status report

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[pic deleted--he didn't ask to be sucked into this]

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[i debated posting about this yesterday and elected to talk about potato chips instead, and i'll probably talk about something equally crucial tomorrow. but right now i'm drunk so fuck it--let's talk about exactly where we are on the downward spiral.]

see that [hopefully sufficiently-obscured] hot boy up there? let's call him brad, since that's close enough to the name i know him by.

brad and i first hooked up a year or so ago, and have since kept each other on medium-low rotation; i.e., he calls me or i call him every 3 months or so--works out fine.

and sex with brad is consistently good--by that i mean (a) he's just affectionate enough without overdoing it; (b) our kinks interlock well; (c) he not only doesn't tweak, he actually gets hard and hot and shoots when i fuck him; and, finally (d) after just enough (but not too much) post-coital cuddling, he gets up, hoses off, gets dressed and gets the fuck out. oh, and (e) he looks just like that pic.

guess what i'm saying is, by my (or most anybody else's) criteria, brad is pretty much the ideal fuck.

and yet the other night when he called, wanting to get together tonight, i blew him off with an excuse, just like i have everybody else these last few months. way i feel right now, i didn't wanna fuck him, i don't wanna fuck anybody. not now, not ever.

and that, friends and readers, is how it is right now.


sober update: i'm gonna have to come up with a policy--do i, for the sake of integrity or at least the record, leave maudlin, self-pitying posts like this up when i come back the next day, or do i take 'em down--or do i, as i'm doing now, come back and massage them into something slightly less cringeworthy (and consequently less truthful)? i'll have to think about that.