Musings on the Fantastic Blue Peen

So, I’m sure by the title of this post that you know what I went and saw last night. And I must say… it did not disappoint. Zack Snyder’s rendition of Watchmen is uber-faithful to the original, and I have to give the man mad props for orchestrating an amazingly true-to-form cast, complete with spot-on costumes and “just like I imagined” performances. The effects, of course, were spectacular; I was particularly enamored with Rorschach’s mask. But, of course, the real star of the movie was Dr. Manhattan’s fantastic blue penis.

It was everything I imagined it to be, and more… much more. I found myself highly distracted in the scenes in which it makes an appearance. (Yes, I think it needs separate billing on the cast list.) Yes, I know it’s CGI, and yes, I know it’s glowing blue… but damn. For Laurie’s sake, I hope the Doctor is a shower and not a grower. No wonder Dan felt so impotent… most (straight) guys would too if they thought they had to compete with that nuclear-powered baby’s arm.

The most amusing thing about the showing last night was that there were a good number of tweens in the audience–some with a parent, some by themselves. When the credits rolled and the lights came up, the vast majority of them had left the theater. These were the people, I was sure, who didn’t know what they were getting into when they came to see the movie. The people who thought it was just going to be a “superhero movie” of some kind. What a shock that must have been! And while I can’t be exactly sure what drove off the younger crowd from the film (what with the intense scenes of graphic violence, the 2.5+ hour running time…) my own belief is that they all saw the cerulean manwang and the parents were fucking scared. After all, we’re a culture with a tolerance for watching people get limbs hacked off, but show a nice uncircumcized cock flopping around mesmerizingly for over a half-hour (I’m sure that’s how much screen time it got) is just too far. They don’t want to have to deal with questions like:

“Daddy, is that what all men are like? Are you like that?”

There’s power in that penis! (Certainly enough power to inspire rock star ex-BF and I to get up to naughty business after the movie… but that’s a different story.)

Updates on Paramours

I have quite a rogue’s gallery to report on now…

• Asa is doing well. He now has a new boyfriend and he seems to be over a good many of his issues. He still has a few left–I can’t imagine any gay man who didn’t have some issues. Asa and I still talk on a regular basis, still chat on the computer, and still fall asleep each night talking to each other. The boyfriend thing is a little awkward at times, but as I told him, we’ve been through everything together, and men may come and go, but we’ll always be there for each other…
• Billy, the smooth-talking country boy who was my first time, is back in jail. Did I ever mention in the original posts that he was a convicted felon? I didn’t? Oh. Well, yeah, he was a convicted felon out on probation. When I was having dinner with Luke the other night, he told me that Billy was back in jail again, this time on felony charges of fraud and criminal impersonation. Somehow I wasn’t too surprised. I don’t think he’s capable of living in normal society, poor guy. Ah well, he treated me like shit, so no love lost.
• First Kiss Guy (see here) has vanished, and I can only assume he’s still being an asshole. It’s just as well, too; he was 100 lbs heavier in real life than in his profile picture and he was hung like a mouse.
• Cub Guy is presumably doing well; I see him online all the time and we do still chat occasionally. I don’t think I ever blogged about him. We only went on a couple of dates back in early November, then I happened to get very sick and we couldn’t see each other for a while. It kind of fizzled out, as I found his beard to be too scratchy. I also found out from Ginger’s crazy neighbors Blake and James that he was somewhat of a slut, as he had a fetish for sleeping with men who were already in committed relationships, gay and “straight” alike. (Actually, he himself told me about his fondness for married men…) So… with that concern, I sort of let this one go via attrition.
• The rock star is doing ok. We still talk a couple of times a week, and I still hang out with him. I still care very deeply about him, and I think he does me too. Once you’ve been in a relationship with someone, it seems hard to completely rid yourself of them once it ends. Besides, ours was a very informal relationship anyway, much closer to being a “friends with benefits and the L-word” relationship than being a “standard” boyfriends relationship. Who knows, maybe after getting burned by the wild caprices of “standard” gay men out there, I might find his casual approach to be more endearing… We sort of left the door open to that. He thinks I need more experience and more time to figure out exactly what it is I want. The thing that makes me sad to think about though is… I know that to him, I was exactly what he wanted.

I had a date last night too, but since it’s a brand-new person, that will have to come with a different post…

On Being a No-Count Asshole

It was never my intention to break up with the BF on Valentine’s Day. Nor was it my intention to break up with him the day before his birthday. But that’s exactly what happened last night.

He had told me I’d never see him cry… but I saw him cry last night.

The split was on more or less good terms; we laid in bed for two hours afterward and embraced and told each other we loved each other. It was simply a sad realization that in general, I need certain things from a relationship and he needed certain different things, and we weren’t too compatible in that regard. It doesn’t mean I don’t like him, or even love him, because I do, and he does me. I have no intention of vanishing from his life, nor does he from mine. We talked about that for a long time last night.

I was more distraught about the whole thing than he was, but that was part of the problem–he has an uncanny, sometimes unnerving ability to keep his emotions at bay. But compassion… he wouldn’t let me leave until he had burned me some DVDs with comedy, music videos, and other stuff that he thought I’d like.

“You don’t have to give me all this right now,” I said, “I’ll be back over here tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah…” he said, and apologized. I think he was operating under the impression that I’d never see or speak to him again.

I spent the night at home, crying. This was the first time I’d been the one to end things in a relationship, and I felt horrible because of it. The knowledge that it was ultimately the right thing to do for me to find someone who meets my emotional needs was cold comfort to someone reeling from having broken their lover’s heart.

Personal Updates

• I broke my fucking tooth this morning. Goddamnit.
• I am trying very hard to be over my ex and enjoy the time I spend with BF, but after having spent so much time together, it’s proving more difficult than I would like. Plus, having a troublesome dirty dream about said ex from time to time is not helping matters. Nor is the fact that ex remains my best friend helping matters any. *sigh* Sometimes being fucked in the head has its downsides.
• I am totally addicted to tower defense games at the moment. Right now, this one is eating up most of my free time.
• Work is being lame at the moment, because end-users are finding new, experimental ways to suck. Fortunately my supervisor is giving me glowing reviews–always welcome in an economy where job cuts are the order of the day.
• I think Gene “Fairy Bishop” Robinson and Rick “Saddleback Mountain” Warren need to totally duke it out during the inauguration. Rick’s probably a sturdy fuck, but Gene could even the odds with his shepherd’s crook or, barring that, a convenient folding chair.

Meet the New Meat + Glad Tidings of Terrible Mediocrity

The table was round: the BF sat on my left and Luke sat on my right, while Luke’s girl sat across from me. This was the introductory dinner–I’ve been showing off the BF to all my friends and introducing them to the person with whom I now make my bed on the weekends. Likewise, I’ve been showing the BF all the people who are significant to me, who’ve enhanced my life in many ways over the years. For this evening, it was pretty appropriate that I finally introduce the BF to Luke–and in the restaurant where Luke first learned of my orientation, no less.

The BF was somewhat withdrawn–before we entered the restaurant he told me he was afraid of embarrassing me in front of my friends–especially since he had chosen to wear a KMFDM shirt before he learned we were meeting my friends. I assured him that he would not embarrass me, that my friends were much more likely to embarrass me instead. The first part of the meal was a quiet, somewhat awkward affair, with Luke, the girl and I making small talk and the BF chiming in only occasionally. Once the rolls had been brought out, the soy sauce distributed, and the Sapporo downed, everyone eased up somewhat, and it was a pleasant meal. And then, when all was well and the rolls mostly eaten, the girl said:

“Do you know that your pictures are posted on [insert name of famous social networking site here]?”

I looked at her, incredulous. “What?!”

“Yeah, S____ has posted pictures of everyone in his class on his page, including you. Of course, it’s a group shot, so you’re not singled out or anything… but you’re definitely there.”

The girl had gone to the same high school as me, and this S____ fellow was a known associate of the individual I once considered to be my archnemesis. S____ had his own inherent douchiness, but his association with that bitch T____ did nothing but diminish my opinion of him. (You know, that whole ‘a friend of my enemy’ thing…)

“That sucks. I’ll sue his ass to get him to take those pictures down.”

“Oh, T____ has her own page also.”

I dropped the chopsticks. The BF and Luke just watched. “Really,” I asked, “what’s that horrible bitch up to these days?”

“Well…” the girl began, “she’s married…”

I grinned. “Wait! Let me guess!” I interjected. “Has she gained weight?”

The girl chuckled. “Yeah… looks like she’s had some work done, too.”

I laughed a terrible laugh and did a celebratory terrorist fist pump in the air. “Does she have kids?”

“Yeah, she has a couple of kids.”

I slapped the table. “Awesome! She’s become the suburban housewife!”

“Well, she does have a job,” the girl said. “She’s like… an administrative assistant or something…”

This last bit of news was too much for me. I launched into a giddy reverie that this… creature, this terrible shell of a female who tortured my soul during my teenage years, who long boasted about her plans to be an oncologist and be rich and get with a hot Latino guy of some sort… that she had instead become mired in that stagnant trap of mediocre normalcy (with just a hint of dashed dreams) by marrying a be-mulleted local yokel and settling for a secretarial career…

“Oh, that warms the cockles of my heart,” I giggled.

“Your heart has cockles?” the BF asked.

“I don’t know that I needed to know that,” Luke said, smiling.

Everyone was amused by how happy I was. To those who didn’t know her, I explained who exactly T____ was: a shallow, self-proclaimed “Christian” hypocrite with a chest as flat as a pancake and cheekbones so sharp she could saw through a PVC pipe by nuzzling it. I was glad–I was thoroughly amused by each banal fact that Luke’s girl kept revealing about T____’s life. It was a resounding message that she had already reached her prime, that there was no greatness in her life beyond those fleeting high school years. And that was the best news I’d heard all year.

Afterwards, on the way home, the BF chuckled and said “Jeez, I’m glad that you’ve resolved all your lingering issues there…”

I laughed. “Oh, when I hate, I hate hard. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

The New World

“So, I hope you realize that you’re going to [insert name of local gay bar here] tonight.”

I looked at BF quizzically.

“Is that so?”

“Yep,” he smiled. “It’s been decided.”

“I see…”

Now, those of you who don’t regularly follow my stupidity may not know that I had never been to a gay bar before. Yes, I know–27 years old and no boozy hilarity with my fellow fags. ‘What a world, what a world,’ etc. etc. Well, last Saturday night, BF sought to change all that.

“It’s part of your rite of passage,” he said, turning his attention back to Fallout 3. I’d much preferred staying there at his place, watching him play video games and/or cuddling with him, than to go to [insert name of local gay bar here]. It was a place that I’d heard a lot about–and not all pleasant. By some accounts, they had the best bar (and bartenders) in town. By other accounts, it was a good place to get beaten and/or mugged in the parking lot. So I had more than a few reservations about going to such a place, especially since I don’t consider myself a scenester.

“I don’t know…”

“It’ll be fun,” he said. He paused the game and turned to look at me. “It will be fine, I promise. You don’t have anything to worry about.” He put his hand on mine and reassured me… and I gave in.

“Oh, alright, fine,” I said. “But I’m holding you personally accountable if I get raped in the bathroom by skanky leathermen riddled with AIDS.”

He laughed. “Fair enough.”

So, on a dark, cold, and drizzly November night, he and I departed in my little Corolla, with his straight friend following in a separate vehicle, and we made our way to the only gay establishment in upper-east Tennessee.

The place itself was very modest-looking on the outside. There were, of course, no windows, and a high fence in front shielded those seeking out fruitertainment from the prying eyes of passerby. BF and I arrived and pulled into the parking lot, which seemed small from the main road. But making my way toward the back lot, I found an unbelievable parking area back there–literally hundreds of vehicles could park back there, whereas only about a dozen or so parking spots are visible from the road. I was duly impressed.

“Look, Tommy’s already there,” said BF. Tommy, his straight friend, approached us, and the three of us made our way toward the entrance. It was only 10:00pm, so there weren’t too many people there yet. But I could tell from the fey swish of some of the folks as they approached the entrance ahead of us–this was the real deal.

The fence snaked around the side of the building, and we had to walk a considerable distance to even get in. When we got to the door, there was a line of people showing their IDs and paying the cover charge to get in. Peering inside the glass door while we stood there waiting in the cold, I could see several pool tables and a snack bar–all of which were empty. Ho hum–not very impressive. When the line began to move, BF, Tommy and I stepped inside, where we were greeted by a short, grandmotherly woman who was all smiles.

“That’s the owner,” my BF whispered as we stood in line.

I looked all around. There were little seating areas here and there, some of which were occupied by a single person eyeing the people as they entered the club. There was also a set of double-doors, beyond which I could hear the familiar 4/4 thump of techno. As I forked over my cash, showed my license, and received the stamp of adulthood, I took a deep breath, not sure what I was about to experience.

“Have a good time, boys,” the woman said.

“Thanks Rose!” BF replied. I would have been impressed that he knew the owner, but I had little time to contemplate it–he took my hand and we made our way through the double doors.

Ah, where to begin…

I had seen pictures of the inside of this place, but they always reminded me of a middle school prom–somewhat junky, somewhat tacky. But I’d apparently been looking at bad photos… very bad photos… because this place was definitely impressive. And why shouldn’t it be? I was a fool for doubting the interior decorating sense of my fellow fags. The lights, the runway, the cages, the dance floor, the statues… to use an all-too-appropriate analogy, I felt like Dorothy stepping into Oz.

“Well, you’ve not been raped yet,” BF said, smiling.

“I know…” I replied.

“See? Not so bad, eh?”

“No… not bad at all,” I grinned.

We made our way to the bar, where huge, beefy bartenders wore black shirts that said COCK in the front and TAIL in the back.

“See, no one cares in here,” BF said, then he put his hands on my face and landed a kiss before I knew what to expect. He then stepped back and watched my reaction… which, I assume, is the same reaction any young gay man might have when kissing another man in public for the first time. Shock… bewilderment… intrigue… and most of all happiness. BF smiled as he saw the truth dawning on me.

We got our beer and made our way to the back of the club. There was a secluded sort of “VIP” area back in the corner, elevated over the rest of the club somewhat; BF, Tommy and I quickly claimed this area. There was a love seat there; BF and I claimed it, and Tommy kicked back in one of the 1950s-style “mod” chairs nearby.

We cuddled, drank our beer, and people-watched–and oh, the people we saw. There were beefy jock-types standing around… tall, smartly-dressed men in their 40’s… cute teenage-looking lesbian tomboys… fuzzy bears with leather vests and blue jeans… goth-types with their chains and multi-colored hair… a whole group of lipstick lesbians sitting together at a table and conversing in sign language… it was amazing. So much diversity, right here in my back yard… and it’s been here for years. And, up to then, I’d been too afraid, too hung up on my own preconceived misconceptions to venture out to this place.

“Do you know what the best thing about this place is?” asked BF, laying on my shoulder.

“What’s that?”

He extended his arm and waved his hand in front of me. “All those people out there… like 97% of them are gay. They know what it’s like… and it’s cool. We can all be ourselves here.”

I kissed the top of his head and sighed.

“Yes, it’s very nice… but sometimes I think…”

“What?” he said.

“Sometimes I think places like this ought not to exist.”

“Why not?”

“Because we shouldn’t have to restrict ourselves to only a single place, a single club to truly be ourselves. We should be able to be openly affectionate anywhere. We should be able to be ourselves anywhere.”

He sighed.

Our philosophical meanderings were interrupted by the 11:00pm drag show. My very first drag show! It was far more entertaining than I thought it would be… they really are very talented performers. The crowd gathered around the stage and put dollars down their bras while they performed… quite a spectacle. There was some stripping… there were some black lacy bras on some very hefty dudes… I still am not 100% sure of what it was I saw. But it was entertaining, and it was nice that these guys could do what they wanted to do here, and actually be accepted (and encouraged) for it.

Not long after that, the place *really* started to heat up. From midnight onward, the club really came to life. That’s when all the young dudes itching to dance showed up and climbed up into the cages… it was unbelievable to watch two attractive college dudes bumping and grinding in front of hundreds of people. Blew me away. Wow. It makes me sigh just to recall it.

But BF and I didn’t stay at the club long after midnight. We were more interested in going back to his place. Which we did.

And I spent the night there.

…it was a good weekend.

Gentlemen.

I have a new hobby… can you guess what it is?

The BF and I have been wasting lots of time together… we tend to go for a dual-pyro approach or the classic heavy/medic smackdown.

Bee Eff

So, as we laid in his bed in our underwear, him leaning against me as I laid curled-up on my side, I absentmindedly ran my fingers over his knee and looked off into the distance.

“I’m very bad with terminology”, I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m so new to all this… I mean, I don’t know what to call this, what we’re doing. Are we dating? Is this a relationship? I don’t want to call it the wrong thing in describing it to my friends and family…”

“Well, I was operating under the assumption that you were my boyfriend until I heard otherwise.”

I smiled. “Good. I was also thinking of you as my boyfriend.”

Cue more smiles and cuddles.

Good News

-. Mom is home, as the test came back negative for MRSA; instead she just has a regular staph infection. She is now finishing up treatment in pill form rather than through an intravenous drip. Thank you all for your kind words and thoughts, they were a comfort to me.

-. New guy and I decided to play it cool and try to maintain a little distance between us. Therefore, I only spent 6 hours cuddling and having sex with him yesterday and reduced that to 4 hours of cuddle-sex today. This seems reasonable to me.

-. I’m playing my keyboard again. I’ve not played music in a very long time. Sort of feel like I’ve got my groove back.

Rock Star Boyfriend

In happier news, I’ve met a new guy. He meets a lot of the requirements:

• Likes the same music? Check.
• Is a musician himself? Check.
• Avid gamer? Check.
• Fond of D&D? The first time we spoke he told me about his drow brewmaster.
• Prefers cats to dogs? Check.
• Liberal? Check.
• Out? Check.
• Has a place of his own? Check.
• Cute? You betcha.

This one has promise, folks. Stay tuned…