The thought of walking into a dark room wearing nothing but a towel and proceeding to get felt up by dozens of mystery hands and fingers...

was his idea of bliss, not mine. i was terrified. scared shitless. The thought of coming to a sex club was initiated as a dunken idea turned into a sobering reality of unfortunate extremes. It's not like me and him were even fucking, we just liked each others companies and felt safe enough in each others company to slowly let ourselves sink into a drug & sex fueled super oblivion where the only thing that mattered was our getting off and how fucking amazing it was going to be each and evry awesome time we did it. Now here we were, coked out of our minds- stinking of bottom shel tequila and the shy walk of a pale boy wrapped in a too small, threadbare towel, washed of a million others sins countless times before. We were facing the maze, a surreal sexual puzzle of human proportion. Dare we enter? Just as we did a little streaked blondeb twink catches my eye and signals us over to his booth. within second were sucking down rails of sticky, stinging crystal, our eyes watering with each hit and our foreheads breaking out in a clammy wet gristle. The need for more never abates and i look for an emergancy exit only to end up in the furthest reaches of the ever darkening maze- fingers fingering me, hand stroking me, tongues washing me, cocks bobbing up against me and i close my eyes and lose myself to the ritual, stirring slightly as my towel is pulled off and i feel the warm cavern of a hot and hungry hole swallowing me in one starved gulp.

Have you ever completely lost control- all the way lost control- of everything you know, see and feel, and for the nxt 60 seconds act/lash out in....

....the most severe of fashions- Ninja style banjee realness. If you had a sword or big enough knife, heads would have definitely rolled kinda fucked up insane behaviour that can cause complete chaos in a matter of seconds. I've been doing it again lately- crossing that fine line of my self pescribed insanity. Took myself off the head meds and i can't tell whether or not i feel any fucking different. The pot makes everything less abysmal, but the booze pushes me over the edge- spiraling into surreal black out escapades. I just can't party like i used to, and that's probably a good thing, although i'm loathe to admit it, burnt out- ecstacy raver freak that i am. I know no bounds after a certain, unspecific ammount of alcohol. I end crossing over and cocaine is usually quickly involved. I will fuck anything, anywhere. I will kiss your ass then rob you blind. I will win you over and then in a flash do something so evil you will instantly wish that you had never encountered by hard, blackened soul.I have taken down whole rooms of men and i have walked off with huge pieces of home entertainment distraction. I have woken up in the back of cabs deep in harlem with no idea where i'm going. The times that i have woken up in a strangers bed are no longer countable and no longer cute. I may look like i'm still in my 20's but my body is most definitely 42 years old and feeling it grrrrlllll. Each descent into debauchery chips away another layer of my fierceness, weeks of recovery and mentally more challenging than ever before. To put it in a nutshell- I am very successful at being a totally fucked up and pathetic mess of a man- a boy looking man child who refuse to grow up or fit in at all with society, prefering the desolate and lonely fringes. Always waiting. Looking for that split second chance. To completely reinvent myself and hopefully save my fatalistic soul.

the DList Blogs-9-06 to 2-07

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