plate in the bathroom. Not sure if he was eating while…well taking a shit…but really. Who leaves dirty dishes in the bathroom? He leaves his dirty clothes everywhere, boxers in the kitchen, why? I think one of the reasons he “moved” in was so that I would do his laundry and clean up after him.   I’m not really complaining, after all he so pays for it in spades…and blowjobs…and he lets me f**k him whenever I want…so it’s cool.   Now I’m not saying it’s all been fuzzy bunny slippers for us all the time. He works fulltime and goes to school full time, so his schedule is already pretty full. And I’m a full blown workaholic so I don’t have much in the way of free time either. We’ve both had to make some adjustments and sacrifices to keep this thing alive this time around.   You want an example. How about Thanksgiving? All he could talk about was how excited he was that I would be spending the holiday with his mother and sister. Apparently it’s the one day his mother lets him cook and he lives for that day. And he wanted to spend it with those that he loved.   I thought it was weird that his mother actually agreed to these plans as she had never been overjoyed that I was the one that made her little baby boy into a queer. Yet I must admit that this time around she had really tried to be a supportive and understanding mother. I know Mark was floating around cloud twenty-three by her actions.   I’m in the restaurant industry and being manager number three in a three manager restaurant means I get all the shit shifts. I don’t have a wife, kids, and blah blah blah. That’s right boys and boys, I had to work.   True we closed early on that day so I did make it over to his house for a late dinner (which his mother kept warm for me) and dessert with the family (they waited for me). But I could see it in his eyes that he really wanted me to be there all day to help with the cooking and socializing.   How was I to know that I was the only and first guy he ever brought over to the house to meet and hang out with his family? Let me tell you, it made me feel like shit not to spend the entire day with him but it made me feel all fuzzy bunny slippers to know I was someone special enough to invite over for family time.   The next big disappointment, I don’t consider Christmas a big tragedy because he’s Jewish and doesn’t really celebrate that stupid holiday, was New Year’s Eve. It seems quite a few of his friends were going to some private party in San Francisco and he wanted me to escort him for the evening and to do the traditional midnight kiss. Needless to say we didn’t get that kiss until almost three am.   Yet again, I had to work as the fireworks display brings in thousands of people to the wharf area and we were crazy busy. Needless to say we didn’t get that magical kiss until almost three am as I got stuck on the B.A.R.T. train for two hours with all the riders leaving the firework display. He was a bit upset but understood that business is business. Plus I promised we’d spend Valentine’s Day together.   I had begged, pleaded, offered free blowjobs to the other managers, anything I could think of to make sure that I had off on that so overrated day of “romance”. And fate, that mother f**ker, decides to f**k me again; this time with no lube or a reach around.   Three days before February 14th, the general manager calls me into the office and informs me that the owners wanted me personally to work that night and there was no way I could have the day off.   I avoided Mark’s texts all day and only told him about the change of plans after I f**ked him into delirium. That conversation was one of the hardest talks I ever had to do and I saw it in his eyes, he was crushed, upset, pissed off, and pretty hurt on top of all the other emotions probably running through his mind.   I had made plans to decorate the apartment, cook him a romantic dinner, wine and dine him until his pants came off and then he would get dessert. He knew how much effort I had put into the whole ordeal so at least he understood that I was just as bummed.   The only good news about that day was at least I didn’t have to close so I would be arriving home around 9 pm. So we adjusted the timetable and he seemed to be pretty understanding after I f**ked him into submission.   I wish I could erase the first half of that Valentine’s Day from my brain. Just like Murphy’s Law states, everything that could have possibly gone wrong did that Monday. Two of my line cooks didn’t show up, the fish company delivered the wrong fish and we had to change our special “lovers dinner” that took four weeks to design.   While I’m on the subject of restaurants, I want all of you that have never worked in the service industry, to listen up and really pay attention. You need to have some f**king understanding when things don’t go as smoothly as you expect them to with your dining experience. You have no idea how one tiny little detail can f**k your world six ways from Tuesday. We juggle all the balls in the air and one slip up can snowball into a cluster f**k of errors that we have no control over.   You 9-5er’s need to understand this as well. When you don’t feel good you call in to your boss and you get the day with pay. Maybe someone has to cover a few of your projects but usually your work waits for you until you’re better. If you have a family emergency, you call up your boss and you get paid time off to handle your affairs. When a server gets sick, they show up to work because if they don’t work they don’t get paid. When their life falls apart they show up for work because if they don’t then they don’t pay rent that month.   Most of you when you’re feeling a bit under the weather or just pissed off at the world can hide out in your office or cubicle and no one’s the wiser. Not us, no matter what’s happening in our lives we have to kiss your f**king ass and treat you like a king because you are so f**king stupid you think the whole world is going to end if you didn’t get that one last Happy Hour cocktail before Happy Hour is over. Just because your food took twenty-five minutes is no reason to yell at me and call me all sorts of names. Oh yeah, f**k YELP.com.   So I was talking about Valentine’s Day and what a cluster f**k it turned out to be. Our expediter (the person in charge of calling out the food orders and making sure all the food is delivered to the right table) had to leave in the middle of service because he’s a breeder and didn’t aim for the chin and his wife decided that day was the perfect day to have a stinky pooping machine. Strike one against us. Redesigning our menu because our vendor sent us the wrong fish was strike two against us. Strike three came from left field and left us with lost food tickets, badly timed food courses and a feeling of disappointment to almost every single diner in the restaurant. In all my years of restaurants I had never been as embarrassed as I was on that day. To go up to table after table and apologize for screwing up their special day was draining on every level because I knew we dropped the ball. It was horrible.   It was close to ten thirty before I managed to drag myself from the restaurant and all the problems that developed that day. Of course as a good boyfriend, I kept Mark updated on the stasis of my departure, explaining the delays. And he was unusually calm and understanding about the whole ordeal. All he kept replying to my texts were to make sure I text him when I sat down on the train.   I am a creature of habit. I always sit in the same train car and if I can in the exact same seat on each car. This favorite seat of mine happens to be the handicap seat. I like sitting sideways on the train as opposed to riding backwards or forwards. So I sit in the handicap sideways seat and I always sit in the second to the last car on any train. Why?   If I sit in the handicap seat in the second to last car when my train arrives at my destination it stops right in front of the up escalator. The moment the train stops I can run off the train and be the first up the stairs putting me ahead of the slower moving masses. Brilliant huh?   I caught the 10:52PM train and sat in my usual spot and texted Mark that I was on the train. He sent me back a smiley face and I took a deep breath knowing this horrible day was about to get much better.   My train ride is usually 42 minutes or so and then I get into my car and drive another twenty minutes to my apartment. So I knew I had some time to kill. I opened my laptop and lost myself in my latest story. But that oblivion didn’t last long.   At the very next stop I was shocked when the doors opened and I saw a very handsome looking Mark walk on the train and sit down in the seat across from me. He was dressed in black slacks and a dark gray button down shirt. He looked amazing.   He sits down across from me and after giving me a shy smile he opens a book and pointedly ignores me. Though he was “intently” peering into his book, I couldn’t help but notice the smirk on his face as he sat there “oblivious” to my presence. So I do the same, I stare at my screen while stealing glances at him.   We do this for two more stops, making eye contact every few moments and pretending to be embarrassed when caught looking. I must tell you, it was hot.   Finally I couldn’t take it anymore and I shut my laptop and asked, “Excuse me, what are you reading over there?”   He sits there in silence. After a few moments, he turns the page and then shut the book, marking the page with his finger. He looks up and flashes the cover towards me. ‘Just some light reading.’   I started laughing. He was reading my copy of Dorm Porn. “Light reading huh?”   He shrugged. ‘My boyfriend always seems to be at work, I’ve got to get my kicks somehow.’   “Your boyfriend would rather work than come home to you?”   ‘He has a stressful job, and he does take care of me. I just get lonely sometimes.’   “What does he do?”   Without missing a beat Mark looks at me and says deadpanned. ‘He sells couch insurance.’   Mark is the master at role playing. He loves creating wild scenarios to spice things up as he puts it; it really turns him on to live out his fantasies. Well, two can play at that game.   “He sounds like a real tool. If you were my boyfriend I’d never leave you alone.”   He smiles at me, I can see the lust building and for a moment I wonder what is to come. ‘He has his moments. What are you doing tonight?’   “I don’t know, but I’d love to get a drink with you.”   So there we were, me dressed in my stinky restaurant clothes, walking through the Castro pretending we didn’t know one another, talking about lives we didn’t lead and dreams we’d never realize. We ended up at the Look Out, a well-know bar in the Castro that allows smoking on the patio, talking small talk and flirting through the night. We awkwardly had a “first” kiss standing on the balcony overlooking the street. And when he breathlessly asked if I’d like to go back to his hotel and spend the night with him, I about lost it.   His hotel happened to be my favorite one in San Francisco, a little Kempton property with a Jacuzzi tub and glass shower. Beside the bed was a chilled bottle of Champagne and caramel dipped strawberries. We toasted our “meeting” and fed one another strawberries before we undressed one another and went for a nice long soak.   We ended up talking most of the night, connecting in ways I didn’t know were possible and closing the gaps that had widened with our hectic work schedules. It was probably the single most romantic night of my life. It was also the night I really knew without a doubt that I had been completely and perfectly blown away.   The next morning he would tell me that he had been planning this whole “seduction” for weeks and had booked the hotel room back in December. That little f**ker let me make all those plans knowing full well it was nothing but a waste of time. These grand gestures were one of the reasons I fell in love with him.   June 27th, 2011   But in reality, times like these were few and far between for us. Even though Mark worked full time and went to school, in his heart he’s a pot head. And being a pot head means he spends a majority of his free time zoning out in front of the TV; disconnected with the world for large chunks of time.   I’m a full blown workaholic that tends to put my job above my personal life and sometimes happiness. I focus so much on work that I am often disconnected in my personal relationships because I can’t live in the moment without worrying about the next day.   You see, the thing with Mark is we are actually perfect for each other. We’re both passionate humans with the capacity for grand gestures and picture perfect moments that we painstakingly conceive and execute flawlessly. Both of us spent more time creating moments than actually taking the time to enjoy the moment.   You see, the thing with Mark is we’re horrible for one another. We are both demanding and so often unwilling to bend or compromise for anything much less for each other. Our fights were epic struggles, shouting matches that came just short of violence.   Have I ever been completely and perfectly blown away? I can now answer that question, though I think it’s too late for that to make a difference. Self-realization always comes too late and with too high a price.   I haven’t been completely and perfectly blown away. But I’ve come close enough. I’ve always thought of heaven as a metaphor for perfection. And if that’s the case, then I’ve only ever reached the edges.   Mark and I started drifting apart all too soon after that “perfect” Valentine’s Day. A part of our divergence was due to his grades slipping. I understand he’s so close to achieving his dream and worked and sacrificed way too much to screw his future up now. He started spending more time at his house focusing on his schoolwork. It was closer to school and spending every night with me was a distraction.   I’ll forget the part that I worked until midnight most nights and he had plenty of time to do his homework.   After months of sleeping with someone, it was a bit lonely at first but as time moved on, I started to embrace the emptiness of the apartment. Mark and I as a couple was hard, only seeing one another for late-night hookups and dirty weekend sex was easy. After a week of not seeing each other for five days, we were so both horned up that we spent most of our time in bed rutting like two teenagers and for awhile that worked for us. But a relationship is a living, breathing entity and if you starve it, it will die slowly but surely over time.   I’ve come to realize that being with Mark was much like getting f**ked by a jackhammer. I know the orgasm is going to be epic but it’ll also tear up my insides.   Mark and I stopped being an “us’ on April 1st, 2011. It’s an appropriate day and sums up our relationship perfectly.   The decision to end it was mutual and we parted this time around as friends. I still love him and for most of the day I miss him terribly. His sense of humor is so like my own it’s almost like he’s inside my head. No other human on this f**king planet gets me like he does and he’ll always have a large space in my heart that is uniquely his and no one else. I often find myself comparing other guys I meet to Mark and I say to myself that they have large shoes to fill.   When I first started writing this Blog Entry a few days ago, I had no idea what I was trying to convey. I was trying to wrap my head around the emotions that have been causing me so much grief and the only way I know how to work things out is to put words to paper so to speak. I had some anger lurking there, lots of heartache, a touch of longing, and even fondness of a time when I had a partner that was a close to perfect as I could ever hope to find.   For reasons I won’t go into, I needed to get my thoughts about him down on paper so I could find a way to let this shit go.   Okay, I’ll go into it even though I just realized that this Blog Entry is already sixteen pages long. That’s pretty f**king wordy even for my usual long boring entries.   On June 17th, I was a bit drunk and very horny so I thought I’d go on Grindr and find a cum dumpster to vent my frustrations and release all the animosity I had pent up from Mark into. And what happened? I actually met an amazing guy and instead of hooking up we spent most of the night texting back and forth. And the more we spent chatting, the more I was intrigued. After having a great night chatting, we actually met the next night and had such a great time talking that it was only two days later we spent most of the night together connecting in so many ways.   He wasn’t Mark, but that was okay. He was a writer, smart and uniquely sexy with a mind and humor that was refreshing in my fake world of hookups and one night stands. I was more than interested on that Monday night a week ago but as fate would have it the very next day at nine-thirty in the morning Mark texted me out of the blue. He wanted to know if I would want to hang out with him for the day with a few visiting friends in San Francisco.   You see, the thing with Mark is I’m scared we’ve only reached the end of the second act.

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

17) A Day in the Life...well a day in a person with no life

5:00AM...M wakes me up by straddling my back and whispering in my ear that he wants me to go running with him   5:15AM...M and I walk out the front door to freezing wet air and head off toward the upcoming sunrise   6:15AM...We walk back inside the house and head toward the shower, we don't make it   6:17AM...M rewards me for running with him   7:04AM...We get in the shower and I thank him for rewarding me   7:43AM...We sit down for breakfast. M gets 2 eggs over easy with coffee and I get a bagel with OJ   7:55AM...M heads off to class and I do the dishes   8:20AM...I get in my car and drive to Millbrae to catch B.A.R.T. train to San Francisco   8:45AM...Get on B.A.R.T. and start checking and replying to work related emails   9:00AM...M sends text and says he's misses me   9:25AM...Get to the restaurant and begin checking the overnight voicemail   9:46AM...Recieve call finalizing cocktail party plans for 6 PM that night for 50 guests   10:00AM...Recieve phone call from a busser who claims he can't come to work   10:01AM...Tell busser to come or else...he claims he tried calling me all morning but I didn't pick up   10:02AM...I call bullshit on his claim as I had been awake since five AM   10:17AM...Send M a text that says...Grrr   10:30AM...Greet and Brief the lunch staff about the days events and specials   11:00AM...Open for lunch and deal with a server "suddenly" becoming ill   11:01AM...Sent server home and I'm not happy as we are booked quite heavily for lunch   11:17AM...Busser shows up to work late we are 17 minutes behind schedule   12:00PM...Order a Chicken Cobb Salad for lunch, can't wait   12:15PM...Homeless crack-head tries to steal food off a table sitting on the patio   12:16PM...Feel a bit better after yelling at the crack-head   1:30PM...Finally get a chance to eat...Chicken Cobb Salad is wilted but tasty   2:00PM...Receive email about last minute changes regarding cocktail party   2:01PM...Push time up to 5PM and change the menu with Chef for cocktail party   2:13PM...M texts he'll be staying at his apartment tonight but he loves me   2:30PM...Was told that "sick" server left to meet one of our chefs for some afternoon delight   2:31PM...Not happy with server or the chef, can't wait until tomorrow's meeting   3:00PM...Sit down with a wine rep and have a tasting for new Pinot Noirs   3:30PM...Surpervise the setting up for the cocktail party and decorate the room   4:00PM...Greet and meet the night shift and brief them on the cocktail party and the night's business   5:00PM...Guests arrive for the cocktail party and the fun begins   5:30PM...Restaurant is full and I jump behind the bar to help bartender make drinks   6:45PM...Finally get a chance to leave the bar and smoke a much needed cigarette   6:45PM...Text M just to say hi   7:30PM...I yell at a server because she forgot to ring the entrées for a table of five...for twenty minutes   8:00PM...To console the table I buy them a round of drinks and dessert, I think it worked as they left happy   8:07PM...M texts that he's going to bed and that he loves me   8:15PM...D and I begin doing physical end of month inventory on wine, beer, booze   10:00PM...I do all the book keeping for the day's business and send the servers home after a job well done   10:30PM...D and I finish physical inventory and I turn off the lights and lock the doors and head toward B.A.R.T.   10:52PM...Get on train and text M that I love him and goodnight, he doesn't respond   11:29PM...Arrive in Millbrae and walk to my car   11:35PM...After waiting for my car to warm up I start driving home to San Mateo   11:55PM...I walk in my door and see a note on the counter from M   11:55PM...M figured I wouldn't get to eat dinner so he left me a slice of pizza in the fridge   11:56PM...Forgo the pizza and head up the stairs stripping out of my clothes as I head to the shower   12:05AM...Walk into my bedroom and realize that M is curled up with my pillow snoring softly   12:06AM...Stare at M asleep and realize that I can't imagine life without him   12:07AM...I pounce on M and life is perfect   1:00AM...M says he couldn't sleep alone and figured he'd surprise me   1:02AM...M whispers goodnight and moments later he starts snoring softly   1:04AM...I shift to a more comfortable position and set my alarm for 5 AM   1:05AM...I grab my laptop and start typing what will become this Blog Entry   1:31AM...I post this Blog Entry and snuggle up to M's back and drift off to sleep...happy and content

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

28) Indecisive Longing

It wasn't until I talked to you on the phone That's when I realized just how much I missed you Your voice brought back so many memories I haven't thought about the "thistle" incident in years And for a time it was like 1995 all over again When we were still an "us" and mostly happy   It wasn't until we both hung up the phone That's when I realized just how little I missed you We both know that this life is ever changing This is a fact based on a principle we both understand Friendship was nothing more than a mutual effort of "use" And when the "use" was depleted so too was the friendship   I don't have to like this reality but I do understand it So when "us" ended I forced myself to move on I'll admit there are times I wonder how you are fairing There are times when I yearn to see your child There are times when I feel like I lost my right arm And there are times when the loss of you is overwhelming   And in these times I say f**k growth, f**k change And f**k all things new and improved I say let's stay the same, let's never grow Let's never alter and let's never stretch our wings Let's stay comfortable and out of control Let's stay mediocre, hidden, let's stay children

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

13) His Story...My Words Part Seven

Moonlight Will Prevail Part Seven Story By: Angel Perez Written By: Jason Rimbaud   Both of us hit the water at the same time. And for a while, we splashed around, dunking one another. You know all the childish ways you would try to make contact without seeming too. But once we started wrestling, things quickly got out of hand.   After I hit the water, my erection pretty much went south fast. I believe it would be safe to say that my genitals had retreated inside my body due to the chilly water. But as we touched and grappled in the water, they returned with a vengeance, and from the looks in Greg

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

12) His Story...My Words Part Six

Moonlight Will Prevail Part Six Story By: Angel Perez Written By: Jason Rimbaud   So somehow I found myself getting dressed in the darkness and opening my bedroom window. Greg had informed me that we had to sneak out through the bedroom window, and that this was an unbreakable rule.   He told me that he had done it many times before over the years and that running around at night was exciting. True to his usual lies, I would find out later that this was his first time sneaking out as well. He would grin and claim that I made him reckless and I was to blame for the things we did while together. I

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

His Story...My Words Part Five

Moonlight Will Prevail Part Five Story By: Angel Perez Written By: Jason Rimbaud   Though I thought these things in my mind, I still looked around the room nervously making sure no one had heard him swear. I was extremely scared that if my father had heard him utter that word, I would lose my new friend, my maybe savior, forever. When he saw me looking around the room, he began to laugh.   I can remember that laugh so vividly. It was a laugh full of mischief, and very infectious. Not like the whole body laugh where the chest shakes uncontrollably and it wasn

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

 

His Story...My Words Part Four

Moonlight Will Prevail Part Four Story By: Angel Perez Written By: Jason Rimbaud   I started squirming around in my seat which only caused my father to smack me on the leg and command me to pay attention.   I managed to look embarrassed and turned my focus from the boy sitting across the aisle and back on the minister standing in the front of the church.   And as the minister spoke about the dangers of alcohol and the virtues of living a Christian life in this evil time, I discreetly studied the boy from the corner of my eye. And it wasn

Jason Rimbaud

Jason Rimbaud

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