Old Tom Cat, New Tricks

I've spent much of my adult life being what 'not-gay-people' would term: Whore.

Oh, I've had the odd relationship here and there (please note the word 'odd'), but dating wise my history consists of casual sex encounters, buddies that require the word 'fuck' for clarification, friends with the added benefit of regular STI checks, and hook-ups where you actually get down.
(say down, like it's dooooooowwwn, and arch your back - yeah you got it)

Even my mum describes me as a 'tom cat'.

But this isn't about complaining about how gays are promiscuous.  And, really, no-shit we're promiscuous.  Who isn't aware of that these days?  I don't think people are surprised anymore.  Also promiscuity is not a bad thing in and of itself, in my opinion.  Also not all gay people are promiscuous.

I feel the need to add the following disclaimer at this time:

GENERALISATION ALERT
I'm gonna make a some generalisations.  I own this and accept the fact generalisations are not a true reflection of the complexities of our world and human behaviour and the characteristics of our various groups and subgroups and individuals.  I shall do my best to word my sentences with the grace and respect to the fact that I am generalising.  I'm still gonna say fuck a lot.  Like that.  And like this: fuck.  Now shut the fuck up about it.  

In my opinion gays are lucky that we're more inclined to be able to treat sex casually.  Sure, it has its draw backs (I'll get to those) but the amount of straight friends that have expressed jealousy at my ability to achieve the casual bow-chick-a-wow-wow suggests that it's something to appreciate. 

In fact making straight guy friends jealous of the version of 'tale' we're 'tapping' (ew) is one of the more common characteristics of the gay-guy/straight-guy friendship.  As is gym, drinking beer, and discussing how fucking confusing girls are.

The way dudes are wired, with the penises (penis-i?) and the testosterone, and the need to not be emotionally attached to stuff cause it's like a weak thing (yeah, Gays can also behave like emotionally repressed Donald Drapper types.....mmmm Jon Hamm) makes us more inclined to be open to the idea of tom-cat-like-behaviour.

The other obvious factor is that Grindr has replaced the word 'hello' with 'show me ur cock'.  The age of social-media and hyperconnectivity as made casual sex so accessible that promiscuous-ness has noticeably shifted into the standard Gays' default mode of operations.

The troubles associated with casual sex only really come about when participating in casual sex but not treating it 'casually' - ie: you're emotionally compromising yourself by having casual sex.  And this is a whole other fucking thing (hehe, 'fucking thing') that is not for this entry.

To end the waves of generalisations and bring it all back to me (S Club. yeah I went there), I have completely emotionally compromised myself before - and let's face I'll probably do it again.  I've gone through phases of 'promiscuous-healthy' behaviour, to 'promiscuous-I-need-to-feel-validated', to 'self-imposed-nun', to 'dear-fucking-god-when-will-this-drought-end'.

I recently decided that I had become bored of casual sex.  At least the versions of it I was having and how it was making me feel.  It was an unfortunate statistical rarity when the sex itself was ever any good.  And even when it was there appeared to be something missing.  At some stage sex had become predictable - like a movie that's ending was obvious by the time you were done watching the opening credits.  And unfortunately Sidney Prescott just never fucking died.

I faced the harsh reality that sex couldn't be as casual for me as I was allowing it to be.  That I need to start making different decisions in my adventures through the confusing land of single Gaytown.  These decisions were bound to achieve different results...potentially no better than what I was getting before, but at least less predictable.

I think all this fucking yoga I'm doing lately has really shifted my motivations around.  It's not like I don't want to have sex (fish gotta swim, bird gotta fuck - note, I am the bird), but it was time enough to recognise that change needed to occur.

So I'm seeing this guy for a second date.
We meet on Grindr (is there any other place to meet people anymore?) and were able to have screens worth of correspondance without ever sending each other our penis-i.  Stranger still, after meeting him in person and feeling relieved that he was as easy to converse with as he was to correspond, I still don't know what his penis looks like.

This is new territory for me and I have no fucking idea what's gonna happen.

I'm seeing him Next Tuesday.
Wish me luck.
Dx

Shit from above

A bird shit on my shorts today.

Naturally I put on the gym shorts that were waiting for me in my bag.

The bag that had my gym gear in it.

To go to gym.

Thank Goodness I was born queer.  Thank double Goodness that at some stage I developed one of those body dysmorphia things, became a gym addict and as such had gym gear, including shorts available to be waiting for me.  

I cleaned the shit off my shorts, did a shit myself, got on with life.

Life today, apart from work, was figuring out what my first entry should be about. 

And then it hit me.  Indeed, like so much shit from above.  Smeared across my brain like some weird motivating force of nature.  

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank the Universe.

Dear Universe,

I appreciate that shit showered down from above and gave me something to write about.  Perhaps even an apt metaphor for future adventures into the land of Blogging.

Shit happens, I react, I Blog...therefore I am?

More like you, am, Blog.  

You know what I've always found amazing about a bird shitting on you?  That people insist on endowing the process with 'luck'.  How unlucky are these people who consider being shit on lucky?  Would you feel lucky to be shit on?  

Maybe if you had one of those feces fetishes (fetish-i?). 

And good for you if you've figured that out. 

That must have been hard. 

And then awesome.

High five!

So, why am I writing this blog? 

It can't all be about shit.  (As much as you want it to be.)

One of the most prominent reasons is because other people told me to, so I am.  That's actually an important life lesson; never make a move until other people have validated what it is you were planning to do.

...right?

Blogging, like much of life, remains this vague mystery that I don't quite understand.

But I promise I'll do a thorough job of pretending that I do.

Prepare for random.

Prepare for anti-random, even common sense.

Prepare for awesome.

Prepare for opinionated.

Prepare for vague.

Prepare for me figuring this out as I go along.

Prepare for Next Tuesday.

See you there.

Love,

Dx