just when you thought it was safe to get back into the water
Don’t mean to alarm/upset anyone but I may have been having sex till 5 o’clock this morning and then from 8 till 11 today…and once again in the shower! Which is easy when you know how.
It wasn’t great, I didn’t stay hard the entire time which was an endless source of frustration but still…
Watch this space.
In light of my impending virility, I am inventing a morning after pill for men that will change your blood type.
who the fuck am i?
I’ve waited three years for any signs of life in my pants and on the 22nd of June at 1:30 in the morning I had the first yawning’s of a semi erection. Here’s what I’ve never been able to translate to my largely female following on here, not a brag, more a statistical fact but this is me so take it as you wish, the biggest issue with becoming impotent is your complete loss of identity.
I don’t ever write about penis envy because it’s something I’ve never thought about. Your dick is ugly, it hangs there like a drooping dog, falling helplessly over a scrotum filled with two testicles (if you’re fortunate) and lies dormant begging for titillation. Too stoic and even lazy to urinate by itself, it needs your hand to point it in the direction of the toilet/wall/motorway overhang/empty water bottle/ex’s bed sheets it is about to soak unless of course you have the innate desire to piss over yourself, your shoes or in your own trousers. Yes we can make it jolt with the same muscles both genders use to stop themselves from peeing but the moment is fleeting and hardly impressive, like a person letting out one last convulsion before they die. The ugliest of appendages. Unless it is hard.
Whether a man is gifted or among the less physically mature it matters not when he’s hard. Proud and filled with not just blood but the unforgivable urge to penetrate the soft delicate walls of the nearest cunt. I know you hate that word but it’s how it thinks and as I said, unforgivable. A hard dick is us saying to the world “I am about to fuck you. Hard and in as powerful a manner as you can stand.” and with it comes confidence. Thus even when it’s not there the confidence oozes through all, be they fans of intercourse or not, just the knowledge that you can.
One day you wake up and it’s gone. One of your testicles is gone. You lack the ability to envisage your identity. The body has said it cannot possibly create testosterone. You are therefore no longer able to penetrate the world, you have to learn to live a life where you develop moobs and very sensitive one’s at that, feel decidedly weaker, witness your thighs and bottom change shape and cellulite begin to develop & wonder of this is in part psychosomatic.
My dick was the same lifeless symbol it had been for the majority of my life but was now without the chance of being anything else.
I was no longer the alpha or the beta.
I was as good as dead but with sore breasts and I cried. A lot.
For the past 3 years I developed a new branch for my sense of humour. Other days I was miserable. Bi-polar living but really just long bouts of depression with the odd good spell thrown in. I realised I’ve never got over “her” and the “she” wasn’t one but all of my big loves. I realised that I never will be over these times in my history. I’ll think fondly of them safe in the understanding that love being the circular little shit fucker it is that I’ll fall again but happy to exclude past loves from the present I’ll put them out of mind unless I split from new loves. Then I’ll feel the emptiness, real emptiness where you can’t feel anything in your chest as the person you base your dependence [sic] on starts to drift away and you hate yourself. I’ll feel it, I’ll be helpless and then I’ll bang her sister. Or maybe I’ll find love and it will stick around in-spite of how my past experiences may have conditioned my romantic destiny.
I re-discovered real jealousy and paranoia. The sort that makes you hollow, unable to breath or sleep at night for months on end. The kind that makes you tear yourself apart through psychoanalysis and search for answers to questions in the wrong place. I hated myself. I felt bad for those who had wronged me and ashamed that I’d made them do it. I was too nice.
Then in my lowest point I had a heavy and disappointing bout of racism. On a bus one day I was sat next to two brown men who clutched bags to their chest and spoke in a language I didn’t know. They stared at their watches or messaged everyone in their phone when they weren’t reclining in their seats with eyes shut and mumbling. I was going to die at the hands of terrorists and this was happening now. Stuck to my seat with fear I waited for the first stop on the journey to run from them, why was nobody else as scared as I was? I felt sincere dread and it felt just like every other part of paranoia or loss or jealousy or the fact my dick didn’t want to work. I was hollow, I was empty and I wanted to cry.
Twice in my life I’ve thought about killing myself. Once when I discovered I wasn’t going to be a father and the girl I loved had invented the pregnancy and once when for some reason I felt like nothing and truly believed the world wouldn’t miss me. Both times I envisaged my funeral, who would be there, who would cry and would I be fondly remembered or put in the ground without much of a fuss. I can’t tell you how close I came because for the life of me I truly do not know. Both times a voice spoke to me (no not God, unless he has my accent) and said…
"Oi! Mate. You scared? Don’t worry yeh. You’re doing ok you know? Now see what’s bothering you and face it."
…I’m paraphrasing but then private conversations with oneself aren’t for others ears.
So there I was on this bus. Scared of brown men with bags so to escape the terror I thought I’d face it and talk to them. “Where are you off to?” I felt the words leave my chest more than my mouth and fear clung around for a while. Turns out they were Indian, one of them had lived here for 9 months and the other guy was visiting. I’d only gone and fallen victim to the overly aggressive media view of terrorism and the fact I was scared of them absolutely said more about me than them. At last I had a genuine reason to feel regret, shame, stupidity, disgust and hate for myself.
I got home and decided on two things, both mutually exclusive.
1. I will never be myself again until my dick can be erect.
2. I have to live in the present without fear of what may be.
There was a third.
3. Talk about it.
but that was a long time later…it’s where writing everything down and posting it in all it’s inarticulate, sexy glory on tumblr came in.
Today I write this on my phones notepad before I paste it to my tumblr and post it for your enjoyment or your general dismissal. I cannot control which. I have a semi working penis and with it a new hope of regaining/discovering who I am. My dick has been in my hand and nobody else’s. I haven’t had sex. Yet.
Nothing is your fault. You’re doing the best you can. Happiness is there if you want it.
I’m not a successful self made millionaire but fuck it, I just think that makes me more qualified to tell you in all earnestness what’s working for me.
I’m sexy, I’m fun and I’m gaining (even more) confidence with everyday. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be 30 in a week. Someone wrote to me on here after I said my dick worked saying “your dick works? Who’s better than you?”
We’re just getting started.
Tonight I got into bed, brought my knees up planting my feet beneath my bum and lifted my pelvis off the bed. I then held my dick in my hand and thrust my hips to wank instead of moving my hands just like I did when I first played with myself and thought this would make me better in bed. I thoroughly enjoyed myself until I came and shot right into my own eye!
I haven’t had sex yet. I’ve just been masturbating…a lot. Like too much. Like it’s red. He needs time.
After a quick calculation today isn’t 1,251 days since I last had sex, it’s actually 1,263. So there’s that…
Just discovered yesterday was national kissing day and was also the 1,250th day since I last had sex!
just before i go to bed…
My alarm just went. 1200 days since I last had sex. Blue ball.
Lionel Messi chases a ball, Banksy scribbles on walls and I get women’s phone numbers.
I can’t speak for everyone but isn’t New Years just the best?
I’ve spent the last few with friends and always had a great time but when you’re the only single member of the group, instinct washes over and I spend the entire night wandering off in search of random people. Not so much to find one person to kiss or anything as trite as that but out of pure boredom. I don’t begrudge them for being in couples and nor do I long for what they have. It’s not a feeling of loneliness nor the on-setting pangs of depression brought about by feeling something is missing that drives me to not enjoy my friends company at the stroke of midnight, it’s more the fact that New Years Eve couple’s have the default setting tuned to insular and THEN when you’re the only single person do I get bored.
So this New Year, I wanted something a little different, a new destination. I wouldn’t spend this one within the old oak walls of the local pub where I grew up surrounded by the same people with the same stories. Where’s the drugs and crazy bastards? London it was then.
Photographer was waking up one morning last week, we’d shared a bed after I’d been present the night before when she had a massive argument with a boyfriend who is not quite happy with the open status of their relationship. Photographer is the sort of person who likes company but not commitment. She’d likely try to tell you this is because she finds everything around her fascinating through her artistic eye and can’t confine herself to staying with one thing but instead explore it all. I on the other hand would tell you it’s because she’s always horny and likes sex without limiting herself to one person. Either way is acceptable but my version isn’t bullshit. This morning however, the morning after the boyfriend stormed in and asked me to step outside (he’s lucky I didn’t) so she could pick the ‘winner’ in some modern day archaic display of neanderthal rights, I’d woken up next to naked photographer with a hangover. She wanted sex but of course through her semi conscious haze, she forgot who she was next to as she was trying to bite the corner of a condom off to slap on me, so instead we did some of the stuff I do when I can’t have sex.
She finished, threw on my shirt and went to make coffee and find a cigarette. “What do you make of Keir?” Keir was a male dancer I’d met the night before.
"He seemed fun." I shouted back trying to shock my jaw into functioning enough to form words.
"Do you want to fuck him?" She playfully threw at me.
"No. I don’t…I’m not…I don’t like guys." I’d just gone down on her and she was asking if I was gay. Ego wasn’t too pleased about this.
"I knew you weren’t. He said for sure you were bi but I told him "he eats cunt better than most girls I know." (ego 1…) Just thought I’d ask. What about Lauren? Would you fuck her?"
Normally an admission of interest in the friend of a girl you’ve kind of started seeing is completely off limits. This however was as open and honest an arrangement as could be and not even the fact that Lauren was photographer’s ex girlfriend was an egg shell on this occasion. “Lauren? Why?”
"Do you think she’s pretty?" She poked her head in the room, it tilted forward and she fixed on me as a filthy grin filled her face.
"Yes she’s pretty, but I have a thing for dancers." Lauren is a dancer.
"Do you want to spend New Years with her? She’s got a party and I really want to go so I can fuck her friend Danielle. I think Lauren fancied you…"
"Of course she fancied me" I interrupted as I lay in bed looking smug as is right when you’re being offered around as a viable option for pleasure to a group of hot dancers.
"Well? Do you want to go?" She looked at me and I kid you not, it was how a father must feel when I child is asking if they can have a pet dog. Lauren’s dancer friend was like a play thing to photographer and she wanted it so badly.
"So you’re pimping me out to your ex girlfriends now?" I figure seeing as I have a little bit of power at this moment then why not have some fun with it.
"Oh right because you’d have a problem with that." I forgot, photographer gets bored quickly and if I want to go to a party filled with drunk dancers…and I really really do have a thing for them especially if they’re as crazy as most of photographers friends are when drinking and taking drugs…I fold easily.
"I’ll come with you but if this Danielle girl is cute I want a crack at her as well."
"So sure of your abilities aren’t you?" She pretends to sound unimpressed.
"Yep, and if you aren’t careful I’ll take them both off you." I do my best to hide my excitement. This New years won’t be spent in a village pub avoiding the partners of people I slept with when I was 13 no. This year will be at a party with drugs, fun strangers and dancers everywhere. EVERYWHERE!
Keir was the person who greeted us as we got there. I didn’t imagine it was his place, a large house in Angel Islington seemed a bit of a stretch for anyone as young as he was. He kissed photographer in as camp a manner as possible. You know how I enjoy gay people? They’re just as lovely as the rest of us? I still can’t work out half the time how much of the camp mannerisms are inherent in them and how much is pure affectation but I usually assume it’s the latter, especially when it’sthisover the top. He gave me a kiss on the cheek and said something along the lines of “So you’re not gay? Gutted.” at least I think that’s what he said, I was already gone. In just the entrance of this house were a couple of women, early to mid 20’s in incredible shape and all standing with impossibly straight spines even though this was slouched for them. To the left was a guy I recognised from TV, I didn’t know his name nor what he was on but he was an actor of some sort I was sure of it and had this confirmed later by his co star, a pretty blonde I swapped numbers with some time before 11 and have messaged several times since. Options. Behind them was a room with a DJ in and a few people already drunk including someone else I recognised as a model but as her head was clearly too big for her neck and shoulders I knew there and then that I wouldn’t be among the gaggle of men flocking around her. Poor girl couldn’t even afford a meal for fucks sake. Then I saw one of the dancers sniff. Not the sniff of a cold sufferer but the unmistakable one of a person chatting 100 mph and wide eyed after the cardboard taste of coke. Photographer was already ahead of me and was on her way over. “Where’s the drugs ladies?”
When we got to the room there was a mirror, already laced with cut lines and someone’s discarded £5 note strewn in among a smorgasbord of other drugs. From the next room was the unmistakable smell of sticky weed and the sound of people talking shit. I looked through them and saw something wrapped in a cigarette paper…could it be? I picked it open very slowly making sure not to spill the contents and inside, sure enough, some delicious MDMA. I almost screamed with excitement. The task of talking a person who already fancies you into bed is simple enough but if you’ve both had MDMA then not only is it less of a let down for them to discover your dick doesn’t work but you may also be able to get other people involved. I neatly folded it back up and replaced it before doing a fat line of coke, which normally would make an erection impossible for me but that’s obviously not an issue these days. I handed my money to photographer as Keir leaned in “Help yourselves to MDMA guys. Actually, take some with you, it’ll all be gone once people realise it’s here. He was of course right. I reached in my pocket and found a card someone had bought me for Christmas, opened the envelope and put 3 bombs inside it then had a twinge of guilt and replaced one before finally thinking “fuck it” and picking up 4 more. 6 bombs of MDMA, another line of coke and I hadn’t even discovered the free drinks yet.
When Lauren arrived with Danielle in tow I quickly discovered they were seeing each other. Quite possibly the hottest lesbian (bisexual) couple known to man, the sort that most teenage boys fantasise about until they discover what the majority of lesbian couples actually look like. Both dancers, one blonde one brunette. I looked at photographer already making a beeline for them, the girl has eyes like a hawk and I decided on a more measured approach. I turned around and had my back to them chatting to Keir and the older business man who I assumed owned the house we were all methodically trashing. I decided I’d talk to them, maybe chat to blonde actress I was yet to swap phone numbers with and then make my way to the room every one was smoking in and join them for one. I was mapping it out when a cute voice bellowed out my name “*******! I was just asking where you were. Merry Christmas and all that.” It was Lauren, who was clearly more aware of the reason I was here than I had originally thought. Her and Danielle were either about to go on a break or, and I’ve come to expect this of people who are friends with photographer, were open about who they’d fuck. Meandering wasn’t needed.
"Right you filthy lesbian. Come with me." I grabbed her hand and took her into the kitchen, grabbed a glass of whatever had been poured and led her to the balcony just off the room every one was smoking in. Lit us both a fag and made a comment on the amazing dress she was wearing. "You look like shit in that dress. It really does nothing for your bottom does it?" It did.
"Do I?" She smirked. "Well you look pretty shit in that jacket you have on." A little attempt to return the compliment but I wasn’t having it.
"Please. We both know I look outstanding in this jacket. Don’t start deflecting from the fact you’re only wearing that dress because it didn’t match with the one your girlfriend wanted to wear. Her’s looks like she chose it whereas you just look you’ve settled on that." I said through my smirk.
"Cheeky cunt!" She snorted as she mocked hitting me on the arm and refused to look away. "So you know what my "girlfriend" (she did that inverted commas signal with her hands) and my ex are doing now?"
"No, but I know what they’re intending to do and I know that you probably want me." Don’t be backwards about being forward.
"I do, do I?" She tries to pull off a hard to get look as she cocks her head to the side and holds her glass in front of her face and balance her cigarette between her fingers.
"You want to kiss me?" Someone once told me there are only three answers to this, YES, NO, or MAYBE. If she says YES, kiss her. If she says MAYBE, then say "Well lets find out" and kiss her. If she says NO, say "I wasn’t offering you just look like you wanted to." Apparently these are the stock answers.
I grin, lean in and kiss her. Consciously avoiding her dress with the butt of my cigarette, I trace my hand down her back and rest it on her bottom. Fuck waiting till midnight, I’m in my element and I want all the dancers. We stop kissing. Her cigarette is almost burnt to the filter. “Wow. That was a bit unexpected.”
"You’re a really bad kisser did you know that?" I feel like playful insults shall be the form for the night.
"You’re terrible yourself." She smiles with excitement. I want to go back inside, not to press my luck but wait till later. That actress is still down stairs and I want her number.
"I know, I’m a shit kisser, too much tongue. I’ll get better by midnight I promise. Come on, lets go back to them." I gently direct her to go back in. One or two of the smokers have seen us kiss, they’re clearly impressed by the speed it took me to accomplish all that.
"Where are you going?" She looks at me throwing her fag away.
"I’m coming with you."
"You want to watch me piss."
We’re still outside and she’s looking at me now with a look of utter seriousness. “*******. I know about your medical issues. Sorry to be blunt about it but I do. However that doesn’t mean I don’t want you any less and I’ve been told you’re still great at other things so take me to the bathroom and fuck me however you can and then you can go around being the social magnet you seem hell bent on being.”
I wasn’t expecting such a well structured thought process from the girl I’d met only a week ago in pink lycra and a sweaty black top with the word ‘pineapple’ emblazoned on it. We went to a bathroom, shut the door and I slammed her up against it making the mirror shake as I proceeded to kiss her neck and slip my hand up her dress and inside her underwear. It didn’t take me long. We decided to repeat this again later, she pulled herself together and we returned downstairs to see photographer and Danielle in the same spot they were when we left for a smoke and an orgasm.
"Ah there they are." Said Danielle watching us come down the stairs, her girlfriend giggling and smelling of tobacco. "Have you been smoking?"
”******* gave me a fag.”
"Can I have one, is that being awful of me?" said Danielle
"I guess so but you’ll have to sneak to the bathroom with me afterwards so I can get in your knickers. Deal?" Laurens eyes widened, photographer twigged something was up and her jaw dropped, her face was a mixture of jealous and impressed at how I’d managed to do something naughty with her ex while she was still trying to get Danielle to have a drink with her. Danielle seemed either oblivious or she knew and didn’t care. Either way she laughed.
"You’ll have to get me a few drinks before I go near a cock. Sorry honey."
"Ah. I tried. Oh well, here you go. I’ll try again later." I gave her a cigarette and then looked off into the room behind them, blonde actress looked bored and needed rescuing. "Right, see you guys in a minute, I’m going to talk to that blonde in there." I stole the glass off Lauren, took a sip of her drink to taste it, then necked the whole thing in one before handing the empty glass back to her and heading off in the direction of the actress.
I went back and for between people, talked bollocks and kissed one or two other people including Danielle later on but some time o’clock early new years day Lauren had fallen asleep in bed after we’d been there for some time. Photographer and Danielle did eventually were next to her in the same bed and I crashed in the armchair in the corner of the room casually watching them, drinking whiskey and smoking a Marlborough light as the 6 bombs of MDMA sat neatly in my pocket untouched and unneeded. As I sat there close to falling asleep I heard photographer and Danielle chat and giggle and I’m almost certain some of my moves were replicated once or twice, I laughed quietly and blew a ring or two as my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was actress, “Had a mad night, was fun meeting you. Catch you soon?”
Where did it all go wrong hey?