Walk of shame

Walking home at 10 in the morning. Still drunk. Still wired. looked like shit, probably smelled worse. Fighting tears pooling in my eyes. Holding the DC Superhero Girls birthday balloon my niece gave me. I just felt so empty. I feel so empty. My life is having less and less meaning and it’s beginning to scare me how unconcerned I am with my personal well being. Am I subconsciously hoping something else will do the job I know I never can. Even the possibility of nothingness doesn’t scare me like it used to. I just want to stop feeling like this. No worries tho. I could never do that to my family. My mother would never get over the guilt and I would never put my sister in a situation where she would have to explain to her kids why tio isn’t around anymore. If only I could give some of the love I have for my family to myself.

Maybe I should try therapy again. Taking my meds every now and then may be a good idea.


Sucking off while SNESing

I didn’t get the job. Been pretty down about it. I don’t know why I was so excited. What the fuck was I going to do working in a church as the administrative assistant. To a priest no less.

I’d be living some kind of a life. That’s what I would have been doing.

Been over doing it a bit these last few days. Popping pills like candy. All my own prescriptions of course. Partying with my drug buddy in crime. Rolled out of bed sometime after 5pm after sleeping one off. The Metalhead greeted me with his usual Friday evening message. He wanted to make sure I knew he was home from work, alone and beating off. Even sent a pic in case I needed further persuading. He suggested I come over and help him out while he plays Super Nintendo. If I had just a little more motivation in my I’d be over there right now between his knees.

Haven’t had motivation for much lately. My cousin’s girlfriend invited me for some wine and whine yesterday but I ended up just taking a long hot shower and knocking out. I was also supposed to be partying but I just didn’t feel like dealing with anyone.

So I took my buddy up on his offer to partake in the end of his night with him when I woke up early this morning. His “night” ended at noon.


Stumbled home around 5 this morning. Sun blinded me making my steps even more awkward. Wobbly Walk of shame.

My lips are swollen and aching from hitting a hot pipe. The ends of my thumbs and forefingers singed. It was a good night.

Came home. Smoked a bowl. Whacked off. Decided it’d be as good as time as any to start my day.

Brushed my teeth, did a calming face mask, cleaned dog poop, made breakfast. Threw out the garbage and recycling. I’m a functioning fuck up.

My night didn’t go as planned. I was hoping to make some money yesterday but the job didn’t pan out as planned. So I partied instead.

Numbing problem.

Not at addiction problem.

“You’re either born gay or fucked gay.”

There are things that have happened to me. Things I’ve only vocalized out-loud in the presence of someone who is being paid in some way to listen to me talk while trying to analyze exactly what the fuck is wrong with me. things I’ve only said out loud for the first time within these past six months. Things that happened to me while I was five-ish. And continued till I was ten-ish. Things my childhood brain compartmentalized so fucking well that I was able to pretend nothing was wrong for a very long time. Except there always was something wrong. I knew the world could be a dark and putrid place. Ugly. Vile and disgusting. It touched me. Left a mark on me. Tainted me. But no one could know. So I’d pretend everything was ok. I got very good at pretending. To the point I convinced myself the things that happened were something I wanted. Probably looked for myself. An early lesson if you will. I fucking joked about it sometimes. Until suddenly I just wasn’t very good at pretending everything was good anymore and there’d be cracks in the facade.

. Sometimes I was able to pretend everything was ok for weeks, or months. Sometimes years. Until I just wasn’t ok anymore and the darkness showed it’s ass. Sometimes it was only a peak. Sometimes the whole damn ass.

I learned to numb myself at about twelve. Started with Drinking. Some weed. Sexual experimentation. Nothing too crazy. It was easier to numb back then. I was little so the darkness didn’t have much room to grow.

But what I didn’t know was the darkness was an infection being left untreated. It grew stronger as I grew stronger. So the numbing had to grow stronger as well. This fucked up cycle went on for decades.


I wish I could flow the anger I feel, at this moment, through my fingers into this keyboard and onto this screen because I’m no where near writer enough to convey it properly. Anger at myself. Anger at those around me. How did nobody fucking see!!!!! How did nobody fucking protect me! I WAS FIVE FUCKING YEARS OLD!!!! In all the research I’ve done lately after finally admitting what really happened to me all the fucking signs were there! I will fucking kill with my goddamn bare hands before something like that happens to my niece or nephew and I am not even being dramatic. I’m ok with jail time for something like that. All this being typed through hot fiery tears. Sadness. Embarrassment. Fear. This is hard to process as a fucking grown ass man how did I fare so much better before? How was Little Me so much fucking stronger than whoever the fuck this shadow of the person I was supposed to be now is? And fuck you if you didn’t understand that. This isn’t about you.


I’m gonna go sit outside and listen to the storm now. I’ve always loved the rain. Especially storms. I find them oddly calming. Calming Chaos. Title to my new memoirs? I still dig Inappropriate Boners tho. Whatever. Thank you for reading. Or not reading. Idgaf. This isn’t about you.

I’m taking steps. I read somewhere that’s important. Maybe I’ll have the ability to actually vocalize this to someone who knows me soon. That feels important to be able to do.

Sitting on the toilet

Today, 01:43 am.

I’m about five hours in after taking one of my sister’s “poop teas”.  Pineapple flavored. let me continue losing more weight. These size 34s have been falling off my ass lately.

Depression looks pretty good on me.

I’m also stoned off my tits from smoking with my brother in law out in the garage all night so dont judge me if I ramble off in nonsense.

The title of this post is correct.

I am.

It’s been a shitty past few days. Heh, pun. Don’t want to get into it right now. I’ve been taking it pretty well today. It got a little more bearable once I flipped the switch in my mind and forced myself into a day of self care. Had to get out of the house for a bit. i ended up by my sister’s.

Since I was in the neighborhood… I kinda texted the Neo-Nazi. He was rather dismissive but he mentioned he was celebrating his son’s birthday so I understood.there’s aren’t any feelings involved here. It’s strictly just physical. He’s straight and in a relationship with his live-in baby mama. He’s “straight”, actually. As straight as someone who begged me to teach him how to deep throat my cock and, from first hand knowledge, I could tell you he very vocally and very enthusiastically enjoys getting f’ed in the A.

I must have subconsciously did some manscaping the other day. he likes his dicks smooth, like his own. (Fuck he has a good dick) But I refuse to do the tortoise shell thing down there so I gave myself a nice and neat trim. I mean, I swear I must have done all this subconsciously because I definitely was not planning to meet him in his garage and plow him senseless later tonight. But since I was here.

Whatever. Another time. 

I do seem to have a pattern, don’t I? 

No strings attached. Unavailable. DTF (with some kind of courting perhaps, depending on how hot of a guy I’m dealing with.) Neo-Nazi? Hot as fuck. There’s no lead up needed. Just, “we’re meeting to fuck. Okay, we fucked. See you next time. To fuck.”

He looks kinda scummy. “Like he can’t remember if he’s Catholic or not” (name that movie and book for extra cool points).

he looks Dangerous. Like I might have to fight a bitch. White guy. Shaved head down to the skin. At all times. Great body. Once completely defined but still dilf dad-bod sexy.



Just my type.

False alarm. Just gas.

His Underwear

01:19 am, Tuesday.

I had to use it again while his smell still lingers in the material. I’m standing in the open doorway of my closet. I’m freshly showered, bare feet against the cold floor. My hard dick points foward with a natural upwards curve, slick with coconut oil. My free hand holds the dirty treasure up to my face. I inhale deeply, like this particular breath of air is needed to sustain me for the rest of my life. If I could I would stuff the cotton from these gray boxer briefs into my nostrils. I’m barely aware of whatever gay porn clip I’m playing on my nearby tablet. I don’t even need it. The smell of man I’m taking in is enough. My fist pounds harder, concentrating on the tannish-pink mushroom capping my cock. The sense of urgency builds in my undercarriage and my pulse quickens. I’m not going to last much longer. I don’t want to. I feel myself emptying out in waves and I bite down on the crotch of the briefs. The cotton crotch that recently housed his cock and his balls. The thought only makes me cum harder. I hear myself emptying out with a wet slap against the hard wood floors beneath. My knees buckle. My limbs are tingly and weak. I wipe myself clean, careful to get any left underneath my foreskin with the underwear. With his underwear.