Jason Rimbaud

Current Music Selection: DJ Sammy Current State: Flying the V Current Mood: Somewhat sad So I went to dinner with my older brother tonight. My first mistake was showing up sober. Why did I think it would be different this time? It?s been ten years since he found out I was gay. How much fucking time does he need to accept who I am? So I?m from a religious family. So my lifestyle is one long sin and I have an open reservation into the seventh layer of hell. Do I really need him to lecture me on morals and righteous living? He?s working on his third marriage and I?m morally deficient. While he?s telling me how promiscuous ?my kind? behaves, he?s flirting with the waitress. And she couldn?t have been more than eighteen. Maybe the left should re-evaluate their belief systems. And he says I broke our mother?s heart. I?m pretty sure her expectations and desires didn?t include having three daughter-in-laws or three grandchildren by two different mothers. Fuck, she should be happy she got grandkids at all after all the lectures she drilled into our heads about the dangers of sex. I remember the last time I was in the same room as my parents; I was surrounded by a group of ?concerned? family friends who decided I need a prayer circle to cleanse me of my sinful ways. Believe me when I say that no amount of chanting or yelling will ever cure my desire to suck cock. It?s bred into me on a very basic level. You know, genetically. My mother calls me periodically to guilt me into becoming straight. Or to read me passages of scripture that describes in disturbing detail what awaits in the afterlife for people like me. Thanks to her, I now know that people like me are a bunch of pedophiles, drug addicts, and sex offenders that only end up in jail or dead from sexually transmitted diseases. Looking on my life, I figure I?m doing all right. I only have two of those problems at the moment. But then I?m still young yet. I remember a few years ago, my mother drove from the Valley to San Francisco to see me. She called me at seven AM and wanted to go to breakfast. She kept saying how much she missed our relationship and wanted to mend the fences so to speak. After I kicked out the boy I picked up the night before and hid my drugs, I arranged for her to come pick me up at my apartment. Much to my surprise, she?s waiting for me in the lobby of my building. So I let her up and as I shower and get rid of the smell of sex, I hope that we can somehow achieve peace between us. As a child, my family was close. I lost my father shortly after I came out. Well, I never came out so to speak. It was more I got caught in the living room sucking off one of the boys from church. My brother stills claims the shock of finding out his youngest son was a faggot caused the stroke that slowly took his life. Maybe that?s the reason my mother hates me so, I killed her husband. During breakfast, my mother apologized for the way she had been behaving and asked my forgiveness. I was shocked. There was a god and he answered my prayers. We cried and for a moment, I felt like I was complete again. I might not have my mother?s approval or understanding but I knew I had her unconditional love and support. For those two hours, my life was perfect. Her words, I still remember so clearly. ?I want you to know everything I did, everything I?ll do, is always with your best interest. I love you Jason, don?t ever forget that.? Those words accompanied me back to my apartment. But the illusion of those words were shattered when I opened the door and saw my childhood minister and three imposing men waiting for me in my living room. Again, my mistake in trusting my mother. I escaped conditioning only because I was over eighteen and legally they could not take me against my will. That was the last time I saw my mother. But sadly, that was not the last I heard from my mother. While I was in the shower washing away the sex, my mother was busy putting little post-it-notes around my apartment. In my dresser, under my sheets, in the pockets of all my shirts, my desk, my kitchen cabinets, anywhere you could possibly think of posting a note, she posted. Each note with a different scripture verse and corresponding reason why I should stop being gay. Family. My brother and I really have nothing in common. He?s straight and like all straight people, he has an agenda. To alter anyone like me into his ?Normal? behavior. To keep people like me from ever marrying or enjoying the same freedoms. My first mistake was arriving sober. My last mistake was allowing him to make me feel bad about being gay. Sometimes I hate my life and wish I were never born this way. Sometimes I hate being gay. That sometime is today. I hate being gay. I hate the way it makes me feel. I hate the way I can?t have a relationship with my family. I hate the fact I can?t change it. I hate the fact that I?ve become everything I hate about gay people. I hate the fact that I?ve written these words. Today I hate everything. No wonder I think about letting the pain slide. No wonder I think about letting the pain slide. I wonder when I?ll let the pain slide. Dark thoughts from me tonight. I?m sorry but I?m a bit depressed and I don?t feel like typing anything else. Cheers and tears. Jason R.

Sliding the Pain By: Jason R. Little by little I?ll erode with disease I?m stuck in the middle down on my knees Though I try to be happy I?ll never achieve I?m all alone so I?ll die while you grieve Accepting the past like a map to begin I?ll assume the hatred with a bitter grin A matter of principle to enjoy this sin I?ll always fail so why try it again All of your intentions won?t stop how I?ll feel Taking never giving my love you will steal And if you deny it I?ll make it seem so real Tricking with smiles as my soul I will kill Did you think I would stop and make it all right? Did you believe all those lies I spat in the night? Did you know I would finally turn from the fight? Did you see it changing in the dawn?s early light? If I?m stuck in this pattern then I?ll fall down I?ll never stop being this painted clown Wearing smiles like make-up over the frown I?ll fall in the ocean and let the pain drown When the end is here I?ll feel no shame Open my mouth and let the madness reign Laughing in the water I?ll go slowly insane Embracing the darkness I?ll slide all the pain

Hey Tr, Very melodic and somewhat sad.

Bitch of the Day (and I don?t mean Howard) By: Jason R. As I write this, I can?t help but feel a bit cranky and pretty upset with one of my numerous roommates. Not to mention I might just be dying of hunger. Oh yeah, I almost forgot until I shifted positions, I have this blister on the bottom of my right foot that just might be the size of Texas. How did I get to be cranky, tired and ravenous you ask? *Insert question here* Fine, those of you not conditioned to the tragedy that is my mind; I?ll explain it to you. As you might guess, July Forth Weekend is usually a slow boring three days for us at Market Street Caf?. Normally the crazy denizens of Harrisburg enjoy the numerous outdoor activities Mayor Reed had planned during ?lets make all the fucking money we can before winter kicks our ass? three day festival we call Fourth of July weekend. With everyone hanging at the festival with the cool peeps and considering my staff had been working overtime with ?little? complaining, I decided to schedule a skeleton crew for the weekend. (Just because I would rather have my nuts torn from my body by a baby elephant than spend time with my parents, doesn?t mean I should make others suffer for my retarded home life, does it?) Let me tell you, I must have been out of what little mind I have left. Not only were we busy as rabbits in a storefront window, but we did record numbers for the weekend. Probably due to the horrendous downfall of rain we were ?lucky? enough to receive. (Like I watch the fucking weather channel) I have spent the last three days eating, breathing, and sleeping Market Street Caf?. Wearing the same stinky clothes, trying my best to remember why the hell I entered the service industry in the first place. By four PM on Monday, we were slammed back to the ding dong section. I, in all my wisdom, had only three servers and two cooks working that beautiful rainy day. To say we resembled a famous star losing his mind on a popular daytime show would have been an effort in futility. Being the great and talented manager I am, I used my talent for multi-tasking. I ran around serving tables, I made drinks at the bar for the other severs, I bussed tables so fast I reminded customers of police upon hearing Crispy Creme gave away donuts. So basically I was the resident insane person. Why didn?t I call in some of my fun loving, grateful I had given them the weekend off, employees you might ask? Let me say this, all efforts to reach them by train, plane, automobile, cell-phone, fax machine, email, text message and pony express proved in vain. Not a single one of those pricks answered my call. After finally arriving home around 1am Monday night. I poured myself into my soft comfortable bed fully intending on catching up some much-needed sleep. But I was so wired on Monster and nicotine I tossed and turned for about five hours before finally drifting off to a restless slumber. I had clocked just under forty hours in the last three days and Damnit; I deserved some fucking sleep. But alas dear reader, it was not to be. Fate had other plans for me. After drifting off to sleep around six am, I was awaken rudely at nine am by the doorbell. Ignoring the various doorbell sonatas and the very loud banging on the front door, I rolled over and buried my head in my pillow hoping whoever it was would grow tired of this quest to gain entry into a house filled with five other roommates. But not before I wished some fairly unpleasant things upon whoever this was and their entire family, second cousins and such included. But the incessant banging finally grew too annoying for me to ignore any longer. So I ran from my first floor bedroom to the front door and threw it open only to find a crazy meter reader person standing there. She informed me in a pleasant voice that she was there to read the meter. So after greeting her with some pretty horrendous morning breath and seventeen yawns, I showed her to the basement. Not more than thirty seconds later she walked back up the stairs and wished me a good day. I slammed the door shut behind her and crawled back into the safety of my bed. Hoping to quickly fall back asleep and resume the dream I had been having about four friends and I in the middle of a giant arcade surrounded by pink bubble gum. Right about the time I had convinced myself that it had all been a horrible nightmare and while teetering on the edge of oblivion, teetering mind you, the ringing of my front doorbell once again disturbed my slumber. Exactly twenty-three minutes after I had slammed the door behind the gas meter reader person, a way too cheerful UPS delivery guy began his tortuous attempts to gain entry into my house to deliver a pair of shoes my roommate (and employee that would not answer my desperate cry for help over the weekend) purchased online from this trendy store in New York City. Tearing myself from my nice warm bed for the second time in under thirty minutes (I must have missed the meeting where the other housemates voted on making me the designated door answerer person. If you think about it, you know logically and stuff, it makes all the sense in the world. I live on the first floor, the other roommates live either on floor two or floor three. I don?t have the pleasure of traversing narrow stairs each time the doorbell rings. It?s only fair that I should answer the door. Isn?t?) I opened the door. It wasn?t that I rude. Because I wasn?t. I swear. But something about way too cheerful UPS delivery guys makes my blood creep inside my already blocked veins. He had it coming, right? I mean, it was early in the day. And I had a blister. Anyway, after signing for the package and giving the finger to the way too cheerful UPS delivery guy, I slammed the door shut. Now there?s something about holding a person?s package in ones hand that does strange things to your mind. Like maybe deep down we all, everyone one of us, has this unfulfilled desire to deliver the mail. Because no matter whom the package is for, we feel like we must give it to the intended party. I hated climbing those narrow rickety stairs but I found myself carefully walking up those stairs heading for my roommate?s door. You know I lost my mind because I wasn?t wearing shoes, and in my house, that?s as good as inviting tetinas. Banding loudly on the door, I completed the two-day trip for the pair of shoes by personally handing them over to said purchaser. Knowing my good deed for the day had been accomplished, I walked backed down the stairs and climbed into my now cold bed with a promise to the gay god, you know the gym, that I would not rise again until at least one PM. Again, fate decided to royally fuck me. Spitting and laughing on my simple pursuit of a good days sleep. Before my head hit the pillow, my roommate, now fully awake and ready to face this beautiful sunny day, began blasting his music at what I can only assume is volume eleven. With what I can only describe is him dancing around the room in his newly purchased sneakers to the horrid sounds of the Broadway musical Urine Town, I stare at the ceiling and plot all the horrible ways I am going to kill him, slowly. Upstairs, oblivious of my murderous thoughts, he dances and sings not caring about my desire and need by this time, for sleep. Beautiful restful zombie like sleep. In my tired dementia, I envision him dancing and singing in his room, wearing his sponge bob square pants boxers, in some kind of bizarre ritual to the shoe god in the sky. No amount of burying my head with my pillow can block out the wailing from above. And much to my dismay, God did not strike him dead, unless the banging sound is him in the final throes of death; he is very much alive and happy with his new pair of shoes. So with a spirit of retaliation, rivaled only by America?s hunger for oil, I rise from my sleep like a vengeful vampire and approach my own stereo. I serenade him back with the thunderous sounds of Orgy?s Fiction (Screaming in Digital), the synthetic sounds blending with crunching guitar?s to battle the happy sounds of Broadway. Like a childish game of truth or dare, we battle back and forth for noise supremacy. The noise emanating from the house not only woke up the remaining roommates, but shattered several laws of the city of Harrisburg. What is the moral of this tirade you ask? *insert foolish question here* No matter what you plan for your life, no matter how hard you try to anticipant the extraordinary, fate, destiny or maybe even Loki (mischievous god of the Norse) takes an almost perverse pleasure in destroying those plans. If ever awaken by a crazed meter reader person, promptly make a pot of strong coffee and wait for the inevitable. Sleep is lost for the rest of the day and maybe for the rest of your life. Oh yeah, on the subject of my hunger. I have yet to buy food this week so I had nothing to eat. In a final attempt at retribution, I eat my roommate?s last donut. And when he inquired about the missing donut, I smiled and wipe the crumbs from my shirt and blamed it on the crazy meter reader person. I?m not surprised he didn?t believe me. I was chewing the last bite at the time. Hey Ann, this is for you. Now you can't talk shit.

Current Music Selection: Disturbed?Ten Thousand Fists Current state: Red eyed (allergies are killing me) Current mood: Not pissed but not happy either So I have a nickname now. And not even a name I?m proud of or even answer too. And thanks to my roommate, Daniel, upwards of thirty people now call me this each and every time they see me out and about. And since I venture into the clubs on a regular basis, this name I hear all too often. In a way it?s my fault but damn, I wasn?t the one that shouted out this stupid story for the entire gay community to hear. I was drunk, I?ll give you that, but Daniel had no right. I even looked it up on the Internet; there is no precedent for such behavior. Especially from a friend and dare I say, mentor. I know you?re asking, what is this nickname you speak of? It?s hoodie. Or for a different spelling, Hoody. It doesn?t matter which spelling you prefer, neither is acceptable and this is the basis of my argument with my roommate. To those that are in the loop that is my life, it started back in the day, which was a Tuesday. Remember Fredricko, the sexy but ?attached? boy I saw a tiny bit too much of one night after drinking a few Jager Bombs. Yeah, that?s the one. ?shudders? So Daniel and I went out for a few drinks tonight. Apparently, Fredricko and I made an impression on the patrons of our local gay bar that Tuesday night. Because the moment Daniel and I arrived, Steven, the bartender, began giving me verbal abuse about the cute little boy I was making out with the last time I shown up. I wasn?t the only boy interested in Fredricko. After all he was the perfect little twink and the locals decided he was ?four fingers? worthy. (It?s a sliding scale between one and five. Don?t ask.) I was in top form; I played it off and acted smooth and cool. Well, as smooth as I could manage considering I?m a horrible liar. But my roommate, the bastard spawn of Satan, decided it was the perfect time to expound on my liaison with Fredricko. In a loud voice, it was like he had a microphone and some twisted fairy turned off the music to give him the desired attention this seventh son craved, he re-told the story of my temporarily loss of sanity concerning Fredricko and his extra attachment. For more than a few minutes I became the butt of jokes. Fine, I?ll take my paces simply because I know I handled that situation poorly. I know, I don?t need a bar full of fags to drive home the fact I?m a shallow boy. I get it. Let?s move on to the next subject. Yeah, like that was going to happen. After Daniel finished regaling us about my misfortune, this bitch (I never knew his name. Everyone called him Connie Chung) Connie Chung began riding me about Fredricko. Even if I remembered everything he said, I would never take the time to type out. But the end result of this particular conversation, I somehow received the moniker of Hoody/Hoodie. And thanks to Connie Chung, every time I walked into the local gay bars, everyone shouts out Hoody?s/Hoodies here. Not only do I hate Connie Chungs of the world but also hate my bastard spawn of Satan roommate for allowing the world access to my pitiful existence. I have a reason to be upset. No fag likes to be shown in public how much of an ass he is or has been. What did I say about consequences earlier? If I?d only knew, boy, would I have handled that differently. Hindsight and all that, I?m screwed and only time will tell if I?m known forever as Hoody/Hoodie or Jason. Anyway, until next time, cheers and all that. Jason R.

Hey Camy, I got the humor, which made me giggle and I never giggle. Well, never when anyone can see me. Anyways, As Des pointed out, I had first written the piece in the past tense. and I did not think it was powerful enough so I changed it to the present tense. I missed a few changes which caused some confusion. I am correcting my copy now and plus I will add the new stanzas as well. Good eyes Des. Jason R. BTW: I like the change awaken from awoke. Thanks again Des and Camy.

Hey Camy, Which is why I said I was still working on this piece. Though I hoped the mention of the empty bottle of pills would have made clear that they had been partying a bit too much the night before. Anyway, I agree that the piece is still weak. Jason R.

Very interesting. And I thought the Dutch only made wooden shoes. Who would've known they could make this cynic tear up. Plus I love the shoes. Thanks for sharing this link. Jason R.

Current Music Selection: Robbie Williams--Intensive Care Current State: Sober (somewhat) Current Mood: Relaxed So now that its football season, every Sunday I hang out at the Old Pro. Its this really cool sports bar in Palo Alto. They have fifteen flat screens, high def of course, that you can see from every seat in the bar. Insert screaming like a little girl. And the best part, they have an outdoor patio with two flat screens and you can smoke, eat hot wings, drink beer and watch football all day. All this and heaven to. There just might be a god, and if there is, its okay if he/she hates me for sucking cock. I mean, football, cigarettes, beer, hot wngs. Yeeeeeaaaaaahhhhh Over the course of the day, Daniel and I are joined by various friends who come to the bar to watch me lose my mind. Though they leave after a while, I guess spending the entire day inside with screaming breeders is to much for them. Football season is something I take extremely serious. Not only do I wear my lucky 49'ers jersesy every Sunday but I have the cutest matching underwear with the team logo over the crotch. How butch is that? Over in the corner of the Old Pro, they have a bull riding machine thingy. But will get back to that later on. The day of football had its disappointments. The niners got spacked though they started coming together after the half. Anyway, being the loudest person in the bar and naturally fabulous, I began making friends with the hot college guys sitting at the next table. When I want to, I can turn off camp and butch it up with the best of the breeders. As long as they never see my underwear. I'm sure they figured out I was gay by the hugging and kissing I did to each of my friends as they arrived and as they left. (Even my straight friends much to their chagrin. If thats the only way I can touch then so be it) But they seemed cool with the chit and chat we were doing all day. I even bought them some drinkie poos. Okay, they called it beer but whatever. One of these hot college studs seemed to show me more attention then the others. Like maybe his closet door was opened a crack and he had convinced himself he was "bi" curious. Like they say, its still experimenting as long as you're in college. After college, you're a big ole' queer. Where was I? Hot college stud and I were doing a little chit and chat, discussing the niners chances at a winning season, musing over whether ketchup or musturd is the only condiment for a hotdog, which cheerleader was the hottest. Hey, whatever it takes. He even joined me a few times for a smoke on the patio. Okay, everytime he went for a smoke I followed. There, I admit it. Are you happy? After the niners had lost, I was feeling pretty buzzed. And bored. Which is never a good combination for people such as I. For weeks now, since the Old Pro re-opened, I have been staring at the bull riding machine thingy wanting to try it. But every time Daniel talked me out of it. So to get around the old queen, I waited until he went into the bathroom and made my move. By the time Daniel returned from the bathroom, I had already signed the waiver and paid my three dollars. Much to my happiness, the bull riding machine thingy operator informed him there were no refunds. And with his tight ass frugile saving money ways, he couldn't in good conscious let me waste three dollars. So with a smile, i jumped into the padded area and climbed atop this fake bull. Now the college guys were crowding around the bull riding machine thingy pen and joking around that I could never stay on. So I offered them a challenge. I threw the gauntlet down as it were, though I had to use my hat i had forgotten my gauntlet in my other underwear. My challenge came out sort of like this: "If I can stay on this bull riding machine thingy for longer than one minute then hot college stud had to give me his number." I pointed at the one I was smoking with all afternoon. Hot college stud immediately countered with, "Make it three minutes and you have a deal." So the bull riding machine thingy operator asked if I was ready. I waved and raised my hand. Using the same techniques I would on any other thing I ride, I gripped with my knees and held on tightly to the small handle right between my legs. I must admit, it was easier than it looked. Yeah, for the first thirty seconds until the bull riding machine thingy operator turned the knob to eleven (Spinal Tap reference number one) and that damn thing went one way and I went the other and I crushed my own nuts. But I was determined to last for the full three minutes. It would be nice to last for three minutes wouldn't it? I'd love to say I made it the full three minutes. I'd like to say after I won and the bull riding machine thingy stopped, I ripped off my niners jersey and I showed the bar the shirt I was wearing under my lucky jersey. Which is a pink shirt with big black letters stating this phrase "I Fucked Your Brother" And that hot college stud picked me up in his arms and we rode off into the sunset. As I read this paragraph back, I really wish I could say that. But that didn't happen. When that damn thing went one way and I went the other smashing my own nuts with my arm, I fell off and landed on my head. Once my vision cleared, I looked around at everyone laughing at me and my eyes rested on hot college stud. I shrugged my shoulders as if to say, your loss. After waving at my fans surrounding the pen area, I stumbled back to my table and nursed my bruised ego. It wasn't long after my bull riding machine thingy adventure that the college guys paid they're tab and left the bar. I watched my hot college stud leave and thought, win some lose some. Just when Daniel started consoling me, wouldn't you know it, hot college stud came back in the bar and shoved a piece of paper in my hand and said call me sometime. Yes, once again my charm and debonair attidtue worked on the breeders. Woo Hoo. I guess what I'm trying to say to everyone, sometimes acting like a fool gets you the guy at the end of the day. As long as that guy isn't some crazy homophobe that waits for you outside the bar and kicks the crap out of you. But hey, what the hell. Life isn't living if you live in fear, right. That and I have been known to outrun even the most determined homophobes. Cheers everyone. Jason R.

Hey Des, Thank you so much. Edge of Heaven has been giving me such trouble since I wrote it over a year ago. I am still not happy with the result and since I posted this I wrote about nine more stanzas. Oh well, I guess I'm my own worst critic. Jason R.

Edge of Heaven By: Jason R I awoke to the sound of rain Drumming on the roof of my red convertible A bottle of vodka ringing in my head And the blonde that gave me this nightmare Lying beside me on the seat My eyes focus on the bottle of pills Lying on the floor next to the accelerator Empty Much like the place where my heart used to be My mouth is dry My lips cracked and coated with some unknown substance Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand The memory of the previous night comes crashing back The sex was rough and sweaty Violence mixed with lust that could only be fulfilled By the emptying of ones own essence into a willing receptacle I awoke to the sound of rain Drumming on the roof of my red convertible The droplets rolling down the window Matching the tears falling down my cheeks A pack of cigarettes rests on the dashboard I grab one And draw the dark harsh smoke deep into my lungs Glancing over at the blonde sleeping on the seat beside me My eyes run over the contour of his lithe body Already the beginnings of several bruises Purple mixed with yellow against the pale skin of his back In his sleep he moves slightly I imagine him dreaming about the pleasures Pleasures I awoke inside him last night I awoke to the sound of rain Drumming on the roof of my red convertible The drumming matches the shallow heartbeat Of the blonde lying beside me I shove his legs off my lap And casually touch the end of my cigarette against his bare leg Gentle almost caressing Just the tip causing him to moan And curl up into a ball on the front seat beside me Images of us floats across my subconscious Images that he no doubt will remember for years to come Flexing my arms above my head I wince as pain shoots up my left arm Looking I see several deep scratches snaking up my arm Starting from my wrist and ending just above my armpit Another memento from an endless night I awoke to the sound of rain Drumming on the roof of my red convertible I awoke and remember everything

That's what I was talking about. Thanks for giving me the proper term. I feel like an ass yet again.I had forgotten the medical term. THat's what happens when you drink too much. Jason R.

Hey Cj, And welcome. I agree with you. The tips on these forums and the advice that is offered freely and dare I say, lovingly, is extremely helpful. Like you, I wish I would've found this site a few years ago when I began attempting this need I call writing. I'm sorry I haven't read your story but I will. You can't be as bad as I am. I know, it seems I sink to new depths each and every outing. Welcome, and am I correct in assuming I'm speaking to an goat? Because if thats the case, you have a grasp of the English language I strive to achieve. Jason R.

Current music selection: Ole' Blue Eyes Current state: Almost hammered (drinking a nice red wine) Current mood: Content So Daniel and I went out for some early cocktails at the local gay bar. I normally never drink so early in the day but I felt like having a drinkie poo. Plus I wanted to wear my new outfit Daniel bought me today. It's not everyday I feel good about my appearance but today I must say I was looking extra fabulous. Even my unruly hair did exactly what I wanted it to do without having to bribe it with tons of product. Thank god Daniel got pictures. (I wonder just how many pictures of me Daniel has. I have a problem with walking around the house half naked and he always has a camera near by) I love the old queen. And its not just because he buys me gifts either. I shudder to think of where I might be if he had not cum on the scene when he did. Off topic but I feel I should explain our relationship. We live together but only as friends. He's this wonderful man that has a heart big enough to love the whole world. At times, late at night, when the voices become to obnoxious to ignore, I crawl into bed with him and wrap his arms around me. No matter how "straight" I feel, he brings the peace I so desperately crave. We met two years ago, I was this strung out twink with one thing on my mind. Okay, make that two things. Sex and drugs. I'm not sure which I craved more. Anyway, I was tweeked out of my mind one night and so horny I was willing to fuck the bar stool I sat upon. It was late, almost closing and this tall geek walked into the bar with a smile that could charm the pope into experimenting for a night. He stands around six feet, slightly dumpy with thinning brown hair that he keeps cut close. His green eyes are intoxicating, sparkling with a zest for life I sometimes lose sight of. And the zesty dressing to this delicous entree, he wears glasses. Yum yum. He walks in, maybe twenty people were left, and sits down across the bar from me and orders a coke. Being the ass i am and somewhat over zealous, I begin to poke fun at his choice of beverages. I make fun of his explanation, he has to drive, whatever. I begin to chat him up a bit. My first intention, I must admit, was to flirt with the geek for some free drinkie poos. After all, the old queens are always good for at least three or four drinks. All you have to do is flirt, maybe a kiss or two and its like having a credit card sitting next to you. Looking at the clock, I knew i'd have to work fast. The bar closed in less than an hour. Plenty of time to work my magic. But the joke was on me. I found out I really liked him. He was smart, its not hard for me to feel stupid around others but I never felt as stupid as i did that first time we spoke. He had no game, it was like he propositioned everyone and figured quanity was better than quality. The odds are sooner or later someone will say yes. His sense of humor, his charm, his laugh, his eyes, everything about this man just screams "take me home and fuck me silly". He became my first ever "pity fuck". Don't go getting all upset over this term. I feel it's every twink's responsibility to give out "pity fucks" at least once a month. Because sooner or later we all become old and to keep karma moving forward, you get what you give so to speak. And from that moment on, Daniel and I have become almost brothers. With the one exception that we still have benefits from time to time. And incest is...disgusting...so we are almost brothers. For a man who has spent most of his life in the closet, he gives the best head. i've learned things from him that I use with my other lovers and they are blown away. (no pun intended) Besides, paying rent this way is more fun. I love you Daniel. I know you're reading this you old queen. I forget what the point of this post was going to be. But at least you know about Daniel and our relationship. Because I'm pretty sure someone asked me to explain it. So cheers for the night. Jason R.

Hopeful and yet sad at the same time. I really like this. Great job. Jason R.

Current music selection: Blue October from the album History for Sale Current state: Pretty Drunk Current mood: Yeah...right Daniel, my forty-two year old roommate, his friend Fredricko (excuse me if this name is misspelled I never got the chance to ask him the correct way) and I spent last Tuesday night out drinking and having a good time with several of our friends. From the moment I met Fredricko I was mesmerized. He's gorgeous to say the least. About five foot five, one hundred twenty pounds, amazing brown eyes. Though he hides them behind thick glasses. Just this delicious little nerd. He was celebrating a promotion so he was generously buying shots. Rounds and rounds of jager bombs. Jesus, he wouldn't stop buying and after a few hours we were all quite hammered. During the night, Fredricko and I had been flirting pretty heavily. Even going as far as making out by the pool table to the dismay of several straight men. It was a straight bar after all. So I'm not really surprised they threw peanuts at us. Thank god I'm not allergic. Anyway, after hitting more than a few bars, some straight some gay, we were really heating up. After we called a cab and made it back home, Daniel declares he's retiring for the night. Fredricko and I decide the celebration was just beginning if you get my drift. So we head back to my room to finish getting to know one another better. It's going great, clothing are flying around the room, my favorite shirt was ripped off my body and I lost a contact. It was hot and heavy. Once my underwear joined the pile of clothes on the floor I was in heaven. And for a while, life was perfect. But life nevers stays perfect. If I would have only known the consequences, I would have never stopped him from his...exploration of my situation...nor would have I thrown him on his back and ripped off his underwear. But I didn't know the consequences and I did just that. Even in the dim glow of the moon, I saw it. And I wasn't prepared. I'm three times seven, I've been around the block more than a few times. And I'm not talking about these small San Francisco blocks either, I'm saying those big New York City blocks. I've walked in on my Aunt and Uncle doing things I've only read about, scarred yes, but I dealt. I've woken up in the middle of the night with my younger brother sitting on my bed stark naked, his hands moving so fast I was sure a fire would erupt at any moment. After I finished puking I dealt. But there was nothing in my bag of experience that could have prepared me for the horror I saw between Fredricko's legs. I've heard about boys like him but I never thought I would encounter such weirdness in my lifetime. Let me tell you, I freaked out, lost my mind and did some kind of dance that still leaves my puzzled. I mean, Tom Cruise jumping around on couches was nothing compared to the level of freaked out I achieved. The thing that freaked me out. Let's just say when I delivered to my parents, the doctor had made some adjustments to me. Adjustments that Fredricko's doctor skipped. I don't know, maybe he didn't have insurance. Either way, I saw this...thing...it looked similiar to mine but had some extra stuff that freaked me out. And since I was drunk, let's say I could've handled it better. Okay, I jumped off the bed and pointed at it and said in a very quiet voice, "What the fuck is that?" I warned you, I didn't handle it well. I thought he was going to cry, the look on his face was a look I hope I never see again. He called me an asshole and gathered up his things and left the room before I could do anything like apologize or explain why I was so freaked out. THe next morning, a very pissed off Daniel greeted me at the breakfast table. Fredricko was no where to be found and I felt like an ass. After Daniel finished yelling at me, I explained what happened and wouldn't you know that bastard started laughing. That just pissed me off. It had really freaked me out. It didn't help matters that Daniel dropped his pants and showed his "situation" to me. After a close examination of his situation, I now know the difference between Fredricko and I. Though I'm a bit tired now after seeing Daniel's junk I do feel I'm better prepared next time that happens to me. And being somewhat of a whore, I'm sure its only a matter of time. So I guess what I'm trying to say, gentlemen, if you're in the same boat as Fredricko and some weirdo freaks out when he sees the extra attachment, don't get mad. Maybe let him have a moment to get used to this oddity. Anyway, cheers everyone. Jason R.

Hey Dude, You can't see it but I'm jumping. Thank you very much. Jason

Thanks for the advice Graeme. The story is thirty-nine pages total and around 20,000 words. Steven and Aaron, though dating for over a year, are still very much in the closet. Steven, the star swimmer, and Aaron, the popular soccer player, really need some time alone together. And after nearly being caught by the swim coach in the locker room, they decide to rush home to finish what they started. But as soon as they leave the school it seems the universe has other plans for them. One frustrating situation after another arises, thwarting them at every turn. Whether it's stranded friends, love sick cheerleaders, or mothers returning home early, their patience will be stretched beyond the breaking point. And before the sun rises, friendships will be cemented, secrets will be revealed and love will be tested This story is light hearted and somewhat humerous. But really needs an editor's touch. Thanks again. Jason

Dear Editors, I am looking for an editor to help me with a three part story. I have re-written the story several times and I can go no further without help. I'm not sure how I go about getting help so if anyone has ideas I would love to hear them. Thanks Jason

Hey Camy, Sorry about Geo Cities, the ads do suck. But I wanted to be sure I warranted a website before paying for a name. I am new at this posting online stuff and I didn't want to waste my money if no one would be interested in reading my stuff. I agree about the format of this piece. This is the third time I've re-written it and I still don't like it. Something is missing. Though for the life of me I can't figure out what. I'll keep trying. Maybe I'll try a different format again. Jason R.

Delving By: Jason R. I fall down into a pit a pit of my own making and design though I fall my eyes are wide and blind clarity is a concept I have never found so I grip to my fear like a fuck without a noun my soul is diseased stained gray and black if I was Dorian Gray more than lines would I lack and when I look into my future I only see me alone when I peer into my past I only see me alone when I reflect on the present I only see me alone yet I am happy for you are not in my world anymore If anyone is interested. My website has been redone. Lots a poetry and a few short stories. My Webpage

Hey Gabe, This piece has a whole bunch of things lurking under the surface. Who is this kid David and why is he turning tricks in the middle of nowhere? Why doesn't anyone care that this kid is turning tricks? WHat kind of mother lets her kid turn tricks? Sheesh, and this is just the first four pages. I like gritty and dirty stories where not everyone is standard black and white and things just might not be as they seem. I thought of so many directions this story could head into and can't wait to see the path you choose. Very entertaining, makes me want to read more just to find out why. Good job. Jason

Hey Camy, I'm not a person who usually writes negative things about other poets work. If i don't like a poem I just never read it again and move on. God knows I write some pretty aweful stuff. I'm not saying this poem is bad but something is lacking and I will try and explain what I mean. I love when poets take chances with taboo subject matter. If done properly they can be very powerful and make bold statements. But as I read this over and over, I find something is lacking. Like the narrators voice is too childlike, I find it hard to believe he's actually thinking about cutting. His words and actions are someone playing at being depressed. Like maybe he's heard about cutting from TV and is trying to harden his image or hang with the cool kids. For example: """ I hold the blade and we look at each other I know what I need, and it winks and agrees""" To me this sounds almost irreverent to a very real problem. """?The first time?s the worst? I mutter uncertain The blade it just sits there glinting with glee""" But I?m screaming inside ?this isn?t the way? Though unloved and hurting; cutting?s not what I need""""" I know a little about cutting and the depression that comsumes you until self abuse seems like a neccessity. I find this piece, though well written, to be somewhat contrived. Especially the moral ending. Unless the narrator has received therapy, those thoughts just do not enter the brain. I have read the other poems you've written and have enjoyed your tongue-n-cheek humor and view of the world. So you are not a bad poet and I'm not saying this is a bad poem. But this one doesn't work for me. I feel like an ass writing this but I wanted to try and explain my thought process and give you some honest feedback. Keep up the good work. I could be full of shit and usually I am. Cheers Jason

Hey TR, I have been trying to write an epic poem for years. I can never wrap my mind around a single idea and they always come off as contrived. Right now I'm fucking jealous. Not only did you weave this enormous story quite beautifully, the voice you channeled damn near broke my heart. The imagery and emotion gently sucked you in and the loss of love pushed you over the edge into the realm of beautiful diaster. The choice about leaving out names only fueled the piece as it let the reader immerse himself into the characters. Leaving out sex, probably the best descision you made. You'be shown every author/reader out in internet land that sex is only a tool not a standard. Sex can further a story but almost every time it bogs down the narrative. As which part I felt was the saddest or made me cry. I can't answer that question. This piece is the sum of its parts. From the opening to the ending, you slowly build until the cresendo. (Probably misspelled) Stylistically, this is probably the best poem on this site. Brilliant job Jason

PAIN INSIDE OF ME By: Jason R Everything is closing?closing in on me I embrace all things?sweet stupidity When I remember?I think of how it used to be Your face I see in dreams?in my mind I invoke the gods to strike?strike me blind But eluding all these curses?you I always find Once burning hot?the fire had finally died Standing each of us?across this great divide Never giving up on you?even though I?ve tried You dominate my dreams?even to this day Haunting me in my sleep?I never get to say Screaming out for eternity?I just can?t get away Smiling to your face?believing what you see As I lay and as I bleed?as I cry and as I need So you will never see?this pain inside of me