Bender

I don't usually like to talk about guys in terms of "types"--it seems unnecessarily reductive. But, if I must say that I have a type, I would say that I like my guys extra gay. You know what I mean. I like them on the nellie side, I like them sparkly, I like them singing musicals and quoting RuPaul's Drag Race and wearing skin-tight pants because for so many years of my life I pined for the straight ones and broke my own heart with it. I came out fully the summer before college, not because of uncertainty in my sexuality, but because of all the time I was spending in completely hetero locker rooms before then. I was my school's best half-miler and a decent cross-country runner, so the time spent in communal showers in Bumfuck, Oklahoma didn't lend itself to me shouting about how much I loved licking a guy's taint (hypothetically, of course, since I had done no taint-licking then). All of my friends were straight jocks, my best friend the jockiest of all, with broad shoulders and strong arms and long legs that just drove me wild on nights when I couldn't keep the gay away and longed in my bed. I yearned to be with him, to feel his arms around me and his mouth on mine. Reading stories on this very site didn't help--I was so wound up that even our play wrestling and random weightlifting sessions had me even more in love with the thought of him I'd built up. So thorough was my own self-afflicted heartbreak that I have since gone 100% to the other side, preferring instead to go after the especially gay ones now that I can find them. (As an aside, DC is the best place in the world to live if you like that type.) My roommate is a graduate student, which comes with the perk of getting to meet and hang around with other cool grad students. We go to bar trivias together, we hang around and play video games, but most fun of all there is a core group of us that gets together to watch football. That's how I met Nick, and how I somehow made it back to the same exact position I was in at the age of 15, when I could still feel the burning sensation in my cheeks of stealing glances at my best friend's body and hoping in vain for a miracle, that he would realize his love for me and we would spend forever together. Thinking about it now just leaves me embarrassed. My tiny crush on Nick started innocently. His apartment is very close to mine, so we walk home together after outings, and he's a few inches shorter than me, and funny, and wicked smart. He was cute, and very obviously athletic--strong calves atop high black socks were displayed underneath his loose football shorts. But it was nothing more than passing interest, and maybe some glances at his strong, tan forearms. We became quick friends, and see each other often. Today, the core six of us got together to watch football, a regular Saturday activity, but today at Nick's apartment. We did some drinking, perhaps a little too heavily, and I found myself drifting farther and farther towards him. While we were talking, for the first time I really noticed his eyes--which are stunning, a sort of amber color against his curly, dark brown hair. He made some joke about the Split-T and I chuckled weakly, trying to get myself together. At some point, I'm not sure how, his foot moved towards my thigh. And I spent a bit too long looking into his eyes. And now, I can't seem to stop replaying it in my mind--despite my best efforts, I'm crushing on a straight friend again. Something about how he looked at me made me feel it all over, even though I know it's all in my head, I know it's all pointless and will get me nowhere. What's that sor Juana line? "'Tis corpse and dust, 'tis shadow and nothingness." So, all this is to say that crushing on straight guys is just the worst. But, I can at least spend a little time hoping for a miracle, right?

I should have put a disclaimer at the beginning that this is mostly fiction with vaguely autobiographical roots; it's a story that had been germinating in me for a while, until yesterday when it finally burst out and I had to get it down so I could move on and study for my microbiology test. I wrote it in one little burst and made very few changes. A blog might not be the most appropriate place, but it's all I have with any semblance of anonymity. The real story is that a few weeks ago, I was casually hanging out with two guys, either of whom could have potentially been a romantic interest: there was Ross, on whom the unnamed "boyfriend" of the story is based (and who, as of a few days ago, became my real-life boyfriend), and Sean, whose only real similarity with the "Sean" of the story is the shared name. The real-life Sean is very talkative and wild and always the center of attention; the image I have of Sean in the story is quiet, pensive, serious, and sexy, and is supposed to function as a foil to the unnamed boyfriend's jocular nature. So for a few weeks, I was hanging out with both guys, independent of each other, in a mostly platonic capacity; one day, while I was hanging out with Ross, I saw that he had a missed call from Sean, and I wondered what a conversation between them about me would sound like. It wasn't a huge surprise that Sean would be calling Ross--I knew that they knew each other, although I don't know in what capacity. It's even possible that they dated--I don't know and I don't really care at this point. So, I thought for a minute, what would it be like if Sean told Ross he was "talking" to someone new, someone to whom Ross was also "talking?" Because I was really only friends with both of them at this point, I decided that aside from initial awkwardness, it probably wouldn't have been a big deal. However, the idea for this story was planted, and here it is. Any romantic inclination I had for Sean fizzled out on its own, while I continued to be interested in Ross, so that relationship progressed naturally. Looking back today, with fresh eyes, there are several things I want to change in the story: 1) I want to better draw attention to the soon-to-be-broken heart of the unnamed boyfriend, since I sort of left that out entirely, I guess. 2) I want to better illustrate that the speaker DOES feel bad about what he's done--he seems to take it lightly, which I did not intend. And 3) I want to leave a better image of the lasting impression that Sean had on the speaker. Even as the speaker feels awful for what he has done, he still feels drawn to this other guy. That's the major motif of the story: the choice between certainty and comfort with one guy versus the possibilities with the other. One bird in the hand versus two in the bush, I suppose. It's also about dealing with my own frustrations about my general dissatisfaction. I have felt what the speaker feels time and time again, about not being satisfied with the good things that I have. In that sense, I do appreciate your advice; in fact, I think it certainly is high time for some introspection to reassess my values. Sorry for the ridiculously long-winded response. Believe it or not, I actually cut things out. Also, thanks for reading the post--hitting the "publish" button was like taking a shot of antivenin, so all the poison could get out. I'll be more careful to mark it as fiction in the future, especially since infedelity is such an awful topic to begin with. Best, -B

I'm unlucky in love. Don't feel sorry for me--it's by and large my own fault. But it still sucks. There's that old fable about a dog that, by some stroke of luck, found a piece of meat and was carrying it home to eat it. When he crossed a river, he mistook his own reflection for another dog with a better treat, and opened his mouth to bark at the other dog. He dropped his own meat into the river, and for all that greed and dissatisfaction was left with nothing. 6-year-olds the world over have learned the lesson in this story; I, apparently, cannot. So I have this boyfriend, and he's great. He's very cute, with his curly brown hair and bright blue eyes, and he makes me smile and laugh and he cracks the best one-liners and I genuinely love spending time with him, having him over just to watch a movie and hang out with my roommates. We've been together a few months now, and he's the first guy I've been able to avoid getting sick of after the first fun couple of weeks. I met him through a mutual friend named Caleb, who, while he was not actively working to set us up, is pretty happy with the result of our relationship. This is easily the best dating experience I've had (and while I know I'm young yet, I have dated a good deal). The best part is that he seems to feel the same way about me. But still I feel like I've always got my eye on the door, waiting for the next thing, something better, someone better to walk in. Maybe I've been ruined by something. Maybe I'm just afraid of commitment. Maybe I'm jealous of what other people have, and greedy and always wanting to take without giving anything in return. Eat your cake and have it, too, I guess. (Which I prefer over the standard way of stating that expression, since it seems a bit like hysteron proteron.) I know it's in our nature to look for more, to shun contentedness, as it leads to complacency and can ruin you. Evolution has granted us what Robert Browning put more poetically in "Andrea del Sarto," when he said, "Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, / Or what's a heaven for?" In some ways, I don't think we're meant to be happy. But why am I so bad? That same friend, Caleb, was having a little birthday get-together last week to celebrate his 21st. The boyfriend could not go with me, as he was busy with other things. I don't talk about him much in polite conversation--honestly, I don't talk that much at all--so many people just assume I'm single until something comes up that necessitates mention of the boy. So I guess that's how Sean and I ended up sitting on the front porch together after everyone else had degenerated into drunken debauchery. I generally don't drink to the point of drunkenness because I hate forgetting things and having hangovers, so I was still nursing maybe my second beer, and Sean seemed to prefer the peace and quiet. This was the first time I had met him, but I was comfortable already, just sitting down, enjoying the beautiful weather that night, listening to the muffled, awful music playing inside the house. We talked some--the normal stuff, about our majors and interests and other boring things. I was sitting right on the edge of the concrete, whereas he was sitting on a short brick wall, so he was about three feet higher than me. I looked up at him. His stare was intense, to say the least, brown eyes on a face that was temptingly handsome. The comfort I had felt was starting to creep out; after all, this incredibly handsome guy was staring me down, and suddenly I felt like I couldn't move, like I was rooted to the spot by his stare. I think he knows he's incredibly handsome, he knows the effect he has on people, but he wasn't ostentatious about it. In fact, he was nothing but polite and charming and perfectly gentlemanly. At some point he moved to sit next to me, and our hands started brushing against each other here and there, and I didn't stop him. It was late--I went home fairly soon thereafter, with the intent to forget about it and move on. Facebook ruined that plan. I am convinced that it is a tool of the devil. He found me on Facebook a few days later, added me and sent a message. We talked back and forth a bit, and eventually he gave me his number, insisting that I text him. And on account of my weakness and lust and desire for more, and on account of my being a terrible person, I did text him. It remained just polite conversation, with talk about hanging out or seeing a movie or something, with plenty of chances for me to throw in that I am not single, that I could not do anything romantic with him. I didn't say a word about it though. It finally happened on Friday night--he came over, we drank some beers, we talked, we hung out. Sitting on the couch with me, again he made a move to touch my hand. And again I didn't stop him. And at some point we started kissing--I don't know who kissed whom first, all I know is that we left chill-couch-sitting land and entered holy-crap-we're-making-out. And I forgot completely that I had a boyfriend, and that I shouldn't have been doing it, and that I was cheating, and instead enjoyed the making out. He left my house the next morning, which was yesterday. (Fill in the gap for yourself, to save me having to type it.) I felt bad. I talked to my roommate. That helped some. I wanted to see boyfriend, so I called him and went over to his house that afternoon. I acted like nothing was wrong. We watched a movie and ate lunch and cuddled. While we were cuddling, I noticed his phone said one missed call. From Sean. I cheated on my boyfriend with a guy who is apparently friends with him. Who might talk about me to him. And while I feel bad, I don't want to say anything. I'm scared to confess it. And I'm scared I'll lose him. So now, here I am, cursing my own name and wishing I hadn't done it. But I made this bed, so I suppose I'll lie in it, and maybe learn my lesson for the future. And maybe forget Sean's intense stare, which I can still feel when I think about him.

Thanks guys! Yeah, this is real, although it's a snapshot of what happened, and of course I can't remember exactly what was said. I'd at least think about submitting it as a story, but I feel like I need a happy ending for myself first. But last night I was thinking about my singleness and listening to Adele and I just had to get it down. Plus, I've been missing this place. Good to see you guys.

"I think we should stick to being friends," he said, his brow furrowed with fake concern, and with what little control I could get about me I smiled weakly at him, showing the fatigue in my eyes. "I'm sorry," he followed, "I hope this is okay?" "I understand completely, and it's fine," I said, although I didn't understand, and I certainly didn't feel fine. All I wanted was for him to leave my apartment, but I still had to see him twice weekly, so I had to save face for just a little longer. Questions of why doesn't he like me? and what did I do? were starting to trickle in. I forced them out and avoided looking at the face that was far too cute for someone like me anyways. Damn he was good looking, all blunt features, tan skin, and brown eyes that never betrayed a thing. I liked him a lot. It wasn't like we'd been going out for months, either. Just a few weeks, just a few fun dates, just a few brief kisses sneaked in here and there, never for longer than a few seconds. I gave in and looked over at him, and he still studied my face, I guess to make sure that I was taking it all right, that I wouldn't cry or freak out. Well, I wouldn't in front of him, I knew. "So you're okay?" He asked. He was still looking straight at me. I wished he'd stop. "Yes, I'm fine," I lied, and then told another: "I was sort of starting to think that'd be for the best, too, with the whole fraternity thing." We were fraternity brothers--that was how we'd met, in fact, just a few years ago. "It could get weird very fast." "Yeah. I'm glad you understand. But we'll still be friends, right?" "Of course," I said, and forced another smile. "But hey, I had a test in Molecular Biology this morning, so I didn't sleep much last night. I think I need a nap." If he knew how much of a stupid excuse that was, he at least had the decency not to show it. Instead, he just said, "Yeah, sure," and stood up from my ugly, lumpy couch. "Well, I'll see you at chapter Sunday, then," he said as he headed for the door. "Yes, for sure," I said, and I followed him to walk him out. He hugged me when we got to the door--God, I wish he hadn't--but then with a few weird goodbyes he left, and I stood behind the closed door and rubbed my eyes for a second. Well, he was gone, in more ways than one. I retreated to my bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. Somehow, I couldn't come to cry; as I said, we hadn't been dating for long, and it wasn't a disaster. There I lay, all nineteen years of me across a gray bedspread, and for the first time in a while I felt something--red against all the gray I'd been in, and suddenly there was life bursting forth from my fingertips, and from my toes, and from the top of my head and my chest, and I could feel the blood in my veins again. I still see him pretty often. He's seeing someone new now, and I've been on dates, and really I hardly think of him at all, except to silently thank him for making me really feel again.

I found a dimpled spider, fat and white, On a white heal-all, holding up a moth Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth- Assorted characters of death and blight Mixed ready to begin the morning right, Like ingredients of a witches' broth- A snow-drop spider, a flower like froth, And dead wings carried like a paper kite. What had that flower to do with being white, The wayside blue and innocent heal-all? What brought that kindred spider to that height, Then steered the white moth thither in the night? What but darkness of design to appall?- If design govern in a thing so small. -"Design" by Robert Frost This poem sums up my thoughts in recent days: why are there pains and sufferings in the world? It just doesn't seem fair to me. I've realized that the people who are older than I actually know what they're talking about, which was the most enlightening moment of my life. My grandmother might be able to talk your ear off, but it's definitely worth listening to, because she is passing on everything she believes to me. Boys. Boys boys boys. I need me one of those. We're working on it. Life in general is going pretty well for me, I'm liking school, I'm having a good time. My heart just isn't in much right now, for many reasons, most of which won't be spoken of here. I need to write something other than poetry, my creative writing class is driving me crazy. Well, I think that is all for now. This was my least coherent blog entry of all time.

While the movie itself seems very, very stupid, the soundtrack to SoaP looks Glorious: The best thing ever to hit CD stores...ever Panic! At the Disco, Jack's Mannequin, Fall Out Boy, The Academy Is..., Armor for Sleep, etc. I've died and gone to Heaven, assuming Heaven has wonderful taste in music. The only way they could improve it would be to add something by Acceptance.

thanks y'all!!! My birthday actually hasn't been that bad, even though I was stuck in the car all day with my mom and sister, because I had my CD player so I turned on Atreyu and they left me alone . Thanks again!

I rather like Cross Country now. Why, you ask? Because of a boy, exactly like everything in my life. There is a totally cute freshman on the team and now I look forward to practice. Sadly, I've only seen him once, and I've never spoken with him. Yet I fully intend to talk to him as soon as I can. We're going out of town tomorrow, to God Damn New Mexico. I hate New Mexico, and I am NOT looking forward to this, especially because we get back on my birthday. Great way to spend a birthday: in the car for 9 hours. I had better get tons of money from my mother, or else I will be MAD. I got to drive for the 2nd time when we went to Lake Eufala last weekend. One time my sister let me drive her car in the Wal-Mart parking lot, but don't tell my mom . However, I must say that driving my sister's tiny Blazer is much easier than driving my mom's enormous, brand new dykemobile (that's its endearing name). Well, I am being distracted by the tv and can't think of anything else to write. Being uninspired is ass. -psychic psychopath

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SNOWY I'm singing for ya! Happy Happy Happy Birthday, it's your special day, Happy Happy Happy Birthday in every single way! :snork:

You know what the best part of summer vacation is? I don't have to get dressed until like 5 in the afternoon, when my sister comes home from her job . I'm basically wandering around naked all the time . You know what the worst part of summer vacation is? I have nothing to do except sit around and watch tv. Well, and read "With Trust", of course. Mmmmmmm a commercial with Brad Pitt in it just came on . God, this is the most boring entry I have ever made. Why am I still talking? -psychis psychopath

We went to our lake house over the weekend because it was memorial day weekend and we always do. Well, my lovely mother forgot to clean out the freezer the last time we were there (which was in September) so there was an appetizing mixture of decaying hamburger meat and Italian sausage in the freezer. Mmmmm delicious. The smell would NOT go away, no matter what we did. And as much as I love an Italian's sausage this was gross. Speaking of an Italian's Sausage (I swear this is related, it just takes a while for me to explain why), it is approaching time for Boy Scout camp this year, but I am not going. This should be a good thing, but Boy Scout camp is where all of the babes hang out. Like there was this one last year who was exactly how I imagined Jude from "The Ordinary Us".....mmmm delicious. But grrrrr now it's bugging me because I can't remember his name .....I'm leaning towards Luke...but I don't think that's it. The sad part is that all of the babes at Boy Scout camp are straight. Except this one (this is where Italian sausage comes in) named Jordyn. He had curly brown hair, my favorite , but he is 6 years older than I am and last I knew was going to college at Penn State . Why am I still talking? This is the most boring blog entry ever. Now I have to bitch about at least one personal problem per blog entry, so here it is....I can't rhyme :wacko: . At least, tonight I can't. I have been trying and trying to write a song and it is NOT working. Ewwww I'm watching CMT's 20 sexiest women and it showed a commercial with a REALLY gross guy on it...ewwwww. But back to rhyming. Dr. Lib says that anger is not a catalyst of rhymes, so I'm gonna try again tomorrow. Peace out. -psychic psychopath

it's still your birthday for like the next seven minutes here in OK, so happy birthday Pat!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As much as I love the woman, my mother is crazy. When she found out that I had been coming to this site, she directly forbade it. Oh well. That was like three months ago, and I have stayed away as long as I can without exploding. And as I am sure that no one wants slaveboy guts all over them, we had better avoid any exploding. So hello to everyone! I see that things have changed a lot here at GA. What all have I missed? So far I have met many new people, most importantly Patrick . I haven't read any of Dom's stories in what seems like forever, and I have a LOT of catching up to do on Grey-Eyed Justice. Dio, you're still my hero. I have been suffering from the worst writer's block ever known to mankind. While usually I write all of the time, lately I have written nothing. Well, I wrote a poem last week, but that hardly counts. Not even a song has popped out in what seems like forever. Any recomendations (I am pretty sure I didn't spell that right) on new stories for me to read? I need something good, because Of Mice and Men is becoming dreadfully boring. Well, that's pretty much all. G'night. -psychic psychopath

I've never been in love, and that greatly saddens me. However, I am in lust with FFBF, and while he was singing Maroon 5 songs to me at the competition on Saturday, I realized that all I ever feel towards someone is one of three things: lust, hate, or indifference. Well, usually. With him, it was both at the same time for a while. Strange. It has been forever since I blogged. I just haven't been in a very bloggy mood lately. So, ummmmmm what's new in my life? There is a new song by Tim McGraw called "My old Friend" that made me cry the first time I heard it. It seriously is SOOOOO sad. I am currently reading a story over at CRVBoy called "The Magic in Your Touch" by Sara Bell. If you have not yet read it, I command you to read it NOW!!!!!!!! It is a very good story. I will probably get to go to Washington DC this April for the National Science Bowl. It is a probably because the person whose place I will be taking has one more day to turn in his permition slip, and also we still kinda have to win the Regional Level competition before getting to go to Nationals. However, I am quite sure that we will win Regionals; we do every year. So I will probably get to go ! Track officially sucks. I mean, I liked Cross Country to a degree because it is easy running, just a lot of it. However, Track is like 5 or 6 miles, sprinting some then slowly jogging some, or towards the end coach lets us walk half of what we just sprinted. So while we used to do long, slow, easy miles, now we're doing fast, hell-on-a-stick miles. It angers me. My mom keeps threatening me with a haircut. My hair is not even that long. I hate that she is making me get one because I love my hair. It is hot. -psychic psychopath