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}

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}

Having Problems Really SUCKS

I got probs.  And the more men I meet, the more problems I uncover.  We learn who we are by our interactions with others–this is the normal way of life, and it’s long overdue for me.  Fortunately I already knew this, so it’s not as shocking and disorienting as it might have been otherwise.  But it still sucks greatly to discover that you have psychological issues with sex.

I have never had normal, functional sexual relationships before.  So, now that I am forming them, I experience so much stress in the bedroom that I shock my body into getting sick with a cold or a sinus infection.  I thought I was past all that because I started supplementing with some vitamins my pharmacist recommended, and had ceased getting sick all the time.  But now it’s happening again.  Ugh!

Years ago, I got into a very bad habit of feeling such incredible fear and pressure when I was with a guy, that I never calmed down from it.  So now it sneaks up inside of me and I don’t realize it until it’s too late.  It’s so ingrained I can’t just choose to relax easily.  It’s going to take some practice with a great new friend I made in Todd (pseudonym).  How did this happen?  How did I get into such a panic about sex?

It’s because I didn’t start soon enough, or on the right foot.  The first sexual encounter I had, I was so petrified with fear I gave myself diarrhea the next day.  I was twenty-one I think.  I had had relatively good experiences with masturbation since the age of thirteen so, naturally, I get hard pretty easily when I’m by myself still to this day.

But with other guys…such a problem for me.  My friend Todd is so wonderful.  He is patient and kind and understanding, just the sort of chap I need.  All things can be healed with enough love and patience.  And I might need a lot.  The topping of Arnold was an excellent example of this.  I somehow got myself to relax and respond naturally.  I didn’t have performance anxiety because he was new to it as well.  Somehow I must have decided on a deeper level that I was going to be calm and relaxed.  Perhaps I didn’t care how my dick performed with Arnold because we were just experimenting.  But with Todd, I think I got back into my old habits because I wanted to impress him and make him feel good and show him how horny I was for him.  The more I want my dick to get hard, the softer it gets!  It must be a form of distraction; the mental wanting of my cerebrum takes the energy away from my brain stem.

It’s also the ambivalence my subconscious still has toward being male and topping.  I understand why guys are total bottoms.  If they had a similar problem growing up, then it makes sense that they might just give up on penetrating altogether.  But, of course, there are many all-bottom guys in the world, with innumerable reasons for how they got that way as adults.  Gay lovemaking with my beautiful new beaux (Arnold, Todd, and Spencer) is supposed to be fun!  But I must be patient with myself.  Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither is the pillar of sexual healing.  {>^<V}

Rosy the Wiener

White guys can be so hot.  I’ve noticed that if a white guy has a rosy face, then his dick and scrotum are usually rosy as well.  But if he has very dark features, such as one of those five o’clock shadows that makes his face look gray from a distance, then his dick and balls can be gray or even olive.  I’m one of the rosy ones.  So is my friend Todd.  His entire cock is pinky, not just the head.  So are his lusciously full lips.  I don’t think there’s anything more beautiful in the universe than a ruggedly handsome guy–you know, muscles, beard, chiseled brow and jaw–who has the lips of an angel, or the eyelashes of a doe.  Once I met a guy at the gym who looked like he was wearing rouge, that’s how naturally pink his cheeks were (face cheeks, that is).  I have ridiculously rosy cheeks.  It’s probably due to my Swiss-German ancestry.  I wish I got a thicker/blacker beard and bush, but oh well, you can’t have everything.  I’m sure there are darky guys out there who wish they had my eyes or something.

But I digest (just kidding, I know the word is digress).  Anyway, one of the darky kind of guys was fucking me one recent Saturday night.  A darky fucking a pinky!  He had the very full, dense five o’clock shadow I mentioned, complete with dimples just like Tom Selleck.  But somehow this guy was even hotter.  He shaved his body hair except for his bush, so that only made it stand out even more!  I complimented him on it, and he laughed awkwardly like he was embarrassed.  I pulled his gorgeous muscular hindquarters in close and asked him to go as deeply as he could so I could feel that beautiful black bush tickle my scrote.  I don’t think he was prepared for my exuberance.  What a waste of sumptuous bush and elephant-gray dick though.  He seems to be another clueless guy when it comes to conversation and making time for his sex life.  To make a long story short, he might be one of these turds who believes that his time and schedule are the only ones that matter.  I feel disappointed.  I wanted to get to know him.  He seemed nice underneath his stuck-uppery.  He had a really neat house too.

Oh well, once God closes a door, something better comes through the window.  I shall assume that I will meet a wonderfully kind, warm, and communicative guy very soon–a guy who is both a darky and a pinky at the SAME TIME!  Thick black stubble, dimples, eye lashes like a Mediterranean waiter, and the bright, blushing face and ass lips of the newest member of the Swiss Guard…

A guy like this for example:

Andre van Vliet

André van Vliet, world-renowned organist.

{>^<V}

Whaaaaaaaah?

Apparently I’m doing better than I thought.  Making the transition from an insecure young person devastated by mental illness, who was brainwashed into taking on a woman’s persona, into a happy, hot, sexy muscle guy who truly feels like a real man on the inside too, is possible.  I almost gave up several times, but I’m glad I didn’t.  I must have had subconscious faith in myself and my dreams.  I always felt so bad that I took it for granted that guys would look down on me, especially hot guys.  And the possibility of them feeling jealous or intimidated?  Wow, that didn’t cross my mind until today.  I keep forgetting that American men are masters of hiding their true feelings.  I know I did it for decades.  Why do I keep getting fooled?

My erect dick started out at 5.75 inches long.  But through a lot of perseverance with my penile enlargement exercises, I have made it to 7.00 inches on the dot.  It sticks out far now.  Guys seem to notice.  And the more fat I lose down there, the bigger it appears.  I definitely would like to make it even bigger.  It takes a long time and you have to be careful not to overdo the exercises.  But it does work, obviously.  I can’t help it.  I gotta either have a huge cock and/or get my hands on one, one way or another.  A good friend of mine has a boyfriend with an eleven inch dick.  When he told me I started to cry, no joke.  Right there in the coffee bar.  The barista gave me a free drink.  He probably thought we were talking about someone who died.  I felt sad that the guy met my friend before me.  My rectum felt sad too.  Using dildos, I calculated that I can fit 9.5 inches of whatever into my boy pussy.  That would leave about an inch and a half of wiggle room…

I got to know the eleven inch guy.  And you know what?  He’s a bit precious.  He clearly enjoys spending time with me; when he does grace me with a get-together, he opens up and we talk and have lots of fun.  But he still hasn’t returned several important text messages I sent him days ago.  Once I texted him when my car broke down.  Everyone else I knew was busy or out of town, and I was trapped in the Whole Foods parking lot–a fate worse than death.  I was surrounded by pretentious douchewads as far as the eye could see but, in their defense, two of them did help me bump start my car.  Anyway, the guy totally blew me off.  Apparently he’s moody and goes home and plays his guitar by himself for hours on end, due to him being so deep I guess.  These are classic symptoms of low self-esteem, and I fear he is depressed.  Fortunately he has my good friend as a boyfriend.  Anyway, I wonder why he doesn’t have some sort of penis-related self-esteem.  But if self-esteem were physiologically connected to one’s penis, then we both should have superhero confidence, right?  I’ve had a rather hefty seven-incher for a couple years now, but I have developed self-confidence by many other means that I do not wish to gloss over in this post.  But I shall save them for another time.

Tonight, however, this is what happened.  I met a guy on Craig’s List and we seemed to hit it off.  He said he was interested and sent me his picture.  He was a bit plump, but I didn’t mind.  I liked his crotch.  And his face was so cute!  I just wanted to meet new guys and socialize anyway.  Rejecting him for his weight was the furthest thing from my mind.  But the whole time it turned out that he was super insecure about it.  Finally, we got into an email argument over nothing, and he wrote, “And we’re finished.”  I was like, wow, so dramatic.  I wrote him back to explain that if he couldn’t handle the simplest of conflicts, then how exactly did he function at work, for example?  And that I genuinely liked him and gave him a chance.  I assumed that I would not hear from him, and I wasted my valuable time and energy on yet another ridiculously immature flake.

Then something interesting happened.  He wrote back with a lengthy tirade about how guys always find something to reject him over, and all the pain he was in over being overweight and out of shape.  I could hardly believe my eyes:

  • I know I’m not fit and handsome like you, and obviously you have your shit together and I don’t, you’re witty and intelligent, and you have a big dick–many good attributes.  I liked you too, and I was flattered that you even talked to me.  Fat, ugly, out of shape, bald me.  But there always seems to be something where when guys see me they find something to nitpick just to get out of being with a fat ugly guy.  I’m sorry, maybe that’s just my wall that I’ve built, but that’s how I feel.  I’m always on guard and probably overreact.  Okay so this is a rant–I’m sorry.

I really didn’t mind the weight.  He didn’t appear to be morbidly obese or anything like that.  I bent over backwards in previous emails to assure him that I was not concerned about his appearance.  But obviously he did not hear me.  I decided to try a different approach with my response:

  • You may be surprised to learn that I used to be overweight and very out of shape.  But I decided to change and was a personal training client for four and a half years nonstop.  I’ve been relatively hot for enough years now that I forgot what you might be going through.  But I am still over twenty percent body fat.  Guess what!  I have really thinning hair and thick red psoriasis on my scalp.  I took it for granted that fatter guys would NOT feel intimidated by me, but I was wrong of course.  I understand what you say in your email.  All guys want to be hot.  I’m sorry guys were mean to you.  Like I said, the guys who were born hot are all but worthless.  They are really horrible.  I have stories of them.  They don’t even know how to speak like a man.  I’ve met some who literally seemed retarded.  It’s crazy.  If I meet a kind hot guy I will let you know, in the mean time it’s up to the rest of us to find a way to meet and be friends and fuck I guess.  🙂

Here’s the deal.  The difference between being born hot and becoming hot later in life cannot be overemphasized.  It’s like the difference between being a native speaker of French and learning it from scratch as an adult with flash cards.  And I’m not even extremely ripped or anything yet!  But apparently, this guy assumed I have my “shit together”?  Good God, if only he knew.  I’ve been trying so hard for so many years to make up for the depth of my insecurity and perceived lacks, that I forgot to notice how far I’d come.  Native French speakers are notorious cunts, just like the hot fags who treat everyone they meet like shit, especially if you dare to have more than an ounce of fat.

Once, at college, our native French teacher’s parent’s showed up during class; they were visiting from the homeland.  The previous day this instructor, who was actually pretty nice, told us they were coming, and encouraged us to practice speaking French with them.  So, naturally, when there was a lull in the conversation, I gathered my nerve and bravely asked if they had been to any shows on Broadway.  New York is known for the theater, of course.  I thought this would be an excellent way to start.  I don’t even remember how I said it because it involved one of the past tenses–you know, Have you been to the theater, that sort of thing.  Well, the dad totally yelled at me!  He was like, NO.  We HAVEN’T BEEN to the THEATER.  One could have heard the proverbial pin drop in the classroom.  I looked at my teacher.  She looked embarrassed, which helped a little.  No wonder everybody hates these goddamn fucks.  Years later, an American French professor, who went to boarding school in France as a child, explained it to us:  they are taught by the school system from an early age to have a cultural superiority complex.  That, combined with a hefty national chip on their shoulder, makes for a pretty unpleasant group of people.  Just like the hot fags who roll out of bed every morning looking like a Greek god.

So it finally happened.  Someone out there is jealous of the forty-one-year-old guy who can’t work, pulls in a cool ten thousand dollars a year from Disability, has to live in a bad part of town, and has a hard time brushing his teeth regularly.  And all because I’ve managed to counteract my dumpy genes with several years of nonstop ass kicking in the gym to put on a few pounds of muscle.

Please continue reading at Whaaaaaaaah? II.

{>^<V}

 

Things & People Are Not What They Seem II

Apparently who a person is, is far more complex than I could have ever imagined.  Our only hedge against utter life-long pandemonium is self-awareness, so that we don’t constantly repeat the same old dumb mistakes, and waste a bunch of innocent people’s time.  To make matters worse, what if part of your body doesn’t work right?  For example, I have a HUGE problem.  My level of dopamine, a critical neurotransmitter necessary for life, has never been in the normal range.  My doctor uses antidepressants and dopamine agonists to try to increase the level, but it’s not working out well.  So, as I go through the process of changing drugs and dosages from time to time, I discover the most peculiar things about my character and true motivations.

When I’m on a higher dose of ropinirole (being used as an antipsychotic), my life comes alive mentally.  I can sit down and accomplish a lot of cerebral tasks such as writing in this blog for example, doing various art projects, learning new software, and completing foreign language lessons.  But my physical life completely falls apart.  I start getting lethargic and experiencing that horrible fuzzy zombified feeling.  My joints and muscles hurt and don’t respond with power and strength during workouts.  In fact, I cease having any interest in working out at all, despite the fact that I LOVE working out.  My personality mostly changes for the better, but I start getting the most wicked headaches in the evening.

When I’m on a lower dose of ropinirole, my life falls apart mentally.  Symptoms of depression and psychosis return, as does the drive to work out in the gym and fuck, hard and satisfyingly.  Apparently being a little psychotic and being a badass in the gym and bedroom go hand in hand?  I return to the state of grace in which I can work out for at least ninety minutes, if not more.  My strength, focus, and wiener come alive as more and more disturbing thoughts spontaneously enter my attention against my will–until I begin working out that is.  Workouts are a temporary reprieve from the pain of living.

I’ve already accepted that life is not fair.  But many would agree that this is just over the top.  I mean seriously, this state of things is not just unfair, it’s beyond cruel.  Whether I can get through the day depends on what medications I’m on and how much, not the fortitude of my personal attitude choices.  Over the past forty years I have suffered, suffered, and suffered some more and I’m just tired.  My nervous system is totally out of my control.  My doctor says that I have one of the most stubborn cases of depression he’s ever seen.

Why?  How could this happen to someone?

My doctor finally explained it to me:  extreme stress in early childhood.  My earliest memories are of white hot fear and suffering.  I never had a chance; I know now that my mother was in an extraordinary, prolonged, state of stress while I was in utero, and so my tiny nervous system got acid-washed with stress hormones since, well, before it was a nervous system.  I have been severely depressed and psychotic since I was about four.

This decades-long odyssey of torture and near-death experiences is not the real me:

  • Instead of tanning like an absolute caramel-butter dream like I did when I was a kid, I am a particularly ghastly shade of pale due to a particular side effect of the antidepressants I have taken since I was fourteen.
  • Instead of being the picture of vibrant health and gigantic physical development I have wanted since I was a teenager, I struggle to work out and put on mass due to the dramatic suppression of muscle function inherent to psychiatric drug therapy.

  • Instead of making my elite fitness dreams come true and having a credible chance at winning big money in fitness contests, I engage in circuit and other forms of intense training at my peril.  One persistent side effect I have is a skyrocketing heart rate.  Underneath all the drug therapy, I possess crazy-high cardiopulmonary endurance, but one would never know from the way I trudge through exercise classes and swimming, constantly having to stop to catch my breath and take a BPM reading.  Teachers still give me a pep talk about how a “beginner” like me needs to just “stick with it”.  I’ve been sticking with it nonstop for seven and a half years.  I was a personal training client with professional trainers for four and a half of those years.  If I didn’t have to take any medicine I would, quite simply, be the biggest badass in the county, or maybe even the state.

  • Instead of finishing the prestigious film school degree I was given–with huge scholarship–and entering the elite film industry to fulfill my every creative fantasy, I now live on Disability and handouts from my family.  I am totally unable to work to support myself, despite having attempted to do so about fifty-five times since 1996.  I struggle to keep up with the payments on many thousands of dollars of unsecured credit card debt.  I have no assets, no retirement savings, and am almost totally unemployable due to my undesirable work history.  Yet, I have never once been fired or disciplined on the job.

Because my mom chose not to take care of herself decades ago, I’m completely fucked now.  My full-time job for over a quarter of a century has been improving my nervous system with diet and exercise, but the moment I reduce the dosage of any of my medications, I become suicidal in a matter of days.  Basically, I haven’t altered my nervous system, even in a small way.  My doctor explained to me that physical exercise has been proven to stimulate the production of new, non-depressed, neurons.  Why isn’t this working for me?

My life was over before it even began.  Still to the present day, my astonishingly retarded family expects me to take care of them and their emotions whenever we are together.  My sister, who is an experienced, working, graphic design professional, REFUSES to help me start my freelance business or get clients, even though I am a patently multi-talented artist and everyone, including her, regularly compliments my work.

I used to feel sorry for others, such as the people in my family, or people in other, shittier, countries.  But now I know the truth of who I really am.  And my life and I are not what I thought they were.  The real me has been hidden under a Niagara Falls of other people’s worthless shit.  I am now, and have always been since birth, completely alone.  Perfectly rejected by everyone I have ever met.  Or so I thought.

Now that I have finally found an antipsychotic I can tolerate, I’ve begun to remember all the good people I didn’t notice over the years.  All the kind, interesting, caring individuals who showed me understanding, listening, and compassion.  It was a lot to absorb and come to terms with, as I remembered all the people who tried to show me love.  The only trouble was I was too good at noticing the bad people, and not skilled enough in noticing the good ones.  But it’s never too late to heal and change.

My nervous system doesn’t work.  All I can do is keep taking the right medicines in the right amounts to facsimilate as normal a mental experience of life as possible.  But many other parts of my body do work, and work fabulously well.  My sex drive, for example.  More than one lover has informed me that my sexual appetite and abilities are quite above average.  I thought it was normal to cum three times in an evening.  I thought everybody was doing it.  Anyway, focusing on the health of my body, and slowly healing my social abilities to get my basic needs for love, touch, sex, and intimacy met, is what I am meant to do now, despite the constant fear of financial ruin.

I’m only 41.  Maybe I am meant to start my life all over again.  Maybe I can learn how to notice only the good guys, at the expense of all the lousy.  People regularly tell me I look as though I’m in my twenties.  Maybe this was all meant to be.  I might never be able work at a traditional job, but maybe there’s a reason for that.  Maybe I am meant to be an artist and/or a househusband.  My first personal trainer asked me whether I were a “lover” or a “fighter”.  That’s easy, I thought, I’m a lover, a child born under the sign of Venus, two-fold (At my birth Libra was on the horizon at dawn, so the sun was in both Libra and the current rising sign.).  And I’m a lover of beauty to be sure, especially male beauty.

Once I had a dream in which a big, muscly robot lost his head.  But he was fine.  The rest of his body simply adapted, as he crawled around to find things, poured robot fuel down his neck hole, etc.  He wasn’t in any pain; in fact, it was a relief.  Then he found me and, of course, we could still fuck; your dick ain’t on your head after all.  It was weird at first, but his headless body quickly took on the appearance of an intact whole.  And his head happily lay on the ground a few feet away, but he didn’t feel the need to put it back on.  Besides, he now had me to help him find things and lead the way.  {>^<V}