Old Metal Road Block

This was written, over 10 years ago. I still think it's worth re-posting.

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I sat on my bed one night and looked at the computer screen. I want to write something. But what do I write? I wanted to write something that had in sex. That is mainly my driving point, but as of late, they have ended up with happy endings. Instead of the end of one affair with someone that they liked, but had no intention of staying with.

I may have lost my interest in torrid little affairs. I even surprised myself when I finished "The Maccoys" on a loving note. I think that it is being 21, single, and not having one single date since I was 16. Since I have been down here, everyone is asking me if I was married. Why on earth should I be married at 21? Plus, if I was married, I would not be down here anyway.

I look back at the screen. I have nothing left to write. I have written about teenagers, incest times two, three different ways, swinging, masturbation, rape, speculation about someone else's sex life, sex at work, sex in school with a teacher, sex in a park, sex with friends who turned lovers, one boy and one girl, sex in the bathroom of a bar, and even one where the sex life of other people are brought up for discussion.

I was thinking of writing something about two gay men. I was of course was going to give it a happy ending. But I don't know if I could write it. The idea is novel, but the idea still gives me the slight creeps. I have gotten use to it, and it might even turn me on a bit, but it is still odd. Like the idea of having sex is great, but at times the idea, is seriously gross.

I have never had "sex" I've coupled. I've made love. Some times it looks like having sex has nothing to do with love. Oh, by the way, when I said that I did not have "sex" but made love. I meant that I did not have intercourse. We held, kissed, rubbed against each other, and got partly or fully naked. Before I wised up, I gave blow jobs, I know that the number does not matter, but I only did it twice, and it was over a year between both of them. The same thing goes for when I had anal sex. I am so tight that they did not got all the way in. In fact they got nowhere. They just parted me and continually bummed into me. For kisses, I have the same story. My first set was over a period of four weeks, but only on four different days. I also had the year gap before I was kissed again. Same person for two days that was a day apart. My last encounter with all of this was 5 years ago. Lucky me.

The only good thing that is coming out of all of this, is the fact that I won't by some chance get AIDS. After my last encounter, I realized how dumb I was being. So I told my self that as far as I was going to go from now on, was kissing and groping, and maybe some body kissing. You're probably thinking, what would happen if the guy did not know this and was ready to go all the way? Well I was thinking about that when I meet this guy at a concert, that the band "Sponge" was having at a music store in Manhattan. He was interested in me and I was certainly interested in him. We powed around for about two hours before the gig started, but when it was over he disappeared. I am pretty sure that if my friend was not there I would have kissed him in the line while we were waiting to get in. That way I would not have this slight regret.

He was quite adorable, even if he did drink. His name was Chase, and he worked for a hockey team. I think that he said that he was in the promotions department, and the name of the team was the "Buccaneers". I forget for which part of Florida it belonged. Anyway there was the real likelihood that I was going to end up in his hotel room that night. I got my hand on his butt. He told me to. He had this sticker, and he wanted it on his back pocket, so he asked me to put it on him. After I did, his friend asked me if I had liked doing that and I told him that I did, with a grin on my face. I even wrote a poem about him. But it was not the kind that you think that it was.

So what do I write? I need to write something. I might have to go into period costume. Meaning? I might have to go back into time. Now I am not talking about hundreds of years ago. It will be sometime this century. But then I may not. We will have to see. So until then I have to live through this time of inactivity in writing.