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Jason Rimbaud

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Blog Entries posted by Jason Rimbaud

  1. Jason Rimbaud
    In a forum somewhere on that one site, there was a discussion topic that asked a simple question…Top or Bottom.
    And after reading all the comments in that thread, and believe me you should read them because they are extremely amusing, I decided to reply to that thread and offer up my perspective.
    And then, as one or two of you might know by now, I noticed my reply was getting rather long winded so I decided to answer this question in my blog where there is less of a chance that something I might say would get me in trouble.
    Besides, if you’re reading this blog than you are quite accustom to my long meandering rants that always seem to end before I get to the juicy parts.
    Before I get to the meat of the problem, I want t ask a survey question…Can you make a good top if you’ve never bottomed before?
    I would love to hear your comments about this subject since a few of my friends and I have a long standing argument about this very topic.
    I do know that I will always be grateful to a little punk bottom twink by the name of John for teaching me the difference between a straight top and a gay top. But then I’m getting ahead of myself again.
    If you’re straight, sex with a girl, even anal sex, is vastly different than having sex with a gay bottom. For one, it takes loads more preparation to get the guy ready which always leads to hot foreplay. And two, different positions adds a variety of sensations that changes the dynamic of just lying there on your stomach.
    Now before I go further, I am not a woman so please don’t tell me where I’m wrong with the above sentence. Thanks.
    The absence or presence of lube also changes the feelings for both top and bottom. I guess it depends on the need at the moment of penetration. And maybe the size of the penis that is entering me.
    In my late teens and early twenties, it was usually decided, and almost always in an unspoken action, who would top depending on our respective penis sizes as well as physical size. It was almost like the larger penis meant more of dominance in the bedroom.
    This is probably why my early forays into gay sex, while exciting and orgasmic for me, were usually ones I tended to forget the moment I left the room, or car, or park, or once a bus.
    This lack of memorable sex was also due to my lack of experience with a talented top that knew how to make it pleasurable for the bottom.
    I also observed back then that depending on my mood, whether I wanted to top or bottom, or to be completely truthful whether I was lazy or not, that I was drawn to a certain type of guy for each position. If I wanted to throw my legs over my head I was drawn to a more masculine guy, most of the time older than myself, and one that was more aggressive. If I wanted to have someone’s legs on my shoulders, I looked for a more feminine guy, usually smaller than myself as well as younger.
    Remember this isn’t a broad statement about all guys but my experience. And I am quite experienced in that arena. Some would say I was/am a slut but that’s not what this blog is about now is it?
    Why is it that younger guys tend to love bottoming? I’d love to hear some comments from some younger guys to see if they could shed some light on this subject.
    I know there are loads of younger guys that love to top and have never bottomed before but I found that they were always lackluster in their technique. Though they did make up for this by their sheer exuberance and recharge abilities.
    When I first experienced sex with a guy, and I’m not talking about mutual wanking, dry humping, or oral, it was with an older boy. I was fifteen and he was nineteen.
    In my early teens, I “experimented” with another boy that went to my church. Quite harmless really, games of I’ll show you mine if you show me yours type of thing. There were loads of dry humping, no pun intended but gladly accepted.
    And then, a year later or so, I was working at this trailer park cutting grass, I had my first touch of another boys privates. And this exploration, wanking off one another, lasted the summer. We had two glorious months of shooting in the great outdoors, and in the tool shed, in the pool, and anywhere we could get away with having our privates exposed. But once summer was over, we both with back to our respective schools and never saw each other again.
    My fifteenth year was a year that I will never forget. Caleb, the nineteen year old boy that took my virginity, was the older brother of this boy I met from the public swimming pool. And being the walking boner machine I was back at that age, the moment I saw him in his cut off Levi shorts and his long blonde hair, it was lust at first sight.
    Looking back I now can see he was a total predator but since I was a willing piece of prey, I bear him no ill wishes. I think I pursued him just as strongly as he pursued/seduced me. But that’s a tale for another time as I am currently writing about Top versus Bottom.
    Caleb was that typical “straight” guy that plays around with other guys but never identified with being gay and probably had some reason for rationalizing his gay activities. He never once let me put my cock anywhere near any orifice of his body and only touched it once in all the times we played around.
    But since I was a horny little boy and didn’t know any better, I pretty much let him do anything he wanted to do to my awakening body.
    His favorite position for fucking me was me lying on my stomach with a pillow under my midsection. After barely any preparation, he’d shove it in and thrust away. I’m sure he was ashamed of what we were doing because he never wanted to look at my face and he wouldn’t make a sound except for his ragged breathing.
    And he was the quietest guy ever when he came. He’d hold his breath, which was rather loud and always smelled of cigarettes, and he’d do this…half thrusting motion before pulling out and getting off the bed rather quickly. He’d always get dressed right away and then watch me as I finished myself off.
    One time while we were thusly engaged, he kissed the back of my neck but most times the only part of his body that was actually touching me was his cock.
    I do remember the look on his face as he watched me jerk off. It was like he was in pain but he couldn’t take his eyes off me. I once asked him to help me out but he refused very angrily. I was good enough for him to stick his cock inside me but anything else caused him to shut down emotionally.
    Looking back I think he was molested as a child and was relieving some kind of trauma but I’ll never know as I lost track of him a long time ago.
    And I’m not even going to go into penis size because I never really measured Caleb’s cock but I now know it was well below average. I’m sure this is why I didn’t need a lot of preparation and never really had an orgasm when he was topping me. I also can deduce that he wasn’t very experienced sexually with either girls or guys but that’s not the point.
    All I can say was my first sexual intercourse wasn’t very fulfilling and for a time it actually turned me off guys all together.
    The next year I turned sixteen and my next sexual partner was a girl named Christine and she was a demon in the bedroom. Sex with her was downright amazing and in her I found someone who wanted to touch me, kiss me, anywhere and everywhere and demanded that I do the same to her. And for those two months I can honestly say I was happy.
    But sadly it was a summer fling and once she moved away I never saw her again. Oh the summer of my sixteenth year. But I wonder what she’d say if she knew the year before I was letting her best friend’s brother fuck me into straightdom/boredom.
    My next partner was a guy named Brandon, and let me tell you, he was sex on wheels. He was so hot I didn’t care that my first go round with a guy was unfulfilling. I now know that the sex with him wasn’t that good but he made up for it in so many ways. Not only did he love shoving his cock inside me and touched me and kissed me into delirum, he also loved it when I returned the favor. Oh the memories of my first sixty-nine. He was also the first boy that fucked me when I was lying on my back. And after that little bit of magic, I realized that bottoming can be very enjoyable if you have the right partner.
    It feels different, sex with girls as opposed to having sex with guys. And it’s not just about the different bodies, some softer and some harder, hairy or smooth. Guys smell different than girls and I found that most of the time I am attracted to the ways guys smell and turned off by the smell from girls.
    Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always enjoyed my forays into straight sex. And when I have sex with a girl I go all the way, I do oral as well as penetration. Though I must admit I’ve never really figured out the female breasts, most of the time I just leave them alone and focus on the other parts. And not to put down any of my female readers, but guys just give better oral.
    And there is something about giving oral pleasure to a guy that is always exciting and guys seem to just be tighter, on average, than girls and they grip you in a different way. Maybe because with each thrust there is a bit of resistance or maybe it’s just because I’m a gay guy that likes to have sex with other gay guys.
    One of my friends believes that topping is harder work than bottoming and for a long time I tended to disagree. I thought a good bottom was actually the one who controls the speed, angles, and does…or should…do a majority of the work. And then I’ve come to realize in my later years that it takes two talented people to have amazing sex. I know when I’m bottoming I am giving just as much as whoever I allow to penetrate me.
    Sex to me is like a partnership where everything is split down the middle. I’ve grown from my early years when I just laid there like a cold fish and let someone fuck me to an aggressive top that didn’t care about giving pleasure to my partner to where I am today.
    Am I a top or a bottom? That depends on your definition of each term and if there is truly such a distinction. I know I won’t be with a partner that is exclusively one or the other.
  2. Jason Rimbaud
    How’s it going?
    What, not a good enough opening for you? I concur.
    Howdy!
    What, too hickish? Okay.
    What’s up peeps?
    What, too street for you? Check.
    Where’s all my bitches at?
    I could go on but what’s the point. Fuck it.
    So the other day I picked up a little train twink from the train. Well, to be more accurate, I got picked up by a little twink boy the other day on the train.
    My life has been running smooth on all cylinders for the last few weeks. Now that I’m single, I have fallen into a comfortable routine revolving around work and an atom sized social life. I force myself to go out at least once a week with “friends” whether I feel like it or not. This seems to be working as I find myself in a better frame of mind than I have been the last few months.
    What else? I picked up a friend with benefits that has kept my sex life moving forward.
    Question: Is sex usually mind-blowing fresh out of the gate? Or do you find that sex at first is awkward only to improve as you become more familiar or open with your partner?
    Last Friday night on the way home from work, I saw the funniest shit ever and if I wouldn’t have been a direct witness, I would never have believed it. I mean I’ve seen shit like this in a movie but I never thought I’d see it firsthand, live and in Technicolor as they said back in the days.
    Which is such a stupid phrase, is it not? What does it mean, back in the day? And is there a special day they are referring too or are there numerous “back in the days” reference points? And if there are, who keeps track of all those events? Can anyone answer that for me, please?
    It was 11:30 at night, I had just finished a thirteen hour day followed by an hour train ride to my car, followed by a twenty-minute drive home. And before you ask, yes, I was very tired.
    After I exited off 101 Southbound I headed west before making a left turn on a fairly busy street. A street that stays busy even at 11:30 at night. So as I turned left, you can imagine my surprise when I see a 40ish Latino man running down the center of the street. Okay, running might not be the best description; he was shuffling down the center of the street and every few steps one of his feet would stamp down on the pavement. Of course I was curious as to the reason behind this odd behavior so I slowed down as I passed him. And that’s when I saw it…
    A few weeks ago, I met this guy on Grindr…I have since deleted my account as it was fun for a while but I quickly became bored with all the freaks that populate Grindr land…I’ll call him “A” for now so you have a frame of reference. From the moment “A’s” lips touched…err…came into contact…err…sucked my cock, I knew I found something special.
    You see, from the very beginning, sex with “A” was amazing. And each encounter since that first time, it seems to get more and more intense. And quite unlike myselves, with “A”, I am usually the bottom.
    Maybe it’s because he’s older than me…maybe it’s because my expectations were that low when we first met…maybe it’s because it’s just not about the sex with “A”…or maybe it’s because I’m just that good that whomever I decide to fuck gets better just by being with me.
    I would now like to offer a disclaimer: the above statement is made with my tongue firmly pressed up against my cheek. Even I’m not that arrogant…usually.
    I had to report for work a bit earlier than usual due to a 9:30 am meeting the owners called for all the managers, front and back of house. So instead of catching the 10:02 train like I usually do every day, I had to catch the 8:02 train.
    Here’s the part of this tale where I’ll explain I am so frigging happy that I don’t have to do that on a daily basis. If I had to go to work every day crammed inside a metal tube with hundreds of cranky humans sipping on their morning coffee like its crack cocaine, I would probably put a gun to my mouth and get it over with. Though if it weren’t for that early morning meeting, or the fact that train was packed to the brim, then train twink and I might not have ever met. So hurrah and some other stuff.
    Two months ago, I had the opportunity to partake in a killer writing project hosted by Awesome Dude and put together by the wonderful and talented emu known as Camy. And since I’m not sure if the details of that project are public yet, I’ll not say what it is but it’s going to be freaking sweet. Anyway…
    Once upon a time I was a fairly prolific writer on line. And over at Author’s Haunt, I have a handful of short stories, thirty or so poems, and who can discount my Blog, which I use to post in four or five times a month. I’m not sure when I lost the time or the drive to write but I’ve been pretty quiet the last two years or so.
    But all that changed two months ago when I first found out about this writing project. Suddenly the fire was back and I started writing again like a madman. But unlike before, I wasn’t writing poetry or even Blog entries, I was creating original fiction again like I use to back in my youth.
    Unfortunately I didn’t make the deadline for that Awesome writing project, but I’ve been writing my crusty balls off and have over fifty-thousand words written at present. I’m fucking stoked and I can’t wait to get it finished so I can offer my one loyal reader a new story to dislike.
    As I slowed down to stare at the 40ish Latino man, and I swear on my bald head this is true, I realized that he was chasing what I can only assume was a twenty dollar bill that the wind kept just out of his reach. And he was laughing his balls off, as if to say that he couldn’t believe this was happening to him. He would shuffle forward a few steps, stamp his foot down in a poor attempt to capture the wayward bill, only to have the wind push it a few more feet away.
    I damn near crashed my car as I drove past him due to my laughter. It was only after I parked my car that I could’ve kicked myself in the taint for not capturing the whole thing on video to post on YouTube. That would have been the next sensational viral video. But I didn’t capture it on video and there’s still the matter of train twink to convey so I’ll move along.
    Even though sex with “A” is bordering epic…and even though I know he’d like to take it to the next level…I think I’m going to keep it strictly casual for the moment. I threw everything I had into Mark and I’m so not ready to go down that twisted road again anytime soon. But enough about that shithead.
    So I’m sitting in my usual seat on the train, the handicapped sideways so I don’t have to ride backwards seat, and I’m reading a new story by Gay Author’s, Jwolf, called Big Haired Bitches. Have you read it? If not than you should go right now as it’s loads more entertaining than this drivel you’re perusing now. It’s so laugh out loud funny you just might poop yourself.
    Okay, that’s pretty gross, forget I said that.
    So I’m lost in the story and for two stops I don’t even bother to look around the train at the other passengers. But for some reason, at the third stop, I look up when the doors open and in walked this early twenties Asian twink with multicolored hair, skinny jeans, bright pink T-Shirt, and in his hands was a black hoodie. And glasses, this train riding twink was rocking the nerdstar in a way that made things stand up and pay attention.
    In gay years I’m almost 80 and he was so young and so fucking epic hot I broke off eye contact because I didn’t want him to think I was perving on him. Which I so was perving on him. So I turned my head and glanced about the already crowded car to try and cover up my staring.
    At the very next stop, the old smelly lady that was sitting next to me got off the train which left her seat vacant. Even though I’m reading my story I notice out of the corner of my eye a young hip professional looking bitch make a move at the empty seat next to me. But in a move that could’ve been right out of the Matrix, train twink pushed through the crowd that was exiting the train and basically dove into the seat next, lightly crashing into me as he peered at the young hip professional looking bitch with an innocent twinkle in his eye.
    Now she’s glaring at train twink, so intent is her glare I’m surprised that daggers aren’t shooting out of her cold dead eyes. She shifts her gaze over towards me as if to say I should give up my seat. I fight the urge to stick my tongue out at her so instead I kind of shrug and go back to my story.
    But now I can’t focus on Jwolf’s story because I am wondering what train twink is thinking about this situation and then I start imagining what’s rambling around inside young hip professional looking bitch’s ugly fat head. And before you ask, yes, these random thoughts cross my mind all the time at the most inopportune times.
    When “A” and I are fooling around, I blurt out the most random shit. Sometimes it ruins the mood and other times it just makes us lose our rhythm because we’re laughing so hard. I don’t know why these thoughts pop into my head nor do I understand why I can’t stop them from falling out of my mouth. It is what it is.
    Train twink isn’t sitting next to me for longer than two coke fueled heartbeats before his right leg falls against my left leg. I glance over and he’s slouched down in the seat with his head leaned back against the window, his black hoodie crumpled up in his lap, and it looks like he’s sleeping. Well, at least his eyes are closed.
    As I look at him, I wonder if he’s asleep, or if he’s so tired that he doesn’t realize his leg is pressed up against a stranger or if he even cares.
    Either way I move my leg over an inch or so and start reading my story again, though I am now even more distracted because I keep stealing glances at train twink. Two heartbeats later, his leg moves over and again comes to rest against mine. This time there is a bit more pressure in his “resting”, like he wants me to know he’s doing it on purpose. So I relax my leg and let it fall into his.
    You know I don’t hold anything back here so even though I’m a bit embarrassed to admit this, I’m such a horn dog that this little bit of contact makes me feel all warm and fuzzy bunny slippers. I look over at train twink and though his eyes are still closed, he now has a small knowing smile on his face.
    “A” is a really nice guy, seems stable, has a bit of money, a cool apartment filled with nice things, incredible in the horizontal games we play a few nights a week, and a blast to hang out with. I think I would have a hard time finding someone better.
    And it’s shocking to think we met on a hook-up site like Grindr. Which makes me wonder if he’s still trolling Grindr, I only see him a few times a week, and if he’s as randy as I, he had to be finding fun elsewhere like I am.
    Since I was a little boy, I’ve always been intrigued by the story of Peter Pan. And it’s not that I want to remain a boy forever nor is it because I really believe of Peter Pan is nothing but one long homoerotic tale.
    I think the main reason Peter Pan holds my fascination is what I feel was left out of the story. The idea behind this story is dark, really dark. We have a pirate that is obsessed with “killing” Peter Pan, we have the lost boys that sleep together in a tree content to “play” with each other for the rest of time, magic, fairies, and treasure. It’s a faggot’s delight.
    For going on twenty years I have an idea for a story based on the world and characters of Peter Pan, or at least the world as I have imagined it would have been had this story not been written for kids. In some of my more creative moments I wrote down all these ideas and outlined the story and I must say, I have some really good ideas strung together. And if I didn’t think so strongly against writing fan fiction I might sit down one day and write it all out.
    But that day is far away in the uncertainty of the future.
    Question: Did you stop reading this Blog entry and go read Jwolf’s story Big Haired Bitches like I told you to a few pages ago?
    So train twink and I are sitting there on a crowded train, almost cocooned in a bubble due to all the people standing around us. All I can see is crotches and asses as the train jostles us back and forth. So it almost seems we are alone as train twink and I flirt like two boys who just discovered the wonders that dwell between our legs.
    And the only thing running through my mind as we shyly flirt with one another is I hope the train doesn’t lose power, or the big earthquake everyone is predicting doesn’t happen at this moment, or that the tunnel that goes across the bay doesn’t collapse and the ocean doesn’t come pouring in drowning us all as we press our legs together.
    Sometimes I damn near hyperventilate when I’m riding the train due to the scenarios that my brain weaves. This is so off topic but the story I’m currently writing was outlined, planned, conceived, and even partially written on my daily train ride. Two hours a day leaves a lot of time for tapping out useless words strung together by periods and what have you.
    I look over at train twink and find him staring back at me with a playful grin on his face. He rubs his leg against mine and then looks down at his hoodie covered crotch. Of course my eyes follow and I look down as he lifts up his hoodie just high enough so that I could make out his obviously very excited self. My eyes widened with lust and he laughed, low and raspy like he just woke up after a night of smoking too many cigarettes.
    I’ve lived in the Bay Area for almost six years now and I must say I’ve always had such great luck picking up guys on the train. Maybe it’s the motion of the train as it glides across the tracks. Maybe it’s the train system drugging the passengers in an effort to keep them calm as they pack us in like sardines. Or maybe it’s because I’m dead sexy.
    Though now that I think about it, it’s probably because I’m a total whore and other whores can sense me coming a mile away. Maybe it’s a pheromone I excrete like yesterdays ball sweat. Either way, I’m not dogging a good thing I’m just making a general observation about the gays in my area.
    Remember I’m on this earlier train because I have to go to a meeting that my owners have demanded we attend. And I’m a workaholic that puts my job before my own self interest. But I’m also newly single and…well…I’m a whore who is use to early morning delights. What’s a whore to do?
    Question: What would you do if you were in my position? Would you get train twinks FaceBook info and go to work with the intention of contacting him when you have the time? Or would you blow off the meeting and have some dirty fun under the sheets? What do you think I did?
    “A” keeps me pretty entertained and for the moment I’m content to keep playing with him right now. If this causes me to lose my slut card, then so be it. After all, I’m almost thirty-seven years old. Maybe it’s time I grow up and stop fucking every little thing that crosses my path.
    Fuck that…
  3. Jason Rimbaud

    True Ramblings

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    So we have been open for a month. And I know the pandemic has been heartless for countless small businesses around the world. Thousands of restaurants have closed forever, who knows how many people are out of work due to these closures. So it might have been foolish on the surface to open a new restaurant at this particular time. But we did. 
    I am also saddened by the damage that has been done to the San Francisco restaurant/hospitality scene. A lot of my friends lost everything and it is heartbreaking. The only good thing, after two years, those friends that moved away are slowly moving back.  
    “N” and I were standing outside our restaurant a few days before we opened kicking around ideas on how to get the word out that we have the best damn wings in San Francisco, when we saw a group of middle schoolers, about ten to twelve boys, walking down the sidewalk. He pointed out the group and said, “there goes our lunch crowd in a few weeks.”
    We watched as the group of middle schoolers suddenly took off running as a group across the lawn towards a single middle schooler. As a group, they jumped the single kid and started kicking him and punching him. Then they stole his shoes and his bag and took off running down the street causing several cars to come to a sudden stop.
    I turned to him and said, “maybe we should make them order to-go only.”
    So I have gone the entire pandemic without catching Covid. I have been working steadily and have been around people the entire time. Covid has run rampant through both of our restaurant groups. Between all our locations, when i was working for someone else, had about 40 cases in the three locations. “N’s” restaurant group has had more cases than I could count. He also had three deaths related to Covid. It’s been a hard two years on that front.
    “N” and I were talking yesterday about how lucky we were to escape Covid as we have been working with the public since day one. Our entire circle of friends have had it at some point. So I brought up that we might have had Covid but never had symptoms. He shrugged and finished his Mojito.
    Why doesn’t underwear come with a warning label, “might cause pregnancy.”
    Does anyone have a favorite color for their undies? Mine is red. I have upwards of twenty pairs of red undies alone. For some reason, and my husband agrees, my thingy looks great in red. Briefs, boxers, jocks, Mr. S Leathers, any type really. 
    By the way, Mr. S Leathers, a San Francisco original has some of the best fetish accessories I’ve ever seen. Prices are a bit on the high side but the upside, you get really good quality.
    Which brings me to the subject of toys. Does anyone like to use toys in your relationship? I do. I have about a hundred little metal cars that I force my husband to play with me. He doesn’t like to but I guess it’s better than seeing me cry. 
    I’ve been creating my own personal Christmas Village for the last few years. Building houses out of balsa wood, popsicle sticks, and plywood. I find it very relaxing to build, paint, and construct my perfect little Pennsylvania town. I have chocolate shops, Santa’s workshop, reindeer barns, ice skating ponds, colored sand to mimic ice and snow. And a Mr. S Leather store, complete with tiny dildo’s in the windows. 
    “I’m getting rid of Britta, getting rid of the “B”, she is a “GDB”.
    For the last few months I’ve realized that without a real direction in my life, I tend to ramble on about underwear. I really don’t think we spend enough time focusing on underwear as a culture. Underwear has so many uses. Support, keep your junk nice and tight while running. The right type of material can help keep you dry and itch free for your twigs and berries.
    Boxers for that loosie goosie feeling for your peen. Boxer Briefs to keep your bulge, well, bulging. Jockstrap to show off your ass in the gym. Thongs to get your partner boned up in a hurry. 
    In my sluttier days, I wore different types of underwear based on the mission I had for that particular evening. Jockstraps were for dancing in the club and showing off my goods. If you saw me in the club wearing a jockstrap, then I was ready for some fun in the downstairs bathroom. Boxers are only used for sleeping. A practice I learned from Jason all those years ago. Boxer Briefs are always my go to style to make my bulge look good in jeans. Briefs are the perfect accompaniment for sweat pants and T-Shirts. 
    And no, I don’t work at Mr. S Leathers. I’m just a fan of their products.
    Mr-S-Leather Explicit Content Beware!
  4. Jason Rimbaud
    TV Commercial?s Might be the Reason why I?m Alone
    I?m sure you?re wondering how I could possibly make this statement with a straight face. Or even how I could offer evidence to prove this bizarre statement. Well mister, you just read along before you reach a decision.
    There are times, not always, but certain times I flip a coin to make simple decisions for me. Like maybe, I can?t decide on which pair of pants to wear, I flip a coin. Or whether or not to call the boy I hooked up with the previous night for round two. Simple things like that.
    And when I do flip a coin, I always do whichever action fate has decreed, fate chooses a path and I walk it.
    So yesterday, Saturday, I was undecided on what I wanted to eat for lunch. I was torn between eating at my favorite Chinese Food restaurant, and ordering a thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut. So torn between these two choices was I, I called up my ex-roommate, Daniel, and asked his opinion.
    He told me to go fuck myself. I hung up the phone and sat on my bed. After realizing that I could not possibly fuck myself, I called up my friend from Pennsylvania, and asked her advice. Ann only laughed in my ear and told me to grow a pair of balls and make a fucking decision; after all it was my stomach. I accused her of being biased; she is the one on a diet and is not allowed to eat either food.
    For a while, maybe an hour, I walked around my house, trying to reason out what I wished for lunch. I went on line, browsing the different sites, hoping something would reach out and grab my stomach. But alas, dear readers, it was to no avail. I was still deadlocked between Chinese Food restaurant and thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut.
    Looking at the clock, I realized I had to make my mind up soon or it would be me deciding on dinner. And I really didn?t have the energy to try and tackle that decision whilst sober. Let?s face it; I?m just not that good.
    So I thought to myself, ?Fuck it, I?ll flip a coin and let fate decide.?
    I went to my closet, and grabbed out my box of change that I keep there on the shelf. Some of you might be wondering if I have a lucky quarter that I use, but I don?t. Matter of fact, I never use the same quarter more than once. The reason, I don?t want to blend the two different decisions together. Especially if I?m using the same quarter to make the same decision. How do I know the decision from the previous flip won?t interfere with the current flip? I don?t, and neither do you.
    Finding a quarter that?s worthy of making this decision is a task in and of itself. It must be shiny and new, no dull quarters are allowed. The edges must be as close to round as possible, no scratches or dents are allowed. Rhode Island quarters, as well as Florida quarters are strictly forbidden, the reason should be fairly obvious to those that follow elections that are held on a national level.
    Finding the right quarter took a better part of half an hour, but I finally decided on a new shiny California quarter, minted in 2005. Very pretty if I say so myself.
    I hold the quarter, balanced on my left thumb, and say to myself while looking in the mirror, ?I designate thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut heads, and Chinese Food from my favorite restaurant tails.? I find that if I say this aloud, then it binds me to the final decision of the coin.
    So I take a deep breath and toss the coin in the air. At that moment, a commercial for Pizza Hut appears on my TV, reminding me of a lighthouse beacon cutting through the darkness. (Or in my case, a lighthouse beacon cutting through the indecision of my low blood sugar) I think, ?Pizza would be good.?
    I almost miss catching the coin, this would be bad as it renders the coin toss useless and you must find another shiny perfect quarter. It lands in my left hand and I cover it with my right. Much like a child would peek from his bed in the darkness, I look at the coin in my hand. It was tails, Chinese Food from my favorite restaurant. But I?m saddened now.
    Because that damn commercial on TV, I now have this craving for thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut. Yet I had long ago made the rule that I always follow the result of the coin toss. Fuck, what do I do?
    I look at the coin in my hand, I look at the TV, back to my hand, to the TV. How can I work this out and still follow my predetermined rules?
    I have it. ?Best two out of three.? I say triumphantly to myself in the mirror.
    This time, I say to myself in the mirror, ?I designate Chinese Food from my favorite restaurant heads, and thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut tails.? Fuck, its heads.
    If I were to follow the rules I agreed to, then Chinese Food from my favorite restaurant would be my lunch. But that damn commercial had me craving thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut. It?s not fair; I finally made my mind up, but just a bit too late.
    I look at the coin, I look at the TV, I look at the coin, and I look at myself in the mirror. ?You promised?, a little voice in the back of my head says. ?Remember the rules? another chimes in. ?Just this once, it?s all right. No one?s going to know, its okay? my low blood sugar says seductively. I cave, ?Fuck it.? That damn pizza on TV looked to good to pass up. ?Just this once?I promise? I say to my frowning face in the mirror.
    I throw the coin on my bed and grab the phone. I called 411 for the number to Pizza Hut (And no, I don?t have the number in my phone. You want reasons, I?ll give you reasons. First, I?m really lazy and have never bothered to look up the number. Second, if I know it will cost me money each time I order thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut then I won?t order it as much. See, two reasons right off the bat.) and eagerly await the Pizza Hut person to pick up and take my order.
    While I wait, my mouth begins watering, I can almost taste the decedent carbs, the high sodium pepperoni, and the artery clogging cheese, I just might be in heaven at this moment. But the phone is ringing, six or seven times, what the f?oh, the Pizza Hut person answers the phone and asks if I would hold the line. I agree and she hangs up on me.
    Before you go and tell, I?m not saying the Pizza Hut person hung up on me on purpose. It happens, right?
    So I call 411 again and wait for the 411 computer to re-connect me. This time, after eight or nine rings, the Pizza Hut person answers the phone and asks if I could hold the line. Again I agree, I really want this thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut. Pizza Hut person doesn?t hang up on me this time, but I?m waiting for over ten minutes. What the fuck?
    I hang up, and call 411 yet again. After the computer connects me, who knows how much this is going to cost me but I don?t think about that, the phone rings. Five times, no answer, ten times, no answer, fifteen times, still no answer. I hang up the phone and throw it on my bed next to the forgotten quarter, which seems to be staring at me with teary eyes.
    I glance at my watch, it?s now almost thirty minutes since I decided to defy the power of the coin toss and call Pizza Hut. Suddenly this stupid song from T.A.T.U, Thirty Minutes, starts running through my guilt ridden mind. Especially the part in the song that goes like:
    In the moment it takes
    To make plans or mistakes
    Thirty minutes, a blink of an eye
    Thirty minutes, to alter our lives
    Thirty minutes, to make up our mind
    Thirty minutes, to finally decide
    I shudder and look at the coin lying next to my phone. I nod, silently admitting defeat. I shove my feet into a pair of sandals and head out the door, resigned that I will be consuming Chinese Food from my favorite restaurant for lunch.
    As I?m driving the two or so miles to my favorite restaurant, that damn song keeps playing in my head, like it?s now become my theme song. (I don?t even like the song, but while surfing around Utube earlier that day, I heard it and now it?s stuck in my head, playing over and over again.)
    Lunch for normal people is long over by the time I arrive at my favorite restaurant, and for a moment, I resent the fact that I can no longer order the lunch special combo deal thingy they offer. But I shake that feeling off; it?s my favorite place after all. I?ll just order the entr?e size and pig out.
    While parking, I can?t decide what delicious food substance I wanted to shovel into my body.
    Thirty minutes, a blink of an eye
    Thirty minutes, to alter our lives
    ?Shut up!? I scream in the confines of my crowded mind before walking into my favorite restaurant. The last thing I want inside my head is two Russian lesbians singing emotional drivel as I eat.
    As I feared, the restaurant is empty?well?almost empty. The moment I opened the door, I saw the hottest guy I?ve seen in months, with or without clothes. Oh my pancreas, if Bill Gates and Cindy Crawford would ever procreate, they could never produce a hotter nerd then I saw standing before me waiting on a To Go order. Damn, his ass was so hot it was a shame he had to sit on it.
    He was tall, just a few inches taller than me. Slim, border lined skinny with untamed dark hair and glasses. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of black rimmed glasses. Can I say yum? Fucking right I can say yum.
    He was wearing a Face Book T-shirt, faded blue jeans that hung a bit low on his narrow hips, sandals, and the best part, a rainbow bracelet adorned his right wrist. A fucking hot nerd, great taste in Chinese Food, and gay. Heaven!
    I quickly checked myself, mentally of course, making sure my shirt was stain free, (not that kind of stains you pervert) and that my hair was perfect, carefully arranged to resemble a tumbled mess. Don?t worry, it was, I was out in public for Christ?s sake.
    That?s when I realized what T-shirt I was wearing. For those of you that are curious, it?s a green T-shirt with rainbow lettering that reads, I like Geeks. ?At least he would know I was available.? I thought.
    Daniel and I frequent this restaurant, so the guy behind the counter gave me a big smile and immediately asks about the whereabouts of Daniel. I reply that he?s hanging out at home, (I don?t think I could explain the concept of Daniel and I to this guy, he barely speaks English as it is and has always believed Daniel and I were a couple.) and that it was just me today.
    This hot nerd, like anyone would do, looks over at me while the guy and I exchange brief pleasantries. I see him read my shirt, then I see him give me the once over. I smile, and check him out too. I look back up to his face roughly around the same time his eyes reaches my face, our eyes meet, we both smile.
    Long forgotten is the guy behind the counter, the hot nerd takes a half-step towards me and says, ?Hi.?
    ?Hello.?
    ?Nice shirt.? He says, a smile on the edge of his mouth.
    ?Thanks.?
    I won?t bore you (anymore) with the rest of the conversation; needless to say I now have a date with him Monday night. We?re going out for Sushi and Sake in the city. And I can?t wait, his name is Konstantin (probably spelled wrong) and he?s twenty-six. He works as a troubleshooter for Face Book. Yummy, think I will.
    Without digressing further, I?ll sum up this post.
    All day, I couldn?t decide what to eat for lunch. I waited, thought, sought advice, and ended up giving the decision over to fate IE: the coin toss. But because of a TV commercial, I almost missed out on this most fortuitous encounter with hot nerd guy. This is the proof that I promised to offer that commercials might be the reason I?m alone. Thus the founding of my new movement aimed at the destruction of all commercials on TV.
    Though I?m sure some of you might argue that if I didn?t see that commercial on TV, then I would have went to my favorite restaurant thirty minutes earlier, thus missing the fortuitous encounter with hot nerd guy.
    But we all know that?s bullshit. Don?t we?
    Jason R.
  5. Jason Rimbaud
    On September 22nd, 2006, I posted my first Blog entry. It was a tongue-n-cheek entry called Attachment VS No Attachment. It was a parody of my first time being with a boy that wasn't circumcised and the nickname that I was saddled with after telling my group of friends about the encounter. It would be the start of numerous Blog entries that were true to life but made larger than life. I was usually the butte of most of the jokes and sadly, as I look over the Blog entries and the titles, most actually did happen in one form or the other. 
    Mainly as I look over the past twelve years, I realized that I had forgotten a good portion of these events as I grew and change my circle of friends. It's strange, things that were so life-changing at the time, barely register in today's happiness.
    I long time ago I flirted with the idea of deleting this Blog as I didn't think it represented who I am anymore. I am quite happy I was talked out of it by a past member named Trab.
    I have since lost track of Trab but I will forever be grateful to his sage advice. Happy Anniversary to me and to all your Awesome Dudes.
    Jason
  6. Jason Rimbaud

    Tyler's Dilemma: Sneak Peak

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Sneak Peak New Story
    Graham Greene once said “a story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead”. In Glacier Bay, there are thirty thousand such stories. Here is but one of those stories. 
     
    Tyler’s Dilemma: Questioning Everything 
    A Glacier Bay Story
    By: Jason Rimbaud
    The parking lot was dark with only the faint light from the stars twinkling off the surface of the water. The water broke against the shore in gentle waves and there wasn’t a breath of air stirring the treetops. One could draw comparisons of an eerie fall night one would see in a horror movie. 
    A lone car parked in a deserted lot next to a scenic location. A moonless night with just the faint glow of the city lights in the distance. Two people fogging up the windows in a red Jeep oblivious to their surroundings. There would be soft music playing on the radio. A perfect invitation for a mad killer to attack them. 
    But that would only be in the movies. Glacier Bay had no mad killers. The rather small town of thirty thousand hadn’t had a murder in over ten years that wasn’t related to some kind of domestic disturbance. Any mad killer that found their way to this sleepy town would have been overcome by the vista and settle down to live a normal adjusted life in a seaside town. 
    Though Glacier Bay could suck the life right out of you by the sheer normalcy of everyday living. It was a town of mostly laid back conservative christians that worried more about getting to church each Sunday and making sure their kids got a great education than anything else. On the surface, Glacier Bay was a utopia for anyone weary of big city life and all the problems that stem from millions of people living together. 
    Yet it was quickly becoming quite cosmopolitan as more families moved to Glacier Bay to escape the claustrophobia of the big city. They preferred to commute the two hour drive to the office each day before retreating back to the safety of the mountains. 
    Each morning lines of cars disappeared over the horizon leaving a town filled with kids, bored housewives, and retirees that could afford to live in the exclusive coastal properties. The wives gathered in restaurants after going to the gym with their thousand dollar strollers, yoga pants, and bottomless Mimosas. The kids all dressed the same as they tried to mimic big city fashion and spent their time doing Tik Tok challenges and drinking white claws on the weekend. If you were to ask any of them, they would claim to be bored most of the time. 
    And that was exactly how Tyler Randolph Scott felt. Trapped by the ocean on one side and the mountains on the other side. In his seventeen years, thirteen of them had been spent in Glacier Bay. He felt cut off from the real world and all the stimuli that would save him from the brain numbing routine of small town life. 
    That was the driving force that led him to this mostly empty parking lot on a Friday night. It was three days before the start of his senior year and he was sitting in his brand new Jeep Compass with his best friend, Devin Jenkins, staring hesitantly at the door to the rest stop bathroom some twenty yards away. 
    “This is so fucked,” Tyler blurted after a few moments of staring at the closed door. He looked over at Devin and declared, “I’m not gonna do it.”
    “You’re the one who lost the bet,” Devin said with a wicked grin. “Now it’s time to pay up.”
    “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do,” Tyler complained with a frown on his face.
    “You go inside, pick an empty stall. Then you wait until someone comes in the next stall. It’s easy.”
    “Oh really?” Tyler asked incredulously. “That’s your plan. Just wait in the stall until someone comes in. Then I just shove my dick in the hole.”
    Devin nodded as he said, “Pretty much.”
    “And what if the man that comes in shoves his dick through the hole instead?”
    “I’m not going to tell you how to live your life,” Devin said as he shrugged. 
    Tyler sat in silence for a moment. Why did he let Devin force him into these stupid bets? He blurted out, “This isn’t right.”
    “Coming from the guy that made me shove a marker up my ass and parade around MIndy’s house on the Fourth of July.”
    “That was just good ole clean fun,” Tyler said with a wave of his hand. “But you’re making me do something gay.”
    “Shoving a marker up your ass is pretty gay,” Devin countered. “Plus, I had to do it in front of a house full of my friends. You should thank your ass I’m not making you do that in front of them.”
    “Fine,” Tyler said as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “But I think after this, we should lay off the bets for a while.”
    “Agreed,” Devin said as he unbuckled his seatbelt. 
    “Where do you think you’re going ?” Tyler demanded as he turned to look at the boy intently. 
    “Inside with you,” Devin said casually. Like it was an everyday occurrence to watch his buddy get a blowjob in a bathroom rest stop.
    “Bullshit,” Tyler said quickly, a look of panic on his face. “No way you’re going inside with me.”
    “I need proof,” Devin said flatly. “No way I’m going to let you get out of this by only pretending you cleared your bet.”
    “I’m not letting you watch me get a blowjob from some dude in a public restroom,” Tyler argued as he shook his head violently. “It’s not gonna happen.”
    “What do you suggest then?” Devin asked as he crossed his arms stubbornly. There was no way he was going to let Tyler weasel out. Not after he had to have that marker in his ass. 
    “I’ll take a video,” Tyler offered quickly. 
    Devin thought about it for a moment and then nodded slowly. He said, “But once in the stall, I want a video of your face and without pausing, I want to see you shove your dick in the hole.”
    “Fine,” Tyler said as he opened the door and took a deep breath before he walked across the parking and into the bathroom.
  7. Jason Rimbaud

    Um, Hi!

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    So, how's it going? Naw, that's stupid. After all, I haven't done anything in this Blog for forever and that's the weakest opening ever.
    Over the last few days, I've been re-reading all these entries and I've come up with better sentences on all of them. So I must come up with something better than, how's it going? I had thought about explaining why I haven't posted anything in forever, but that seems like a cope out and probably no one cares. I also thought about doing some chit and some chat about my life the last few months. But for the life of me, nothing exciting stands out. I get up at 9am, I go to work. I get home around midnight and go to bed. Repeat forever. So that would be boring.
    Maybe I should start this Blog exactly where I left off all those forever moments ago. But then all you'd have to read about is what I wrote in the above sentence.
    Fuck it.
    I'm single, so I have no exciting stories to relate about dirty sheets and closet dwelling twinks.
    I'm a bit balder now, but really, it's not like I can hide it anymore.
    I'm still drug free, but really, did anyone ever truly doubt that?
    I lurk around at Awesome Dude, and can't find anything witty to say, not surprising.
    I read a few of the new flash fictions, commented when they struck a cord, but mostly I remained silent.
    Which is quite disturbing in a way, considering Awesome Dude was and still is my first home. It's where I started Blogging, it's where most of you got to know me through my rambling and continuous digressions. But for a long time, I felt like this Blog was part of the past. It chronicled things in my life that I didn't want to think about anymore. Things that I felt would only drag me down if I continued to let them fester. Hell, this is the place where I left Mark, and good riddance by the way.
    But lately, I felt like I had abandoned a part of me that could be used for my future self.
    I don't know, maybe I'm just lazy and have been focusing on myself and my offline life too much to offer up things here. But then I read something that Cole posted to one of my comments in Flash Fiction, and it got me thinking. A Blog isn't something that chronicles just the past, it's about the now, what's going on right now and who's playing a part in my continuous evolution as a human. I don't think it's fair of me to view these pages as a past I would rather forget. I think I should use these pages as a future I would like to share.
    I won't make promises that I'll do better in the future, I won't say that I'll never take a break from this Blog, because that would be just another bullshit statement to make everyone else feel better. And this Blog has never been about making other's feel better, though after reading some of the things I wrote, I think it made lots of people feel better, if nothing but to show that someone else is a bit dumber.
    So Hi Ho and away we go...again.
    Jason
  8. Jason Rimbaud
    Unsent Letter to Jessica
    If I could, I would gladly heal your pain
    If I could, I would lay your head on my shoulder
    If I could, I would love you more than I love myself
    If I could, but we both know I can't
    If I could, I would paint the sky blue for you
    If I could, I would write a sonnet with you in mind
    If I could, I would scream my love from the rooftops
    If I could, but we both know I won't
    If I could, I would have told you I was gay
    If I could, I would act like an adult and admit my mistakes
    If I could, I would take back the way you found out
    If I could, but we both know I can't
    If I could, I would never return to Nola's
    If I could, I would tell everyone that you broke my heart
    If I could, I would lie and say I'm sorry
    If I could, but we both know I won't
    If I could, I would never have fucked you...twice
    If I could, I would take it all back
    If I could, I would make you forget me
    If I could, but we both know I can't
  9. Jason Rimbaud

    Untitled Stories

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    In the last eight months, I somehow managed to write about two hundred ninety-five thousand words over six stories. And out of those six, four are first draft complete. 
    Untitled Story Number One: Set in Hershey Pennsylvania and revolves around a plot to assassinate a sitting US Senator on the road to a presidential nomination and the contract killer who decides to stop it. The first draft is 96,345 words.
    Untitled Story Number Two: The story takes place in the US Virgin Islands as our protagonist deals with the loss of his parents after a sudden illness. He meets a boy at a house party and quickly falls in love. But everything isn’t as it seems and when the press catches wind of his budding romance, choices must be made by both boys that will alter their lives forever. A short story with 22,889 words.
    Untitled Story Collection Number Three: This chronicles the affair between two singers, one at the height of his career and the other climbing his way to the top. The idea of this story began with my short story already posted online at Gay Authors many years ago entitled Fractured. Told over a span of five years and through four short stories, this is a tale of addiction and the struggle to find one’s identity amongst the lens of fame. Total word count is 89,545.
    Untitled Story Number Four: What happens when a closeted boy gets a pride themed thong as a secret santa gift? Who gave it to him and why? Based on a writing prompt at Gay Authors and was my entry for last year's Christmas story. Sadly it was not finished in time as it was a complete mess even with help from two of our Awesome Dude writers who tried to edit it. Hopefully it will be retooled for this year's entry for Christmas. Word count 14,289
    Untitled Story Number Five: In 2023, Tyler was forced into questioning his sexuality for the first time in his life. After reconnecting with an old friend he quickly falls in love. Now a senior in high school, he is pressured into raising his GPA from 3.5 to 3.7 from his father who has grand plans for his only son. As midterms approach, his barely passing grade in Calculus forces him to take drastic action on the very eve his entire world comes crashing down. Can his boyfriend save him from himself or will Tyler have to face things alone? In progress, current word count is 48,584
    Untitled Story Number Six: In 1995, Daniel steals a car and runs away to the big city to escape his homophobic parents. He is caught after crashing the car and sent to a boarding school that specializes in gay conversion therapy. He returns at the start of summer and has to navigate the court ordered restitution to pay off the stolen car, his overly religious ex boyfriend who is trapped in denial that the only way he can survive is to lash out in violence. Can Daniel survive the summer before he turns eighteen or will he be trapped in a town he hates. In Progress, 22,923
    Earlier this year, I made an end of year goal that I will have at least one story completed and readying for posting online. Thus far, I am well on my way to achieving this amazing feat seeing as I opened a restaurant last year and have just finished signing a Letter of Intent (LOI) on our first brick & mortar restaurant in downtown San Francisco. We have moved on to the financing stages and if all goes well, by mid August our very first restaurant will be opened and ready for customers. 
    With a new restaurant opening looming above my head, I don’t know how much time I will have to focus on my writing. So to achieve this goal, I will choose one of the above stories to complete before the end of the year. If anyone has a particular one that interests them into reading more, I am taking suggestions. 
    On a completely different note, in the mid-eighties, I read a book of short stories called Thieves World, a shared world fantasy series created by Robert Asprin and featuring some of the most well known writers of the seventies and eighties. My memory is that authors could use any characters already created or introduce new ones set in the city of Sanctuary. 
    As the series continued, I became fascinated by multiple stories taking place in the same location independently of the other stories. Twenty years ago I tried, and failed, to mimic this by writing multiple stories set in the same small town of my youth. This would be a semi-autobiographical tale told through a fictional lens.
    For several reasons, this concept failed. I was not a good writer and the story quickly got away from me due to lack of plot and/or planning. Recently I revisited this concept and two of the above stories are set in the same location. 
    I guess my hope, after I finish playing in this setting, is that maybe another author might want to jump in and play around in my world. Either by continuing any of the stories I post or creating new ones. But first I have to actually finish something.
    Wish me luck on signing my lease, I’m so excited to actually be able to see people enjoy my food in a restaurant setting instead of just doing take-out.
  10. Jason Rimbaud
    The sun had long set behind the mountains of the town of Glacier Bay.  The moon bathed the town in a soft light with a backdrop of twinkling stars in the October sky.  The trees gently swayed in the offshore breeze that hinted at the bone chilling weather that was to come but for now, the air was crisp and refreshing.  The leaves had changed giving the streets and parks a colorful facelift that brought in visitors from all around.  The last influx of outsiders bringing their pocketbooks before the long winter brought snow and ice and all the winter games along with it.  Some folks said that winter was gods way of testing the human spirit.  Much like the grass and trees, humans tended to go into a hibernation mode throughout the winter.  Surviving on the nutrients they had gathered in the spring and summer to get them through the harsh starving months of winter.  The world seemed a bit sadder in the winter months, most of the habitants of Glacier Bay walked with their head down, their faces covered by scarves and bundled up in colorful hats, gloves, and bulky winter coats.  In the summer, they would wave and shout out to their neighbors, most times stopping for moment to ask about families and goings on.  But with the onset of winter, one was lucky to get a polite wave as they rushed by seeking indoors over the blistering cold.
    On this particular night, Scott Taylor was staring out at the glacier that gave the town its name.  The glacier, brightly lit by the moon, reflected across the bay giving off the illusion the water was ice, calm and still.  This illusion was ruined every few minutes when a gentle wave would crash into the bottom of the glacier echoing off the mountainside. 
    Scott tucked his long blonde hair behind his ears and looked towards the town he had lived in all his life.  Glacier Bay, nestled at the base of a range of mountains that almost saw snow on the peaks all year round.  The glacier snaked its way down the mountain until it spilled out in the bay that was protected by a natural seawall.  When the town was first settled in the late 1800’s, the townsfolk had carved a deep channel for boats to enter the bay safely in the natural wall.  This was once upon time to protect the fishing vessels that were moored at the docks during the winter months.  Nowadays there was not much commercial fishing anymore.  All the boats moored at the dock were built more for pleasure and unused for most of the year except when their rich owners could get away from the city for a few short weeks and enjoy all the town had to offer.  Many local boys like Scott, made really good money taking care of the boats for their absentee owners throughout the year as well as maintaining the carefully manicured lawns and removing the snow from their vacation homes throughout the year.  It always amazed Scott how much someone was willing to pay to keep a house they would visit once or twice a year.  It seemed like a waste of money that could be better spent in other ways.  But Scott was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
    As he peered across the bay, he eyes drifted to the lighthouse.  There was no need for a lighthouse since the 1950’s and it had long been turned into a tourist destination with daily tours during the summer months.  A small gift shop in the base of the lighthouse offered those who had the need to buy souvenirs and keepsakes to remember their trip to Glacier Bay.  It had been closed for weeks now, abandoned until the spring.  Too many things in Glacier Bay seemed to be dormant for his liking. 
    Scott glanced at his watch and wondered again what was keeping his friend.  His eyes drifted back to the high school.  Thirty minute ago the lights had all but been turned off, signaling the end of the play and the participants headed home for the night.  Even if there was traffic leaving the parking lot, his friend should have arrived twenty minutes ago.  He pulled his coat around him tighter, it wasn’t that cold yet.  But sitting still on a bench for almost an hour had caused a chill to sink into his bones. 
    For the hundredth time, he checked his phone to see if there were any texts.  Since he had arrived, his sister had texted him three times about the ending of the play, his mom wanted to know what he was doing Saturday night and if he was free for dinner.  And a few more from random friends, but there was nothing from Jake.  Silent; much like the last week had been.  The old saying was true; you almost never miss what you have until it is no longer there.  And after a week of silence from his closest friend, he found that he missed him terribly. 
    Scott reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes.  It was definitely a habit he was trying to quit but the craving was always worse when he was bored.  He hadn’t so much taken his first drag when he heard footsteps on the gravel walkway below.  Jake must have ridden his bike, otherwise he would have seen the headlights of his car as he drove around the lake.
    Though the moon was bright and the sky was clear, he couldn’t make out the face of the figure as it approached him.  But he would have known that shape anywhere.  He had seen that shape for eighteen years.  He peered intently as the boy walked towards him.  Once he was close enough to see, Scott could see his face was drawn, his eyes intent as he looked at the ground.  His hands were shoved in his pockets and his breath steamed in the night with every exhale.  He had ridden his bike.
    Jacob Rainer, his next door neighbor for most of his life.  The one person that knew every secret, every prank, everything he had ever done in his life.  They were together when Scott got the bright idea to jump off the roof with sheets tied around their necks; they were also together when Scott convinced his friend that crossing the bay in old man Thomas’s row boat was a good idea at 2am in the middle of winter.  From the time they could walk, they had been inseparable.
    The two boys, both eighteen and heading into their final year of school, could not have been more different.  Neither in looks nor in personality.  Jake was average size, short cropped brown hair, and always seemed to ponder each decision carefully before acting.  He was well liked by his peers and received mostly A’ and B’s in all of his classes.  Being the middle child, at home he would disappear as his younger sister seemed to garnish all the attention and his older brother couldn’t keep from arguing with his parents about everything.  Everyone who knew him would testify that out of all the kids, he was going to be the one that made it and made it in a big way. 
    Scott took another drag from his cigarette and waited for his friend to sit down next to him on the bench.  But that did not stop him from looking at his friend with an expectant look on his face.
    Jake moved his hand in front of his face, trying to avoid the cigarette smoke that lingered around Scott’s head like a halo.  “I really wish you’d quit those.”
    Scott shrugged, “Everyone needs a bad habit.”
    Jake settled back into the bench, and stretched his legs out in front of him.  “Nice night.  Won’t be long until winter arrives though.  I can smell the snow in the air.”
    Scott threw the cigarette on the ground and stamped it out with his foot.  “It is almost November.  Hell, Halloween is just around the corner.”
    Jake looked at his friend sideways.  “What are you going as this year?”
    Scott turned his head and looked at his friend, “Are we really doing this?  Small talk, like you haven’t said a word to me in a week, and you want to know what I’m dressing for Halloween.”
    Jake ignored the outburst, something he did often.  “I’m going as a father,” he said quietly.
    Scott’s eyes widened at the declaration.  “Well shit.”
    Jake stared at the ground, not wanting to make eye contact with Scott.  Instead he dug his toe around in the dirt.  “Remember the fall dance at the club back in August.”
    Scott couldn’t help but chuckle as he remembered that night.  That was the night he dumped two bottles of whiskey in the punch, one hour before he puked on Mrs. Turners shoes.  As much trouble as he received for ruining her shoes, it would have been worse if they would have known he was the culprit that spiked the punch.  “What about it?”
    “Christine and I…”
    “Christine?” Scott interrupted.  “Blankenship.”
    “Remember, Becky and I got into that fight.  She was mad at you for spiking the punch,” Jake explained.  “Becky went home with Julie and Christine was pretty drunk, so I offered to give her a ride.”
    “Yeah you did,” Scott said, laughing. 
    Jake stood up, and spat out angrily, “This is why I can’t talk to you sometimes.  Not everything is a joke.”
    Scott stared up at his friend for a moment.  Then he said in a quiet tone, “You’re serious.”
    “I’m gonna be a father Scott.  And I’m scared shitless.” Jake stated before turning around to face the glacier. 
    “Wait a minute,” Scott said, shaking his head.  “You slept with Christine the night of the dance and didn’t tell me?”
    Jake glared at his friend.  “Not everything is about you.  And no, I didn’t.”
    Scott pulled out another cigarette.  “Okay, lets start at the beginning.”
    Jake rubbed his eyes tiredly.  “Christine was hammered that night.  I would never take advantage of someone like that.  But she was all over me, and managed to kiss me before I kicked her out of the car.”
    Jake sat back down next to his friend and grabbed the cigarette and took a long drag before exhaling the smoke upwards.  “That’s how you do it.  Not in your friends face.”
    “Rodger,” Scott said with a grin.  “Continue.”
    “Becky and I were having problems.  She was so worried about what would happen at the end of the year when we go off to college.  It was so frustrating, I mean, why couldn’t we just be happy now, and worry about next year, next year.” Jake stated with a sigh. 
    “A few days later, Christine showed up at work, being all flirty.  Wondering if I wanted to get coffee after I was finished.  It was nice, hanging out with her, just being in the moment, not worried about college, and how many kids we needed to have, where we were going to live, you know.  Just two people enjoying each other.”
    Jake stopped for a moment and eyeing the cigarette before taking it again.  “So we hung out off and on for the next few weeks.  And I swear, nothing happened.  We were just talking.”
    “When did Becky find out?” Scott asked as he lit up another cigarette.  
    Jake took a another drag, looked at the cigarette in his fingers, and threw it on the ground.  He stated with a frown, “You sure seem to smoke a lot nowadays.”
    “What can I say, I’m an addict.”
    “Three weeks ago, Becky saw us at the coffee shop, she went crazy.  She wouldn’t let me explain, she started accusing me of cheating on her with her best friend, calling us all sorts of names.  It was in the middle of the coffee shop.  I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.”
    Scott shrugged.  “I’ve been busy.”
    “That was the night it happened.  Right over there,” Jake gestured at the end of the walkway.  He grabbed the cigarette again and took a long drag.
    “Look Jake, I don’t mind if you smoke my cigarettes but you have to stop putting them out after one drag, their expensive,” Scott said with a frown.  “Are you sure she’s pregnant?”
    “She was pretty sure after a week because she missed her period.  Three tests later, and I’m gonna be a father,” Jake sighed.  “At eighteen, just like my father.”
    “That’s heavy,” Scott stated with a grimace.
    “And the really messed up thing,” Jake said quietly. “I don’t love her.  I love Becky.”
    “Does she know?”
    Jake shook his head.  “No one knows.  Just Christine, me, and now you.  Not even her parents.”
    “No wonder you’ve been avoiding me all week,” Scott said, his eyes wide in disbelief. 
    Jake stared off into the distance as he said, “I told her.  That I didn’t love her and that I wanted to be with Becky.”
    “How did she take that?”
    “She just starting crying,” Jake said, rubbing his hands through his hair.  “I can’t seem to do anything right lately.”
    “There is one thing you did perfectly,” Scott blurted out. 
    Jake stared at him flatly.  “Don’t be an ass.”
    “I’m just saying maybe you should’ve tried for that ass and you wouldn’t be in this situation.”
    Jake couldn’t help but chuckle.  “I’m not a pervert like you.”
    Scott laughed.  “I’m not a pervert anymore; it’s legal now in almost all fifty states.  We can get married and everything.”
    Jake shoved his friend playfully.  “What you do I wouldn’t call it legal in any state.”
    “They have all been consensual,” Scott said, pausing before adding with a grin, “except that one time but we won’t talk about him.  He deserved what he got anyway.”
    “Gross,” Jake stated dryly.  “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
    “Is she going to keep it?” Scott asked carefully. 
    “I’m not sure.  I didn’t know how to bring that up.  Fuck, I already told her I don’t want to be with her, I didn’t think asking about abortion was appropriate.” Jake admitted.  “I’m such an asshole aren’t I.”
    “Best thing to do is talk to your dad.” Scott offered. 
    “He’s going to kill me,” Jake said with a frown.  “He always told me not to do what he did.”
    “Look on the bright side,” Scott stated as he stood up.  “You didn’t, you’re not going to marry the girl you knocked up.”
    “Oh, you are so dead,” Jake snorted and started chasing his friend who had starting running towards his truck parked in the lot down the path.
    “You could never catch me slowpoke,” Scott called out over his shoulder before really turning on the speed.  His long legs made running seem effortlessly, and he had been running his entire life.  On his best day, Jake couldn’t keep up with him unless he slowed to a jog and this time was no different.
    By the time Jake caught up to him, he was leaning against his truck and the motor was already warming up.  He did notice that Jake’s bike was already in the bed of his blue pick-up.  Riding out to the glacier in the middle of the night might be fun but no one wanted to make the long ride back.
    Jake half-jogged the last ten yards, his chest heaving as he took large gasps of air.  He held his side and winced.  “I don’t know how you run that fast and still smoke that many cigarettes.”
    “Genetics,” Scott said with a smile.  He smoothed down his long blonde hair and jumped in the truck.  “Get in before you fall over.”
    “I was built for short bursts,” Jake explained as he climbed inside the 4X4 truck with a grunt.  “I’m much better on the wrestling floor.”
    Scott turned on the heat full blast as he spoke, “And yet, oddly enough, I turned out to be the gay one.”
    “That is true.  I’ve probably had my face in more boy crotches than you have.  If I’m not gay by now, I’ll never be,” Jake said proudly. 
    “You are one of the few on the wrestling team that could honestly say that,” Scott said, moving his eyebrows up and down suggestively.
    “Those are my teammates, I don’t want to hear about what they might do with you behind closed doors,” Jake complained half-heartedly.
    Scott laughed, loud and deep.  “Remember that time we went to that away game in Hillersville, now that was a wrestler that knew which end of a boy was what.”
    For the rest of the ride back to town, Scott told one outlandish tale after another about his many conquests and crazy exploits.  Like most boys do of a certain age, there was a large amount of exaggeration and all out lies.  Jake knew that Scott was far from being a virgin, and he did have a more active sex life than most boys in the school ever dared dream.  Most times he just hoped that most of Scott’s stories were fanciful tales designed to get a rise out of his listeners. 
    Scott was well known around the school at having the weirdest sense of humor.  No matter what the circumstance, he could always be counted on to say the most offensive thing at any given time.  It was something that Jake actually respected him for.  It took a very confident person to say whatever and not care what everyone else thought.  Scott truly marched to a different drum than anyone else.  He was never sure which boy was the good influence on the other.  All he knew, Scott was someone he could count on to always be there.  No matter what.
    For his part, Scott was at a complete loss of words.  He couldn’t even begin to understand what his friend was going through.  So he did the only thing he could do, try to take Jake’s mind off his problem, even if it was only for twenty minutes on the ride home. 
    Jake was almost smiling by the time the blue truck pulled up to 803 Campus Circle at 11:53pm.  Scott put the truck in park and stared ahead.  “Talk to your dad.”
    “I’d rather talk to your dad,” Jake stated with a grin.
    Scott laughed again.  “He’d be so happy to talk about sex with girls with someone.  You’d make his day.”
    “How’s he been the last few weeks?” Jake asked, looking at his friend intently.
    “He’s getting use to it,” Scott said with a shrug.  “Mom said it was okay for me to come to dinner tomorrow night.  So that’s a good thing.”
    Jake reached over and put his hand on Scott’s arm.  “Look Scott, I’m sorry I’ve been so distant lately.  It’s not because…you’re gay.  I don’t care about that.  And truthfully, I kind of always suspected.”
    “Really?” Scott asked.  “Why didn’t you say anything?”
    “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jake countered.
    Scott turned his head for a moment and looked out the drivers window.  “I guess I was scared.”
    “Of what?”
    Scott turned to face his friend.  “I think I knew that you wouldn’t care, deep down.  But I didn’t want to lose you.  You are one of the most important things in my life.  And I was scared to take a chance that you wouldn’t accept me.  Or worse.”
    “Or worse?” Jake asked.
    “Like, if you thought I was hitting on you on those times we would wrestle around.  Or the showers, or sleeping together,” Scott said honestly. 
    Jake made a face and said quickly, “That’s gross.”
    Scott’s eyes widened as Jake continued thoughtfully, “One of the reasons I always thought you were gay was when we wrestled and you’d get a boner.”
    “I so did not,” Scott denied laughing. 
    Jake laughed, for the first time that night, a deep belly laugh.  “Exactly my point.  You are more like my brother than my own brother.”
    Scott stated through his laughter, “Truth.”
    “I didn’t know what to say about this Christine thing, I was avoiding you because it’s got my head all twisted,” Jake admitted.  “But I realized that you might think it was because you came out.  And it’s not.  Honest.”
    Scott sighed.  “Thank you.  I will admit I was wondering if that was it.  It was weird not being able to talk to you about this stuff.”
    “Hey, you can always talk to me, I might not understand it all, but I’ll listen,” Jake said with a small grin. 
    “Thanks.  And you’re not worried what everyone will say at school about you,” Scott asked.  He had already heard some of the things that have been said.  For the time being, nothing had been said to his face but he figured it was just a matter of time.
    Jake laughed again.  “Scott, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I wasn’t the only one that suspected.”
    Scott was truly stunned.  “Really.”
    “Becky and even Julie told me that years ago.  Mike mentioned it in passing,” Jake said through his laughter.  “I think everyone knew and probably no one really cares.”
    “Well shit, I could’ve saved all that stress,” Scott said thoughtfully.  “If only my father would’ve suspected.”
    “He’ll come around,” Jake said confidently.  “He just always wanted a grandson.”
    “Well, maybe he can adopt Christine’s baby,” Scott snorted out, not being able to stop himself.
    “You really are an asshole,” Jake said, shaking his head.  “Really, a big asshole.”
    “You could come over and visit him, bring him presents,” Scott said more enthusiastically, gesturing wildly.  “Take naps with me in my bed.”
    “Just keep laughing,” Jake warned, but the corner of his mouth was curling up in a grin.  “Though, you are a great napping partner.  You like to cuddle.”
    “One time,” Scott admonished.
    “Best nap I ever had,” Jake said laughing.  “That’s when you’re father should’ve suspected.  When he walked in on us that day, you had even drooled a bit on my shoulder.”
    “You’re laughing now,” Scott replied.  “But Mom asked me if you were my boyfriend.”
    Jake stopped laughing and asked, “Seriously?  What did you say?”
    Scott put his hands behind his head and said, “I told her it wasn’t my place to out other people and if she wanted to know she should ask you.”
    Jake smacked him right in the stomach, hard.  Scott made a sound, and grabbed his stomach, though he didn’t stop laughing.  “It doesn’t help that you stopped coming around these last few weeks.  No telling what they are thinking.”
    “Well, I can bet they aren’t thinking I got some girl pregnant,” Jake said wistfully. 
    “No, can’t say that they are,” Scott agreed.  “Anything you need, just ask.”
    “Thanks.  But it’s time for me to go inside,” Jake stated as he stared at his darkened house, a lone porch light shining a light on the walkway.  “I’ll see you.”
    Jake opened the door and headed towards the front of the house.  Scott stared at him until he disappeared inside and the door closed.  Scott checked his phone and read a text that brought a grin to his face.  He replied, “I’m on my way.”
    He started up his truck and headed across town whistling.  He had wanted to tell Jake about the reason he came out but didn’t think it was the right time.  Not when Jake was worried about being a father to a girl he didn’t want to be with.  Not to mention that when Becky found out she would probably break up with him.  No seventeen year old girl wants to be a girlfriend of an eighteen year old that is having a baby with her best friend. 
    But that was for a later time to worry about.  For now, he was going to see the reason he came out.  And for now, that was all that mattered.
  11. Jason Rimbaud

    Weird Night

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    So it's been a weird week. And by weird...I mean down-right fucking insane with a dash of stupidity thrown in to complete the mix.
    So why was it so weird, down-right fucking insane with a dash of stupidity you ask?
    *waits for you to ask*
    All right, don't get pushy, I'll explain.
    First, with my new promotion at work...
    Wait, did I tell you I got promoted at work?
    Well, I did. Three weeks ago, I got promoted to Assistant Manager at my hip up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto, California. Before that promotion, I was promoted to Catering Manager as well.
    So with this new promotion, I've been working about seventy hours a week. I'm in charge of catering sales, so I spend most of my mornings on the phone, or exchanging emails with potential clients. I drive to their house, we discuss the details and the logistics of how they wish to threw the event and then I coordinate with the rental company for any tables, chairs, cutlery, etc etc. After which, I spend a few hours with the Chef discussing the menu, and after we hammer out the details, I call the client back and get their final approval. This takes up the bulk of my day, nine AM to three PM.
    After which, I change from my suit and into my serving clothes, if I'm working in the restaurant that night, and head in to work at PM. Then I work till about eleven or twelve, maybe go out for a drinkie poo before heading home. Once home, I check my mail, reply to all work related messages, perhaps chat for a few online, then hit the sheets to get up around 7am and start the whole damn thing all over again.
    Oh yeah, I love it.
    I know, you're saying that's not that insane at all, but try doing that for a few months, six days a week and the pressure starts to build. Believe me...I know.
    Where was I? That's right, Mark.
    Mark and I have the most ridiculous relationship in the history of ridiculous relationships. I know this for a fact because I did research on the Internet and I'm way out in front of even the most bizarre celebrity relationship.
    We aren't dating, but we spend so much time together we might as well be. He stays over a few nights a week, we have dinner together, we watch movies together, I spend time with his little sister and mother...but we're not dating.
    *rolls eyes*
    It's getting a bit more insane but still not there to qualify my opening sentence. I know, be patient, I'm getting there.
    Am I the only one that has this most treasured trait?
    So last weekend was Pride Weekend here in San Francisco and after weeks of working six days a week and who knows how many hours, factoring in the stress of dealing with my non-relationship with Mark, I was more than ready to blow off a bit of steam. And what better way to "blow" off steam than hanging out in SF with thousands of fellow queers celebrating my culture?
    When I was in my early twenties, I was quite the party animal/monster/slut/insane person and if there was one thing I knew how to do back then, it was to have fun. I did all the drugs, I fucked all the boys, and did so many stupid things I sometimes wonder how I survived it all with nothing but a few scars. I might add all those scars are internal, as I'm still beautiful on the outside.
    This one time, at band camp...guess that movie reference?
    So when I was twenty-two, I lived in Pennsylvania, and spent most of my time in straight bars with straight friends. There were several gay bars there but as none of my friends were gay, I found it was just easier to hang out with them and hit the gay bars after they called it a night. After all, they usually went home around twelve and everyone knows gay boys don't hit the bars till a bit later. It worked out for me.
    Anyway, one night in this bar called, Kokomo's a really cool sports bar, I noticed this hot boy sitting across the bar. It didn't take me long to figure out he was gay, so I did what any gay boy would do, I struck up a conversation with him. It was easy, I already had a few drinkie poos and was feeling pretty invincible. I'm sure you've been there before.
    Now I've been accused of acting pretty straight most of the time so it was no surprise when the boy, Greg, said something to the effect that I was pretty cool for a straight boy. Knowing most gay boys have a fantasy of seducing straight boys, I decided to act out the part. I know, I'm pretty cool like that.
    So I let him believe I was straight, a bit curious but definitely straight. So I pretended to think about it for a long time when he asked if I wanted to go back to his house for one more drinkie poo before shyly agreeing. I remember him being pretty smug as we left the bar and started the ten block trek back to his house.
    After leaving Kokomo's, we had to pass by the block that housed the three local gay bars, a block that was nicknamed the Queer Circle, as the gay boys would visit first one bar, then the other, then the other, before heading back to the first one, making a giant circle of prancing gay boys.
    Anyway, as we approached Queer Circle, I noticed a car drive by with two older guys, and when they passed us, they slowed down and stared before speeding off. We had made it about half way down the block when that same car passed again, slowing down first. Needless to say, they were very appreciative of the two of us.
    I looked at Greg and pointed it out. He laughed and said they thought we were a couple. So I said, "I'm tired of walking, if they come 'round again, let's ask them for a ride."
    He looked a bit dubious, but as they came up again, I flagged them down and walked over to the car before he could say anything.
    The must of been in their late forties, kind of chubby and completely perverts. They asked what we were doing and I said we were going back to Greg's house to get a drink. They asked where it was, and I pointed up the block and asked if they'd give us ride. They discussed it for a moment, and said sure. Greg and I climbed in the back seat.
    The passenger turned around and asked, "How long have you been a couple?"
    Greg laughed and said we weren't a couple and that I was straight. The passenger looked disappointed and turned back around. So being the little devil that I am, I grabbed Greg and pulled him into a kiss, pulling him on top of me in the process. As we sat there making out, the passenger turned back around and started watching, I'm pretty sure his hand was in his pants. The driver had moved the mirror and was looking at us more than the road ahead.
    The passenger groaned when I opened Greg's pants and started touching him. Greg was shocked but definitely happy and went with the flow, I think he got off on the fact that we were doing this in front of two total strangers, I know I was.
    Arriving at Greg's house, the two old men almost begged us to let them come inside and watch. I think Greg might have said yes, but fucking in front of two old pervs wasn't something I wanted to do, so I told them no but thanked them for the ride by burying my face in Greg's crotch.
    I'd call this night a weird, down-right fucking insane with a dash of stupidity night. I jumped in a car with two strangers without ever thinking of what could have happened, I was lucky that nothing happened. And I have more stories just like that, but I was living life and never thought of consequences that might happened.
    And after all these years, I had thought I put all this stupidity behind me.
    But guess what, I had at least one more weird, down-right fucking insane with a dash of stupidity night left in me.
    And that happened to be last Friday night.
    To Mark's credit, when I informed him of my plans to go to SF to partake in the Pride festivities, he voiced his concerns that in that type of environment, I might slip up and "party" with a bunch of strangers. And to translate the term "party", it means to use cocaine.
    I admit it felt nice to have someone care about me, I couldn't help but feel all warm and fuzzy bunny slippers.
    I told him I needed to go out and have some fun, I couldn't handle staying home one more night.
    So he countered by inviting me to this house party a friend of his from school was having to celebrate the end of the semester.
    Believe me, it was difficult to decide between attending Pride with a boatload of queers or hanging out with a bunch of straight frat boys in their early twenties. The deciding factor was that I would be spending time with Mark, even if I had to pretend we weren't having sex three times a week for the last three months and I probably wouldn't have any fun.
    So after work on Friday, after changing at Mark's house, we headed over to this party. Before we walked in the house, Mark said that if I wasn't having any fun, to let him know and we could leave. I thought that was pretty cool, and he didn't even asked me to pretend to be straight.
    Who would've thought that at my age I would have a blast at a party loaded with drunk twenty-year-olds? Not me...that's for sure but that's also exactly what happened.
    And for being an old man with balding hair, I must admit that more than a few of those college chicks were quite taken with me and one even asked if I wanted to go back to her house for some "fun". I declined of course but it did help my self esteem.
    Most of the night, I watched poor Mark dodge this cute little blonde that apparently has been chasing him all year all over campus. If I hadn't a stake in Mark, I would've told him to let the poor girl catch him, she was really cool and completely hysterically funny. But as I do have a stake in Mark, I wanted to kill her or at least push her off the second floor balcony while she was smoking.
    I was a bit surprised how awkward and shy Mark was around these girls. When he was chasing me, he didn't seem shy at all, matter of fact, he was pretty blatant about his intentions. But around these girls, he was clumsy and couldn't seem to find his tongue and when he did, something stupid came out of his mouth.
    It was rather amusing and for most of the night, it kept me quite entertained. That was before Mark decided to have a bit too much to drink. That's when the real fun started.
    Most of you know Mark is a pothead...and he can smoke all day and still function somewhat normally. But give him three or four drinks, and he's all over the place like an idiot. And when Mark gets a bit drunk, he starts to get a bit...touchy to put it mildly.
    And around midnight...I was outside on the balcony having a smoke and Mark stumbled out with this stupid grin on his face. I'm not sure if he saw the other people outside or if he just didn't care, but he walks right up to me and puts his hand on my cheek and says, "Hi you."
    I smiled and said, "Hi."
    "I like you." And then he kisses me, right there in front of everyone.
    What was a boy to do? I kissed him back, pulling him in closer to me.
    After a few moments, he wraps his arms around my waist and looks at everyone with this stupid grin on his face and says, "I'm gay."
    Everyone looked kind of shocked, so I said, "Don't worry, I'm gay too, it's all right."
    And just like that, Mark was mine.
    We left the party a while later, but not before finding out that no one there really cared, except the blonde chick, she was definitely a bit jealous but who cares, I knew if it came down to it I could take her in a fair fight.
    Mark was drunk so I drove home, he didn't want to go back to his house, and I guess I could understand why, so around two or so we ended up back at my apartment.
    You might say, that doesn't seem weird, down-right fucking insane with a dash of stupidity kind of night that would warrant my above comment.
    But that wasn't the end of the night, oh no, not by a long shot.
    The weird part didn't start until we were smack dab in the middle of...err...having some fun in my bed. Mark grabbed my face with both hands, pulled me close and whispered into my lips, "I love you."
    And without thinking, I replied, "I love you too."
    Jason
  12. Jason Rimbaud
    Mark and I have reached the point in our relationship where the newness has finally faded and we've moved into the realm of comfortable bliss. Our days slip by with the quickness of one that is quickly approaching the end. Not to say that we aren't stupidly happy, nor do I mean that the sex has lost it's allure, because let's face the truth, we hump like mad men who have finally been released from prison...a all female prison.
    You could say that everything is perfect...
    Yet I can't help but think that the other shoe is about to drop...from the top of the Empire State Building right on my pretty little balding head.
    I know myself, I do, after all I've lived with this crazy freak for thirty-three years and I am painfully aware of my track record. One of the reasons I've had bad luck in past relationships is I find it difficult to keep my...err...manhood in my pants when faced with temptation. In other words, I have a wandering eye for the pretty men I meet in my life.
    What If I stumble
    At work, at my hip up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto, I've had my difficulties as well. Mainly from the other servers, servers who for the last two years were my co-workers, my partners in crime, and my equals. And now, because of my recent promotion, I am no longer their equal, now I have to tell them what to do. And I'm finding it a bit hard to balance past friendships with the tedious nature of being responsible for the restaurant. All while trying to maintain a new relationship with Mark, another server who at one time was my equal.
    And it's not that he expects special treatment, he does, and it's not that he tries to push the boundaries to find the line, he does, and I'm at my wits end trying to juggle all these things while still doing my job to the best of my abilities. And when I have to put my foot down and say enough is enough, after all, it doesn't take thirty minutes to take a piss, not even with a Urinary Track Infection or some other horrible sexually transmitted disease I am hoping beyond sanity that he doesn't have. And though no one knows about us at the restaurant, he knows, and for some stupid reason can't understand that I won't let him do whatever he wishes.
    What If I stumble...
    The other day, a server called me aside and asked that I speak to this table that was sitting on the patio. I inquired why, and the server said the guest was quite unhappy that she had found a leaf in her entr?e and was demanding that I take the steak off the final bill.
    I know...
    This stupid bitch demanded to be seated outside, it wasn't like we forced her to sit underneath a fucking tree on a windy day in Palo Alto. Nor did we purposely sit her at a table that attracted some kind of flying insect like bears to honey. She picked the fucking table.
    I mean seriously, how fucking stupid can this bitch possibly be? Can you believe she demanded that we comp her check.
    What If I stumble...
    And to make matters worse, we hired this completely sexy, out and proud gay boy that is the spitting image of my friend Daniel in his younger days, so basically he's a nerd, with glasses to boot, and a narrow ass that begs me to squeeze it with my face.
    He doesn't have the hang-ups that Mark clings to like a virgin clings to it's pillow. He's proud to be gay, comfortable even, even in public. And he smart, witty, charming, and dare I say, dead fucking sexy.
    What If I Stumble...
    And to make matters worse, he has made his intentions quite known to the staff. Remember, no one at work knows about Mark and I, so in the broader sense, he's doing nothing wrong. But this leaves me in quite the pickle, as far as everyone is concerned I'm single and if you ask the staff, in desperate need of some loving.
    Then you have Mark, trying in vain to control his jealousy as the nerd chases me with determination that is quite commendable, if I wasn't balancing a jealous boyfriend, friends who won't mind their own fucking business, and a boss that sits back and laughs at the whole damn mess, I'd probably shit myself with laughter.
    What If I stumble...
    All this and I'm a bit frazzled. I really like Mark...like...fuck that, I told him I loved him this morning before I crawled out of bed to head off to work. And I do, love him that is, and I know I won't jeopardize this for some sexy nerd with glasses or a hot, sweaty, semi-violent one night stand.
    But I know how I sabotage my happiness, and I am fearful of this past behavior.
    And then, this morning, way before Mark opened his beautiful brown eyes, I lay there, his pale body entwined with mine, the soft snoring that escaped his lips, and the occasional sleep noises he made, brought such comfort that all these fears slipped away and I couldn't help the ravaging of his sleeping body.
    While I was in the shower, I couldn't help but laugh at myself. I was so worried about the thousand what-ifs that I had completely forgotten about the things that mattered most. Worrying about stumbling is no way to live a life, because let's face it, everyone stumbles. It doesn't matter that we stumble, all that matters is how we get back up and try it again.
    What If I stumble...who fucking cares.
  13. Jason Rimbaud
    Wonder Boy, Edward Forty-Hands, and a Perfect Penis
    By: Jason R.
    So let?s start at the beginning, mainly because I really don?t know the ending as of yet. Plus, the beginning is way more interesting to write about. Though I guess I could start at the end and work my way backwards, then all the drama would be pointless and I?d seem like a winey bitch. And honestly, who likes winey little bitches?
    Des, put your hand down. I wasn?t speaking to you as of yet. Now if your better half raises his hand, then that?s a different story all together.
    Now would be the time for all you to say, STOP DIGRESSING. Then I would deny it and move on. Shall we, I know you have to be a bit curious on where I?m going with this post, wonder who with how many hands and a perfect penis, what?
    Wonder Boy
    Okay, it started last Friday night when I stopped in at Applebee?s for a beer after work. Applebee?s is not a place I would normally frequent but it?s one of the only bars still open in Redwood City after I leave my wonderful hip up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto. And I know they have Fosters Beer on tap. Fosters is a beer that I would gladly punch a baby, several babies in a row, just for the possibility of maybe getting one to drink from a toothless hag with saggy tits and acne. And they serve them in a 23 ounce glass. Heaven on earth, I think so.
    So as I walk into Applebee?s I mentally check myself, how?s my hair, how?s my breath, how?s my ass look in these work pants, you know all the important questions.
    I?d been working all day so I know I must smell of food, alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat. I put some cologne on once in my car but not even my expensive designer cologne can truly hide the nasty smell I know I ooze from every pore. But that doesn?t stop me from sitting down next to one of the prettiest girls I?ve seen in?well?a long time.
    I derive great pleasure from hitting on girls, I can?t truly explain it, but there it is. I flirt, buy them drinks, dance my ass off with them, and then once I know they?re interested, I smile and say, ?Sorry, I?m gay.? Reading that back, I?m kind of a dick. Where was I?
    I sit down next to this chick, and look around the bar area of Applebee?s. At the moment, I don?t see the bartender, so I immediately strike up a conversation with the girl. After a few minutes, out of the corner of my eye, I see the bartender walking towards me. When he?s in front of me, I say without really looking, ?Can I have a Foster?s, tall please??
    The answer caught my attention, well not the answer as much as the voice I heard that gave the very generic answer. Truthfully, I don?t know what he said, but I can still hear his voice.
    I know for a fact that I could never find the words in my limited vocabulary to accurately describe the tone, the richness of his voice, or the way it was so infectious I couldn?t help but smile. So I won?t, why embarrass myself anyway?
    He was slim, his build much like a swimmer?s tone body, pale skin that had hints of natural darkness, his hair was streaked with blonde highlights, shoulder length and pulled back into a loose ponytail. He had high cheekbones, classical features that spoke of Asian heritage with dark chocolate eyes that mirrored his every emotion plainly for the world to see. He was beautiful, and I don?t use that term lightly or frivolously.
    Later on that night I would come to understand his rather bizarre attire which comprised of skin tight black linen pants, a plain black T-shirt that hugged his lithe form in all the right places. What?s so bizarre about that? To top off the ensemble and to make it bizarre, he wore a bright red belt and matching suspenders. And on the right side of his chest he wore a nametag that read in plain white letters, Wonder Boy.
    I saw all this in a single glance because the moment our eyes met my heart started beating faster and for a long minute we stood there, gazing into one another?s eyes.
    Finally I spoke, ?Are you really a wonder boy??
    He laughed and replied immediately with a mischievous grin, ?That?s what they say.? He turns around to walk over to the beer tap system. But over his shoulder he calls out, ?If you?re lucky you might found out someday.?
    After that I pretty much forgot about the hot chick sitting next to me. All my attention was focused on Wonder Boy. I ordered some food, had a few more beers, turned on the charm and tried anything I could think of to keep that seductive smile on his face.
    Wonder Boy and I chatted as much as we could in between the constant interruption the other patrons caused. I mean, what a bunch of assholes. If I saw one of them hitting it off with a chick I wouldn?t interrupt them, they should?ve had the same courtesy. And seriously, the way they were talking to the hot chick next to me, the last thing they needed was another drink.
    It seemed my time with Wonder Boy was destined to end all too soon, because a few minutes before twelve, he asked me if I wanted anything for last call. I?m not sure if he saw the disappointment on my face, or if he was as sad as I at the thought of the nights end, but once the rest of the patrons had left and the other employees were busy doing the closing jobs, he leans over and asks in a breathless voice, ?What are you doing later??
    I shrug, trying my best to play it cool, and say, ?Going home to my empty apartment.? Just my way of letting Wonder Boy know I am single and that I also live alone.
    What, like you don?t do that?
    He smiles at my answer, and asks really fast, his words jumbled together in what I hoped was a mixture of excitement and desire, ?Do you want to go to a party with me??
    I made sure my face remained neutral, though I was screaming the word yes inside. I asked, ?Where??
    His face lights up with a smile, he replied in that voice that first caught my attention, my pulse quickened as he said, ?Here in Redwood City, a friend of mine is having a birthday party. She just turned twenty-one.?
    I immediately say, ?Sure. But??
    ?What?? he asks, the smile slipping from his face.
    I grab the front of my work shirt, and say, ?I?m not dressed for a party.?
    ?You look fine to me.?
    I don?t know where it came from but I blushed, I guess hearing him say I looked fine did funny things to me. I shook off that feeling and said, ?Thanks, but I really stink from work. I need to change.?
    He asked, ?Where do you live??
    I told him, and the smile returned to his face. He exclaimed, ?I know where that is, that?s like right down the street. I have a few things to do here still, why don?t you go and change and I can meet you at your apartment building in like twenty minutes.?
    That was the smartest thing I ever heard. I reach for my wallet and say, ?Brilliant.?
    You might not believe me, but I really did say brilliant. And no I?m not British, it?s just sometimes when I get excited I tend to lapse into this horrible English accent. I can?t explain it, it just happens okay. Get off my ass.
    I say, ?Brilliant.? And reach for my wallet. I add, ?Can I get the check??
    Wonder Boy looks around, I guess to make sure his manager is no where to be found and says, ?Don?t worry about it.?
    I ask, frowning, ?Are you sure??
    He laughs, raspy and low, and winks at me. I smile and hand him a twenty, ?Here?s the tip then.?
    He grabs my phone from the bar and dials a number, a few seconds later his phone starts ringing. ?When I?m out front of your building I?ll call you.?
    Before I can stop myself, I say, ?You better.?
    ?Promise.?
    I leave the restaurant with a big smile on my face and lyrics from the song by Tenacious D called Wonder Boy ringing in my head.
    ?Wonder Boy, what is the secret to your power?
    Wonder Boy won?t you take me far away from the mucky muck man?
    Yeah, I know a bit cheesy but what can I say, it?s the truth.
    Once I got home, I rushed into the elevator, unbuttoning my shirt and untying my shoes as the small box takes me to the third floor. Once inside my apartment, I quickly shed my clothes and jump in the shower. Not having much time, I hit all the important places quickly and wash my hair.
    With my hair still dripping wet, I throw on a pair of boxers followed by black jeans and a tight green shirt that has a single word printed on the front in white letters, GEEK. I slipped on a pair of trainers and was in the middle of taming my hair when my phone rang.
    I answered; somewhat breathlessly if you must know, and Wonder Boy?s euphoric voice once again filled my head.
    He says, ?Are you ready??
    I look in the mirror and shake my head, ?No yet. Almost.?
    For a moment, there is silence, then he says, ?Why don?t you buzz me up??
    Again, I?m amazed by the good ideas that seem to flow out of this boy; truly he might be a wonder after all. Jesus Christ, that sentence is beyond stupid, sorry.
    So I hit the number 9 on my cell phone, which sends a signal to the front door that unlocks it, and say, ?312, once out of the elevator, take a right.?
    ?See you soon.?
    Suddenly I panic, my bathroom floor is littered with my discarded clothing, dirty undies not withstanding, not a good first impression I would want to make. With my hands covered in product, I grab the clothes and rush into my bedroom closet and shove them inside the hamper. I was in such a great haste, I never bothered to separate the clothes, nor did I open the closet door all the way, so when I bent to put the clothes in the hamper, I smacked my head against the closet door.
    I don?t think you got the full impact of this action, so I will repeat it. I smacked my head against the closet door. Oh and incidentally, my closet door is one of those sliding mirrored doors, which I like, it opens up my bedroom while at the same time gives me a panoramic view during sex. At least I admit it, mirrors rock.
    Moving on, so when I say I smacked my head against the closet door, I hit the door so hard it actually broke the mirror. And it made me more than a bit dizzy so I fell down. I was there on the floor when I heard the doorbell ring.
    So I jumped up, and headed down the stairs. But I was still groggy from the blow to the head and lost my balance and fell about half-way down hurting my left ankle in the process. After a few moments, the doorbell rings again.
    ?Shit.? I scream out. I don?t want Wonder Boy to think I gave him the wrong apartment number or that I?m standing him up. So I get up and hobble over to the door as fast as I can. Once I arrive at the door, I take a deep breath and try to compose myself. But my head still hurts and my ankle keeps switching back and forth between fire and ice. I open the door, with what I?m sure is a look of pain on my face.
    Wonder Boy is standing there, that smile on his face, and again my heart starts to race. But as soon as Wonder Boy looks at me, his smile disappears and a look of concern settles on his face. Suddenly I feel something wet drip into my eye. I brush it away with the back of my hand and to my horror I see that its blood.
    End Part One
  14. Jason Rimbaud
    Four months ago, at least from the outside, most would say that I was on top of the world. I have a good job, a great apartment, and an amazing boyfriend. I had a good start on a saving account, a brand new car with all the bells and whistles. If I was a normal person, I would have been content at the success I enjoyed. Yet for all those possessions, something was lacking in my life.
    I first started working in hospitality the year I turned 21. I really didn't have the opportunity to go to college, and didn't really have any other avenues to traverse. What else could a cute gay boy do for work besides shake his ass as a bartender.
    And though I moved from working in gay bars, then stopped bar-tending completely, only to move into serving before landing a job as a manager a few years later. Truthfully, at least professionally, it was the only thing I was ever good at. And I can say with complete modesty, I am very good at my job.
    From the time I was a young boy, my only dream was to be a writer. And until I turned thirty, I followed that dream. But then I got sidetracked, I started listening to others telling me that I had to secure a future. So I guess you could say, I fell into the hospitality business. I built a career out of the one thing I was good at and for a time, I was content to do so.
    But content is not happy. The future was starting to cement, I started growing my savings account. And I had built up quite an impressive resume with some of the most successful people in San Francisco. 
    I calculated each move, every time I left and took a new position, it was for a better future for me. I sacrificed a five year relationship and more friends then I would care to admit in my single minded ambition to secure a future. 
    For a time, I told myself that when I reached success, when I finally made it, then I would focus on my personal life. But truth be told, the more successful you become, the more time and energy it takes to maintain that success. I started to wonder when enough would be enough. 
    Then I met "N" two years ago. Three hours after meeting him, I told my friend that I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. I just knew it. Two months later, I had gave up my condo in Daly City and moved into San Francisco with him. Again, from the outside, most people would say that I had it all. 
    But I wasn't happy. And yes, I could mask it at work, I am a professional after all. But the years of 14 hour days, six to seven days a week, working every single weekend. Sometimes not getting home until 1am only to get up at 4am and then head back to work for another 14 hour day. 
    "N" understood the long hours, after all, he is in the same business as me. The difference, the owner he works for truly believes in work life balance, and he rarely works more than 40 hours a week and always gets two days off a week in a row. I am not so fortunate. 
    In the dark parts of the night, snuggled in bed with "N", I told him about my long forgotten dream of becoming a writer. Of course he was interested in reading my work as any good "N" would be, I showed him my past writings. And he started to encourage me to take up the words again. And over the last two years, I have slowly dipped my toes in the water of creativity again. Though it had only been occasionally and in brief spurts only. And much like the discovery of an old friend, I started to realize how much I enjoyed sitting down at my laptop and spewing forth nonsense onto the screen.
    The dedication it takes to operate at the level I had managed to achieve is total commitment. It's working 14 hours in the restaurant, then spending another three hours at home answering emails from the department managers and various vendors that need my attention it seems daily.
    I will admit, I probably worked more than I needed too but the restaurant brought in 12 million a year and I was responsible for every dollar of it. So yes, my focus was on the bottom line for more than just my quarterly bonus.
    It had been brewing for a while, my unhappiness at work. And I can't blame the owner for wanting to make the most money he possibly could. But I started to wonder how much money was enough. I knew the numbers, I knew the magic number. Once the restaurant makes this magic number, anything over that amount is profit for the owner. And he was a single owner, he had no partners. So when he set the budget for this year 25% more than last year, I had to wonder what he was thinking. 
    He's the owner, he can set whatever budget he wants, its his right. And as a professional, it was my job to try and hit that budget. I"m not so naive that I don't understand business. He is only in it for the money. And its his money and his right.
    Any of you that understand budgets and how the restaurant business works, it is highly unlikely that any restaurant, unless something out of the ordinary happens, to grow a business by 25% over the previous year.  Especially when 35% of your business is tied up with the Moscone Center and their convention business.
    I'll give him the unreachable budget. When it was written the year before, he did not know Moscone Center was going to be in construction and all the conventions we enjoyed in 2017 would not be there in 2018.
    Nor did he realize that international tourism is down due to our current political climate. Add that to our out of control homeless problem and several large conventions citing homeless issues as the reason they are no longer booking in San Francisco, and its no wonder all restaurants in the city are down fifteen percent city wide.
    After talking with friends in the accounting world, he should be happy he's only down 10%. He is actually doing better than most currently in San Francisco. I have lost count of the high end restaurant closures and the celebrity chefs that are struggling to keep the doors open.
    I know the main reason he raised my budget so high, was to help cover the cost of his new restaurant that was opened in 2017 and was struggling, to put it mildly, in the current climate.
    For full disclosure, I started losing my happiness at work the moment I met "N" and realized he was something outside of work that was more important than anything. It had been brewing for months. So when the culture of the restaurant started to change and the owner started to show his stress more and more.
    So during the monthly meeting when he demanded what I was going to do to attain this budget, I brought out the numbers, a bit more in detail than what I describe above, and he looked at me and responded that it was only excuses and he didn't pay me to give him excuses. And he is right. He didn't pay me to give him excuses.
    So I said the first thing that came to me. And trust me, I had given better speeches over my career. And it might have been a mistake, but every fiber in my being said it was the right thing to do. I can't say what I told him, I don't really remember. But I resigned that day. For the first time in my life, I walked away with no notice and no prospects.
    San Francisco is a small town, every owner knows all the rest. And leaving like I did was not the smartest thing I could have done, but that was the day my happiness returned.
    And I will be honest, it wasn't just because my owner is an asshole, he is. But I don't think my life has room for something that is so demanding that takes me away from being happy in my life. 
    So for two months I've sat in my great apartment with my amazing boyfriend and made time for myself. For the first time in ten years, I have nothing to do. Everyday I spend time with "N" before he goes to work. Then I clean the house, I do laundry, sometimes I play video games, sometimes I get hammered in the middle of the day for no reason, but most of the time, after I do my house chores, I sit down at my laptop and write. 
    I write like I did in my twenties when the desire was strong and I didn't know what the future held but I was excited to face it. 
    My vacation payout alone was two months salary and I figured I was going to enjoy every moment. We aren't rich and my little diversion from work won't last much longer. After all, this is the most expensive city in the country to live and he won't let me be a bum much longer.
    I think my time in hospitality has come to a close. I think my next job will be something that will allow me to pay my bills yet leave me time to focus on what really matters in this life.
    The night I left my job, I went out and bought my amazing boyfriend a ring, we are planning on getting married next June and life could not be happier for me.
     
  15. Jason Rimbaud
    Not to be out done by Camy and his forgotten hard-drive pieces that he selfishly dribbles out here and there as he "discovers them", I searched through my "hard-drive" and found a poem that "somehow" managed to evade getting posted. Not one of my better pieces, that's probably why I decided to bury it in the layers of shit that covers my computer. But seeing as I haven't posted a new poem in months...
    *shrugs*
    If you have a mind, check it out in the Poetry Forum, it's called Boy With Dancing Eyes. Or don't...because as Wibby is fond of saying...
    Jason

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