Penis Number One

Penis Number One, 6x8, 72dpi with Watermark

This is a color study I did a few years back.  It is mixed media on archival paper:  colored pencil, soft pastel, and oil pastel.  I am very proud of the sophisticated nature of the color system and ball sack texturing.  Somehow I managed to make the cock stalk glow with a copper patina finish!  But that is also a testament to the high-quality pigments in my materials.  The scrotal surfacing was achieved by a delicate sideways smearing of a white oil pastel stick, followed by various treatments with soft pastel powder and finger smearing with a light touch.  Finger work is also evident on the top of the quadriceps on the left.  The original size of the piece is 9″ x 12″, and the title is Penis Number One.  {>^<V}

Going, GOING, Weird

Guys seem to feel pretty comfortable with me.  And I am finally starting to feel more comfortable with myself.  It’s a self-propelling snowball of healing.  I have started to meet some pretty cool guys, guys who know how to talk and act like real men.  We are learning things from each other.  And it’s fucking HOT!

Apparently, this new medicine I’m on is making me have these wild double ejacs, because it has happened in the same way twice now.  It happens when my dick is inside a guy’s butt or mouth, and not when I masturbate yet.  But anyway, it’s really something so I’m going to verify with my doctor that it does not represent some kind of dyskinesia or other permanent injury from the medication.  I believe it falls under the side effect listed as “abnormal ejaculation”.  But abnormal could mean awesome as I am quickly finding out.

When I feel close to cumming, I relax and a large amount of semen comes out of my dick under a moderate amount of pressure.  Since I’m new to jizzing inside of a guy’s body, I don’t squirt it out hard like when I’m jacking myself or getting a handy.  But it definitely comes out.  The new friend I was with last night, Cameron, told me he was surprised at how much jizz there was in his mouth.  I also started taking some male enhancement supplements that have augmented my loads as well I think.  So when the guy released my dick from his mouth and spit out all the jizz, the same feeling happened in my dick again!  My dick told me it wasn’t done yet and I jacked myself to another much bigger orgasm and squirting out a bit more semen under the usual high amount of pressure.

The first time this happened was in Arnold’s rectum.  I came, and then my dick wanted me to thrust some more for the second climax.  It was my first time topping, so I thought it was an anomaly due to fucking a butt for the first time or whatever.  But now it happened a second time in an identical way!  Wow, thank you Mother Nature and pharmaceutical industry I guess?  I’m not entirely sure it’s a bona fide “double” ejaculation either; I think it’s more than likely one emission and orgasm, just spread out in a different way.  I hope it’s safe for me as a side effect.  Like I said, I am going to check it out with my pharmacist and doctor.

Life is a work in progress.  So many things are going better in my life that it’s hard to believe that I did something to injure my knee, but I did a couple months ago.  But, thanks to this medication, I’m not worried about it as much.  I can still swim and go nuts on my upper body lifting workouts.  And I can turn this situation into a positive by using the recovery time to fix the asymmetry in my back and develop cardiopulmonary endurance in the pool.  Then I can focus on growing my ass and legs again.

Things are looking up.  I used my epilator to remove all the hair from my perineum, which makes getting fucked much easier and more fun because the ass hairs don’t get caught between the dick and my anus.  It’s a great way to start caring for your anus and rectum.  It makes cleansing easier and other maintenance care such as anorectal moisturization, massage, and stretching and strengthening exercises.  It feels good to get to know your whole body, and stop thinking of any particular parts as being dirty or bad.  The colon, rectum, and anus can actually be quite clean on a regular basis, especially with lots of loving, patient attention, both directly and regarding diet.  I started to play with my anus several years ago, so I am quite familiar with what is going on down there, and the transition from using my rectum as an elimination organ to a sex organ is quite smooth for me now.  But it took time, care, gentleness, love, and attention.

It is what we men are meant to do:  to experience great health and pleasure from our pelvic floor, especially the prostate.  The more love and attention the prostate receives from your bros’ dicks the healthier it will become, and worrying about prostate problems will become a thing of the past.  It is the natural way we are meant to live, I believe.  {>^<V}

God, He Id Naa’t-dy, Yo

Think about how nasty nature is.  Mother Nature makes no apologies about anything She has created, or gets us to do.  Nature just gets the job done, in a hot nasty way, even when circumstances are against it.  Arnold and I had an enjoyable evening last night.  We alternated between me sucking him and him fucking me with my dildo.  I got us to take our time and relax, and I think Arnold followed suit from my example.  His dick is nice, comfortable in my mouth.  And his shot was even nicer.  It feels so awesome to make your bro squirt.  It’s so dirty and hot.  Arnold and I are definitely friends with benefits in the truest sense of that term, as there is no romantic angle to it at all.  Just bros doing what bros do best:  gettin’ each other off in the funnest possible way!  We don’t hug or kiss or anything like that.  But it’s such a good, laid-back time.  We had something to eat and drink while I washed the dishes, watched a movie, and then he asked if he could play with my masturbation cream and pulled his pants down.  I always leave the fun stuff–lubes, condoms, latex gloves, massage oils–sitting out in my place for just this reason.  This is the time when I feel such happiness for the gift of gay sex.

But on some level, I still put myself under pressure, a habit I am constantly trying to get rid of.  It’s a dreadful habit from years ago, when I would feel extreme anxiety to perform with guys.  So when it came to my turn, I got that same old annoying nervous feeling as he went down on me, despite my best efforts to just RELAX.  Anyway, it took forever for me to cum.  There’s no way he could use his mouth for that long, so he switched to jacking me with his hand.  But this is my buddy; he didn’t care.  In fact, he mentioned the positive aspect of the sex lasting longer in my case.  Also, the longer it takes for me, the bigger the load as well.  It was about four or five shots total–big gloppy squirts, the largest one of which landed all over my face and couch cushions.  (God don’t care about the couch cushions.)  Success!  But why don’t I feel successful on the inside?  I have successfully learned to be pretty relaxed when it comes to pleasuring/sucking/hand jobbing my bros and bringing them to ejac.  But I still have yet to come to terms with the reverse role.

I feel hurt, angry, and frustrated!  My nerves and dick and psyche don’t respond the way I want them to.  And I don’t want to just give up and say I’m a total bottom, because I know that I’m not.  For a while, I feared that maybe I permanently damaged my dick nerves with the enlargement process.  But I have since decided that is impossible because my morning woodies are hard as rock.  So it must be psychological in nature, and also medical?

I am getting some much-needed benefit from a small dose of an antipsychotic, but it’s definitely messing with me in other unfortunate ways.  This antipsychotic seems to be working for me by dulling perceptions a little bit, so I don’t get set off by them in either a manic or depressed direction, which is good for everything EXCEPT cock functioning I’m figuring out.  I don’t really know for sure of course, but this is my hunch.

Also, I’ve been masturbating and NEMOing on my back for years.  So that is the hydraulics state my body is used to.  My dick doesn’t stay hard when I stand up, so I practice getting aroused and hard while standing and walking around the room so I can fix this trend.  The drug is doing so many wonderful things for me, I don’t want to go off of it.  But I wonder what I would be like sexually if I weren’t on any medication?

I feel hope for a healthier, younger, more virile, future (due in part to the new drug making me feel good things like hope, peace, and happiness).  I am also of the opinion that furthering my body fat loss will fix a LOT.  If I lose enough fat, there is the possibility of going off of some of my medicines, and changing my life in a much more significant way.  There are at least two I may be able to get off of.

I have hope.  I believe in my dreams.  I have changed and healed for the better.  Mother Nature finds a way.  She did last night when She got me to squirt a bunch of thick gloppy jizz two feet in the air, despite my sorrow and other probs.  It was really nasty and quite a show.  That’s why I want to get into porn.  If I can just manage to iron out these other issues, I’ve obviously got some raw talent here.

I ask God and Mother Nature to help me heal my mind, heart, body, and shlong in every possible way.  I love how hot and nasty you are, Nature, and I want to participate in your messy, semen-drenched gay fuckfest to the fullest, as is my birthright.  I’ve got news for the lazy fags of this world:  real life can be like the pornos, AS LONG AS:

  • I am as patient and kind, and warm and loving with myself as I am with my bros.
  • I never give up on my health goals, and remember that I have hope and genuine capability for remarkable changes still to come.
  • I allow fears to pass away as I simply let go, and experience my bros pleasuring me one moment at a time.

There, I feel better.  I’m on track for today.  Workouts, fat loss diet, going to play tennis in a few minutes with new guy I met from a personals ad.  He says he’s an intermediate player like me, but we’ll just have to see how compatible we are.  He also claims to have an eight inch cock.  But that’s not nearly as important as how big the organ between his ears is.  And in his chest.

I know I’m weird, but I have the ability to socialize now so I’m going to take advantage of it.  What is your gay male sex life like?  Training tips, sex skills and experiences?  I would love to hear from you.  You can now follow my Facebook page and get all my posts from this point forward on there.  But don’t forget to check out the July, 2017, archive, available on the WordPress site.  Thank you.  {>^<V}

It/He/You Don’t Have to Be Perfect

God and Mother Nature got together to create evolution, and it is the veritable definition of imperfection.  This never-ending process of tinkering has “successfully” resulted in a planet on which the vast majority of species died out ages ago.  Yet for some reason, we have the capacity to imagine perfection.  Why?  Concepts such as success and failure, perfect and flawed, are entirely human inventions.  They have no basis in biological fact.  But love, I believe, does have a biological basis.  Yet most people do whatever they possibly can to circumvent it, even deny its existence.

Despite having to slither through a hot mess of astounding proportions to get there, the miracle of gay male love still manages to find its way to the surface.  Despite having to bear a veritable mountain of neglect, heartache, abuse, and suffering for almost forty years, somehow I am still alive and capable of starting over, psychologically, mentally, physically and, especially, emotionally and interrelationally.  The love of my biology still manages to find a way.

Love is a problematic word though.  I started using it to describe how I felt with my new friend Todd and, understandably, he got a bit worried because the terms of our relationship are that of a sexual friendship, not something more serious.  But I thought we cleared it up.  I tried to explain that I felt feelings of love because I believe in loving one’s friends.  There are so many kinds of love, yet only one word to describe them all.  So we English speakers are screwed–unless we choose to persevere through the messy work of explaining our feelings and motivations to someone who has the capacity to listen.

But what if you’ve never been listened to before?  What if you grew up in a family where everything you ever did or said or expressed or needed was either mocked or summarily ignored?  A family in which it did not matter what you did or said, or even how you did or said it, the message was always the same:  you and your need to be listened to, cherished, valued, acknowledged, and loved MEAN NOTHING.  YOU ARE NOTHING.  YOU DON’T EVEN EXIST.  And if you have the audacity to show signs of self-esteem on your own, YOU WILL BE DESTROYED.

So, as I tried to explain to Todd, not only have I never had a functional, dignified sexual relationship before now, I haven’t ever really had a normal, functional platonic relationship before either.  My previous relationships were always at my expense.  I recently had a bad weekend, but I had long since adopted the habit of hiding my suffering from everyone, my broken heart assuming that it would never be acknowledged or listened to anyway.  I didn’t realize how much pain I was in until I started having this conversation with Todd.  I think he understood why I started getting a little suspicious that perhaps he was blowing me off; on Monday I wrote him some rather terse text messages.  But, very ironically, Todd deals with a similar issue in that he told me how he is used to being used and discarded by sex partners himself.  So he has some pretty major insecurities too.  It was a difficult conversation, and very messy.

I became someone who doesn’t notice things, important things, that are right in front of my nose.  Now I know why.  It’s because I disacknowledged most of the things about myself as my family had done.  A week ago, I met Todd at a coffee shop.  He was nervous and pretty uncomfortable and it showed.  I remember seeing the fear in his eyes and the expressions on his face, but I didn’t act on that knowledge.  Fortunately he was patient enough to explain to me (a couple of times) the specific reasons why he felt that way with me in a public place.

We had a good talk over dinner today.  And our communicating still isn’t perfect.  It doesn’t have to be.  It never will be.  Not in this life anyway.  On Monday afternoon, I asked Todd an important question, and I didn’t get a straight answer, so those terse texts I sent him are actually much more reasonable now that I think about it.  Also we met like two and a half weeks ago!  It’s just that we hit it off so quickly and had the most obscure things in common, more of which we discovered today.  Time sure does dilate when it’s packed full of completely new socio-homoerotic experiences.  And you are each highly attracted to the other.  But now that this initial fiery force has settled a bit, we can move forward having learned important things about the other.  This process is called building trust.  At least I think it is.  I don’t know anymore what’s what.

Another flaky piece of crap just canceled on me.  And Spencer hasn’t written me in a few days.  It’s easy to get paranoid if you let yourself.  I’m just so incredibly afraid to get close to anyone because my heart and body can FEEL the rejection coming.  “It’s only a matter of time,” it says, “until you get destroyed once again.”  Until that friend stops writing you, until that cousin “explains” to you that your feelings are “wrong”.  How do you know it won’t happen this time?  You don’t.

A few weeks ago, I kind of snapped a little bit.  I realized that I had been alone almost full-time for twenty-plus years.  And I knew I could not take it anymore.  So I got up and did something about it.  I continued to go to a coffee shop every day to be around people as I had been doing for years.  But I also started to place really interesting, innovative personals ads to try to attract guys like me.  It has begotten mixed results.  And I had this bad weekend.  But my cousin helped me on Monday night.  She showed me love and acceptance via text message and even affirmed the validity of my feelings!  I could hardly believe my eyes.  I think she has finally started to understand some things about our family.  We have even planned a trip together next month, just the two of us.

I am so very tired of being so sick and poor and screwed up socially.  And I am even more tired of running into people who are the same.  Just when I think things are changing for me and I am undergoing a bona fide healing, something even worse comes to the forefront, bubbling up through the humongous tragedy of my life.  Then I have to deal with that and heal that, and come to a place of peace.  And then start the whole horrible process all over again.  I am scared for my future.

But then I remember my dreams of becoming a bodybuilder and fitness model.  And of finding true friendship and love.  And I feel hope all over again, even though it is far from perfect.  {>^<V}

Ahoy Cap’n NEMO!

Squeeze and release.  Squeeze and release.  When you get right down to it, that’s all that the climax of sexual response consists of.  Whether it’s the relatively quick succession of contractions that pump semen out of your crotch, or the longer muscular contractions in other parts of your body, it’s really about getting in touch with your body on the primordial level.  It’s the basic experience of your physicality through your own skin, muscles, and breath.  That’s why fucking is so closely related to working out and big emotions such as joy and rage–these are the emotions that usually get you to want to do something physical.

Yet most guys don’t know anything about this or, if they do, it’s on the most superficial level, or it comes from a needlessly complicated and affected place such as Taoist philosophy.  Reading some sort of instruction manual about how to achieve non-ejaculatory male orgasms (NEMO) may be a good place to start for some.  But it’s always better to just be told the truth from the beginning.  If you’re alive, then your body is already prepared to experience great love, sex, and dry and regular orgasms.  It’s that simple.  If you have muscles that you can contract, then all you have to do is practice nudging them in the pleasure direction by cultivating your horniness.

I started learning NEMOs when I was twenty-two years old from a book written by a Taoist healer and a western writer.  It was okay.  I guess I did learn some things, but it was a bit fussy.  All I really needed was practice in “reading” my own body and letting it lead the way through a decades-long journey of self-discovery.  I think books and research can help get one started, so give them a try if you truly have no idea what this post is about.

I also started playing with my rectum at that early point in my life, such that now I am very aware of what is going on down there.  Many guys have only recently started learning about sex and their bodies, so I feel quite frustrated that I am so far ahead of most men in this regard.  Hopefully I’ll meet a wise gay sexual dynamo like me soon.  Are you one?  If so, please write me today.

Anyway, back to dry cumming.  What does the body consist of for the most part?  Muscles, bones, organs, and skin.  Therefore, eventually feeling a full-body NEMO might require getting in touch (no pun intended) with your skin organ, which is the largest organ of your body.  Touching, caressing, stimulating, and playing with yourself is great fun–all over yourself.  Let your hands and fingers go where they want.

The next thing I figured out, with my particular body, is that my lungs are the pathway to bringing my orgasmic contractions away from my pelvic floor and into my upper body.  What I do is calm myself down and relax for a while before taking in a deep breath.  I hold the breath for a few moments and feel the sex feeling down my middle and start contracting my pelvic floor, legs, stomach, pretty much everything, even my neck, face, arms, and my hands turn in to fists.  And I start breathing again, of course.  It’s like a cum that never fully finishes, so it can last indefinitely.  It’s a great way to feel your personal POWER.  After a little bit, I bring it down and totally relax and breath normally.  But I don’t feel spent like one does after a regular ejac, so I can start all over again in a few moments or minutes–whenever I want–because the horny feeling doesn’t go away.  It’s a great way to make lovemaking LAST.

The loser guys, who believe sex is something that is literally supposed to last a few seconds, are missing out in ways they can’t possibly imagine!  I met one once.  I know he was trying his best, but he came while trying to put it in my ass; he couldn’t even get it in, much less thrust in and out.  He actually LECTURED me that real life isn’t like the pornos where the guys fuck forever.  I was like, have you ever tried it big guy?  I don’t know what they do in the pornos, but in REAL LIFE, a man can fuck for hours if he really wants to.  It just takes time, maturity, self-awareness, healing, and patience, all of which most men do not possess.  Another irritating thing this guy did was dribble instead of squirt.  I guess in real life, men don’t shoot like in the pornos…  Jesus God, could this guy be any lazier?  He really had a lot going for him:  a huge gray grower of a dick, over six feet tall, full beard, very nice.  But if you never get healthy, functional, positive information about male sexuality, then I guess this is how you end up.

I also think dribbling is unhealthy, because it prevents the full evacuation of the contents of the prostate which, over time, could lead to prostate problems.  You wanna get that stuff outta there, preferably in spectacular fashion!  It’s not showing off, it’s showing yourself and other men what is possible.  That’s why cultivating a group of friends, who get to know and trust each other, for fuck parties is so critically important for the healing of men.  The more men experience each other sexually, the less they will fear their gay sexuality and their own bodies.  In other words, if you see a lot of other men’s bodies, you intuitively learn that your own body is okay too, and you stop comparing it to the bodies of models and porno guys.  Admittedly, their bodies can be amazing and inspiring, but if you look really closely, you can see that they’re not perfect either.  No one is.  Every man’s body has uniquely charming features that can be expounded upon.  What are yours?  Please let me know.

So naturally, I now have a taste for Captain NEMO and his fabulous full-body fucks.  It’s fun!  Todd is really into it.  So I am in the process of getting more comfortable doing it in front of another guy.  It does take some explaining though.  When I find a guy who is into it (and let’s be honest, why would he NOT be), I try subtly to get the point across that it might look like I’m in some sort of pain, or having a seizure or something, but really I’m having an orgasm.  It’s taking place in other parts of my body, that’s all.  That usually makes sense to most guys.  Todd did continue to ask me if I were okay, even after I explained it, but that is very understandable in light of my going bonkers with NEMOs.  I mean my facial expressions get kind of crazed after a while.  I kept reassuring him, and it worked out beautifully.  Like everything else in life, this is an imperfect process that takes time and patience.  Yet, as complex as this might sound, it pales in comparison to what it takes to have a healthy friendship/relationship that continues to be safe and rife with functional communication.  Todd is a good soul who tries.  I am a good soul who tries.  Therefore, we have the potential for a long lasting adventure; the work of a happy sexual friendship never ends, but it is fun work that makes you glad to be alive, male, and super gay.  {>^<V}

Canada: the Promised Land?

This isn’t the only option.  The American way of handling sexuality as a whole, gay sexuality specifically, and gay socializing and culture is just one of several.  I have never experienced gay culture in Canada personally, but I have heard some things…

Like they allow full male nudity in the strip clubs/bars apparently.  I saw a documentary on sexuality by the BBC once, and they showed the interior of a club that might have been in Toronto.  It looked nice–clean, spacious, ample room on the bar.  I can’t imagine it was in America because this totally naked guy squatted down right in front of a customer, like a few inches from the guy’s drink!  Anyway, the stripper held his junk forward (probably a good idea around tipsy gay men) and let the customer fondle his crack and anus.  It was amazing.  The guy was sizzling hot; well-muscled and totally shaved.  I want to go to that place!

Then I met a man, on a date, who did go to a Canadian city near the border, for the purpose of visiting one of these clubs.  He confirmed that the laws are different and the strippers were, indeed, buck naked.  One of the first things I asked the man was where do they put their tips?  He described the joint as having a bit of a jock theme that night, so the strippers wore tennis shoes with those tube socks hiked up over their calves.  The socks held the money until their break.  Hmm, handy.

This conversation triggered the memory of a truly disastrous/hilarious date from years before.  This guy seemed great.  He picked me up and paid for lunch.  But the closer we got to his part of town–the GERMAN part of town–the more things deteriorated.  I was never in any danger, unless you consider being driven around by a nazi to be intrinsically dangerous.  He was just so PROUD of his German heritage.  It was a sunny day and the windows were down, so he began to point some things out as we made our way south on the main street of our town.  He delighted me with comments about how the black people standing on the corner were probably on their way to a drug deal, because they looked like they were in need of their next fix.  And he regaled me with stories about how during World Wars I and II, the townspeople tortured and murdered German breeds of dogs in the streets of the German neighborhood.  Sure he was a kook, but his feelings of hurt and anger were very real, I observed.

So, of course, I refused to see him again.  He wrote me twice totally bitching at me for not writing him back and “ignoring” him.  So I DID write him back and explained that I simply couldn’t afford to be seen in public with him; I value my reputation too much.  He stopped writing.

But I’m sure the reason I encountered him was because of his comment about Canada and her gay bars, strippers, culture, and men:  “It’s the promised land,” he said after regaling me with some stories about his trips there.  His eyes lit up with the energy of hope and joy, even if only briefly.  And I never forgot, even after all these years.  Now I can’t wait to go myself.  {>^<V}

Whaaaaaaaah? II

That stupid guy, the one who wrote me that tirade about how fat, bald, and unattractive he thinks he is, still has not written me back, and I don’t think he ever will.  Even after I clearly bent over backwards to assure and reassure him that I wasn’t shallow like that.  It’s really sad.  He didn’t believe me and he is probably the one still stuck on those ghastly homo-normative body requirements.  It’s so hilarious to me how supposedly grown men stick to these requirements, even when they don’t exhibit them themselves, or someone puts it in writing that they don’t care about such things, like I did.  Most gay men either seem to have very low self-esteem combined with an inferiority complex, or very low self-esteem combined with a completely unreasonable superiority complex.  And the men with any shred of self-esteem comprise such a small minority that one could easily give up the search.  I’m so glad I did not!

It finally happened.  Within a few days of each other a couple weeks ago, I met Spencer and Todd (not their real names).  Spencer responded to one of my unusual Craig’s List ads in which I tried to articulate how I was truly looking for SINGLE friends (plural) to get to know for the long term, and also to have sex with.  We soon met for coffee and really hit it off.  Spencer is very interesting and positive-minded.  He works on his health and pushes himself to improve on a regular basis, such as his current project to learn a foreign language.

Meeting Todd wasn’t so cut and dried.  On a Friday afternoon, I looked through the personal ads myself and found one with a photo of a very nice looking erect penis.  In any other circumstance I would have passed up such an annoying hookup ad, but something guided my hands to read the ad and write him; there is no other explanation.  Fortunately, before realizing what I was doing, I was talking to him and trading pictures.  And he was CUTE!  And handsome, with a full manly face, substantive dimples, and just all-around charm.  Everything was against us getting together, yet we still did later that night.  He is a plump boy too, but he had taken responsibility (unlike the other guy) for his health and his future.  Only a man with some level of self-esteem is capable of doing something that brave.  He had already lost about 135 pounds!

There was something different and special about Todd.  He wasn’t an impatient, childish piece of crap.  He had manners, and he showed up at my house within like seconds of his promised arrival time of eleven p.m.  We talked at length with our clothes on, and learned a great deal about each other.  But when we did start getting friendlier, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.  We talked a LOT during the sex and learned even more about each other.  Todd was nervous about taking his clothes off because he was still self-conscious about his weight, but I can see through fat into the real man inside.  And my intuition was spot on.  He is a good person who has so much potential as a long-term friend.  We haven’t stopped texting and visiting each other since.  Sometimes I’m not sure if he believes me when I say I’m attracted to him, but I understand because he told me how he has been rejected so many times by the flakes.  I hope he is able to heal that aspect of his self-image soon.  But it takes time.  And he has been working out at the gym all by himself to boot.  That shows character.  I, in turn, was equally afraid that he would soon lose interest in me, per my experience with EVERY OTHER GAY MAN I HAVE EVER MET IN MY LIFE.  But that’s not what happened.

Anyway, back to Spencer.  He and I couldn’t stop kissing the other night when we met after his foreign language lesson.  It was so freeing and healing.  He kept embracing me right there in the parking lot.  My fearful heart frequently made me look around to make sure no one was walking or driving up to us to engage in harassment or violence.  But no one did, and if Spencer noticed I was doing that, he didn’t say anything.  Healing itself is more than violent enough, I soon found out.

With Todd, the connection was on a deeper, more soul-based level, but Spencer is a little bit more mysterious.  The two times we have gotten together we took a long time to warm up to each other.  Then at some point the ice broke and everything changed.  It happened the same way, twice, from my perspective.  But it happened, that’s all that I care about.  Perhaps the warm-up time will shorten as we progress, but I don’t care.  It’s working.

I pushed myself out of my shell and comfort zone.  I pushed and pushed.  And pushed some more.  For several months now.  Then, the moment I found two awesome guys who care about me, my soul was profoundly moved in a deep, metaphysical manner.  It’s happened many times before, but not to this extent.  I’ve never really been cared about until now.  So my body went berserk.  Not because something is wrong or sick, but because the body only has so many ways to effect permanent change.  It’s also known as a healing crisis.

I met Spencer.  I met Todd.  Then the following Thursday I woke up with a scratchy throat.  And within thirty-six hours I was flat on my back with a temperature of 103.3.  I’m sure it was also due to letting the stress catch up with me without realizing it.  But I knew what was going on.  I worried it might be a doozy this time.  But it really wasn’t so bad, relatively speaking.  There was minimal nasal congestion so that made breathing while sleeping significantly easier than times past.  Also, the high temperatures weren’t as miserable as they usually were.  I came to the one most logical conclusion I could think of:  ultimately, the only avenue out of a lifetime of debilitating mental and physical illness was via the swift elimination of some pesky, depressed brain cells.  I figure my body realized it needed to kill off many of my original, injured, and depressed neurons to get past this point into a new life following a “miraculous” cure.  Well, it’s not as miraculous as it seems; after all, the mammalian body has been evolving all sorts of intricate ways to solve problems for millions of years.  Why should this be any different?  There were certainly more than enough freshly-born, exercise-induced neurons just waiting to come online.

I didn’t know how high to let the fever get so, naturally, I let my body lead the way.  At 103.3, I had the feeling to stop, and that the cooking of neurons to death was progressing swimmingly.  But after this point, the cooking of many other, healthy, body tissues including brain tissue would begin and I would risk more global injury.  So, I took two giant painkillers and made my way to the clinic at my grocery store.  It was a Saturday morning and I was the first in line.  I started antibiotics right away because it was strep on my tonsil and my right ear canal was rife with fluid.  It had only been forty-eight hours since my first symptoms.

The process was speedy and efficient.  With laser precision, something was getting in and getting out while effecting minimal discomfort, picking and choosing which neurons to destroy in a way no current medical technology could possibly hope to achieve.  Strep are ubiquitous, according to the nurse practitioner I saw, so that was the best and simplest method of getting the job done.  The mission accomplished, it was okay to knock it all out with the miracle of antibiotics, another efficacious agent my body would have been aware of.  My pee was almost brownish later that day, but I wasn’t worried.  Somehow I just KNEW that it represented the removal of the remains of the dead–the obliterated bodies of the neurons and other cells that had plagued me my entire life, and that I no longer need.  I was free.  FREE AT LAST.  And I look forward to the “miracles” that are in-store for me.  {>^<V}