Jump to content
Registering As A Forum User? Read This Important Message!
Help Keep AwesomeDude Online! Donate Here.

Jason Rimbaud

AD Author
 View Profile  See their activity

  • Posts

    821

  • Joined

  • Last visited

 Content Type 

Blog Entries posted by Jason Rimbaud

  1. Jason Rimbaud
    Somewhere in Between
    As many of you know, life has been more than a bit chaotic for me lately. And where I appreciate all the advice and private messages I received from those of you that care about me, even the someone, that will remain nameless, that persuaded someone else to check up on me, which I thought went so far beyond simple moderator duties and into the realm of a truly caring person. This site is not named Awesome Dude for nothing and I don't think I could ever find a better on line home anywhere. Enuff said about that.
    When I first decided to begin this blog, I named it My Chaotic Life, my life in narrative. The purpose of this blog was twofold.
    First, I had written many things that really had no place on Awesome Dude (they weren't stories per say and I never thought they fit in Awesome Dudes drawn from life category) and I thought they would make for interesting reading. When you can't find a place to post your work, you create a place. So My Chaotic Life was born, after all, just because something I posted happened several years ago, doesn't make it any less important or funny. So the first few entries were pieces I had written over the years about some of the juicier bits of my life. I didn't find this wrong nor did I think I was deceiving anyone. Truly, I never imagined that people would read it anyway, and never in a million years did I think for one moment that these entries would be something others found interesting. This blog WAS and still IS a place for me to vent my frustrations, share some of my funnier experiences, and come to terms with the darker parts of my personality with no apologies and no censorship.
    I guess you could say that I imagined this blog as a safe zone. A place where I could write about my depression, analyze my addictions, and try and comprehend why I fuck my life up over and over again, and NEVER be judged for the things I say. I know its a bit naive to think I won't be judged, this is a public forum after all, but...that's how I view it.
    And my second reason....
    I didn't fully understand this at the beginning, but over a year and some fifty-eight entries later, I started this blog because I hated being sober. I had just begun seeing my therapist and we were really getting into my past and my addictions. Re-living some of those experiences helped me to cope with the sudden intimacy I had with a perfect stranger. I've never let a lover inside my head and here I was telling a therapist that I once tried to drink myself to death by chugging two bottles of Vodka one night because someone said I didn't have the guts to kill myself. Of course he ruined it by taking me to the emergency room.
    But as I began talking to Susan, I started looking back fondly on my life. It's funny how an addict can look back at the train wreck of his past and only remember the good times. I chose to ignore the bits when I was strung out and sucking dick in alleys hoping I'd get AIDS so I could die. Letting anyone fuck me bareback because sex is always better when there is a bit of danger involved. How I made it through without so much as a harmless case of crabs I'll never know. I've watched too many people die for lesser offenses.
    I had been sober for three months, and in a matter of a few weeks talking to Susan, I was back to popping pills and snorting lines. What a pathetic liar I had become, for an hour a week, I was a normal human while in her office. But I didn't even wait to leave the building before getting a bump or swallowing a few pills. This went on for a few weeks until she asked why I was losing weight.
    And that's the other thing I hate about sobriety, without pills and lines, you gain weight.
    I freaked out in her office, she wasn't stupid, and she had called me on my bullshit. Like an addict, I ran. I couldn't face her, not fucked up. So I stopped, and quickly fell back into my normal patterns. I started drinking again, partying, and fucking anything.
    But as all addicts do, they hit a place, a few miles down from bottom, and they realize their faced with a crossroads. Down one path, parties and living stupid, and down the other path, sobriety. Every addict knows this crossroads. And usually the addict figures out a way to bypass this crossroads a few times, but sooner or later, the addict must decide which path he will walk down.
    My crossroad came a few weeks ago. I'd been up for three or four days, doing coke and drifting in and out of bars looking for sex. It was late Saturday night or early Sunday morning, I sat down at my computer and wrote ??????. For the first time, in quite a while, I was honest and wrote the words as they poured from my sick mind. I knew that the right person would read those words, the right person that wouldn't let me go this way, the right person that would fight the hordes of hell over my addict soul.
    Two days later, the right person did read it. And the duality of myself wouldn't let it end like this. I am an addict, have always been and will always be. But I can't let addiction keep dragging me down, pulling me away from the only thing I truly love doing. I called Susan and begged her to see me.
    It seems that I'll only ever measure my sobriety by days instead of how it should be....by years. But I'm working on it, I truly am. Friday I spoke the words I never thought I'd have the balls to say out loud. I told Susan that I would never do coke again. When she asked about pills, I shrugged. After all, it's not healthy to quit everything at once. But I'm working on it.
    So over the last few weeks, I've come to realize just how negative this blog has become for me. I trapped myself right from the beginning, I named it My Chaotic Life. I talked it over with Susan and she, amazingly agrees with me, that I should stop writing My Chaotic Life. Focusing on those parts of my life are self-destructing and really have no positive affect for anyone, myself included.
    I've always been a creature of extremes. I didn't just want to be happy, I had to be euphoric. If I was sad, then I was one step away from killing myself. But I'm sick of living like this. It's okay to just be happy, it's okay to be a bit sad, maybe living in the middle isn't that bad. A bit boring perhaps, a bit fat perhaps, but the alternative is something I'm not prepared to face just yet.
    Friday, during our session, I was silent and drawing in my diary. Susan asked what I was writing. I'll share it with all of you just as I shared it with her.

    So from here on out, my blog will be re-named, Somewhere in Between. I'm sure my more chaotic parts will show up here and there, but now I'll have something else to focus on. Life doesn't have to be chaotic, not even for me.
    Jason R.
  2. Jason Rimbaud
    So I'm off on a romantic weekend getaway. Three days and two nights of pure bliss. I rented a beach house in Santa Cruz, and I'm bringing my laptop, a few bottles of wine, and a cooler filled with food. I plan on doing nothing for three days, and hopefully, I won't even see another living human.
    For some of you, this might sound very un-romantic. But for me, being completely alone for a few days is my little slice of heaven. I always seem to be able to recharge myself after taking a few days off. So, maybe this will give me the chance to finish a new short story I've been working on the last few months. After all, it's about a beach, a boy....well, you'll have to wait and read all about it later.
    Hope everyone has a good weekend, I'm off.
    Jason R.
  3. Jason Rimbaud
    You might not be aware, and more than likely you probably don't give a shit either way, but Rimbaud is not my real last name. When I was sixteen years old, I discovered a thirty page poem called A Season in Hell, written by a seventeen/eighteen year old poet by the name of Arthur Rimbaud.
    I had just discovered my love of writing/prose/poetry and I was amazed that such a brilliant thought provoking piece was written by a boy, and not just any boy but a gay boy like myself, from that moment, I have wanted to write my own Season in Hell. And though I have yet written a thirty page poem or written a masterpiece for that matter, I Devise my Own Demise is my own way of honoring a visionary poet that through heartache and loneliness lost the will to write at such an early age. He wrote from the ages of sixteen to nineteen, in that short span of time, he not only changed French poetry but the face of modern poetry as well.
    So without any more digressing, I give you my attempt,
    I Devise my own Demise
    By: Jason R.
    Meeting
    I remember that first day we met
    I was sitting on the porch
    A cigarette dangling from my lips
    A Molson in my hand
    You were there with your friend
    An attractive female
    I remember thinking to myself
    If you were with her, what a waste
    You were silent as she spoke to me
    She inquired about the room
    The room for rent in my building
    But I only had eyes for you
    You made my pulse quicken
    My thoughts scattered like the wind
    Your gaze, intense, emerald and bold
    An instant connection we shared
    I sent her inside to speak to the landlord
    You remained outside, with me
    You asked for a cigarette
    Though you claimed you were trying to quit
    A small white wicker bench
    You sat down beside me
    Our legs touched
    ELECTRIC
    As we talked and smoked in the shade
    I became fascinated by your lips
    Or perhaps your entire mouth
    It didn't matter what you said
    And each time you laughed, which was often
    A sound so infectious, it drew me in
    You drew me in with fits of giggles
    It was instant between us
    For over an hour we sat on that porch
    Comfortable
    Like two old friends chatting
    Yet all too soon, it was time for you to go
    You lived in Pittsburg
    I lived in Harrisburg
    So we said a sad goodbye
    And I watched you walk away
    Such sadness from a random encounter
    How pathetic I was sitting there
    Staring as you walked away
    Hoping to see you look back
    I watched this amazing guy walk away
    Never asked for a phone number
    An email address, something, anything
    I only knew your name, John
    At the time, I had thought I'd never see you again
    I was wrong
    For better or worse
    You returned the following weekend
    Your friend never moved into that empty room
    You did
    And just as before
    It was electric
    Falling
    It's a rainy evening and I feel so fine
    Because you're in my heart and inside my mind
    I think I'm falling into love with you
    Kiss and flirt a little I know you feel it too
    In the moonlight as the rain it falls
    We can last forever tear down these walls
    Do not question it just go with the flow
    In my electric garden reap the things we sow
    Heartbeats pounding faster as we embrace
    Our bodies shift in motion I like the way you taste
    I know the way you feel much like getting high
    Painted orange and red into an unknown sky
    I've got this burning feeling this is no false alarm
    I'm content beside you wrapped up in your arms
    And when the sun is shining there is no more rain
    I'm a brand new person happiness instead of pain
    In my bed of roses rest your head awhile
    I'll kiss you so sweetly get lost in your smile
    Every waking moment is like a dream come true
    I want to spend my life getting off with you
    Sinking
    It's like I temporarily lost my mind
    It's true what they say infatuation is blind
    Truth never entered into our conversation
    Sex was the prize and intended manipulation
    As we flirted and talked late into the night
    Vodka and cigarettes under moonlight
    You were the beginning of love I can't escape
    Your eyes the anchor the pathway to hate
    Drama surrounds us as we chase the extremes
    Loving you was like loving a dream
    Even though inside your embrace I felt warm
    It was the eye of a hurricane stillness before the storm
    Drowning
    Maybe it was the madness that I let reign
    Maybe it was the innocence I lost when I came
    Maybe it was the feelings sucked through the drain
    Maybe it was the heartache of love quite insane
    Maybe it was the ocean that gave me these tears
    Maybe it was the moonlight so far yet so near
    Maybe it was the sunshine that stripped all the gears
    Maybe it was the lust that banished all fears
    Maybe it was the highs that together we achieve
    Maybe it was the mountains resting on your sleeve
    Maybe it was the promise that you'd never leave
    Maybe it was the connection we had as we grieve
    Maybe it was the motion of standing in this place
    Maybe it was the refusal to grant emotional space
    Maybe it was the past neither of us could erase
    Maybe it was the searching to let love replace
    Maybe it was the fear of us saying goodbye
    Maybe it was the self-destructing gleam in your eye
    Maybe it was the sameness I heard in your lies
    Maybe it was the tears that fell as you cry
    Ending
    Violently he grabbed my arms
    And twisted them tightly behind my back
    With a hellish look in his emerald eyes
    He clenched up his fist and attacked
    Fingers laced with rings he beat me hard
    From my shoulders to my feet
    The metal sliced right through my olive skin
    Just like razors through a sheet
    Countless times my blood splattered
    As each inhuman blow was given
    From the memory of lies I told
    He smiled as my nose was torn to ribbons
    Much to his surprise I lifted my chin
    Though the words I used were few
    His face turned brighter shades of red
    When I shouted out, fuck you
    Uncaringly he tossed me against the wall
    And kicked my weakened form
    As my blood pressure fell deathly low
    I could hear the sirens swarm
    With determination and rage inside
    My face he punched and smacked
    Forcing me to my knees
    I fell when he kicked me in the back
    Through lack of sleep and inebriation
    My eyes began to swell
    And weakened by my loss of blood
    This liar...addict fell
    And when I fell my blood splattered
    On the boy and on his shoe
    And as he bent to wipe it off
    I spat out, fuck you
    In his rage he took a knife from the sink
    And jabbed it deeply into my arm
    He opened the door and threw me out
    I knew in my heart this boy will cause me harm
    Lying there in agony and torment
    My body convulsed with pain
    I tilted my face towards the stars
    Slipping towards the insane
    In a moment of clarity I finally knew
    The price for the hate before that time or since
    I made a statement that to this day
    Caused the boy I still loved to wince
    I lifted my head and looked him in the eye
    Struggling to maintain a calm so my words were true
    I wanted him to remember what I said
    When I whispered, John, fuck you
  4. Jason Rimbaud

    After Twenty Years...I Just Did This

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    After Twenty Years...I Just Did This
    So I’ve been in the restaurant/hospitality business for over twenty years. And I can’t believe that after twenty years, I just did this. And before I go into what life changing craziness I just decided to embark on, let me tell you about my writing.
    Some years back, I lost the memory stick that contained all my writings for the last thirty years. And yes, not only did it hold all my stories, notes, outlines, it also contained all my work notes that I had gathered over the years. I’m not sure which hit me harder, the writings or all the content I had created that I used on the daily for work.
    So I decided to gather all my writings into google sheets to ensure I never again lose my tattered attempts at writing. I have already lost way too much due to losing memory sticks, crashing computers, and random acts of god.
    And in this attempt to make sure I got literally everything I ever wrote/posted online, I went back to 2002 and took everything I wrote for Nifty. And as I was copying those stories, I made the mistake of actually reading them.
    Have you all seen this trend of people reacting to things on YouTube? If I wasn’t so bald and fat I would so do a reaction video of myself reading those “stories”. Talk about bac, I can’t believe I once thought those stories were gold.
    In my defense, at the height of my online posting, I was getting up to fifty emails a day with these little stories. So more than a few people fed into this delusion. I even won a few readers choice awards. 
    Trust me, in no way am I defending these “stories”. Trust me, I won’t even tell you the name I once wrote under. That’s how embarrassed I am about the words I wrote and posted all those years ago. And it wasn’t Jason Rimbaud so don’t bother checking. 
    I’ve been in the restaurant/hospitality pretty much my whole life. I started as  a bartender at twenty-one in a redneck bar in the backwoods of Pennsylvania and somehow moved up over the years to where I’ve worked for several celebrity chefs and amazing start-ups that are still flourishing even through the pandemic. I’ve opened seven restaurants for other people and have been on the ground floor of one of the fastest growing brands in the San Francisco Bay Area. 
    As a writer, something I love doing, I’ve only really attempted to write full time back in the early 2000’s. I took four years and all I did was try and get published. And yes, I managed to get my stories in a few anthologies, a few poetry books over the years but I was never really good enough to break into the big time. I think my biggest issue, at least back then, my stories had such a small targeted audience.
    I write gay fiction. Well, I once wrote slash gay fiction but that’s another story all together. Gay fiction isn’t really burning up the charts and unless you manage to find work at a streaming service. But I never really wanted to write for a show, my love has always been books/novels.
    I will admit for the last fifteen years or so, I haven’t really focused that much on writing. A few years ago, I had almost finished a book about an alien invasion in Washington State, real end of the world stuff. And then my memory stick fell out of my shoulder bag and I ran over it a few times.
    I have since tried to recreate the story but I could never get it right. It was over five years work lost in a single moment. And that bummed me out. I thought I was destined to work in a restaurant for the rest of my life. But then something happened a few weeks ago that would change my life forever. 
    Some of you know that I’m married. And “N” is also in the restaurant/hospitality industry. But he hates it. So two years ago he started going back to school to get a degree in accounting. And he did, a month ago he graduated with honors with his bachelor degree all the while he worked a full time job. 
    And once he graduated, “N” and I were talking about the next steps. We spend a boatload of money on his degree and he really wants a job where he can use it. The biggest problem we both face, we have been successful in restaurants. And for those of you that don’t really understand what that means, let me explain. 
    When you reach a certain point in your career, no matter what your field is, you have a track record of success. And people pay extremely well for that track record. I know people are complaining about the restaurant/hospitality industry not paying well. But if you have the right resume, you can make really good money. Especially when you’re offered profit sharing. 
    Both of us have been wanting to leave the restaurant industry for some time. But we had been so successful that if we were to make a move on a fresh career, we’d have to take a dramatic pay cut. As much as fifty thousand a year. And we have worked way too hard to make a life for ourselves, that going back isn’t a viable option.
    We aren’t rich by any standard. We live in the most expensive city in the country, so if you don’t make at least one hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year, you’re living paycheck to paycheck. But we are comfortable. 
    In my spare time, I have been collecting all my old writing. An hour here, an hour there, while maintaining a very stressful opening for my restaurant group. One of my old stories caught my attention. It’s a love story set on St. Martin, with a small little hook that I thought wasn’t that bad. Not the writing, it was horrible. But the overall plot was kind of cool.
    And in my reading, instead of copying and pasting, for some reason I decided to transcribe it instead. This led me to actually rewrite the entire thing from top to bottom. It was around 120 pages originally and now it’s a bit more. I am working on another draft as we speak so I don’t know where the final word count will end. But I’m having the time of my life. 
    After one stressful day, I was complaining to “N” about how much energy I’m putting into this latest opening. And how I’m getting frustrated in making other people money. And yes they pay me for all my energy, but at the end of the day, the owner benefits way more than I do when I successfully open a new location.
    “If you don’t like it, why don’t you quit.” That was “N’s” sage advice. So I replied, “And do what? Go work for someone else?”
    “You’ve opened a billion restaurants for other people, why don’t we open our own?”
    For anyone who has read my musing, you know that I love super spicy hot wings. I have been known to drive 45 minutes to San Jose so I can get my 4 Alarm Hot Wings from SmokeEaters. I have literally been to every wing place in the San Francisco Bay Area trying their “hot” wings. And besides SmokeEaters, I have always been disappointed. 
    So over the last ten years or so, I have been creating my own spicy wing sauces. I have perfected that art of cooking chicken wings and have some amazing sauces that I think are better than anyone’s currently in San Francisco.
    “Why don’t we open our own?” Fuck yeah, so that’s what I did. As of June 1st, we are now business owners. We have been opened for the last three weeks and I’m having the time of my life. “N” and I have decided to take our future in our own hands. So now when I’m working eighty hours a week, it’s at least for myself and our future. LIfe is good.
  5. Jason Rimbaud
    Current Music Selection: Awesome Dude Radio (make sure to check it out)
    Current State: Undressed
    Current Mood: Irritable (49?ers shut out by KC)
    So last night was exciting, Daniel and I met a few friends in the city. (San Francisco) The night started off shaky. We met at Estia, billed as the house of lamb, for some traditional Greek fare.
    Since moving to the City by the Bay, I?ve been attempting to expand my culinary experiences by trying different ethnic foods and the wine that goes with each culture. Whether it?s Italian, Mexican, Mediterranean, Turkish, Indian, French, German, or Greek fare, I?ve realized I don?t care for other races interpretation of food. Though I must admit I like all Asian prepared foods, especially Korean.
    But I digress from the topic at hand. A few weeks ago, I?m sure everyone remembers Fredricko, the boy with the extra skin attachment. If you remember him, then you?d probably remember my new nickname, dubbed by one Connie Chung. Get it out of your system, I know, it?s funny.
    I was in the mood for some drinkie poos to wash the taste of that awful Greek wine away, so we stopped at Twin Peaks for cocktails.
    I was gulping my third Bombay Sapphire Martini when over the noise of the bar, I hear in a loud campy voice, ?Look, everyone, its Hoody/Hoodie.?
    My nemesis, the Kryptonite to my superman, the very old and bitter queen, otherwise known as Connie Chung. It was to be expected really. I just had a horrible dinner; wine that I wouldn?t serve my worst enemy, and my hair was too busy doing whatever it is that unruly hair does. Can we say that my reaction was inevitable?
    I?m not a mean boy, I respect my elders, I open the door for cute guys, I give out pity fucks for christ sakes. But this has been going on for almost three weeks and I was ready to put a stop to this madness. Oh yeah, and I was bored and slightly drunk.
    Downing the rest of my Martini, I turned and faced Connie Chung. Much like two gunfighters from days of old, we stood there, silently measuring one another?s resolve. The DJ dove under his mixing table, the dancing boys stopped and huddled together in a mass of Lycra and smeared make-up, tears falling down their faces. A hush fell on the crowd as they instinctively backed away from the threat of violence that hung in the air, thick and euphoric. Like vultures they could sense someone was about to get schooled. They waited with baited breath.
    The bartender called out that he wanted a fair fight and made sure none of the other?s gang got involved. A bull dyke with arms bigger than mine, spat out encouragement to Connie Chung, calling me a twink. Oh, it was so on.
    Connie Chung drew first blood, his shot grazing my neck, regaling the tale of my nickname and the circumstances surrounding such a name. Ooo?s and Ah?s rumbled through crowd, supporters of keeping one?s junk natural screamed for my head.
    I was momentarily stunned; I fell back, swaying on my feet. I tried to counterattack but my shot went wide, saying I had never seen one before and it shocked me. But Connie Chung wasn't fazed by my attack and sent another shot my way.
    By now, my neck and left arm was bleeding, my vision was a blur and I wasn?t sure I could go on. Sensing victory, Connie Chung continued relentlessly, saying how beautiful an uncircumcised dick is in its natural environment and how petty and superficial I was not to appreciate such a sight.
    Through the jeers and screams, I saw my opponent; eyes shining brightly with a feral look on its old face. I fell to my knees, seconds away from going down for the count. But instinctively, I reached down into my reserves and mustered up strength enough for one last shot. I took aim and growled out that this twink wasn?t going down without a fight. I did the only thing I could think of?
    I jumped up on the bar and dropped my pants. I pulled out my cock for the whole bar to see and said, ?How can any one of you say an uncircumcised cock is prettier and more enjoyable to look at then this All-American dick.?
    My aim was true, the bullet found its mark and Connie Chung stared at me, shock on its wrinkled face. The patrons began screaming and clapping; a few shoved dollars in my direction and one went as far as to inspect my dick up close. And as I raised my hands in victory, I watched Connie Chung teetered back and forth for a moment before falling dead at my feet.
    In my mind, Queen?s ?We are the Champions? started playing and for a moment I was the victor. Then the bouncers came and hauled me from the bar and threw me out on my naked ass. Apparently, it?s illegal to expose one?s self in public, even in the middle of the Castro District.
    My friends joined me on the sidewalk as I pulled up my pants, making sure to gather the eleven dollars I made. As we walked down the street heading for the next bar, I felt confident that would be the last time I was ever called Hoody/Hoodie again.
    Several of the patrons from Twin Peaks followed us, or rather followed me, probably hoping for another glimpse at my All-American dick. I got three phone numbers and a blowjob last night. I guess what I?m trying to say, the next time someone calls you out, don?t hesitant to put it all on the line. You could make eleven dollars and even go as far as meeting Mr. Right. Okay, at least Mr. Right now. Until next time, cheers everyone.
    Jason R.
  6. Jason Rimbaud
    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.
  7. Jason Rimbaud

    Bitter Remains

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    Bitter Remains
    Written July 30th, 2001
    By: Jason R.
    ?Dammit,? Justin cursed, slamming the phone down even before he heard the first ring. He rubbed his hands over his freshly shaven scalp and shut his eyes. There were times he thought everything might disappear if he could only shut his eyes tightly enough. Hating the feeling of his shaved scalp, he mentally kicked himself for his drunken impulsiveness: shaving his beautiful curls only to spite ?him? was pure stupidity.
    He looked around the shabby, one-bedroom apartment with blurry eyes and frowned. There was a time not long ago that his surroundings would have been quite different. But he was far away from the grand house on the hill, and the stained carpet and worn furniture only served to remind him of his loss.
    Scowling, he turned his head and looked towards the kitchen. His eyes found a bottle of cheap vodka, mostly empty, on the counter. He stumbled towards it, and not bothering with ice or a mixer, he dumped the remainder into a glass, and walked outside to the small patio, the apartment?s one and only luxury.
    It was a rare summer night in San Francisco; it was raining. Leaning against the railing, he tilted his head back and emptied the contents of the glass. By this time in the night, the bitterness of the alcohol had no effect on him. The rain fell down on his half-naked body and mingled with the tears that fell from his eyes, blurring together his confusion and pain.
    ?Why me?? he screamed into the night sky, hoping, demanding an answer from some kind of higher power. ?Why did he leave me??
    He had asked that question hundreds of times and never had gotten the right answer. No solace or forgiveness would come to him, no matter how many times he cried out. In his heart he knew the answer, yet he still cried out.
    He was alone and broken, because his boyfriend was tired of dealing with the lies, fed up with the cheating, and sick of waiting for love that was never given. This was why Justin drank himself into a stupor night after night?searching to find peace that always eluded him.
    He squeezed his eyes shut, so tightly that the tears could no longer fall, and gripped the railing. His mouth opened in a silent scream; he tried desperately to stop the memories, the raw emotion that careened through his drunken mind.
    But nothing could stop the memory of the night it all fell apart, the night ?he? left.
    ?I can?t take any more of this shit, Justin. It?s killing me,? Daniel screamed, pushing Justin away. ?Can?t you see that? You?re killing me.?
    That night went all wrong when Daniel arrived back at the house and found Justin in bed with another boy, for what seemed like the hundredth time.
    ?Wait,? Justin stammered, trying with one hand to cover his naked body with the sheet while reaching for his discarded boxers with the other. ?I can explain.?
    The invisible stranger, the boy who didn?t matter, had a look of confusion and embarrassment on his face as he tried to hide under the sheet, but he was having a hard time as Justin kept ripping it out of his grasp.
    ?No,? Daniel stated in a tired voice, his tone icy and barely controlled. ?No more explanations, no more lies. No more, Justin.?
    Hopping on one foot, Justin tried to pull his boxers on while saying, ?Wait! It?s not what you think. I didn?t want this to happen. He was a mistake.?
    ?Really,? Daniel said, spinning around towards the two boys. His eyes filled with rage. ?Did he force you at gunpoint??
    ?Daniel.?
    ?Did he have a cardiac arrest and the only way you could think of to give him CPR was to pound him up the ass??
    ?I??
    ?No,? Daniel cut him off, pointing a finger at the boy. ?I?m sick of you fucking every little twink you meet the moment my back is turned.?
    The invisible boy spoke up, ?Wait, I?m not just??
    Justin and Daniel both turned and yelled, ?Shut up.?
    The invisible boy ducked under the sheet again as Justin fell to his knees and begged, ?It won?t happen again, I swear. Just give me one more chance.?
    Tears fell down Daniel?s cheek, but he shook his head sadly and said, ?I can?t. Not again, Justin. You don?t get any more chances.?
    Justin stayed on his knees as the door slammed shut. He stayed on the floor, his arms wrapped around his body, crying. He didn?t notice the invisible boy leave the room, nor did he care. The man he loved just walked out of his life.
    Shaking from the power of the memories, Justin cried as he tilted his head back and let the rain wash over him. But the memories that crashed into his fragile mind would not let go until he looked at each and every one. Gripping the edge of the railing, he screamed again. But the scream couldn?t prevent the images from smashing through his defenses, shattering the last of his control, forcing him to remember.
    ?You?re so peaceful when you sleep,? Justin whispered into his boyfriend?s hair, causing the sleeping boy to stir. He leaned forward and kissed Daniel?s forehead, all the while fighting the passion that threatened to consume him. He moved down and gently kissed Daniel?s lips, tenderly and filled with love.
    ?Mm, I love you,? Daniel mumbled, still in that semi-lucid state somewhere between reality and dreams. ?How was the club??
    ?It was fun,? Justin replied, kissing Daniel again. ?But Sheila was really wasted.?
    ?Tell me about it later,? Daniel said, then yawned as he settled back onto his pillow.
    Snuggling up behind his boyfriend, Justin lay there in the manner of all lovers?gently connected with legs and arms intertwined, making it hard to distinguish one from the other. And when Daniel pushed back into his embrace, Justin felt the warmth of his lover gently caressing his whole body. Daniel moved his head back until he could feel Justin?s shallow breath on his neck. He sighed.
    Justin?s lips found the back of Daniel?s neck and softly kissed him, completing the nightly ritual they shared before falling asleep. They drifted off, both feeling the comfort of the intimate experience they shared.
    ?I had it all,? Justin mused aloud. ?Why did I ruin it??
    And as always, when he reached this point of inebriation, reality and fantasy blurred together. Not that he would listen to the truth if he heard it, but he always asked.
    He tried to wipe the tears from his eyes, but the pouring rain replaced them. His bare chest was slick from the rain, and his pants were soaked through. He shivered, the cold drops feeling like punishment from the heavens. He stood there shaking, crying from the pain in his heart so long that he turned numb?which is what he longed to truly feel.
    His ravaged mind tried to sort out this reality, to comprehend this behavior, but the pain and disillusionment kept him from seeing the destructive nature of this nightly ritual. So he kept playing this scene out in his mind, night after night, drinking until he couldn?t feel the pain any more, drinking until he passed out for a few fitful hours of sleep, before the agony set in again with the dawn, wracking his body with nausea.
    ?I love you, Daniel, he stated simply, staring up to the dark sky. But it was too late for any kind of admission. Daniel was gone, and nothing would bring him back.
    Stumbling inside, he headed for the bedroom, not bothering to remove his wet pants. He fell on the unmade bed and curled up in a fetal position, continuing to sob. A note lay next to him on the nightstand; he reached out for it and clutched it to his face until the tears made it a blurry mess.
    But it didn?t matter; he knew the words by heart. He had read it over and over again until the words were etched in his mind, burned there for all eternity. The letter was from Sheila, written two weeks earlier. The last line of the note read, ?I?m sorry, Justin, but he?s married now.?
    His world exploded around him and his mind finally had enough for one night, and he drifted away to the nightmares that haunted his dreams. His last moment of clarity was a longing look towards the phone sitting on the bed beside him. But he didn?t call Daniel. He never did.
  8. Jason Rimbaud
    In Absence of Reason
    Maybe
    Maybe we should get away
    Maybe we should cross these tracks
    Maybe we should leave and never look back
    There is a car we drive that?s stuck in second gear
    Despite ambitious plans we can never get away from here
    We waste our time and get no where
    We end up lost and we don?t really care
    There is a thought we have that?s never acted on
    We want to save the world and then the thought is gone
    We get so far but quit too soon
    We end up drunk howling at the moon
    We?re wasting our precious time and praying in vain
    And making the same mistakes again and again and again
    Maybe we should get away
    Maybe we should cross these tracks
    Maybe we should leave and never look back
    Satisfied
    Marcus doesn?t understand anything about this world
    He?s wasted most of childhood trying to be a man he lost to a boy
    He wanted to be all grown up in everything he did
    Now he waste?s his adulthood wishing he was still a kid
    Marcus likes to laugh a lot so everyone around him knows he?s having fun
    He?s fashionably late for dates and likes to keep his boyfriends on the run
    He likes to be the center of attention
    He loves it when you stop and stare
    He says he?s suffering from beauty and bad karma
    He loves to hate the fact that his life is just one long drama
    He?ll never be satisfied no matter how hard he tries
    He?ll never be satisfied till the day he dies
    M.L.G.
    Mother?s little genius is different from the other boys and girls
    She makes him stay home where he plays all alone in his closeted genius way
    And after so many years of seclusion being twisted and doted upon
    He started to feel like this world wasn?t real that he might be the chosen one
    Mother?s little genius is a self-serving son of a bitch
    Who?s emotionally bankrupt and addicted to Playboy
    And in love with himself and his satellite dish
    Mother?s little genius believed every word mother said
    A whole lot of praise through each genius phase has engraved itself inside his head
    And after so many years of umbilical chord he?s finally gonna be free
    But it looks like he?s losing because the worlds not the way mother promised it would be
    Shame
    My neighbor didn?t want to pay his taxes
    So he had to go away against his will
    Now he?s staying in the upstate penitentiary
    And a tax man sending you and I the bill
    Don?t you think it?s kind of crazy could someone possibly explain
    My cousin doesn?t vote because he doesn?t want to
    He says the world is too wicked and unfair
    So he sits at home conspiring against the government
    Embittered because they don?t know that he?s there
    He?s got paranoid delusions he thinks he?s under too much strain
    I believe that in the end
    It?s up to you and me my friend
    So we should all start thinking twice
    Why virtue never tempts us quite like vice
    The more we live the less we learn
    Don?t you think that it?s a shame
    It seems to me that throughout history
    The more we change the more we stay the same
    Everywhere
    I stood there in the open air at a quarter after three am
    Staring at the stars that chart the sky
    And right then it occurred to me beneath the deep blue canopy
    There?s more to all of this than meets the eye
    As I stood there in the night my eyes adjusted to the light
    I started seeing things a little clearer
    And while the silence sung to me in close nocturnal harmony
    The stars seemed to come a little nearer
    There are things we?ll never know there are answers all around us
    I can see it in the sun I can feel it in the earth
    And I can breathe it in the air
    I can sense it in the sky I can taste it when it rains
    I can feel it everywhere
    Breakaway
    Not that hard to understand the way that some things work
    We know that we can?t always have our way
    So I think I?m gonna stick around and see if anything turns up
    And I?ll pay the consequences come what may
    I guess the works okay at least it pays the bills
    But it?s not exactly what I had in mind
    I really like to make a move but I?m scared by the uncertainty
    Maybe I?m afraid of what I?ll find
    So I?ll make the most of what I?ve got the cards I have to play
    But I wish that I could find the nerve to somehow breakaway
    Am I ever gonna change should I leave or should I stay
    Am I making up my mind or just wasting away
    But how I?m gonna run if my legs won?t carry me
    And how I?m gonna fly if my wings won?t work
    And how I?m gonna find?how I?m gonna find
    Some kind of deliverance
    Crush
    And this time you?ve got me hook line and sinker
    You?ve got me real good and you?re really something
    I will work all day and then I?ll drive all night
    And give you everything I?ve got and make it all alright
    And up stands the reason that I come running
    Wide-eyed and reckless you?re my undoing
    I?ll tear open my shirt and hold your head against my chest
    And you can listen to my heart beating harder than the rest
    You can crush me if you wanted too
    You could wreck me and run me off the rails
    You can crush me if you wanted too
    But I?ll keep coming back when all light fades
    Riptide
    The big blue sky and the brand new day
    Has got me laughing out loud as the radio plays
    Coming to pick you up and I?m gonna take you away
    We?re gonna be two kings for just one day
    And I?m gonna love you like lighting
    And I?m gonna love you like thunder
    And I?m gonna love you like a riptide
    Pulling you under
    I?m gonna buy you new shoes with what?s left of my money
    And I?m gonna tell you bad jokes and I?m gonna call you honey
    I?m gonna bare my soul and I?m gonna make you laugh
    I?m gonna show you my scars and my passport photograph
    And when the day is over
    We?re gonna climb upon the hill
    We?re gonna try and spy Orion
    While the town below turns on its lights
    And our hearts stand still
    Yeah, Yeah, Yeah
    I guess its time to get away despite what friends and family say
    We can?t stay here another day my darling
    I?ve canceled the utilities the landlord says he?s not to please
    He?s coming ?round to collect the keys in the morning
    I forwarded the mail my motorcycles up for sale
    Its time for us to hit the trail and get away
    We?ve got the car all packed I can safely say we won?t be back
    I?m as serious as a heart attack this time around
    Because nothing ever changes here it stays the same from year to year
    Most folk live and die in fear of things that don?t exist
    It?s just the same old yeah yeah yeah
    The more we hang around the less we seem to care
    I?m sick of myself and I?m sick of this town
    And I?m sick of feeling like I?m on a ship that?s going down
    What?s the point of waiting if there?s nothing worth waiting for
    If you never push the boat out boy you?ll never leave the shore
    So Long Gone
    He sits back and puts his feet up on the dashboard
    And tries to get as comfy as he can
    And he writes our name on the condensated window
    Then quickly wipes it away with the back of his hand
    He sighs as if he?s gonna speak
    Like maybe something?s on his mind
    Maybe its what lies ahead
    Or maybe its what?s left behind
    So I wind down the window and let the air rush in
    It?s easy to be sleepy when you drive all night
    I rub my eyes and search for something on the radio
    And I realize we?re not moving out but letting go
    So as we slowly disappear into the distance
    Another day away from no-wheres-ville
    Anything is better than stranded here in no mans land
    Like a demon reaching down suck you in like sinking sand
    And we?re so long gone and we?re so glad
    That we?re so long gone and we can hardly wait
    Never coming back
    Never coming back
  9. Jason Rimbaud

    Happy 420

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    I know wishing everyone a Happy 4-20 day on 4-22 is a bit trite, but for some reason I totally forgot to post this on 4-20 day itself. I know there should be a reason for forgetting, but for the life of me I can't remember.
    HAPPY 4-20 Everyone
    Jason R.
  10. Jason Rimbaud
    I woke up this morning feeling uncharacteristically happy and it took me a few hours to pinpoint the reason for this exciting emotion. Then I realized that my nose no longer bleeds when I blow it first thing in the morning to clear the sleep away. It's been years since this happened. Maybe sobriety has it's up-sides after all.
    Jason R.
  11. Jason Rimbaud
    I can't sleep, or I'm afraid to sleep, to face the dreams that haunt me. It started last Friday night. My eyes are bloodshot, dark circles line my face, and I can't seem to find solace. Sunday morning I woke up, the light from my window burning my eyes and my head pounding. I don't work Sunday so I clean the house, I do laundry and veg out in front of the TV. Sunday night I wake up, my alarm clock is blinking, I had the same nightmare. I can't go back to sleep. I go through all day Monday feeling listless and tired. My boss tells me I look sick, I say I'm only tired.
    I go home, I have a beer. I pass out on the couch. Three hours later I wake up, the nightmare fresh in my mind. I can't go back to sleep, I can't seem to find solace. Not even in drugs, I bought Vicadin from a friend on Tuesday. I pop three pills, three thousand milligrams, I need to sleep. But now I'm trapped inside the nightmare, I couldn't wake up, and when I did, my sheets were soaked and I had claw marks on my face.
    I go to work Wednesday and drift around the restaurant, my mind unfocused. Customers complain that I forgot things, my boss calls me into the office to talk to me, I fell asleep. He sends me home after asking what's wrong with me. I can't tell him, I don't know. I manage to eat without throwing it up, I watch TV. I drink a pot of coffee, I don't want to sleep. I wake up on the couch, my pants are wet from the coffee I spilled. I go to the gym and climb on a treadmill, I start to run. Three hours later I pass out, I'm thirsty, I must've forgot to drink water.
    Thursday night after work, I buy an eightball of cocaine from a friend. I'm determined not to let this nightmare grip me again. I brew a pot of coffee, I do lines all night. I type feverishly at the computer, the words I write meaningless and intelligible. I do more lines, I drink another pot of coffee. I'm awake, but I feel like I've been kicked by a mule. I go to work Friday morning, my boss sends me home and suggests I seek help. He's worried about me, I understand but I still don't know why this nightmare is haunting me.
    I go and buy another eightball, I've been up for three days, I wonder if my mind is finally sick enough not to dream. My heart is sick, it's pounding so hard I feel like I have heartburn, my thoughts won't make sense anymore, words are mysteries that I can't comprehend. I smoke a cigarette but it made me sick to my stomach. I open a bottle of wine but it's tasteless, my throat is too numb. I try to lie down but the act of being prone causes my head to hurt again. I see dust on the TV and a sink full of dirty dishes. Someone must've thrown up in the sink, I see that too. Maybe I don't exist. Or maybe I'm in hell.
    I take a shower, but I can't recognize the figure staring back at me in the mirror. My ribs are sticking out, maybe I should eat. Though I'd probably throw it up anyway. I do a few more lines, the eightball is nearly gone. I cut my arm with the razor, I want to know if I can feel. I don't, but I am mesmerized by the blood streaming down and how it pools on the carpet. I laugh, I wonder just how big of a puddle I can make it. I reach for the razor again.
    And that's when I wake up screaming. I've had this dream three nights in a row. I usually don't analyze my dreams, but this one kind of frightened me. What is my mind trying to tell me? Is there a meaning or is this the product of my imagination? But what really worries me, like in the dream, tonight is the fourth night. If I dream it again, will I buy pills tomorrow? Did I just dream my own future, did I just witness my own...? Great, now I'm scared to fall asleep.
    Fuck, I miss Daniel right now.
    Jason R.
  12. Jason Rimbaud
    So I've been drinking a bit tonight, a very good Merlot, okay, truth be told, I'm working on my third bottle of Merlot, but who's counting. Either way, while I'm drinking, I've been channel surfing. And I came across an eposide of Everyone Love's Raymond. And for the first time in my life, I actually watched the entire eposide. And I've come to the conclusion that I really don't Love Raymond. Matter of fact, I think I might despise Raymond, so much that if i saw him walking on the side of the street, I would swerve just to hit him with my car. I've not had this instant hatred for anyone since I first watched Tom Hanks in The Man with One Red Shoe. And I'm a bit perplexed, since I thought no one would ever come along that I would hate as much as I hate Tom Hanks. But Raymond is way up there. I think that naming a show, Everyone Loves Raymond is a bit arrogant on the part of the writers/creators. Because I don't love Raymond at all. Matter of fact, I think I hate Raymond with a passion that should only be reserved for the bedroom. Fuck Raymond and his stupid show. Fuck him all the way to hell.
    Jason R.
    PS: Even though I'm drunk, I'll still hate that fucking horrible actor in the morning. Fuck Raymond. And fuck Tom Hanks.
  13. Jason Rimbaud
    Happy One Year Anniversary
    to me
    to me
    Happy One Year Anniversary
    to me
    to me
    So what if I'm four days late, it's my anniversary and I'll be late if I want too.
    Thanks for having a place such as Awesome Dude where A-holes like myself can find a home.
    And thanks to all the folks who have been so nice to me over this year.
    Jason R.
  14. Jason Rimbaud
    Current Music Selection: Breaking Benjamin?Phobia
    Current State: Hungry
    Current Mood: Exhausted
    So I?ve had a long week. After taking three months off, I?ve recently begun working at an up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto as a server. Not only has this new job interfered with my writing but has contributed to my depressed state as of late. Let me explain.
    Have you ever heard of the theory of doppelganger? Basically it?s the theory that everyone has a twin somewhere out there. Like maybe two people with the same soul separated somehow in the cosmos. The bad part, they say one is evil and one is good.
    If you?ve read my poetry then maybe you?ve read about a boy named John that dominates my thoughts. Well, I met his doppelganger.
    Not that Brandon is the evil one, far from it actually. If anything John was the evil one and Brandon is like this brilliant light shining in the darkness. But it still sucks, because now I have to see John on a daily basis. Like I need more reminders about that fucked up relationship and that olive skinned boy that mind fucked me.
    It?s really uncanny, their similarities don?t end at looks, though I swear they could be twins. Both are slight of build and short, same dark hair filled with product in a mess of spikes. Both have intense green eyes that are filled with mystery and hint at unknown passions. They speak alike; enunciating the same, drawing out the vowels in an accent that can only be Northern California?s mix of culture. They have the same tastes in music, movies and both have addictions.
    John fucked up my world and now, I have to work with his other self. The first time I saw Brandon, I actually said, ?John.? And even now, I still at times call him John, much to Brandon?s amusement. Though I?ve never told Brandon about his resemblance to John, I don?t think the twenty-year-old could handle it.
    In the last ten days, I?ve thought a lot about John and our summer of sex and drugs. And the reasons I seem to attract such disturbing relationships. I know my past haunts me and dictates my behavior. I know if I can?t find some way to lay these demons to rest, I?ll never find peace.
    So with advice from my roommate, Daniel, I?m going to voluntarily seek help. I?ve made an appointment with a therapist and Tuesday I?ll have my first session. I don?t know how much help she can offer but I don?t want to feel this way anymore.
    So one last time, I?ll let John dominate my thoughts. Below is a piece I wrote three years ago called Nothing Like Human. It shows my state of mind and despair. One last time I will share it before putting it away forever.
    Cheers until we meet again,
    Jason R.
    Nothing like Human
    By: Jason R.
    I?m afraid of my own mental state
    I believe you know it?s a tenuous grip on reality at best
    And I can not stand to face my fears
    The longer I wrap myself with lies
    The longer I can deny my fear
    I am nothing like human
    No?not I
    Humans have a desire to be happy
    To know love and to be loved
    At least I know where my fear began, do you
    I understand my webs of deceit even as I deny them
    My life has been one long secret
    Love hidden in shadows
    Scared to let the sun penetrate the darkness of my love
    Joy realized only in the embrace of the night
    Scattered illusions when the sun crested the dawn
    Pretty ironic for the boy who only wanted to find the sun
    I need some blue skies
    Maybe I am Hemmingway
    Tortured you once claimed
    Not quite right in the head
    Honesty is the enemy and I hated you for that
    I hated your clarity and intuition
    I hated your knife that cut through my delusion
    And forced me to reflect with the truth
    I hated your manipulations
    Your icy silences
    I hated your volume
    I hated the calm before the storm
    I hated your coercion
    And I hated your intimidation
    And I hated your complete disregard for me
    I hated your explosions and your casualness of coldness
    I hated your alcohol breath
    And I hated your seduction
    Even as I was consumed by your words
    And torn between fear and lust
    Even though I was uncomfortable
    I allowed it to happen
    Your manipulations were as deft as mine
    Neither were harmless yet maybe
    Both were unintentional
    I hated your temper
    The drama that surrounds you
    Pushes you to end things noisily
    But mainly I was afraid of rejection
    Nothing started on a fabricated destiny will last
    My own web of bullshit returns to haunt me again
    And there was fear
    I feared you
    And to a point?I still do
    But now for different reasons
    But only to a point
    Since I now understand you
    You were easy to understand
    When I took the time to look
    I no longer hate you
    Hate is an emotion I can no longer afford
    Could it be we two are alike
    Stolen innocence long before toys were put to rest
    Long before we should have ever had to choose like adults
    I was a child
    Innocence taken by a priest
    Forced to grow up
    With scratches on my back
    And bite marks on my ear
    I wonder what was your instrument of damnation
    An Uncle perhaps
    Or some other relative
    I had to be close to you
    For to this day prompts you to be wary even in slumber
    Shallow and scared you still run from the dark
    I know, I wake up in sweats still reliving those months of torture
    Sleep eludes me
    Even without stimulates I sleep in stolen moments between nightmares
    Maybe the drugs ingested are a substitute
    For the nightmares that haunt us
    Or you may be right
    That my own perverse mentality leads me
    Drives me?Controls me
    Until my jaded outlook on life destroys all things good and pure around me
    Until happiness eludes me
    Jaded
    Looking back on the mess of shit I spewed around you
    Can I blame you for the reception I received
    When all you have are the lies to piece together the puzzle
    Then the distorted picture that emerges could only frighten you
    Push you away
    Force you to make that decision
    Maybe not the decision you wished
    But the only decision I gave you
    Realistically a choice was never made
    One avenue of escape was presented
    You took that step
    I pushed you
    And it was easy
    You wanted that push
    I fulfilled it
    I can not be trusted
    Those words ring in my head like a mantra
    Repeating over and over until even I believe them
    But for every lie I entrusted to you
    I received two in return
    I lied to you
    And you lied to me
    About me
    Against me
    Hatred fueling your words till perceptions were skewed
    And for a time
    You won
    A brief season of celebration you enjoyed
    I know
    I heard the clapping
    I felt the jubilation in your words
    And I smiled
    My greatest strength is I truly don?t care what others think
    I always said the greatest joke in the world is the joke no knew you played
    For through this all
    You?ve amused me
    I sit back and wonder how badly I must have crept under your skin
    To cause those feelings inside you
    After all
    Hate without love is powerless
    And your hate was strong
    Again I laugh at the perfect hatred emanating from you
    My manipulation was deft
    My target destroyed
    For my life is a jumbled mess of misconceptions
    Interpreted by those that saw through my bullshit
    And called me on it
    I respect those that see me for the liar I am
    I respect you though I hate to be around you
    No one likes to be reminded of the failure they?ve become
    But respect is there
    An unspoken fondness for you
    Yet you seem to struggle with this fondness
    Unsure of how to proceed
    I like to believe you only wished to help me
    Change me somehow
    Or maybe you only wanted to understand
    Understanding is the key to change
    And can I change
    Not in your eyes
    And I really can?t blame you for that
    Nor will I try to make you understand
    For I have no cause to explain myself
    Right or wrong
    Past is past
    And I?ll live for today
    And sometimes
    Some people just aren?t worth the effort
    But how long can you try to understand
    Before the struggle becomes more than you can bear
    Will it drain you
    Change you
    Alter your meager threshold of pain
    Will it break you mentally
    Until there is no gesture of goodwill left in your already fragile mind
    You lasted longer than I thought possible
    Longer than anyone else
    The respect grows
    So does the un-comfortableness
    I sat there in the dark
    Plotting
    Night after night
    Wondering what it would take to finally push you to the limit
    What could I do to break whatever feeling you had left for me
    Hatred
    Now that?s something I understand all to well
    Seeing the avenue before us was life changing
    For it was wide and straight
    Opposite of the twisted subversive alley you accuse me of dwelling in
    Telling our friends I walk in shadow
    Jaded
    I saw my way out and made you make the decision
    For if anyone couldn?t handle us
    It was me
    You were right about a lot of things
    Your intuition astounds me
    Even when your motivation is in question
    After all
    Your motives were never clear
    I know
    Mine mirrored yours
    Manipulation is my weapon
    I?ll give you that one
    But sex is yours
    Your body the knife that cuts deeper than any sword
    Your smile that destroys
    Mirroring a hurricane ripping and tearing the shore
    But who is affected most
    The victim
    Or you
    When I couldn?t make myself over
    Into your distorted vision of what we should be
    I manipulated you into hating us
    It was easy
    One conversation
    One fight
    One word
    Goodbye
    Marionette on wires
    You danced to my tune
    The puppet master
    The piped piper
    And if I made you uncomfortable
    All the better
    Self-preservation is paramount
    A lesson you know well
    You perfected it even as I have
    But you have nothing to fear from me
    Only those I hate need fear me
    And I don?t hate you
    These words may not reach you
    I know you
    You?ll walk around them
    Ignore them
    Wishing them away will be your game
    And though on the outside you will discount them
    On the inside you?ll be grateful to have read them
    To understand the right side of my mind
    This part of me I hold close
    Close like a junkie holding his syringe
    For these words are alive
    Brought forth by my own desperate need to understand myself
    Given breath by every keystroke of my hand
    I will affect you
    Complicate
    And erect you with these words
    This spoken question in written form
    Will confuse you
    But also wrap you tightly in a kind of tangled hope
    That I am not the man I was
    Or the man you thought me to be just a few weeks ago
    In a fit of anger
    You once told me to write down what I wanted to say to you
    Accusing me of being unable to convey my emotions in spoken words
    I hope I made myself clear in these words
    Though I believe it will not matter
    Scar tissue erodes my soul and suffers me a fate of loneliness
    My life is one long scar
    I wear it proudly
    Invent reasons to stay hard
    Unfeeling
    And when I begin to feel
    I create situations to destroy that feeling
    Why
    A question that will never be answered
    For no one will try long enough to receive the answer
    I will not allow it anyway
    Just as you weren?t allowed inside
    Seeing anger
    Hate
    Indifference in your eyes
    Is easier than seeing any form of love
    Surrounded by my fantasy
    My delusions accept me like no human will
    Looking back on my life
    I can blame no one for the choices I?ve made
    I can hate no one for any reactions I receive
    Though maybe someday I?ll prove I?m something like human
    Until then
    Don?t think of me in anger
    Hate
    These emotions will ruin your life
    Instead
    Think of me in pity
    It?s more than I deserve
    And all I ever receive
    Wednesday, April 15th, 2003
    7:08 PM
  15. Jason Rimbaud

    Chit & Also Chat Equals An Upset "N"

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    Chit & Also Chat Equals an Upset “N”
    May 12th, 2022
     
    I can’t believe it’s already May 12, 2022. Life seems to move faster and faster the older you get. I’ll be fifty in two and half years. Where the hell did the time go? Just yesterday I was twenty year old chasing fuzzy bunny slippers and now I’m lucky to find my slippers. Not sure if that is a euphemism. But it sounds dirty so I’ll allow it. 
    So I’m bald. But that’s been for like ten years now. I’m one of the lucky ones. My head is perfectly round like a bowling ball, it also has three holes in it. Wait, I’m forgetting a few holes, that’s so not like me to forget a hole I have. Told you I’m getting old.
    Remember when I was obsessed with my drug weight and how I hated to be sober because it made me fat? And once I quit drugs my friends used to say that I was finally getting to a “healthy weight”. Which we all know is code for fat ass. Well, no one accuses me of that anymore. And I’m a few pounds heavier than I used to be.
    I’m married, for three years now. We have been together for almost seven years. So my days of chasing train twink's and straight boy crushes are long behind me. As well as any type of sex. I’m trying to tell you that I never have sex anymore. And it’s not like I don’t try to jump my husband's bones/bone at every opportunity. For some reason he hates it when I try to dry hump him in the middle of Target. He’s such a prude sometimes. 
    I am now the owner of two cats, Chit and Chat. So my once pristine carpets are destroyed and filled with stains. And not the fun stains that I am accustomed to cleaning. Fur balls, and vomit and that’s just from my husband. 
    My job is amazing. It keeps me busy but opening new locations and getting into the corporate side of the business is so much fun. I don’t want to tell them that I would do it for half the money they are paying me. Even I think they pay me way too much for the work I accomplish. 
    My husband, I love the way that sounds by the way. My husband just graduated from an online college for accounting. He decided to change careers at *insert age*, and is now living his best life as a stuffy accountant. Did I mention that he crammed a three year program into one year? Did I also tell you that he did that while working a full time job? Did I also tell you that he graduated with one of the highest rankings in the year? Boom, humble brag about my husband, no regrets.
    The last three months, I have begun gathering all my writings, Blog entries, poetry, and converting them to Google Docs so I can keep them all in the same place. During this process, I first started with my Blog at AwesomeDude. I went all the way back to the very first one with the intention of copying and pasting into Google Docs. But I found myself re-reading the entries and I found so many errors, spelling or grammatical that I actually rewrote all of them. From start to finish. I wasted almost two months rewriting them all before I started on my poetry, and I am now working on all the stories I posted under a name that none of you know. 
    Did you know that twenty years ago I was rather prolific on Nifty writing fan fiction? Did you also know that I won several Boy Band awards writing under my first pen name? You didn’t, because they were all fucking horrible. I know, because I am reading/rewriting them now for some weird reason. Maybe one day I’ll let you read them so you can see how much they suck. 
    Getting back to my Blog, boy was I a mess back then. Do you remember those angst filled, drug induced, straight boy crushes that almost killed me? I don’t. It was like looking at someone else. I guess I am so far removed from that person that I actually enjoyed reading the old entries. On entertainment value, I’d say my Blog was a 9 out of 20. On personal growth, 20 out of 20. 
    I posted on several different sites over the years. And as I have been gathering them all together, I have come across stories I completely forgot I wrote. Poetry that was really good, it’s under my name but I’ll be damned if I remember writing them.  Is this what happens when you finally get your shit together and grow up? 
    I used to be a clean freak, I’d have marathon cleaning sessions. In each room of my apartment/house, all the carpet had to be vacuumed in the same way, each with complete straight lines. I washed the baseboards every week, dust the tops of doorways, clean all the doors to my kitchen cabinets. Scrub the floor and if I’d find even one little stain on my carpet, I’d shampoo the entire thing. But that was before “N”.
    Upon reading my Blog, it seems that all the men I dated/fucked are messy. It’s easily the one thing that connects all my hookups together. I still hate leftovers, I don’t understand why you need to have leftovers? Why? You never fucking eat them. Throw them away. Why do you constantly make me clean up after you by cleaning out the fridge every few days of leftover food that you just had to save? 
    “N” comes home from work. Before I tell you that, let me explain a little about “N”. “N” is 110 pounds if I put rocks in his pockets and weigh him fully dressed including shoes. And he’s five foot nine inches, so he’s not short. The only reason I tell you this is to explain why I do five loads of laundry each week with only two people in the house. 
    “N” wears this every time he leaves the house. Three to four pairs of long johns, a pair of jeans/pants, three pairs of socks, a Tank-Top, a T-Shirt,a pullover sweater, a hoodie, and of course undies. That’s seven days a week! 
    Before I came into his life, I’m not saying that he wore the same long johns, socks for days on end, but he was only doing one load of laundry a week. I’ll let you decide his clothing habits. 
    So when my lovely husband comes home after a long day at work. The other thing about “N” is, when he was going to school full time, he was also working full time. He is as dedicated, driven a person as I ever met. He’s smart, way smarter than I will ever hope to be. He’s hot, fucking hot in a can’t believe I get to see you naked whenever I want kind of way. He’s so fucking hot if I wasn’t so in love with him I’d want the whole world to see his naked ass. But he’s a messy mother fucker. 
    He comes home from work, after studying five or six hours in the morning before working an entire day, and his shoes get thrown in different directions, he takes off his long johns, and pants, and undies in one motion. So I have three to four long johns, pants, undies, all inside out, layered on top of each other. His socks come off the same way, three pairs inside out layered, his sweater and hoodie, inside out and layered…in a heap on the kitchen or living room floor. 
    He then gets a new pair of undies, sleep pants, three pairs of socks, a Tank Top, T-Shirt, and a sweater/hoodie. Then he crawls into our bed, we have three thick comforters and he still complains he’s cold. I’m in the house, in a pair of shorts, sweating because he has the fucking heat turned up to the hell setting. Our two cats, Chit & Chat, are literally open mouth breathing because of the heat. And he’s fucking cold. 
    He then gets ready for bed. He takes off the sweater/hoodie, the T-Shirt, throws them on the floor next to our bed, and goes to sleep. In the morning, he gets a new T-Shirt, sweater/hoodie and puts them on. After he takes a shower, he takes off his undies, his three pairs of socks, his Tank-Top, his T-Shirt, and his sweater/hoodie and puts them on the bathroom floor. Right next to the laundry basket, because he prefers his clothes on the floor. I love him. 
    We have four laundry baskets around our house. For one, because for some reason we go through a lot of dirty clothes. But mainly because I always have a laundry basket handy for me to pick up his clothes from the floor and put it inside the basket. He then starts the whole process all over again. I do a lot of laundry. Do you understand how much time I spend just turning his clothes right side out before washing them? You don’t because no one is as messy as my husband. Not your husband, or any husband that has ever been a husband in the history of the entire fucking world. 
    September marks the 16th year I’ve had a Blog on Awesome Dude. Sixteen long years of rambling, digressions, and pointless rants that my one loyal reader has had to put up with. I feel sorry for whoever that person is. I probably have made him/her/they dumber in the process. But that’s the risk you run when reading anything I write. You must have missed the disclaimer. 
    I’ve been toying with the idea of doing something special in September. Like maybe I’ll post nudes in my Blog, one nude for each year my Blog has been hosted at Awesome Dude. I could probably find a nude from every year. Then all you could see the way I’ve gotten balder on my head and hirsute in my ears and upper shoulders. By the way, no one ever told me that not only does hair grow out your ears the older you get, but for some reason my eyebrows are getting bushy as well. Fuck you all for keeping that secret from me. 
    I also thought I could do a Blast from the Past section in my Blog. Posting something once a month to remind my one loyal reader of the absurdity of my past. Or I could work in the titles of my old entries with a link for those who might want to revisit those digressions. Seriously, when I read the entry “I’ll Never Wear Boxers Again”, it might be one of the best things I wrote here. 
    But all that sounds like a shit ton of work and I’m way too lazy to do any of that. Though I did have fun going through my photos finding all the nudes I’ve taken over the years. I don’t want to slut shame myself, but I was a fucking slut. Some of the photos I looked at and thought, why did I get laid so often in my youth? There is a whole series of just Las Vegas photos that would make a seaman blush. Boom, my first cum joke of this Blog, no regrets. 
    “N” had wanted a dog from the first moment I met him. I’m not an animal person. If anyone remembers an entry called “Giant Can Of Red Bull, Spearmint Gum, and a Pack of Marlboro Lights” would know that. I completely refused to get a dog. They are messy, dirty, and stain the carpets. I would not have a dog in my fucking house. Plus, I have a hard enough time cleaning up “N’s” shit on the daily. The last thing I want to do is clean up actual shit from the street a few times a day. The one thing I make “N '' do, he must clean the litter box. And if he “forgets” I dump a bit of fresh litter on his side of the bed to remind him. Just a little game we like to play. Don’t you worry about that. 
    Chit is an orange tabby female cat. According to “N”, orange tabby females are very rare. Chit was brought home about 10 months ago. Chit is a very nice cat, cleans herself often, has a clean butthole, and much to “N’s” chagrin, is my cat. Chit follows me around the house, no matter where I’m at, Chit is right there next to me. Chit helps me do laundry, helps me clean, offers advice while I’m playing video games, watches me while I eat. What else, she’s 11 pounds at 10 months old, so she is still a kitten. Oh, and she fucking sleeps on my face every night.
    “N” is always cold. I have tried to get Chit to sleep with “N”. But for some reason, Chit is not happy unless her ass is firmly pressed up against my mouth. I sleep on my left side, facing my wonderful if not messy husband. My arm is stretched out like I’m trying to stay connected to him in our sleep. Chit sleeps in the corner of my arm, her head facing “N”, her ass in my mouth. And when I move my head back a few inches to get a breath that’s not filled with hair, she presses back until she makes contact with my mouth. Six hours a day I have to put up with this cat needing me to breathe on her ass.  
    Chit wakes me up every morning at 3am by slapping my face with her paws. She will continue to slap me until I roll over on my back where she will then sit on my chest, her face about an inch from my mouth and demand head rubs for about twenty minutes. Once she decrees that she is finished with head rubs, she will smack my face for me to roll back over on my side where she will assume her position of staring at my husband with her ass back in my mouth. At five am, she will start headbutting me until I get up to feed her. Once she is fed, I am dead to her for about seven hours. She sleeps next to my husband, purring in his ear. 
    Chit is a very proper cat. She lays down with her paws crossed, staring blankly at me as I move around the house. The upside, I can do anything I want to her  and she doesn’t seem to care. I touch her paws, trim her nails, rub her belly, all this she takes in stride. Have you ever given someone a “raspberry”. You know, you put your lips on them and blow out. I do this to her all the time, and she just sits there with a look on her face of “continue, let me know when you are done.” 
    To get my revenge on her, when she is sleeping in the ray of sunshine that comes through our patio door, I start rubbing her head, her belly, anything to wake her up. Then once she goes back to sleep, I’ll do it again. One time I timed it, I fucked with her sleeping for thirty minutes and she didn’t move more than her tail twitched. Chit likes to take showers with me. She gets soaking wet and likes to run to my sleeping husband plop down on his chest. It’s one of his favorite ways to wake up in the morning. 
    About two months ago, “N” decided that our perfect little proper cat is depressed. So he brings home a little psycho that we named “Chat”. Chat was abandoned, so she never had a mother to teach her things like, how to groom herself, how to cover her waste, or how to do anything. So we have a complete psycho that has disturbed our lives in ways that we will be feeling for years to come. 
    If you thought I was mean to Chit for fucking with her while she sleeps, then you haven’t seen nothing what Chat does. It took us about a week to bring the two together. Chit and also Chat are now friends. They sleep together, groom each other, steal one another's food, shit in the same box, and generally cause mayhem in our lives. 
    I know I said Chit was a proper cat. But that was a lie. Chit has destroyed my carpets, my couch, my top comforter, and all the strings to every single hoodie I own. All of them. She is a complete nightmare walking. I cut her nails, we have scratching posts all over the house, but she refuses to use them. I fucking hate her. 
    No matter where Chit is, Chat will stalk her in a way that only a two pound kitten can do, unsteadily. Chat will creep up and then run at full speed and launch herself into Chit. I find it crazy that Chit is so gentle with Chat. She could easily knock her into next month but I’ve seen Chit actually run into a wall to avoid stepping on Chat. 
    The other day, remember, Chat has only been in our house for five weeks, Chit must have gotten tired of the smell because Chat hasn’t learned to groom herself. Chit ran over and forced her to the floor, and started cleaning her from nose to tail. “N” and myself were cheering her on by saying, “clean her butthole, teach her to clean her butthole”. And Chit being a proper cat, did just that. No more smelly Chat. Boom, kind of a Friends reference, some regrets. 
    “N” was hoping when he brought Chat home, that he would finally get a cat of his own to shadow him all over the house. He took off four days to make sure I was at work so she would bond with him. He demanded that only he be the one to feed her. After the first day was over, and I was heading into work, the moment the door shut behind me, Chat started crying at the door and did so for the rest of the day. When I get home, Chat comes running to me no matter what she is doing. 
    So now I have two cats, Chit and Chat, sleeping on my face. Chat is learning that if she smacks me in the face during the night, she will get head rubs too. I now get woken up in shifts, one for Chit, and one for Chat. Believe me, I thank my husband every morning by waking him up when they wake me up. It's a game we love to play. A game that has evolved into my husband threatening to move into the guest room if I insisted on playing it with him. We so love to kid each other. 
     
    Where was I? That’s right. I’m happy.
  16. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Five
    By: Jason R.
    I had heard the word ?fuck? before at school, but had never heard that word uttered in my house much less inside the sanctity of my room. I was shocked at his blatant rebellion for everything ?our? religion stood for. And yet, at the same time, I was intrigued by his knowledge of all things carnal. Maybe this was my savior. Maybe he could show me all the things I wanted to know.
    Though I thought these things in my mind, I still looked around the room nervously, making sure no one had heard him swear. I was extremely scared that if my father had heard him utter that word, I would lose my new friend, my maybe savior, forever. When he saw me looking around the room, he began to laugh.
    I can remember that laugh so vividly. It was a laugh full of mischief, and very infectious. Not like the whole body laugh where the body shakes uncontrollably and it wasn?t a quiet laugh either. More like a laugh from the depths of the soul. Like he had found some kind of inner happiness and nothing could ever take it away.
    So I was nervous when he stopped laughing and asked me in a serious tone. Have you ever said that before?
    I replied, ?I could never say that word, I don?t want to make god mad at me.? (yes, I really was that innocent once upon a time) Do you know what he did, he laughed at me again, that bastard.
    I was more than a bit hurt by his laughter, and yet on the other hand, I wished I could be so reckless with my mortal soul. He teased me for awhile, calling me chicken. (one thing about me, and to this very day, I don?t like being called chicken) I told him I wasn?t scared but I wouldn?t say a word I didn?t know the meaning of.
    I had this smug look on my face, since I knew there was no way in the world this kid could know the definition to such an ?evil? word. I was sure he was only saying it because he knew it was a word kid?s shouldn?t say. Damn, was I wrong about that.
    I know my face turned every shade of red when he began describing in great detail, just what that word meant. I know I was squirming in my shoes, and that my soul was forever tainted at what I learned that day. But when he began to show me what it meant by using my bed as a prop, I lost it completely.
    I started yelling for him to stop desecrating my bed, and that he was the devil's child and that I never wanted to see him again. Do you know what he did as I was yelling at him, he laughed all the harder. I put my hands on my hips and demanded to know the reason he was laughing at me.
    Because you?re stupid and it feels good to laugh at you.
    He kept saying that word over and over again, FUCK. I put my hands over my ears to block out the sound of that dirty word. Now remember, I was still feeling guilty about my own brush with sin a few days earlier. And it?s easier to forget my mistakes if I can condemn him for his. I find this is a typical reaction of the religious zealots that populate our society.
    Then he asked me the one question that shut me up and caused my soul to freeze. Have you ever even jacked off?
    The look of confusion on my face must have been hilarious because it sent him into fits of laughter. And when he realized I had no idea what ?jacking off? was, caused him to laugh even harder if that was possible.
    After he regained control of himself, he began to describe what ?jacking off? meant, going as far as mimicking the motions right in front of me. I guess he could tell by the embarrassed look in my eyes that I knew exactly what he was talking about. You?ve done it. He accused, taunting me as he bounced up and down on my small bed. Then he looked at me, his eyes sparkling, and dropped the second bombshell on my life. Did you enjoy it?
    I think the hardest thing I ever did in my twenty-two years of living was to answer that question. My mind was telling me to deny it, but my recently awakened libido was screaming for me to admit that not only have I done it but had thought about nothing else since. Like a huge match of tug-o-war, my religious side was warring with my carnal side. Needless to say, my carnal side kicked the shit out of my religious side.
    I think in that one moment, with that one question, all hopes of me following in my father?s footsteps went out the proverbial window. That question started an adventure I?m still on to this day.
    Some would say I?m trying to justify my lust with logic. Others would say I?m blaming my promiscuity on a sense of adventure, and the admittance to a fourteen-year-old boy I enjoyed jacking off. Hell, both might be true. I do have an appetite for sex, and the pleasure of new experiences. Which is why I have tried sex with both males and females. Call it what you will, but I have to blame it on something, right?
    I remember hanging my head down in shame as the words came out of my mouth. ?Yes, I did it, and it was like nothing I ever felt before.?
    My head shot up as he said, You know it?s normal for teenagers to do it. My teacher said there?s nothing wrong by doing it. It?s actually healthy for boys to do it.
    He further admitted that he had been doing it at least twice a day for a few years now. I asked, ?Did it always feel the same way each time you do it?? How was I to know, it could have been a one-time thing?
    That night I learned about fantasies. I learned you could think about other people touching you while you pleasure yourself. I?ve always had an active imagination. So what if I put it to good use that night after Greg?s family left.
    This is the tricky part, up to then and for some time to come, I knew nothing about girls. So my fantasy that night used the only template I had at my disposal. That night I masturbated thinking about Greg.
    I?ve had lots of arguments with other gays about whether it?s a choice or if you?re born a certain way. Honestly, I don?t know the answer to that question. My thoughts marry the two ideas together. Some are just born that way while others have it thrust upon them by society. I don?t want to argue or start a discussion with anyone. Can?t we all just get along? See another choice.
    Up until that night, I was a complete sexual non-entity. I was attracted to neither sex, hence, I made a choice of what I was attracted too. And when I have felt that same attraction to a particular girl, I?ve had sex with her. I?m not bi-sexual, and I?m not heterosexual, nor would I call myself homosexual. I look at myself as a sexual being who enjoys the act of consenting sex between adults. Most of the time I?ve chosen males, kind of a remembrance of my first love so to speak.
    Where was I? Oh yeah, I started discovering my inner pleasures that night thinking about my new friend, Greg. As the weeks and months went by, Greg and I became close friends. Both of our families like the idea of us hanging out together. Because at that time, we both acted like good little Christian boys in public. But behind closed doors, that was another matter all together.
    Greg was my first in so many different ways. Not only my first sexual encounter but also my first time skinny-dipping. I remember choking my lungs out the first time we tried smoking a cigarette out behind the fence of my backyard. I was petrified my father would smell the smoke all the way inside the house or hear us coughing and come outside and catch us. I can still taste the puke I threw up the first time we got drunk on a bottle of Jack Daniels Greg stole from the local convenient store. It was horrible, and I vowed to never drink again. Though I broke the promise the very next weekend on a church camp out. This time it was a bottle of vodka, and I thought it might not make me sick like Jack Daniels. Again, I was wrong.
  17. Jason Rimbaud
    Current Music Selection: Five For Fighting?World from the album Two Lights
    Current State: Dis-jointed
    Current Mood: Depressed
    ?What kind of world do you want?
    Think Anything
    Let's start at the start
    Build a masterpiece
    Be careful what you wish for
    History starts now..? Five for Fighting
    If you?ve read any of my poetry hosted here at Awesome Dude or have ever been bored enough to visit my website, then you probably have an idea that my childhood was less than perfect. And before you ask, most of my poetry chronicles my life and the demons I face on every level of my existence. Add into the mix my BI-polar tendencies and dependence on altered states of reality, I wonder why I don?t let the pain slide.
    Maybe it?s a stubborn refusal to let ?him? win. He?s already taken my first from me and inadvertently gave me this sickness and fear of front seats and single beds. Squeezing the trigger now would be like saying the last ten years of struggling to find the sun was pointless. Maybe John was right, my life really was over at twelve. That I?m dead and just haven't fallen over yet.
    But giving up has never been part of my genetic make-up. I also got that from ?him? as well as his predatory nature and life denial. I?ve always been good at smiling at those who pretend to care about my well being. You know the types I mean, well-intentioned do-gooders who spit platitudes and rhetoric claiming truth from a book they use to bludgeon others into sameness. Or ?caring? therapists who attach blame but offer no solutions. Who takes poetry as absolute and recommends institutional care and gives you labels like, HRSA.
    I tend to roll my eyes and go off into my own world as they try to convert me, analyze me, or commit me, while alternately scratching my nuts and winking at the cute ones. Once, I even stripped off my clothes in the middle of her office and described in vivid detail that first time. That didn?t help me but it was the first time I was held overnight for observation.
    Have you ever wondered why christians are filled with such hatred for anyone who differs from their idyllic belief system? I was raised on the good book, I?ve read it ten or eleven times and for a brief period, I could quote dozens of scriptures and talk down to others with the best of them. But that was before front seats of cars and someone who used his position to further his own demons. Being taken advantage of puts you in a place, mentally and physically, that you never truly leave. Having one?s innocence taken by a man, who swore before god and the world that he would lead the faithful to the promised land, is something that can never be understood by someone who has never experienced such action. Molestation is an act of aggression against God.
    Christians hate others for one reason, stupidity. I?ve been there, I have the scoop and let me tell you, they begin brainwashing at the time of conception. Once a week, a man walks to the front of a building and for an hour, he pretends to speak the words of god. And the faithful sit there with raptured faces and rabid expressions as their own prejudice and fears are given validation. How can you fight christians? They tend to think in absolutes. There is no compromise with absolutes.
    Denial is the new black. My father had it, my mother has it, and my family embraces it. And I?m left alone. Can?t they see I?m hurting? It?s not about what I smoke, what I snort, what I inject, who I fuck. It?s not about whether or not I?ll go to hell. I?ve been in hell since cotton candy and broken heaters.
    It?s about this scared little boy who still sleeps in the closet at times clutching stuffed animals with ripped seams. It?s about a boy forever trapped inside a man?s body with no clear path on how to proceed. Just once, I wish they?d see me. Why can?t they see me?
    Mother
    (the reality)
    By: Jason R.
    Mother
    I can?t forgive you
    You were there all those times
    I know you know what he did
    You turned away
    Sheltered your eyes
    Belief in your god
    Could not save your boy
    What you couldn?t do
    Was protect me
    I?ve been dying
    Day by day
    Mother
    I tried to forgive you
    Because the bruises
    Speak of pain
    I heard the yelling
    I heard the praying
    But what good is god
    If a man can do that
    It?s your duty
    To your child
    Laid down in that book
    By your side
    Mother
    I won?t forgive you
    Because the laundry
    Was your domain
    You saw the blood there
    Where it never
    Should be
    From a boy of twelve
    You cleaned the sheets
    Saw the tear stains
    Mixed with fuck pains
    How could you let him touch me
    Mother
    I think I hate you
    Not as much
    As I hate that man
    Should I tell them
    All your good friends
    Just what kind of mother you are
    You hold your head straight
    During service
    They look to you
    For guidance now
    But if they only knew
    Mother
    I can?t forgive you
    I won?t forgive you
    I can?t?
    But I love you
    Help me
    Please
    Hold me
    Like a child
    Wipe the tears
    From my face
    Like I was twelve again
  18. Jason Rimbaud
    I subscribe to Yahoo Music, for those of you that don't know what this is, you pay a monthly fee and you get access to over two million songs without having to buy the album. And you can play them whenever you want with Yahoo Music Jukebox. And the best thing, since you are a subscriber, you don't have to stream them online but actually download the song to your computer. As long as you pay the monthly fee, you can play the songs whenever you want even if you aren't connected to the internet.
    So today, I was browsing the new music on Yahoo Music and saw the name Sixx AM. I've been hearing things that the bassist of Motley Crue, Nikki Sixx, was putting out an album to go along with his new book entitled The Heroin Diaries. This is a book taken directly from his journals from Christmas of 86 to Christmas of 87, and chronicles a year in the life of a heroin addict. I heard Nikki on Love Line last Sunday night and I can't wait to read this book.
    Now I'm not a fan of Motley Crue, I've always thought their music and lyrics were too juvenile for my tastes. I like my music to be a bit more in depth than sex drugs and rock and roll.
    So I was more than a bit hestitant when I saw a band called Sixx AM. But since the name of the album was the Heroin Diaries Soundtrack, and from listening to Nikki on Love Line, my curiosity was peaked so I checked out the album, expecting to hear some bad knock off of Motley Crue.
    And Holy Shit, this album blew me away and left me feeling violated. From the opening track, X-Mas In Hell, I knew this was no bad knock-off of a Motley Crue album. This was Nikki's soul laid bare, an honest look into the mind of junkie. And I wanted more.
    The music is heavy, loud and in your face on some songs, yet on other tracks, there are strings, piano, and soft acoustic guitars that enhance the listening experience without losing integrity or speed. And the lyrics, wow, Nikki takes you on a journey that is one part horror, one part depression, one part suicidal, and one part...HOPE.
    I've yet figured out who is the lead singer for Sixx AM, I do know it's not Nikki, but whoever is singing, his voice is filled with power and raw emotion when needed yet is soft and filled with passion on the darker, more introspective songs. And throughout the album and some of the songs, Nikki speaks, in what I'm assuming is excerpts from the Heroin Diaries themselves, in a matter of fact tone of voice that is quite haunting and unapologetic at the same time.
    This is by far, the best rock album I've heard in years. It's raw, powerful, and definitely in your face rock and roll that forces you along for the ride and makes you examine your life as if you were living these songs along with Nikki. I also know that most people won't find this album accessible, the themes and music will be enough to turn certain people away. But if you like your music with a little more depth than the average pop rock on the radio today, check out this album by Sixx AM called The Heroin Diaries Soundtrack, you won't be disappointed.
  19. Jason Rimbaud

    New Nickname

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    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.
  20. Jason Rimbaud
    Something strange has been happening the last three days. Beginning on Saturday night, I have been trying to reply either in the forums or post a rather...err...hostile blog message. But somehow, for three days in a row sometihng has stopped me from posting.
    The first time, I was rather drunk Saturday night and fed up with a few things I have been reading in the forums. After writing a long rant, filled with anger and curse words, I closed the window without hitting the "add reply" button in my drunken state. Save number ONE.
    The second time, Sunday night, after trying to construct the same entry, I was unsure of my spelling so I hit the spell check. For some reason, the spell check button wasn't working. (though it worked before that time and ever since) So when I went to download a spell checker, I accidently closed the window again before hitting the proper button. Save number TWo.
    The last time, Monday night, I attempted to post it again. But this time, right in the middle, I recieved a phone call. It was a boy I have been trying to get to know better. While we were doing a bit of chit and chat, I was absently toying with my computer. Again, I closed the window and lost the entry again.
    In the time since that failed attempt and now, I began to realize that fate might have been on my side for once and maybe, just maybe, has a bit of compassion for this stupid fool. Saving me from looking the asshole that I no doubt would have looked if I managed to post what I wanted too. Now, a few days later, I realized that I shouldn't really care what someone has to say in a forum/topic that I'm not even directly involved with more than just a casual read.
    I"m not sure why I depise this "person" so much that I wouuld attack him for something he said to another. To my knowledge, this person and I haven't ever spoken/wrote. Maybe it's the arrogant way he writes in the forums, or maybe his opinion just gets my ass chapped. And for some reason, I figured I should tell him how stupid he appears in these forums.
    Yet, I've been pondering these feelings. I've come to the conclusion that what he says really doesn't affect me in any way UNLESS I allow them to affect my spirit. And ignoring this person actually saves me time, when I see his name, I'll just skip over whatever he wrote. Then I won't become angry, I won't spend two hours constructing a reply that would only make me look foolish.
    Because next time, fate could just decide to allow me to post my replies and then I'll have to wear the asshole crown.
    Jason R.
  21. Jason Rimbaud
    All about Eve or Stupid Words Strung Together to Form Sentences
    He left the two laughing, his blue eyes searching the crowd for Brandon, hoping he wouldn't run into anyone else he knew. After going to the bar, he ordered another beer and sipped it slowly.
    "Hi, how are you?" a deep voice called out from behind.
    Turning around, he looked into the smiling face of Justin, another one of Brandon's bandmates. "Hi. I'm fine, and you?"
    "Bored," Justin replied, shrugging. "But then I'm always bored at these kind of parties." Holding up a full martini, he laughed, saying, "But this always helps."
    "Yes, I agree. Insulation always helps." Gabriel said before draining his beer, ordering another.
    "Alcohol is good for many things," Justin continued, never taking his eyes off the longhaired man.
    "Such as?" Gabriel asked, returning the gaze intently.
    "Like forgetting, or maybe enhancing certain feelings we usually keep hidden." Justin stated.
    "Really," Gabriel said. "And here I was thinking it was only good for getting wasted."
    Laughing a deep rich laugh, Justin shook his head. "Oh no, my friend. You see, alcohol affects the brain, and when you've consumed too much, you do stupid things."
    "Really. I"ve never noticed."
    "Really." Justin said, pointing over towards Brandon, who was trapped between four older ladies. "Take him for instance. He gets that way after a few beers. One time, he told Robert DeNiro that he was one of the most overrated actors of all time."
    "Now that's funny." Gabriel said, chuckling at the thought of someone telling Robert DeNiro off. "I bet that was the first time anyone told that jackass the truth."
    Waving his hands, Justin said, "That's beside the point, we were talking about alcohol and it's effects. Take this other friend of mine." This time Justin pointed to a tall dark haired man talking to a pretty blond girl over in the corner across the room. "Alcohol makes him believe something he's not. When he's drinking, he can forget all about his true nature."
    Musing over Justin's statements, Gabriel still couldn't figure out what the blond man was talking about. He asked, "And what does alcohol do to, someone like you?"
    "Me? Nothing, I'm the same asshole drunk or sober," Justin stated, grinning broadly. "But what I'm worried about, is you."
    "What about me?"
    "What does alcohol make you do?" Justin asked, his face turning serious.
    "For one, it gives me the patience to answer stupid questions from people I don't know." Gabriel said. "And for two, it makes me realize that some people shouldn't drink martini's. Excuse me."
    Gabriel started walking away, but Justin grabbed his arm, saying, "Wait."
    Gabriel pulled his arm from Justin's grip, saying, "Yes?"
    A smile returned to Justin's face. Downing the rest of his martini, he said, "I like you. I do. But I don't want a certain friend of mine to get hurt."
    Feigning ignorance, Gabriel asked, "What do you mean?"
    Shaking his head, Justin said, "Absolutely nothing. I just wanted to tell you that you should be carefu what you drink. Other than that, have fun." Turning around, he ordered another martini. Looking over his shoulder, he said, "Besides, I haven't seen him smile in months."
  22. Jason Rimbaud
    Five Greatest Hitchcock Films of All Time
    Last Night my roommate, Daniel, and I, got into a loud fight about Hitchcock's greatest films. Three of the five we agreed upon but he feels like North by Northwest is Hitchcock's greatest. I'm not sure if anyone that reads this blog watches Hitchcock, but here is my top five. If you havent seen any of these films, you should do yourself a favor and rent them. Great flicks by a master storyteller with brilliant acting by both Cary Grant and James Stewart.
    Number One: Suspicion
    The best movie Hitchcock ever directed. The last scene with Cary Grant holding a glass of milk as he walks up that long circular staircase still sends chills up my spine. Brilliant.
    Number Two: Rear Window
    Jimmy Stewart's finest performance. Unleashing the voyeur in us all, Hitchcock shows us that nothing we do is really private.
    Number Three: Rope
    The first movie I ever watched with hints of gay love. Though the villains are the gay guys, brilliantly acted and shot beautifully in three continuous takes.
    Number Four: The Man who knew too Much
    Another Jimmy Stewart gem, playing a man who wants his son back no matter the cost. Love this movie.
    Number Five: To Catch a Thief
    Retired cat burgular Cary Grant, stops at nothing to prove his innocent with the beautiful Grace Kelly by his side. Very cool movie.
  23. Jason Rimbaud

    Hey Jealousy

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    Hey Jealousy!
    Do you think it might be all right, if I could just crash here tonight?
    The green monster...
    Crack doesn't kill...gun's doesn't kill...bullets doesn't even kill...it's jealousy
    Jason
    Oh nuts
  24. Jason Rimbaud
    It's strange how a voice from your past, a voice that only lives in your memories, can affect you like a disease, leaving you feeling sick and weak.
    The voice I'm speaking about, Jason. The boy from I'll Never Wear Boxers Again. He calls me out of the blue today, under the guise of telling me about the birth of a child, our mutual friend Dave had his first baby boy.
    This disturbs me, we haven't spoken in almost two years. The last time we spoke was at his fucking wedding for Christ sakes. The day after we fucked for the last time. Talk about dysfunctional friends.
    The whole thing creeped me out. When my phone rang, I got a funny feeling, like someone had walked on my grave, stopped, then took a piss, before continuing on. Usually, if I don't recognize the number, I let the voice mail kick in, but for some really weird reason, I picked up and said hello. The silence was deafening when I heard his voice. It brought back so many memories, memories I wished I had lost.
    And this pisses me off, because the moment we started talking, it felt just like...well...just like old friends. There was no awkward chit nor was there awkward chat. We started laughing, joking, reminiscing about the good old days. Time spent apart didn't seem to tarnish the connection we had since the first moment we met. And I fucking hate that. He doesn't deserve a place of honor here, not when I can't have him.
    We spoke for over an hour, remembering times when we were alone. He's married and has a little girl, and though he went on and on about his baby, he never mentioned her, not once. And I fucking hate that as well. Who the fuck does he think he is? Acting like the divide between us didn't exist. Acting like he didn't choose a life that didn't have a place for me.
    Towards the end, I finally asked the question, why did you call me? Why didn't Dave call me to tell me the news? He answered, but it was so weak neither one of us wanted to acknowledge it. If for only an hour, we were together again. He kept saying that he had to get a new cell number, that his old company was overcharging him. Which was why I didn't recognize the number. I wonder, if he called me, just to make sure I had his new number.
    Did he want me to have his number? Did he want me to stay in touch? Did he remember that in three days it will be eleven years since we first met? Does he even care?
    A part of me hopes he does care, but another part, the biggest part, knows he can't. Regrets are something everyone can afford, but changing a mistake isn't that easy. You can't change who you are, you can only hide. Hiding destroys the best part of you, hiding destroys your ability to tell the truth. I wonder if I ever got the truth, I wonder if he could even tell the truth.
    After we hung up, I re-wrote this piece, something I had written a few months ago but felt something was missing. Oh Jason, how you stir my creativity. My fragile friend, my elusive muse.
    And Now You Know
    By: Jason R.
    You called me up on the phone today
    It was a struggle to find the words to say
    They say time can heal all the wounds
    But I?ve been sick since before the womb
    Just so you know
    I?m not the one that you once knew
    That lonely kid all alone in school
    I?ve made a new life accepted it all
    I embraced the name you wrote on the wall
    And you know
    When I needed you most you weren?t there
    More than alone and broke beyond repair
    I lost more of life reaping what you sow
    I don?t hate you but now you know
    When my father died I stole his last breath
    I was addicted to lust and flirting with meth
    My first trick was a boy with your face
    A suicidal thing with a beautiful taste
    And did you know
    Confronted my mother about the sins of the past
    Screamed at a tombstone about death too fast
    Wrote a thing or two about a boy named John
    Accepted the fact that most of me is wrong
    Just so you know
    When I needed you most you turned away
    You were afraid of what others might say
    So you stayed safe and I went to skid row
    I don?t hate you but now you know
    The question I ask is why the years of lies
    I know you liked me in between your thighs
    Each night you might lie next to your wife
    But I know you miss me and our secret life
    Yes I know
    In the end I guess I?m finally doing fine
    I?ve leveled out and reasoned the rhyme
    Next to me lies a boy I call best friend
    And yet if I had to I?d do it all over again
    And now you know
  25. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Seven
    By: Jason R.
    I found myself running into the night, following my best friend. After we proceeded a safe distance from the house, we stopped running and started talking excitedly. We laughed the rest of the way to the lake, about a mile from my house. During the climb out the window, he had decided we should go swimming in the moonlight. He kept saying something about getting in touch with our inner primal beast. He was always spouting shit like that. I never knew what the hell he was talking about half the time but at least I can honestly say I was never bored around, Greg, either.
    After we reached the lake, I told him I was a bit nervous about swimming at night. What if we went out into the water and couldn?t find our way back to shore? But he laughingly pointed out, With that full moon, there isn?t a chance in hell of us getting lost. Now stop being a chicken.
    To his credit, he always had an answer for everything. I think he just went through his life bullshitting and just happened to get lucky so everything always worked out for him.
    I was stalling though, from my fear of getting caught, and swimming at night. So I brought up that fact that we didn?t have anything to swim in. So what. He admonished. It?s only us guys. We?ll just go naked. When that didn?t make me agree, he added, After all, I?ve seen myself naked and believe, I?ve got the same thing between my legs that you have. So what?s the deal?
    That was his logic and damn if it doesn?t make sense to me now but back then, I was still fighting thirteen years of repression. It was evil to be naked in front of another human being.
    So as we stood there on the edge of that lake, I was debating on whether or not I could actually go through with stripping down naked in front of him. What if my father awoke and realized we were gone? What if he came looking for us at the lake? It was bad enough to sneak out of the house, but if we were caught naked together, I would probably be killed right then and there, no questions asked.
    Greg didn?t seem to care one way or the other about getting caught. Matter of face he thought it added to the thrill of sneaking out. Though he did care about whether or not I was killed, so he told me not to worry. He would protect me like always. And though that feeling in my stomach came over me again, I was still riding the fence pretty hard. But when he said, I?m going to strip and you?re chicken if you don?t follow me. That statement was enough to make me jump off that damn fence.
    That?s how I found myself watching another boy undress under the moonlight for the first time. I was transfixed when he kicked off his shoes. I watched him bend over and take off his socks, and something I didn?t know I had inside came bursting out my mouth in the form of a ragged breath. As he bent over, my eyes were drawn to the tightness of his slacks around his lower body, causing an overload in my very active imagination. He stood upright and turned so he was facing me. A slow grin crossed his face and he began to slowly pull his shirt from his pants.
    He didn?t rip off his shirt quickly like I normally did in the safety of my room. No, not this blonde cherub, he pulled his shirt up slow, sensuous. He grabbed it from the top and slowly lifted his shirt up his torso. His pale skin seemed to glow in the moonlight and I could see him take every halting breath. Slowly as the shirt moved up to where I could see the pink of his nipples, instantly becoming hard due to the chilly night air. His chest muscles moved under his smooth skin as he finally brought the shirt over his head and casually toss it to the ground atop his socks and shoes.
    I swear the entire time he looked me right in the eyes as his hands moved ever so slowly to the front of his jeans. With calmness I know I didn?t possess, he undid his belt. His eyes seemed to sparkle as he unfastened the top button of his pants. When my eyes immediately dropped to his crotch, a knowing grin broke out on his face.
    I remember sneaking looks at him in between watching him undress and he had this crooked grin on his face. Like he was having the time of his life stripping for me. Or maybe it was the time of his life making me uncomfortable. Whatever it was, I took a deep breath when I heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled down.
    This caused him to laugh out loud, shaking his head in the process. I couldn?t take my eyes off his partially exposed crotch, my body no longer under rational control. When he started pulling his pants down, one of his hands grabbed my shoulder to steady himself as he took one leg out then the other before kicking his pants over to the growing pile of clothes.
    His touch shot through me like electricity, a gasp escaped my lips. It shot through my body down to the soles of my feet then back up into my brain where it must?ve fried all intelligent thought. I swear by this time, just seeing him in his tightie-whities caused emotions to well up inside me I never knew I possessed.
    And while I struggled with my growing excitement and thoughts of making god cry, he stood there with that damn knowing smile on his face. It wasn?t a mocking smile or even a teasing smile, it was more like a smile of conquest. Like the game between us was almost over and victory was in his grasp. (later on I would find out he had been carefully orchestrating this encounter, waiting for the perfect situation to make his move) When I found this out, I wish he had done it two months earlier.
    For a heartbeat, we stared at one another, his hand still on my shoulder and that damn electricity still shooting up and down my body. Finally he spoke, Since you watched me, it?s only fair I get to watch you.
    I took a deep breath. Not only did I not have the experience, but I didn?t have the courage to return the favor he had done for me. I kicked off my shoes and pulled off my socks in one fluid motion. My shirt was over my head in two seconds flat, no slow striptease for me. If I had gone any slower, I would?ve lost my nerve and probably would?ve ended up running home like the chicken he accused me of being.
    I undid my pants and kicked them off on top of my now growing pile of clothes, right next to Greg?s. I?m not sure if he enjoyed the show but I rather doubt it. At least I know I?ve since made up for that rather sloppy strip show, several times as a matter of fact.
    Then he did something I never really understood. He grabbed my clothes and put them together with his pile. And he still had that damn smile on his face. While I, on the other hand, had one hand covering my growing ?evil thing? and the other one covering my chest. (don?t ask, I still don?t know why I did that except this was the first time anyone had seen me in nothing but my underwear besides my parents)
    I?m sure my face mirrored the emotions running through my fragile mind, I felt so out of place, uncomfortable, turned on, nervous, and maybe a bit sick. He must?ve sensed my fear because he stated softly, We?ll take them off together, at the same time.
    I breathed deeply and then nodded my head as he counted backwards from five. When he hit one, both of us pulled down our underwear. Immediately two sets of blue eyes became glued to the most private of places a boy can share with another person.
    I had been ashamed and trying to hide the fact I was erect, but once the underwear came off, I smiled at him shyly. Because much to my surprise, he was in the same state as I except he stood there proudly in his nakedness.
    I kicked off my underwear as he stepped gracefully out of his. Reaching down, he grabbed both pairs of underwear and placed them together on top of ?our? pile of clothes. (looking back now, it kind of felt like some kind of primitive marriage ceremony, something like by these piles of clothes we do wed or by the joining of these pairs of underwear I now pronounce you married) I know I?m strange, you don?t have to tell me again.
    Both of us hit the water at the same time. And for a while, we splashed around, dunking one another. You know all the childish ways you would try to make contact without seeming to make contact. But once we started to wrestle, things quickly got out of hand.

PayPal

Help Keep

AwesomeDude Online

Scan to donate

QR code
×
×
  • Create New...