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thoreauso - back here - I posted asking folks to comment on a post and throw at me random ideas for short stories - and that I'd would do one-a-week of approximately 1000 words.
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jimwnyc wrote this sentence, "“Make yourself happy,” he said. “Do what makes you happy and I’ll be happy.” I looked in his eyes and took him at his word, but was still scared. It was only when he smiled that I had the strength to jump…"
1000 words is still very hard to stick to. It is helping me say more in fewer words, like reducing a sauce in the kitchen. That (in writing) can't be a bad thing to learn to do better. I like the rawness and the "voice" this story brought out.
I still need to work on conversation - - and rely less on the inner-voice to do the talking. That can be a goal moving forward - I'm pretty happy with this 2nd entry in the 30 week short story challenge.
2/30: Don't ever let it end....
“Make yourself happy,” he said. “Do what makes you happy and I’ll be happy.”
I looked in his eyes and took him at his word, but was still scared. It was only when he smiled that I had the strength to jump in my car and leave.
We had stayed together way past the freshness date. We may have made it to ten years together – but he and I had left one another at least two years earlier.
I realized that we’d stopped touching and even kissing each other goodnight, and that was when I leaned over the kitchen counter and said, “We’re over aren’t we!?”
“I guess we are. I guess we have been?”, he replied.
With that, we simply ended our relationship. We’d put the house on the market – selling it to a saccharine sweet Mormon couple.
I still get a kick out thinking of them raising their child in the room where I’d hung the sling. I wonder if he’ll look up at the ceiling one day and ask his Mom what used to hang from the ceiling in his room.
“Oh plants, dear,” she’ll say, silently trying to forget that two gay men had owned this house before her.
I also love that the gay pride flag in tulips blooms on the side yard for all to see. A waterfall of homosexual pride every March to June. My ex and I would joke that planes landing could see it as they came in – that were the rainbow landing strip. Of course, this was Boise and not San Francisco.
It is funny actually the things you’ll accept as okay when you are “in” a relationship. With all the hysteria these days around gay marriage and monogamy – it is no wonder that gay men that find themselves in a relationship in a rural setting will do anything to hold onto it. Denial is a powerful thing.
The disappointment looking back on years of accepting that in your life though makes the final breakup rather bittersweet. I’d given up all forms of intimacy yet stayed in the relationship. I can’t imagine how that seemed okay. Let’s face it – if you and your partner/boyfriend/husband aren’t fucking? You aren’t in a relationship – you are simply roommates with someone you stopped fucking a long time ago. Now, one could say – relationships are about learning to live with each other – and that compatibility is more important. Honestly – if the man you “love” isn’t loving you sexually? Then there isn’t much compatibility there.
Men are pigs – particularly gay men. And I mean that in the most sincere complimentary way. So – when you find yourself not thinking about sex when you are home with your husband - - how is that a compatible relationship. I love sex – and jack off and think about it all the time - - - so how could I accept a sexless relationship?
It created a self image problem that took years to undo. I allowed myself to gain lots of weight – I mean – why not eat and be a little heavier if you don’t have to keep yourself sexually compatible. I allowed myself to learn how to beat off and shoot off a load as fast as possible – dehumanizing even my daily self love.
So there I was – after ten years, single and living in a rural town. Not exactly the place to rediscover your sexuality – and find adventurous like-minded men to be with. Not unless your definition of adventurous was a closeted Catholic sleeping with a closeted Mormon.
So I turned to the internet – I started reading stories, downloading porn I was interested in, and joining sites where I could meet guys like me. Only thing was – it had been so long since I had asked for what I wanted, I didn’t know what it was anymore. That’s a tough space to be at when you are 38 years old.
When I came out in the big city – I’d sucked every cock for miles and arched my back in more than a few bathhouses. But now – 18 years later – it seemed like an eon ago. I hadn’t fucked a man – or been fucked for almost 5 years. What did fucking mean? It meant learning to use condoms again – and learning to say outloud “I like to fuck and I like to be fucked.”
I wasn’t even sure it was the truth – but it was what I had missed so very much in my relationship. I missed that puzzle-piece kind of sexual communication that left no doubt you were desired. I missed the scent that fills a room when two men fuck.
I came out in the midst of the AIDS crisis – so I’ve never known a time when fucking was something you could do and simply not think about it. I wish I could know what it feels like to fuck with wild abandon and not worry about something that is solvable with a little penicillin. I still do get such a wild charge out of saying to a man that I want to fuck him – that I can’t imagine the charge it had when it wasn’t accompanied by the condom chat and the ‘yeah – I’m HIV+ chat.’
If I’m honest with myself – fucking is the way I communicate the ultimate compliment. Someone is so beautiful that I want to get inside them and hold their beauty as close to me as I can. Sure – that’s an overtly romantic way to see sex, but it is who I am at my core. The romantic in me takes charge – particularly in intensely sexual situations.
There is nothing like that first time someone looks you in the eye as you get inside them – and you can feel their warmth wrap around you. For me, it’s nature’s way of telling that being gay is absolutely who I am to my core. That romantic moment when a man’s eyes say “please, get inside me and press your beauty against me, and don’t ever let it end.”
jimwnyc wrote this sentence, "“Make yourself happy,” he said. “Do what makes you happy and I’ll be happy.” I looked in his eyes and took him at his word, but was still scared. It was only when he smiled that I had the strength to jump…"1000 words is still very hard to stick to. It is helping me say more in fewer words, like reducing a sauce in the kitchen. That (in writing) can't be a bad thing to learn to do better. I like the rawness and the "voice" this story brought out.
I still need to work on conversation - - and rely less on the inner-voice to do the talking. That can be a goal moving forward - I'm pretty happy with this 2nd entry in the 30 week short story challenge.
2/30: Don't ever let it end....
“Make yourself happy,” he said. “Do what makes you happy and I’ll be happy.”
I looked in his eyes and took him at his word, but was still scared. It was only when he smiled that I had the strength to jump in my car and leave.
We had stayed together way past the freshness date. We may have made it to ten years together – but he and I had left one another at least two years earlier.
I realized that we’d stopped touching and even kissing each other goodnight, and that was when I leaned over the kitchen counter and said, “We’re over aren’t we!?”
“I guess we are. I guess we have been?”, he replied.
With that, we simply ended our relationship. We’d put the house on the market – selling it to a saccharine sweet Mormon couple.
I still get a kick out thinking of them raising their child in the room where I’d hung the sling. I wonder if he’ll look up at the ceiling one day and ask his Mom what used to hang from the ceiling in his room.
“Oh plants, dear,” she’ll say, silently trying to forget that two gay men had owned this house before her.
I also love that the gay pride flag in tulips blooms on the side yard for all to see. A waterfall of homosexual pride every March to June. My ex and I would joke that planes landing could see it as they came in – that were the rainbow landing strip. Of course, this was Boise and not San Francisco.
It is funny actually the things you’ll accept as okay when you are “in” a relationship. With all the hysteria these days around gay marriage and monogamy – it is no wonder that gay men that find themselves in a relationship in a rural setting will do anything to hold onto it. Denial is a powerful thing.
The disappointment looking back on years of accepting that in your life though makes the final breakup rather bittersweet. I’d given up all forms of intimacy yet stayed in the relationship. I can’t imagine how that seemed okay. Let’s face it – if you and your partner/boyfriend/husband aren’t fucking? You aren’t in a relationship – you are simply roommates with someone you stopped fucking a long time ago. Now, one could say – relationships are about learning to live with each other – and that compatibility is more important. Honestly – if the man you “love” isn’t loving you sexually? Then there isn’t much compatibility there.
Men are pigs – particularly gay men. And I mean that in the most sincere complimentary way. So – when you find yourself not thinking about sex when you are home with your husband - - how is that a compatible relationship. I love sex – and jack off and think about it all the time - - - so how could I accept a sexless relationship?
It created a self image problem that took years to undo. I allowed myself to gain lots of weight – I mean – why not eat and be a little heavier if you don’t have to keep yourself sexually compatible. I allowed myself to learn how to beat off and shoot off a load as fast as possible – dehumanizing even my daily self love.
So there I was – after ten years, single and living in a rural town. Not exactly the place to rediscover your sexuality – and find adventurous like-minded men to be with. Not unless your definition of adventurous was a closeted Catholic sleeping with a closeted Mormon.
So I turned to the internet – I started reading stories, downloading porn I was interested in, and joining sites where I could meet guys like me. Only thing was – it had been so long since I had asked for what I wanted, I didn’t know what it was anymore. That’s a tough space to be at when you are 38 years old.
When I came out in the big city – I’d sucked every cock for miles and arched my back in more than a few bathhouses. But now – 18 years later – it seemed like an eon ago. I hadn’t fucked a man – or been fucked for almost 5 years. What did fucking mean? It meant learning to use condoms again – and learning to say outloud “I like to fuck and I like to be fucked.”
I wasn’t even sure it was the truth – but it was what I had missed so very much in my relationship. I missed that puzzle-piece kind of sexual communication that left no doubt you were desired. I missed the scent that fills a room when two men fuck.
I came out in the midst of the AIDS crisis – so I’ve never known a time when fucking was something you could do and simply not think about it. I wish I could know what it feels like to fuck with wild abandon and not worry about something that is solvable with a little penicillin. I still do get such a wild charge out of saying to a man that I want to fuck him – that I can’t imagine the charge it had when it wasn’t accompanied by the condom chat and the ‘yeah – I’m HIV+ chat.’
If I’m honest with myself – fucking is the way I communicate the ultimate compliment. Someone is so beautiful that I want to get inside them and hold their beauty as close to me as I can. Sure – that’s an overtly romantic way to see sex, but it is who I am at my core. The romantic in me takes charge – particularly in intensely sexual situations.
There is nothing like that first time someone looks you in the eye as you get inside them – and you can feel their warmth wrap around you. For me, it’s nature’s way of telling that being gay is absolutely who I am to my core. That romantic moment when a man’s eyes say “please, get inside me and press your beauty against me, and don’t ever let it end.”
