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Jason Rimbaud

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Blog Entries posted by Jason Rimbaud

  1. 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.
  2. Jason Rimbaud
    Current Music Selection: Robbie Williams--Intensive Care
    Current State: Sober (somewhat)
    Current Mood: Relaxed
    So now that its football season, every Sunday I hang out at the Old Pro. Its this really cool sports
    bar in Palo Alto. They have fifteen flat screens, high def of course, that you can see from every seat
    in the bar. Insert screaming like a little girl. And the best part, they have an outdoor patio with two flat screens and you can smoke, eat hot wings, drink beer and watch football all day. All this and heaven
    to. There just might be a god, and if there is, its okay if he/she hates me for sucking cock. I mean,
    football, cigarettes, beer, hot wngs. Yeeeeeaaaaaahhhhh
    Over the course of the day, Daniel and I are joined by various friends who come to the bar to watch
    me lose my mind. Though they leave after a while, I guess spending the entire day inside with
    screaming breeders is to much for them.
    Football season is something I take extremely serious. Not only do I wear my lucky 49'ers jersesy every Sunday but I have the cutest matching underwear with the team logo over the crotch. How butch is
    that?
    Over in the corner of the Old Pro, they have a bull riding machine thingy. But will get back to that later
    on.
    The day of football had its disappointments. The niners got spacked though they started coming together after the half. Anyway, being the loudest person in the bar and naturally fabulous, I began making
    friends with the hot college guys sitting at the next table. When I want to, I can turn off camp and butch it
    up with the best of the breeders. As long as they never see my underwear.
    I'm sure they figured out I was gay by the hugging and kissing I did to each of my friends as they arrived and as they left. (Even my straight friends much to their chagrin. If thats the only way I can touch
    then so be it) But they seemed cool with the chit and chat we were doing all day. I even bought them some
    drinkie poos. Okay, they called it beer but whatever.
    One of these hot college studs seemed to show me more attention then the others. Like maybe his closet door was opened a crack and he had convinced himself he was "bi" curious. Like they say, its still
    experimenting as long as you're in college. After college, you're a big ole' queer. Where was I?
    Hot college stud and I were doing a little chit and chat, discussing the niners chances at a winning season, musing over whether ketchup or musturd is the only condiment for a hotdog, which cheerleader was
    the hottest. Hey, whatever it takes. He even joined me a few times for a smoke on the patio.
    Okay, everytime he went for a smoke I followed. There, I admit it. Are you happy?
    After the niners had lost, I was feeling pretty buzzed. And bored. Which is never a good combination for
    people such as I. For weeks now, since the Old Pro re-opened, I have been staring at the bull riding machine thingy wanting to try it. But every time Daniel talked me out of it. So to get around the old queen,
    I waited until he went into the bathroom and made my move.
    By the time Daniel returned from the bathroom, I had already signed the waiver and paid my three
    dollars. Much to my happiness, the bull riding machine thingy operator informed him there were no refunds.
    And with his tight ass frugile saving money ways, he couldn't in good conscious let me waste three dollars.
    So with a smile, i jumped into the padded area and climbed atop this fake bull.
    Now the college guys were crowding around the bull riding machine thingy pen and joking around that I
    could never stay on. So I offered them a challenge. I threw the gauntlet down as it were, though I had to use my hat i had forgotten my gauntlet in my other underwear.
    My challenge came out sort of like this: "If I can stay on this bull riding machine thingy for longer than one minute then hot college stud had to give me his number." I pointed at the one I was smoking with all
    afternoon.
    Hot college stud immediately countered with, "Make it three minutes and you have a deal."
    So the bull riding machine thingy operator asked if I was ready. I waved and raised my hand. Using the
    same techniques I would on any other thing I ride, I gripped with my knees and held on tightly to the small handle right between my legs.
    I must admit, it was easier than it looked. Yeah, for the first thirty seconds until the bull riding machine
    thingy operator turned the knob to eleven (Spinal Tap reference number one) and that damn thing went one way and I went the other and I crushed my own nuts. But I was determined to last for the full three minutes. It would be nice to last for three minutes wouldn't it?
    I'd love to say I made it the full three minutes. I'd like to say after I won and the bull riding machine thingy stopped, I ripped off my niners jersey and I showed the bar the shirt I was wearing under my lucky jersey. Which is a pink shirt with big black letters stating this phrase "I Fucked Your Brother" And that hot
    college stud picked me up in his arms and we rode off into the sunset. As I read this paragraph back, I really wish I could say that.
    But that didn't happen. When that damn thing went one way and I went the other smashing my own nuts with my arm, I fell off and landed on my head. Once my vision cleared, I looked around at everyone laughing at me and my eyes rested on hot college stud. I shrugged my shoulders as if to say, your loss.
    After waving at my fans surrounding the pen area, I stumbled back to my table and nursed my bruised ego.
    It wasn't long after my bull riding machine thingy adventure that the college guys paid they're tab and left the bar. I watched my hot college stud leave and thought, win some lose some.
    Just when Daniel started consoling me, wouldn't you know it, hot college stud came back in the bar and shoved a piece of paper in my hand and said call me sometime. Yes, once again my charm and debonair attidtue worked on the breeders. Woo Hoo.
    I guess what I'm trying to say to everyone, sometimes acting like a fool gets you the guy at the end of the day. As long as that guy isn't some crazy homophobe that waits for you outside the bar and kicks the crap out of you. But hey, what the hell. Life isn't living if you live in fear, right. That and I have been known to outrun even the most determined homophobes. Cheers everyone.
    Jason R.
  3. 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.
  4. Jason Rimbaud
    Bitch of the Day
    (and I don?t mean Howard)
    By: Jason R.
    As I write this, I can?t help but feel a bit cranky and pretty upset with one of my numerous roommates. Not to mention I might just be dying of hunger. Oh yeah, I almost forgot until I shifted positions, I have this blister on the bottom of my right foot that just might be the size of Texas. How did I get to be cranky, tired and ravenous you ask? *Insert question here*
    Fine, those of you not conditioned to the tragedy that is my mind; I?ll explain it to you. As you might guess, July Forth Weekend is usually a slow boring three days for us at Market Street Caf?. Normally the crazy denizens of Harrisburg enjoy the numerous outdoor activities Mayor Reed had planned during ?lets make all the fucking money we can before winter kicks our ass? three day festival we call Fourth of July weekend. With everyone hanging at the festival with the cool peeps and considering my staff had been working overtime with ?little? complaining, I decided to schedule a skeleton crew for the weekend. (Just because I would rather have my nuts torn from my body by a baby elephant than spend time with my parents, doesn?t mean I should make others suffer for my retarded home life, does it?)
    Let me tell you, I must have been out of what little mind I have left. Not only were we busy as rabbits in a storefront window, but we did record numbers for the weekend. Probably due to the horrendous downfall of rain we were ?lucky? enough to receive. (Like I watch the fucking weather channel) I have spent the last three days eating, breathing, and sleeping Market Street Caf?. Wearing the same stinky clothes, trying my best to remember why the hell I entered the service industry in the first place.
    By four PM on Monday, we were slammed back to the ding dong section. I, in all my wisdom, had only three servers and two cooks working that beautiful rainy day. To say we resembled a famous star losing his mind on a popular daytime show would have been an effort in futility. Being the great and talented manager I am, I used my talent for multi-tasking. I ran around serving tables, I made drinks at the bar for the other severs, I bussed tables so fast I reminded customers of police upon hearing Crispy Creme gave away donuts. So basically I was the resident insane person. Why didn?t I call in some of my fun loving, grateful I had given them the weekend off, employees you might ask? Let me say this, all efforts to reach them by train, plane, automobile, cell-phone, fax machine, email, text message and pony express proved in vain. Not a single one of those pricks answered my call.
    After finally arriving home around 1am Monday night. I poured myself into my soft comfortable bed fully intending on catching up some much-needed sleep. But I was so wired on Monster and nicotine I tossed and turned for about five hours before finally drifting off to a restless slumber. I had clocked just under forty hours in the last three days and Damnit; I deserved some fucking sleep.
    But alas dear reader, it was not to be. Fate had other plans for me. After drifting off to sleep around six am, I was awaken rudely at nine am by the doorbell. Ignoring the various doorbell sonatas and the very loud banging on the front door, I rolled over and buried my head in my pillow hoping whoever it was would grow tired of this quest to gain entry into a house filled with five other roommates. But not before I wished some fairly unpleasant things upon whoever this was and their entire family, second cousins and such included.
    But the incessant banging finally grew too annoying for me to ignore any longer. So I ran from my first floor bedroom to the front door and threw it open only to find a crazy meter reader person standing there. She informed me in a pleasant voice that she was there to read the meter. So after greeting her with some pretty horrendous morning breath and seventeen yawns, I showed her to the basement. Not more than thirty seconds later she walked back up the stairs and wished me a good day.
    I slammed the door shut behind her and crawled back into the safety of my bed. Hoping to quickly fall back asleep and resume the dream I had been having about four friends and I in the middle of a giant arcade surrounded by pink bubble gum. Right about the time I had convinced myself that it had all been a horrible nightmare and while teetering on the edge of oblivion, teetering mind you, the ringing of my front doorbell once again disturbed my slumber.
    Exactly twenty-three minutes after I had slammed the door behind the gas meter reader person, a way too cheerful UPS delivery guy began his tortuous attempts to gain entry into my house to deliver a pair of shoes my roommate (and employee that would not answer my desperate cry for help over the weekend) purchased online from this trendy store in New York City.
    Tearing myself from my nice warm bed for the second time in under thirty minutes (I must have missed the meeting where the other housemates voted on making me the designated door answerer person. If you think about it, you know logically and stuff, it makes all the sense in the world. I live on the first floor, the other roommates live either on floor two or floor three. I don?t have the pleasure of traversing narrow stairs each time the doorbell rings. It?s only fair that I should answer the door. Isn?t?) I opened the door.
    It wasn?t that I rude. Because I wasn?t. I swear. But something about way too cheerful UPS delivery guys makes my blood creep inside my already blocked veins. He had it coming, right? I mean, it was early in the day. And I had a blister.
    Anyway, after signing for the package and giving the finger to the way too cheerful UPS delivery guy, I slammed the door shut. Now there?s something about holding a person?s package in ones hand that does strange things to your mind. Like maybe deep down we all, everyone one of us, has this unfulfilled desire to deliver the mail. Because no matter whom the package is for, we feel like we must give it to the intended party. I hated climbing those narrow rickety stairs but I found myself carefully walking up those stairs heading for my roommate?s door. You know I lost my mind because I wasn?t wearing shoes, and in my house, that?s as good as inviting tetinas.
    Banding loudly on the door, I completed the two-day trip for the pair of shoes by personally handing them over to said purchaser. Knowing my good deed for the day had been accomplished, I walked backed down the stairs and climbed into my now cold bed with a promise to the gay god, you know the gym, that I would not rise again until at least one PM. Again, fate decided to royally fuck me. Spitting and laughing on my simple pursuit of a good days sleep. Before my head hit the pillow, my roommate, now fully awake and ready to face this beautiful sunny day, began blasting his music at what I can only assume is volume eleven.
    With what I can only describe is him dancing around the room in his newly purchased sneakers to the horrid sounds of the Broadway musical Urine Town, I stare at the ceiling and plot all the horrible ways I am going to kill him, slowly. Upstairs, oblivious of my murderous thoughts, he dances and sings not caring about my desire and need by this time, for sleep. Beautiful restful zombie like sleep. In my tired dementia, I envision him dancing and singing in his room, wearing his sponge bob square pants boxers, in some kind of bizarre ritual to the shoe god in the sky.
    No amount of burying my head with my pillow can block out the wailing from above. And much to my dismay, God did not strike him dead, unless the banging sound is him in the final throes of death; he is very much alive and happy with his new pair of shoes.
    So with a spirit of retaliation, rivaled only by America?s hunger for oil, I rise from my sleep like a vengeful vampire and approach my own stereo. I serenade him back with the thunderous sounds of Orgy?s Fiction (Screaming in Digital), the synthetic sounds blending with crunching guitar?s to battle the happy sounds of Broadway. Like a childish game of truth or dare, we battle back and forth for noise supremacy. The noise emanating from the house not only woke up the remaining roommates, but shattered several laws of the city of Harrisburg.
    What is the moral of this tirade you ask? *insert foolish question here* No matter what you plan for your life, no matter how hard you try to anticipant the extraordinary, fate, destiny or maybe even Loki (mischievous god of the Norse) takes an almost perverse pleasure in destroying those plans.
    If ever awaken by a crazed meter reader person, promptly make a pot of strong coffee and wait for the inevitable. Sleep is lost for the rest of the day and maybe for the rest of your life.
    Oh yeah, on the subject of my hunger. I have yet to buy food this week so I had nothing to eat. In a final attempt at retribution, I eat my roommate?s last donut. And when he inquired about the missing donut, I smiled and wipe the crumbs from my shirt and blamed it on the crazy meter reader person. I?m not surprised he didn?t believe me. I was chewing the last bite at the time.
    Hey Ann, this is for you. Now you can't talk shit.
  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: 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
  7. 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
  8. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part One
    By: Jason R.
    I guess I?m just like everyone else, I have good days and I have bad days. I cry through the bad days and laugh through the good ones. Most days I just exist. But then there are some days, I don?t know if I can take it anymore.
    You know those days. That day when your favorite cousin tells you his child, the one the doctors said they could never have, has a greater than average chance of being born retarded. That day when you realize that your cousin and his wife do not believe in abortion. That day when your heart seems like its going to burst from the sadness that encompasses your life.
    It never ceases to amaze even a skeptic like myself that the human will and the human mind can endure such pain and hardship. Any other species would have given up on life long before suffering the amount of torment that most humans deal with on a daily basis. That?s the magical word isn?t it? The human will.
    We all secretly laugh off life?s little misfortunes. We claim allegiance to one form of god or another. Even going as far as offering empty platitudes to those that have suffered a loss. We pretend, as a society, that we?re happy for those who pass, saying, ?He was in so much pain, he?s better off with the angels.? But isn?t that just a lie?
    I?m not saying we aren?t happy. I?m saying we?re happy for a completely different reason then we show the world. Aren?t we really ?happy? it?s not us lying in that expensive wooden box with brass covered handles? Isn?t that why we have the party after the funeral? Not to remember the loved one but to express thanks to whichever god we serve that we made it another day.
    We spend a few horrid hours pretending to feel sorrow by eating and drinking, whispering in small circles, telling all the sordid details of that person?s life. Thankful, deep down inside, that we have given death the old heave-ho once again.
    Unfortunately, to many of us humans feel that way. Maybe it?s something the collective society breeds into our heads from an early age. Maybe it?s the influence of pop culture that teaches us this manner of mourning?
    We?ve all seen the movies. You attend the wake, get drunk out of your mind, and talk about that person in quiet revered tones. Well, I think its all bullshit. And luckily, I learned what it?s really about. And I learned it from the most unlikely of places.
    I was raised in a strict religious household. We attended church four times a week. Yes, I said four. Once on Sunday morning for Sunday school, once for Sunday evening services to make sure we all remembered to give money to the church. Once on Wednesday, to drive home the fact that church was the center of the universe and once on Friday, to keep the parents out of the bars and keep the children brainwashed.
    It wasn?t the best way to become popular at school let me tell you. Looking back it?s quite ironic that I was one of the most popular students in my High School. I didn?t say I was well liked, I simply said everyone student in that school knew who I was. For good or for ill, I was famous.
    We had lots of rules growing up in my household. I won?t take the time to list them all since I wouldn?t want to bore you any further that I already have. But since most of the sports all took place on Friday nights, my father, deemed it blasphemy for any child to attend or play sports. To me, it seemed the church was more concerned with the loss of revenue if all the parents skipped service to attend their kid?s game. Do I sound bitter? Because I am.
    I had twelve years of torture and abuse from the other students because I never wore the proper clothing. No jeans for me, nope, I was lucky. I got to wear a suit every day to school. And don?t think for a moment I attended an exclusive private school, I know some of you were headed into that direction. I went to a normal everyday High School in Menlo Park California. If only Menlo Park had a Christian school back then, but also it did not.
    Years later my parents would blame the public school for all the ?trouble? I got myself into. Or they would blame my Uncle Malcolm, saying he had been nothing but a bad influence on my young fragile mind. (my uncle believed in free will and taught me to follow my dreams no matter what the world threw at me)
    Just thinking back on my childhood makes my blood boil, and brings an unquenchable rage rising to the surface from the core of my being. Should I hate my parents for raising me in this manner? I did, for years I hated them. Hatred so strong my anger consumed me until the very thought of my parents had me fantasizing about the horrific deaths I could inflict upon them.
    I didn?t want to be different. I wanted to be just like ?Billy? or ?Tommy? or countless other little boys that did all the things I could never do. Yet, little did I know that my quest for normalcy or to be the same as everyone else, would take me down a road seldom traveled by ?normal people?. I look back and smile at life?s little irony.
    I have to admit I bought into the ?whole god thing? pretty much hook-line-and-sinker. Until the tender age of thirteen, I said my prayers each night. All I wanted to do was save the ?sinners? from their evilness, and their inevitable descent into hell. This attitude never helped my already legendary image at school, no one likes a ?bible thumper?, especially a twelve-year-old one at that.
    What happened to change me you ask? I discovered the forbidden fruit. I discovered, which to the day my father died refused to admit or talk about. (when asked of my parents what happened to their only son I?ve heard they reply by saying I died in a horrible car accident) Nice parents huh? But don?t get mad at them, hate the disease not the person. That makes me laugh, my father always quoted that while I was growing up. I guess it?s a saying of, do as I say not as I do kind of thing.
    Oh fuck, he was wrong. I did listen when I was a child.
    Too bad he never followed his own advice. Not only did he hate the disease but he also hated me as well, and was convinced to the day he died that I was going to hell. I know, I say this with such casualness. But you must look at it from my point of view, I don?t believe in hell.
    To Be Continued
  9. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Two
    By: Jason R.
    What is this forbidden fruit I discovered? I hear you ask with a hint of anger in your voice by my lack of explanation. So I?ll tell you. I discovered I had a free will. And I did the unthinkable in our religion, well any religion for that matter; I began to think for myself.
    And I decided to explore this newfound gift I discovered. I began exercising free will like a boy with a never-ending back account. I thought about whatever I wanted to think about, not the ?safe? subjects they outlined for me and drilled into my head. I thought outside of the box.
    I thought about all the hate that surrounded my life. The hatred that consumed my parents and I didn?t want to end up hating everything and everyone like they somehow managed to do. I thought about all the choices I could make, and all the different roads I could walk.
    Heavy thinking for a twelve-year-old you might say. But I was the only child of a father with an IQ of 174. Let?s just say I was taught from an early age the beauty of learning. This was a man who grew up during the sixties and all the paranoia that went with that decade. He taught me to think independently, and never to rely on what others taught. I was being taught by my father from the moment I awoke to the time I went to bed.
    It wasn?t just religious subjects he drilled into my head. Though I must admit that took a huge chunk of my day. But he taught me the classics. And I developed a love of reading and a thirst for knowledge at an early age.
    I know my father was trying to make sure I would not be swayed from my religious brainwashing by the ?worldly? teachings of public school. He knew that peer pressure overwhelms millions of students each year, and wanted to make sure I would never fall into that trap. (independent thinking, can you see how that might backfire with anyone with an IQ higher than 92)
    I was a good kid in my fathers eyes as long as I listened and followed whatever my parents or minister instructed for me to do. But when I began to question their words or deeds, I was branded a rebellious teen and punished accordingly.
    I ask you, how can you teach a child to be wary of what others teach and expect them to never question what they have been taught by you? I remember my father saying long ago, that he was a horrible father because he taught me independence. Thankfully, it was a lesson I learned well.
    But back to what I was trying to say earlier. I discovered my free will. And with that realization, I knew I could choose whichever path I wanted to take. I could choose what kind of person I would become. I could choose what religion I would practice. I could choose which sex I would sleep with.
    You had to know I was going to go there eventually, didn?t you? I have since found out that suppressing people?s mind is never the proper procedure for a well-adjusted adult. If you tell someone ?no? enough times, sooner or later they will do ?it? just to see what the fuss is all about. Well, at least that?s what I did.
    From the time I could understand English, I was told that sex before marriage was sinful. And if I ever dared attempt premarital sex, I would be hurting god. Do you have any idea what that does to your libido? Every single time I got an erection, I had this picture of god crying. It?s hard to have sex with god crying over your shoulder, believe me, I know.
    To this day, there are still times when in the middle of sex, I get a picture of an old wizened bearded god crying as he watches from on high. I missed out on so many years of intimate relations with my left hand because of the powerful fear of making god cry. All it took was a free will and suddenly my hand is one of my favorite partners. What? You know you do it to.
    I can remember so vividly, the first time I actually masturbated. It?s funny now, but at the time, I was so scared that god would send an angel down from heaven and punish me for wasting my seed.
    It was late at night, I?m guessing around four in the morning. It was summer, that nasty August humid summer night that makes sleep without air conditioning impossible. (we weren?t allowed to buy an air-conditioner for our house based on the belief that if god would have wanted us to be cooler than he wouldn?t have made the sun so hot)
    That?s right, I was speaking of masturbation. I was lying there in my small twin bed, naked, all the sheets thrown on the floor in my perpetual quest for coolness. My bed was so small; I didn?t have the small luxury of finding the cold spot on the bed. I had to lay there on my back, trying to fall asleep with that sickly sweaty feeling all over my body.
    I?m not sure what I was thinking about, but I started the innocent rubbing of my chest and stomach area. I found out quickly that if I lightly rubbed my body, using just my fingertips, I would receive a chill for a brief moment. To say my youthful curiosity was peaked would be pretty much redundant.
    I slowly ran my hand over my nipples, my body shivering at the feather like touch. With just one finger, I began to rub my left nipple ever so gently, alternating the direction every few seconds. As I now know, if I wanted to cool myself off, this wasn?t the best way to go about it. But back then, I was touching my body in a way I had never done before and I was enjoying the new sensations. As dirty as it might have been for me mentally.
    For the first time, I actually thought about my thirteen-year-old body. I was slim, even for a thirteen-year-old. I had been taught from birth that god hated obesity and was kept on a strict diet by my father. Which is the reason I was always the best-conditioned boy in my school. I exercised every day with my father for two hours. We would run two miles every day, then do sit-ups, push-ups, crunches, and all other sort of exercises that most adults, much less other thirteen-year-olds, didn?t even know existed. And of course, our daily workout offered my father the opportunity to continue his brainwashing.
    Where was I? Oh yeah, I was lying naked in bed, a big taboo in our house. You know, nakedness being a sign of the unclean as well as a sign of those that had unlawful carnal knowledge. (I wonder if my parents have seen one another naked even after so many years of marriage) Yet here I was, naked, and doing the unspeakable. I was touching myself and for the first time, I was lost in the euphoria of male sexuality.
    My flat stomach had sunk well below my ribs as I lay on my back. And each time I took a breath it sunk even lower. (to this day, I still lay on my back and stare at my stomach as I breathe. It never ceases to amaze me at the illusion of my stomach and guts disappearing into my body somehow) As I rubbed my chest and nipples with one hand, my other hand began stroking my upper, inner thigh.
    By this time, I had noticed my ?evil thing? between my legs was fully, painfully hard and sticking straight up in the air. And I swear, this isn?t just denial talking, up until this night I speak of, that very moment, I had barely touched my ?evil thing? unless I was washing it or putting it back inside my underwear after relieving myself. I had been told repeatedly that it was a sin to touch or play with it at anytime. I had been spanked because one day my mother saw me scratching myself in public.
    Quite accidentally, while I was rubbing my upper, inner thigh, my pinky finger brushed my ?evil thing? for one brief moment. This sensation shot through to the very core of my body, a torrent that washed over me, drowning all thoughts of a supposed crying god. Not only did I get the chills I was trying to create, but I also received pleasure that shot up from my toes and directly to the nipple I was massaging at the time. Needless to say, I brushed against my ?evil thing? again, quickly.
  10. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Three
    By Jason R.
    Who can explain the first time a male masturbates? Who can describe the feeling of ecstasy one gets at the slightest touch on the male penis? I know I could never describe it but the feeling has never been as strong since that first time lying naked in bed. Not even after my many sexual encounters and my desire to learn new things, I have never felt that feeling again. I guess in a way, I?m still searching for that level of awakening. In a weird way, it?s the reason I?m writing this now. But I?ll get into that soon enough.
    For a few minutes or maybe hours, I would rub one finger against my ?evil thing?, reveling in the feelings I received. And just as every boy learns eventually, I began using more fingers and in no time I had begun a gliding motion up and down. No one teaches a boy how to masturbate, that?s obvious in the many different techniques I have observed in the various partners I?ve had over the years. But the gist of it, the end result, is always the same.
    As I played with my ?evil thing?, I began to notice each time my finger brushed against this one certain spot, right below the head, a shiver would shoot down my back. I don?t have to say this but I will, I enjoyed this immensely. So naturally I began to focus all my attention on that one area. It wasn?t long before I had wrapped my entire fist around my ?evil thing? and slowly began to develop the technique I would use for the rest of my life.
    That first orgasm didn?t take me long to achieve. I remember letting a groan escape my lips and my entire body convulsing as the release raptured my being, spilling out my seed on my heaving stomach. (I remember disregarding the seed on my stomach. I knew what it was, by that age I knew where babies came from and how they were made.) I?m amazed by what my parents considered good teachings and what they considered bad teachings.
    My breath came in gasps, and I realized I was still quite hot. I had sweat above my upper lip and my hair was damp from the exertion of my hand. But I felt satisfied. And in a weird way, I had taken the first steps towards my awakening free will. Steps that would set the tone for the rest of my life.
    Can I really place this much awakening on a single orgasm? At that time, I learned there was something other than religion that could give you satisfaction. I know it?s satisfaction in two distinct different ways, but it was satisfaction none the less.
    My parents had told me that my ?evil thing? was the downfall of humanity and that nothing good would ever come from it until I was safely married. That was the day I first found out they had lied to me. A lot had come from my ?evil thing?, and for the first time in my life, I begun to question what they had taught me.
    I?m not saying that next day I didn?t feel guilty about what I had done. But I didn?t tell my father either. That was my first experience that I had kept from my father. And though there has been many since that night, masturbating was the first thing I kept from my parents. (so dad, in a way you were right, my ?evil thing? really was the reason I stopped believing in your god, but only in a way)
    The next morning, over breakfast, I was petrified that my father would know I had played with my ?evil thing?. He had drilled into my head that god saw and knew everything we did on earth. And I was expecting to hear that god told my father about what I had done the night before and that I would be burning in hell forever for making god cry. And yet, all through breakfast, my father sat there telling jokes as he enjoyed his morning coffee, laughing with my mother like he didn?t have a care in the world.
    And then my overactive imagination took over. I began to believe that my father was making me suffer, and that he would yell at me after my conscience had wrecked havoc on my tortured psyche. It was the longest day of my life. All day I was jittery and nervous. I just knew my father was hiding behind every corner, ready to jump out at any moment and accuse me of my sinful act. But it never happened.
    After that long horrifying day, I swore I would never do it again. I had learned my lesson. I even went as far as to wear pants to bed with a belt tightly fastened to make sure I could never touch my ?evil thing? again, not even in my sleep. I must have sweated buckets in those following few days after I touched myself. My mother kept asking me why my sheets were so wet every morning. (try explaining the rational behind that freakish behavior to your mother) My father actually spanked me on the third day after I touched myself because he thought I must have wetted the bed during the night my sheets were so soaked. Couldn?t he understand I was trying to stop my ?evil thing? from sending me to hell?
    But after a few days with ?nothing? bad happening, I began to calm down. I thought I must?ve gotten away with it and I felt as long as I never did it again, that god would forgive me and let it slide just this once. He was supposedly a loving and forgiving god, right?
    But then church night came and once again, I was petrified out of my mind. At that age, it was the first time in my short life I really didn?t want to go to church. I had convinced myself that god had told the minister about what I horrible sinner I was and he would stand up in front of the congregation and explain how I touched my ?evil thing? until my seed came out. (I know I was a bit strange, but I had every right to be strange, I had a strange childhood, what?s your excuse?)
  11. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Four
    By: Jason R.
    From the moment I walked into the church, a feeling of dread came over me. How could I pray and worship god with this horrible secret hanging over my head? At that time, I wanted so desperately to be a good little Christian boy, and wished with every fiber of my soul that I could somehow take back that dreadful deed.
    But as the service progressed and still nothing happened to me, I began to look around at the other people in the congregation. Not a single person was looking at me funny. If they noticed me at all, they smiled and waved at me. I couldn?t believe it. They didn?t know. No one knew. And that revelation rocked my senses.
    As I looked at the other children I began to notice their faces, maybe for the first time. They looked how I must have looked just three days earlier. They were staring intently at the minister as he spoke of the evils of drinking and carousing, and they were eating it up.
    Have you ever seen an eight-year-old child completely enraptured by a message of sobriety? Believe me, it?s not a pretty sight.
    As I looked at them, a wave of confusion came over me. Were they somehow better than I was? Did my evil act segregate me from the other faithful? Was that the reason I couldn?t keep my attention on the sermon or the man speaking?
    I started squirming around in my seat. Which only caused my father to smack me and command me to pay attention.
    I tried to listen, I promise I did. But I noticed a boy on the opposite side of the church a few rows back from where I sat. I had never seen him at church before. I concluded this must have been their first visit.
    Later on I found out they had just moved into town and were happy to find a church that taught like they believed. And what a good influence the church and its members would have on their son. Boy, were they wrong about that.
    He was staring at the ceiling with this bored expression on his face. I wondered why he wasn?t behaving like the other children. Did he touch himself too? Was that the reason he wasn?t paying attention to the sermon? I didn?t know the answer but something inside of me told me I had?must find out.
    The service seemed to drag on for days but finally the minister dismissed us and I told my father I had to use the restroom. But that was a lie, my eyes were on the boy as he walked out of the church to stand on the sidewalk in front of the building.
    I followed him and watched as he leaned against one of the trees. He stood there, staring up at the star filled sky seemingly lost in his own little world. I studied him for a few moments. Was he as evil as I? Could this be the one person I could relate to after my brush with carnal knowledge? I hoped so, I felt like I needed some answers and needed them fast.
    He was this fascinating blonde that had the most unusual eyes I had ever seen or have seen since. They were blue like mine but his held a light?a fire that burned with such intensity that I felt immediately drawn like a moth to a flame. I remember thinking if I was going to burn, I was more than happy to be burned by him.
    He was shorter than I was but one year older. His body, though more muscular than my slimmer build, but he still had that layer of baby fat that anyone with half a brain could see he would grow out of it.
    He was dressed in a suit, just as I was, but the way he wore it suggested he would rather be in a pair of shorts and nothing else. His tie, which would always be this way for the rest of the time I knew him, was crooked. Like he was constantly trying to rid himself of it. And his short blonde hair looked like someone had tried to comb it, but had given up half way through. I couldn?t explain it or recognize it, but it was so intense my normally shy personality flew out the window and I walked over to him and asked him his name.
    I remember the way he looked at me after I asked my question. He took a long look, up and down my body for a few seconds, saying nothing. His gaze caused me to shift uncomfortably, like he was eyeing up a horse he was interested in purchasing. I was half surprised he didn?t make me open my mouth and show him my teeth. (though I would have just to have him near me) It was a judging gaze, gauging how to react to my forwardness or maybe to see what kind of miniature Christian I was. But after a few seconds, he spoke. My name's Greg.
    I could tell he really wasn?t interested in speaking to me but that didn?t stop me from firing questions at him in rapid succession. When I?m nervous, I tend to speak constantly. You can?t shut me up and I babble about anything and everything that pops into my mind. And boy was I babbling.
    To all my stupid questions, he would reply with the minimal amount of words required without ever asking a single question of his own. He never offered information about himself, seemingly content to half ignore me. I babbled on for a few minutes until his parents walked outside. I guess he didn?t have many friends or maybe never because they seemed to be deliriously happy that he and I were speaking. If you could call what Greg and I were doing speaking together.
    His parents asked all the questions Greg should have been asking. Like my name, where I lived, who my parents were, what school I attended, and if it was any good. They kept firing questions at me until my parents walked outside. My parents, in finding out I had made a friend of a boy that attended our church, which automatically labeled Greg as a ?good boy?, quickly invited this new family over to our house for dinner.
    That is how Greg and I found ourselves alone in my room the following Saturday night. He wasn?t the best talker at first. He was shy around those he didn?t know and wasn?t one to speak very often. Though later on I couldn?t shut him up when it was just the two of us. But I?m getting ahead of the story again aren?t I.
    Considering ?our? religion was more than strict, and there weren?t that many ?safe? toys to play with back then, we had nothing to do. So we sat there on my bed, staring at one another for the longest time.
    Even with someone as patient as Greg was, he finally got bored enough to ask me in a quiet voice what I did for fun. I had found out earlier that night that his parents had only recently found this religion. He had to give up all his toys, his friends, his video games, his TV, and other assorted activities that were so foreign to me. And he wasn?t taking the change well.
    My hopes of him being like me were dashed upon hearing this. Much like a small skiff dashed on the rocks in the middle of a storm. He wasn?t sinful like me, he didn?t touch himself in bad ways late at night. He didn?t have the answers I so desperately needed. Once again a feeling of panic washed over me.
    Most of the things he talked about, with regret in his voice, I only had small clues as to what they were but I knew I envied his experience. He had played sports, football, baseball, and soccer in his last school before the ?conversion?. I felt so sorry for him. The look on his face is one I will always remember, when he confided in me in a quiet voice. I?m not allowed to play sports anymore because of this fucking religion.
  12. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Six
    By: Jason R.
    The first time I committed a crime was all Greg?s doing. He dared me to steal a pack of cigarettes from the local gas station, the same one he stole all the booze from. I could never refuse him, no matter what he asked of me.
    He was there when I first discovered the joy of spray painting cars in the middle of the night, his idea once again. As I look back now, everything I ever did up until I was sixteen was all because of a blonde boy named, Greg.
    ?Borrowing? the neighbor?s car one Saturday night, so we could stare at the moon at the rock query outside of town was his fault too. Another time he called me chicken.
    I think he knew I idolized him, and that I was so much putty in his hands. I believe he loved that fact. Don?t get me wrong, I wasn?t some stupid kid he dared to do crazy things. I know for a fact I was the reason he breathed, the driving force that got him out of bed each day, just for the pleasure of staring into my eyes.
    Fuck, I don?t know how we fooled everyone for so long but when we finally got caught, it was a shock to the entire neighborhood as well as the entire church body. I think a part of my parents died that day. But I?m getting ahead of myself again.
    Like I said, behind closed doors, we were very different than how we appeared in public. It was exactly two months after we first met that something wonderful happened between us. I had been begging my father and he his, to allow a sleepover at my house after Friday night service.
    It?s a strong belief in ?our? religion that a child should never go to another?s house to sleep overnight. Something along the lines that no other parent can take care of your child like you, the parent, can. I don?t know how we pulled it, but whatever the reason, they all agreed and the date was set.
    I remember time passing so slowly that night after church. It felt like years before my father stated it was time to go upstairs and get into bed. It was only ten o-clock, but Greg and I ran upstairs to my bedroom.
    Since my bed was so small, it had been decided by all that Greg would sleep on the floor at the side of my bed. An arrangement I had been looking forward to though I didn?t fully understand until much later.
    My father came in to make sure we weren?t doing anything we shouldn?t be, like wrestling or eating smuggled sweets. But we greeted him with innocent smiles and he shut the door, giving us one last word of warning, urging us to go to sleep and behave ourselves.
    This was an exciting night for me. For the first time I had someone staying over. I was so keyed up and hyper I knew I would never be able to fall asleep though I was accustom to going to bed at such an early hour.
    Greg, the proverbial night owl, never went to sleep until much later. I never understood how he did it, but he would never go to sleep before 3am each night only to wake up like clockwork at 7am rearing to go for the rest of the day. He did this the entire time I knew him, and he never seemed sleepy. Matter of fact, he had this boundless energy that drove him to always look around the corner. While me on the other hand, needed at least seven hours of sleep to function at any normal level, even to this day. Anything less and I walk around in a daze, my eyes puffy and bloodshot.
    Why was I so excited Greg was staying over? First, as an only child, I had always wanted a brother. And secondly, I had heard from other kids in school how much fun they had on sleepovers. Greg wasn?t my brother, though he was the closest thing at the time, and I was ready to experience some of this fun I had been hearing about. But lastly and most importantly, by this time, I was in love with Greg and wanted any chance I could get just to be close to him.
    I was in love with him, though I didn?t truly understand what it meant back then. I knew he made me feel like no one ever had. When I was around him, life just seemed better, and I didn?t think whether or not I was making god angry or sad. Around Greg, I became a kid, a normal average everyday kid. I wanted that feeling to last forever.
    I remember hanging my head over the edge of the bed, he had placed his makeshift pallet right next to my bed, so that his head and mine were almost touching. We remained like that for hours, whispering softly to each other, laughing and talking about everything. Around eleven-thirty, I heard my father walking down the hallway and I quickly lay down on the pillow and pretended to be asleep. And thanks to my prompting, Greg followed suit and shortly afterwards my father opened the door to make sure his charges were safe and fast asleep. We must?ve fooled him because we heard him walk down the hall and enter his bedroom. We waited for the bedroom door to shut before we resumed our early positions.
    We talked for another hour in hushed whispers before Greg really began getting restless. Suddenly he sat up, his face inches from mine and asked, You ever sneak out of the house? I couldn?t believe what he was suggesting. Even with my newfound ?rebellious streak?, I had never thought about doing such a daring and risky thing.
    What, you scared of the dark? He asked, a blank look on his face.
    I told him I wasn?t, that I just had this fear of dark places in the great outdoors. And that I was greatly afraid of my parent?s wrath and the punishment I would receive if we got caught sneaking out.
    Can you guess what that bastard did? He called me a chicken. So somehow I found myself getting dressed in the darkness and opening my bedroom window. (because he had informed me that we had to sneak out through the window, that it was a rule or something like that) He told me that he had done it many times before at his house and that running around in the dark was kind of exciting. (later on I would find out this was his first time sneaking out as well, claiming I made him reckless and it was really all my fault for the things we did together) I?ll let you decide who?s telling the truth. Who are you going to believe anyway, him or me?
  13. 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.
  14. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Eight
    By: Jason R.
    After I hit the water, my erection pretty much went south fast. I believe it would be safe to say that my genitals had retreated inside my body due to the chilly water. But as we touched and grappled in the water, my genitals decided to return with a vengeance, and from the look in Greg?s eyes, so did his.
    He had gotten behind me and was trying to force my head underwater when I realized I felt something poking me in the lower back. I can honestly tell you that sensation sent chills down my spine. The more I struggled, the harder he poked. It wasn?t long before all pretence of wrestling stopped and we just enjoyed this new experience.
    He grabbed hold of my shoulders and turned me around so we were facing one another. Our bodies smacked together as he pulled me closer to him. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pull him just as tightly into me. Staring into his eyes, I began to grind myself into him, time stood still in that moment. One of his hands reached behind me and started caressing my lower back, stopping just inches from my backside.
    As we touched each other, our eyes were locked in a frozen moment there in the moonlight. And I saw something in those beautiful eyes I?m still searching for to this day to duplicate. Unconditional love and an unwavering devotion backed by all the youthful lust he possessed.
    It was nothing short of magical. All my shyness and all my fear vanished in that single moment. I pressed my lips to his and we shared the first of many kisses. But none could ever compare to that first kiss in the moonlight. It wasn?t a shy kiss, a timid peck or a kiss fill with uncertainty. It was full of passion, a kiss loaded with certainty and the belief that this was right on every level despite what others might say. It was a kiss that transcended all barriers of religion, all thoughts of normal male behavior. All inhibitions of right or wrong were thrown to the wind and flew up to the moonlight that bathed us.
    Can a kiss mean so much? Maybe if you don?t believe you haven?t found the right person or maybe I?m a hopeless romantic that refuses to live in reality. I don?t know anything about that but I do know that I became complete in that one kiss. And if it doesn?t happen to everyone then I count myself lucky and fortunate to have it happen to me even if it was all in my head.
    The kiss could?ve lasted for years and we never would?ve known the difference. But we found ourselves kneeling down on the edge of that lake. Water dripped down our bodies, the shimmer of the droplets a plethora of moonbeams on our skin. Facing one another, we continued that magical kiss, our hands explored every inch of skin. And when his hand found me, I shuddered.
    From his continued touching, I started to convulse and one of the most powerful orgasms I?ve ever had exploded out of my body, leaving me breathless and filled with wonder. Once I regained some control and after my body slowed to only slight tremors, I returned the favor as best as I could. It wasn?t long before his eyes rolled back into his head and he thrust into my hand one final time. Groaning louder than I could ever imagine, he collapsed into my shoulder. And we knelt there, holding each other under the light of the moon.
    I?ll never forget that first time of exploration under the moonlight. I eventually lost my virginity a year after that first encounter. I was lucky my first time was with someone I truly loved. And when I took his virginity, we shared something special that so many people lose out on.
    Greg and I became so much more that night we went swimming in the moonlight. I guess I would define him as my soul mate, the other half of my incomplete soul. That day he came into my life, I found my way, my North star that always pointed me in the right direction. It was something we shared and enjoyed together until his untimely death at the age of seventeen.

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