These entries are unlike the ones posted in my traditional voice. Consider the following to be works of fiction.
Our protagonist is a 20-something, self-absorbed, fancy fag who spends far too much time ruminating on the idiosyncrasies of his school-boy crushes.
Our protagonist is a 20-something, self-absorbed, fancy fag who spends far too much time ruminating on the idiosyncrasies of his school-boy crushes.
anonymous musings -- -
August 1, 2001- Dallas, TX
Confessions of a circuit queen. Scotty told me his adventures of last night's regalia at the Brick. He spoke of a "spiritual connection" with 5 guys on the sweaty, shirtless sewer of a dance floor. Apparently, he sucked some guy from West Palm Beach, FL off and had to turn down an offer for a menage because the trick was staying in Carrolton and Scotty had to get up early in the morning to drive to Austin to shoot a bridal portrait at Heep Homestead. He didn't want to endure the commute to such a remote, lackluster suburb. What growth.
Now he is telling me that he didn't have as much of a drug problem as I did. He is so full of shit. He says he is going to the Montreal Black and Blue Ball because this guy he has been cruising named Rick is going with his lover Ron. He said he has to find out what this connection means with Rick because Scotty has 16 years of HIV and Rick has 14. He had both hips replaced as a result of the protease inhibitor, Crixivan. "Yeah, I was on Crix," said Scotty.
He's like a pillar of survival in a battle of endless wars. I see these survivors around here wearing the scars of their drugs on their creased faces and overly bloated biceps. You can usually tell they're positive by the color of their skin. It's like a cross between brick and magenta.
Some are almost purple. The lines and creases spell old-skool. Years of hard living the fight, always at death's door. ...the protease paunch they are forever trying to stave off with Ripped Force amino acid drinks and Mexican grade veterinarian steroids. Their weight fluctuates and the zits on their back seem like a minor side effect compared to the emergency bathroom breaks they must take to handle the meds.
These are my uncles, my brothers, my forebears, my lovers. Scotty is one of these survivors. Age 37- almost 40. He is one of the first of his generation to reach 40. He remembers when it was Gay Cancer and he still likes to tell me about it to show my generation what it was like.
August 2, 2001- Dallas, TX
I am so relaxed after that massage and the Klonopin. I am listening to Sandra Bern
hard's Excuses for Bad Behavior and I feel compelled to spew and write. Carrie Forcucci flaked on our plans tonight. She made a big to-do about introducing me to her hairdresser friend, Dominic Calderon. I'll admit he was HOT, especially next to that marble slab of coke that he had laid out. He was in head to toe Diesel with a curly mess of moppish hair and a day's growth of beard. I called him myself and even shaved, showered and used my vanilla oil. But he flaked. Said he had plans. People are so FUCKED. I'm throwing in the towel and listening to Sandra for a sec.
In a weird twist, Mikey B called twice today. I feel amazingly settled about him. Maybe it's because I see him more for what he is.
Confessions of a circuit queen. Scotty told me his adventures of last night's regalia at the Brick. He spoke of a "spiritual connection" with 5 guys on the sweaty, shirtless sewer of a dance floor. Apparently, he sucked some guy from West Palm Beach, FL off and had to turn down an offer for a menage because the trick was staying in Carrolton and Scotty had to get up early in the morning to drive to Austin to shoot a bridal portrait at Heep Homestead. He didn't want to endure the commute to such a remote, lackluster suburb. What growth.
Now he is telling me that he didn't have as much of a drug problem as I did. He is so full of shit. He says he is going to the Montreal Black and Blue Ball because this guy he has been cruising named Rick is going with his lover Ron. He said he has to find out what this connection means with Rick because Scotty has 16 years of HIV and Rick has 14. He had both hips replaced as a result of the protease inhibitor, Crixivan. "Yeah, I was on Crix," said Scotty.
He's like a pillar of survival in a battle of endless wars. I see these survivors around here wearing the scars of their drugs on their creased faces and overly bloated biceps. You can usually tell they're positive by the color of their skin. It's like a cross between brick and magenta.
Some are almost purple. The lines and creases spell old-skool. Years of hard living the fight, always at death's door. ...the protease paunch they are forever trying to stave off with Ripped Force amino acid drinks and Mexican grade veterinarian steroids. Their weight fluctuates and the zits on their back seem like a minor side effect compared to the emergency bathroom breaks they must take to handle the meds.
These are my uncles, my brothers, my forebears, my lovers. Scotty is one of these survivors. Age 37- almost 40. He is one of the first of his generation to reach 40. He remembers when it was Gay Cancer and he still likes to tell me about it to show my generation what it was like.
August 2, 2001- Dallas, TX
I am so relaxed after that massage and the Klonopin. I am listening to Sandra Bern
hard's Excuses for Bad Behavior and I feel compelled to spew and write. Carrie Forcucci flaked on our plans tonight. She made a big to-do about introducing me to her hairdresser friend, Dominic Calderon. I'll admit he was HOT, especially next to that marble slab of coke that he had laid out. He was in head to toe Diesel with a curly mess of moppish hair and a day's growth of beard. I called him myself and even shaved, showered and used my vanilla oil. But he flaked. Said he had plans. People are so FUCKED. I'm throwing in the towel and listening to Sandra for a sec.In a weird twist, Mikey B called twice today. I feel amazingly settled about him. Maybe it's because I see him more for what he is.
A sex and drug addict who is trying to make life work for him the best way he
can.
He spouted off about some spiritual massage,--
hocus-pocus therapy talk...that ethereal, outer-realm meditation crap he is
always espousing.
Tonight I actually thought he might be on to something. Maybe it's just because I came from getting a massage myself. I understand a little bit more how the art of touch can bring us in contact with out spiritual side. He said he is reevaluating his relationship with Brant. Exactly the same thing he said back in December. For once, I wasn't holding a candle for him on this side. I don't know why I'm so sane. It must be because Mercury is out of retrograde for the first time in two years.
August 3, 2001 -----Dallas, TX, 4:15 AM
I just got fucked in a clearing on Holland and Herschel. There is a parking
lot there under construction. It's a grassy lot with trees and bushes. A big,
yellow bulldozer sits in the middle of the grass.
I showed up there, parked
and walked into the forest. I saw an older man circling the field with really
freaky drug energy. I watched him from behind the wheel of the bulldozer until I
heard a twig snap behind me.
Then, I saw a boy standing between two little trees.
He said his name was Mark. He wore a backwards baseball cap and an Abercrombie
sweatshirt. He looked Latino with his gorgeous full lips.
When I kissed him
I could feel his dick get hard under his jeans so I knelt down to undo his
pants. His dick was hard but not as big as mine. What could I do? He asked me
what I liked and I told him I wanted to get fucked. All I had to do was turn
around and bend over. He fucked me for at least five minutes and then pulled out
and asked me if I wanted him to cum in my mouth.
I am so scared
of AIDS
I didn't take it in my mouth but I can't remember if he
came inside me at all. When it was over, I pulled up my pants, thanked him and
he said, "Be good, be careful,"
He wanted me to come but I told him I
already had. So I grabbed my t-shirt and do rag and left.
It's quite liberating to be fucked anonymously in a parking lot at the crack of dawn. I love that I can do that in Dallas.
September 9, 2001- Dallas, TX -- 3:00 AM
I went to the Gay and Lesbian Journalist's conference tonight and met this guy named Gary. He picked me up,
took me to his hotel and fucked me with amazing stamina. It was a fantastic
experience. He totally came three times I haven't been fucked like that in a long time.Gary said I have a perfect balance of yin and yang. He said I am a complete boy with wonderful feminine energy. Most people write it off as nelly. I hate it when people do that. I suppose I shouldn't let it bother me. Gary's actually been syndicated.
I want that.I don't know if I feel invigorated from being fucked or what but I feel so optimistic.
I don't want to spoil the rest for you but must issue a little sneak peak. You do know that our hero seroconverts to HIV the following April after he moved to San Francisco. The sex on Holland and Herschel just described is presumably the encounter that caused AIDS for our protagonist. It is impossible to pin down as he did not journal after every experience. He was active at Club Dallas and tricked with at least a dozen other men over the course of this summer.
(Note to self)...
Why did the H&H encounter stand out from the others? Why did he write about his fear of AIDS after that particular entry? -- consider all of this and trace it in your notes as you complete the story.
No comments:
Post a Comment