Hello one and all!
Considering I’m once again back at the helm is further proof that the rumors aren’t true! Wave was not rushed the nearest psych-ward after my last post in February. I knew I was being railroaded when the CDC released their so called findings: that a daily dose of Ethan Day could be hazardous to your health! As if!! I’m just like candy, people! A few licks have never killed anyone. 🙂
And no, my little monkeys, while I may make an illicit confession or two throughout this post, it has nothing to do with the annual party down in New Orleans of the same name. However, the title is evocative of another annual rite-of-passage…one of mine at least. I’m speaking about the particular time of year in which we now find ourselves. Why, you may be asking? The reason is actually pretty simple. We’re here because this queer tends to see a boost in that special sorta yearning, you know, an elevation in my desire for a little decadence in my southern regions.
That’s right folks, spring has sprung, and along with the rising temperatures, gay men the world over are gearing up to go Living La Libido Loca. Thoughts of planting our seed into freshly plowed soil have begun fertilizing every other thought. The bears have come out of hibernation harnessed to hell and looking for fresh meat while the twinks are stuffing their goodies into the shortest of short-shorts in hopes of sinking a big nine into their back hole.
Yes, I know – I’ve once again egregiously stereotyped, but it’s okay!! I’m using my powers for good, not evil, so it totally doesn’t count. 🙂
I’m not exactly sure what it is about this time of year that does it. Perhaps it’s all the green sprouting out of every square inch of nature. I mean, if green M&M’s make us horny then is it really that big of a leap to assume that all this fresh foliage could make Andy randy? Does being confronted with an explosion of new get us yearning to lie down in a field full of wild flowers with an unsown oat and screw? I don’t know, but I do seem to get a little extra adventurous each year as winter gets bitch-slapped back into submission by Mother Nature.
In reality I think a lot of this new found stimulation comes from all the half naked men who are suddenly out running, playing tennis, or partaking in a touch of scrimmage in the park – where there are no shirts vs. skins, it’s all skin! It’s shocking to the senses, and most distracting to sweet, innocent, little homos like myself. Yeah, I know…but that totally sounded convincing in my head!
Seeing all that sweaty beefcake on display – my imagination runneth over with new ideas…and most of them involve some version of me being slutty…to varying degrees. So what’s the harm in indulging? Dicks are like Lays, right? No one can have just one! Well, no one except straight men. They just have the one. It came factory installed, and the only one who seems to be able to take it away from them is their wives. 😆 That’s why I’m so happy to be gay. We enjoy borrowing a guy’s dick for a while, but we’re well mannered enough to offer up a surrogate for them to play with in the meantime. Sharing is caring! 🙂
In any case, I’m all for blaming the visual onslaught of that sweaty beefcake for this lapse in my usually well behaved libido. It’s like reverting back to being a teenager, when all it took to get me going was the right pair of Levi’s…on any guy at all. Funny that back then it never occurred to me that every other guy in high school was likely walking around thinking the same thing that I was. Well, not exactly the same thing perhaps, but in retrospect, I have a feeling more than I ever would have guessed probably were. Of course, the ignorance of youth is believing the entire world revolves around you. Hmm…perhaps I haven’t matured all that much after all. 🙂
Reminiscing over those angsty teen years got me thinking about sluts. As well as hookers, whores, ho-bags, and prostitutes. Are there subtle differences between them or do they mostly all mean the same thing? Let me set the record straight right here. I’m not condemning any of the above. I leave that sorta stuff up the pious peeps who can’t feel good about themselves unless they’re belittling someone else…you know – cue Darth Vader music – republicans, the religious wrong, etc. Juuuust kidding…but not really. LOL!
Biblically speaking I remember ho’s not being very well appreciated. I don’t see what the biggie was. They were simply generous sexual adventurers…who charged a small fee. 🙂 I’ll admit to the fact that I’ve often suffered from ho-envy. Those guys who can lock onto each other in a bar and end up in one another’s bed by the end of the night – it’s totally hot to the nosy naked eye, watching from a safe distance. That whole Enrique, Tonight I’m Fuckin’ You vibe – smokin’ – and damned if you don’t believe it when Enrique sings it. So yes, I admit that I’ve always secretly dreamed of being a ho.
Of course I’d never have the balls to charge. I’d feel the need to offer a guarantee of satisfaction and let’s face it, I’m never gonna be willing to uphold that – I’m far too mouthy. I’d make the world’s worst hooker. I can’t imagine most johns would care for a side of snark to go with their oral and anal. Verbal stimulation is totally underrated! 🙂 It’s too bad, cause if Verbal were all the rage, I’d be a total stud.
As luck would have it, my chances for success in whore-dom are about as high as winning the lotto. It just isn’t in me, no matter how much I wish it was. That doesn’t mean I simply give up! Life isn’t worth living without dreams and aspirations! With age comes wisdom – which is thus far the only friggin’ bonus – and with that wisdom comes the occasional revelation.
Today’s revelation is the most interesting part, at least in my not-so-humble opinion. It’s also something which is often synonymous with this particular time of year – romance. For the truth at the heart of whatever the hell makes up me, is that no matter how naughty I’ve ever managed to get, at the end of the day there isn’t a single sexual experience that compares to being in love.
Everything’s better where love is concerned – even kissing – which is already almost the best thing ever. Nothing lives up to that feeling when you’re willing to give up a piece of yourself if only to prolong the experience for a little while longer. To be gaga enough that you allow yourself to stay lost in him until the need to come up for air is too strong to ignore. The reason for this stems from the fact that each person gives a damn. It’s no longer all about you and how you’re going to feel – you become more concerned with how he feels – because making his experience as incredible as you can ends up enriching your own. Tricky that, huh?
So what is the moral of this particular personal journey of mine, you may be wondering. Well kiddies, it’s actually pretty simple. I don’t want to be a whore after all, at least not in a true Merriam-Webster’s kinda way. That’s not who I am, and I realize at this stage in my evolution there’s not much point in pretending otherwise. That’s what our twenties are for. 🙂 I would however most heartily enjoy being a whore with one person. A steady john – who’s name could even be John – to love and to cherish – to honor and to service…I mean serve (when I’m in the mood for that sorta thing) and above all else, have insanely slutty sex with. Ah yes, my friends…tis a lovely dream at that.
A happy whorey weekend to one and all!