Posts Tagged ‘relationships’

A Dark Night That Lasts Years

February 16th, 2017

A dark night of the soul. Nights of spiritual despair. Moments where you cry for relief only to find none coming. Prayers that can’t be answered immediately, if at all.

 

I have been extremely depressed lately, and not just for political reasons. Just so happens that the political stuff is the easiest to talk about since it affects us all. But we all get depressed from time to time, right? Even if you’re not given to chronic depression and anxiety like I am.

 

Tuesday was Valentine’s Day, a day for lovers and the love-struck. Not for me, it’s not. It’s just a day between February 13th and 15th. I wish it weren’t so. I wish I had a love to call my own.

 

Who will comfort me in these uncertain times? Who will tell me I’ve been spending too much time on Twitter, please come and spend time with me instead. . .?

 

I don’t talk about my personal life on this space for a very good reason: I don’t have much of a personal life. Not that I would go around blabbing like an informant every time I went on a date. . . it’s just that there aren’t very many dates.

 

I’m relatively new to Whitesville. But I’m not a social person. I’m sensitive and self-conscious. Making a connection seems nearly impossible.

 

Maybe I can’t handle it. Maybe it’s just too much pressure. I’m like one of those Japanese men who have stopped trying to find a mate. Maybe I should get a pillow with a manga babe on it to be my girlfriend.

 

Maybe this is my life. Maybe I’m alone because I’m with the only person who can stand to be with me.

“Could you be loved?” – Bob Marley. Evidently not, Bob.

 

By the way, I finally got a hair cut last week. I figured it would be good to look less like Hagrid from Harry Potter. I’ve halfway shaved this fluff on my face into a somewhat organized look as well. I’m almost presentable.

Dear Porn Star Girlfriend,

December 4th, 2015

Dear Porn Star Girlfriend,

 

By the time you read this, I will be gone. I packed up my things and made amscray for the road. It’s over. No hard feelings.

 

We’ve had a pretty good run but I think our relationship has ran its course. I remember the first night we laid in bed together, cooling down from the hot lovemaking we’d just made. Giggly in the post-coital glow, the warm fuzzies taking over us and the endorphins high as the stars in the sky. Everything felt good and right with us, but I remember saying to you, “Girl, I don’t think I got enough dick to keep you happy.” It was like I saw the end, but all the way from the beginning.

 

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It’s true. I don’t got enough dick to keep you happy. For real, I could have a second dick as well as a butt plug growing off of my elbow and it wouldn’t be enough. Because it’s not the size or quality of said dick but the variety that does it for you.

 

Can’t blame you, though. I knew what I was getting into. You are a porn star. Not just a porn performer. A star, which means you are famous for it. People recognize you on the street and geek out. You’re not just a porn actress, you are a shaman of cum. Or a shamaness. You’re a witch that conjures cum out of many lonely people through the medium of streaming video and for that you should be honored.

 

It was exciting at first when we’d be out in public and guys (always guys) stopped in their tracks to gawk at you. Many of them approached you. They all said they were big fans and loved your work. Then they would look at me and give me a double thumbs-up. They envied me. Hell, I would too. I had the best girl in the whole wild world. Had the best girl.

 

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Relationships are tough, no matter what you do for a living. Remember that day I called you while you were on the set to tell you my sister’s ventilator was being shut off. What a horrible day. My sister had been in a coma for months. No sign of improvement. Technically brain dead. We were keeping her body warm because. . . we couldn’t let her go? But she was gone, and it was time to accept it. I called you with tears in my eyes and you tried to reassure me. You did your level best to try to make me feel better. It was her time, you said, and we were doing the right thing. You told me you loved me and were proud of me. I sobbed like a baby. You stayed on the line with me through all my tears.

 

When we hung up, you went to work and got Blacked dot com.

 

When we first started dating, I thought it would be a nonstop party. Nothing but fun and craziness and lots of group sex with all of your female co-workers and none of my male friends. It didn’t quite work out that way, but that’s not why I’m leaving, believe it or not.

 

I’ve learned about myself so much since we’ve started dating and I have you to thank for that. I’ve been forced to take a look inside myself. I’ve had to reexamine what I thought was right and good and that would not have been possible without your love and support.

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When I said I hoped we’d party and have crazy group sex where I was the only guy in the room, that was only the first half of the fantasy. I had hoped that one day we’d both just settle down together. Just you and me. And occasionally Kayden. But you are like a wild horse. You cannot be broken or tamed and what’s more? You shouldn’t be broken or tamed. Not by me, at least. Not by any man. When you finally decide to settle, you will do it when you are good and ready. No one is bringing you down, nor should they.

 

But me? I’ve had my taste of the wild life. And Kayden. And Gianna. And Zoe. And Kayden. And Mia, Pia and Zia. Not to mention Kayden. But I can’t keep up with you. I don’t just not have enough dick for you, baby. I don’t have enough heart and soul for you. Or physical endurance and flexibility. I think I’ve been a closet monogamist this whole time. How utterly pedestrian and banal, right? Well, one day you may end up feeling that way too. The guy you’re with when that happens will be one lucky s.o.b.

 

But alas, it is not me. So I’m leaving. Because this is your condo. I had the Dish transferred over to your name, btw. Sorry I didn’t pull my weight with the bills more.

 

 

Tiger Woods: A Reflection

January 26th, 2015

What a corny motherfucker he turned out to be, huh?

 

It’s been over five years since all that came out. November 2009, he got fucked up and crashed the Escalade into a tree while Elin tried to bust his teeth out with a five-iron.

 

Five years ago, I had a different feeling about this. Like maybe these girls had sold him out, dimed out and told tales for a few pieces of silver. Now I feel like one dick move leads to another, and if anybody got paid good for them.

 

"Lindz, your tits aren't big enough." "I can change!"

“Lindz, your tits aren’t big enough.”
“I can change!”

 

At least three of those girls were porn stars. Porn stars are “stars” like Subway’s employees are “artists” who happen to work on sandwiches. Porn is a hard dollar to earn. Some of them girls get power-fucked while in a full-nelson. You ever had someone work their arms under your shoulders and lock hands behind your neck raising your arms? That’s a full-nelson, and it’s a wrestling maneuver. Hurts like hell when enough pressure is applied. Now imagine taking a dick during that? That’s part of the territory in the porn biz.

 

There’s a lot of lessons to be taken from this, and I don’t know if anyone is interested in looking back now since there are so many other subjects to give a hot take to (Deflategate, #CancelWWENetwork, the size of Justin Bieber’s man-clit). Here’s a lesson: YOU CAN’T HAVE IT BOTH WAYS.

 

Honestly, who wouldn’t want to bang hookers, strippers, “models”, porn stars and trashy waitresses? That’s the American dream, we all want that. But you can’t root around in the land of promiscuity while trying to be a family man. You certainly can’t do that and allow yourself to be presented as something else. Jon Jones is trying to do the same thing right now. He wants the public to believe he’s a hard-working, decent Christian man who loves his family. But he’s not. As I type this, he’s got a line of coke on his hard dick and probably two or three ethnic women’s titties in his face. Don’t be a hypocrite. Don’t lie to the people. Don’t lie to your loved ones. You can’t have it both ways.

 

Jon Jones' favorite Ween song? "Fat Lenny".

Jon Jones’ favorite Ween song? “Fat Lenny”.

 

Also, fuck buddies need to have their situation straight. A mutual understanding. Are you casual? Is there potential for more beyond casual sex? The lines have to be drawn and understood by both parties. Part of that is not stringing people along, especially if you’re the one in control. If you have everything and they have nothing and you shut them down and dump them, what the fuck do you expect? If you’re going to be like that, just stick with escorts where there is an obvious “work-for-hire” relationship.

 

You broke-knee bitch-made motherfucker. Your soul is sick and you suck at golf. You still have that hangdog look on your face because you learned the big lesson that you can have the world and it still isn’t enough. Don’t like that medicine, do you?