My Winter Coat

My mother and I have always had a pretty good relationship. She and I have, for the most part, been very open and honest with each other. When I began to come out a lot of this changed. For those of you reading this who do not know my mother, she is an avid fundamental Christian that believes that most of our sins are caused by demons that have inhabited our souls. I think this goes without saying, but our religious views diverge quite a bit here. Now I want all of you to know that I love my mother and I understand and forgive her for being who she is. At her core she is a kind and loving woman and she means well, but her beliefs are ingrained and not about to change overnight. That being said she has come a long way and I am confident that she will continue to grow in acceptance of my current romantic and sexual interests.

I also have not made this easy on her. I tend to hold this “Fuck Everyone” view of the world and often do what I want to do as long as I do not foresee it causing harm to another person. I have probably caused my mother some emotional harm with my antics. This blog post will outline one of those instances.

It was December 2012 and one of my good friends, Hillary, was visiting from way out of town. We ate dinner at Houlihan’s, where I came out to her, and we discussed the fact that we were both dating men who were 37. After dinner Hillary didn’t have any plans, so I invited her to go to Feathers, this divey gay bar/club in North Jersey. She of course was delighted. I had my other friend, Hugo, pick us up because we anticipated getting intoxicated. Sure, I had work the next day, but since when did work ever take precedence over intoxication?

I took this belief to heart, that night throwing back more drinks than I could count and getting to a level of obliterated that few people have ever seen. I believe I made out with four people at the bar that night, one of them being the ugliest woman that I have ever seen. She kept complimenting me though and saying how much she just wanted to take me home that I had to throw her a bone or two. I mean all I did was make out with her for a bit, it's not like I aggressively ate her snatch or anything.

At some point it was time to leave Feathers and I can't remember if it was because the bar was closing or we were entirely too drunk at this point to function, but we left. The three of us clambered into Hugo's BMW coupe and headed home. We almost made it to the exit when Hillary began throwing up in Hugo's car. Hugo pulled over and Hillary and I clambered out. Hillary threw up on the side of the road several times and I took a whizz. I then took off my shirt for her to wipe down Hugo's seats with (I still own and wear this shirt). At this point a cop pulled over behind us and I almost shit my pants. I wasn't entirely certain that Hugo was too drunk to drive, but I was pretty sure he was, and Hillary and I were clearly a mess. The police officer was nice and told us to exit off at the next exit and get home. We obviously obliged him and were home in a Jiffy.

At this point I was still living with Mommy dearest and she was thankfully asleep and in bed. I have this tendency to take my clothes off normally, but the urge is even stronger when I'm drunk. As soon as we walked into my house I began to disrobe in our entry foyer and scamp around. At some point Hillary disappeared into one of the spare bedrooms and I was left naked with Hugo. Now I am not a huge whore, but I tend to be more of a sexually free person. There aren't too many friends that I haven't hooked up with in one way or another and tonight in my drunken state Hugo was going to get his chance, I mean I was already naked after all.

At some point while prancing around my house nude I became aware of my nakedness and decided to cover myself with my winter coat that just barely covered my ass. So now I was completely naked except for a navy wool coat with a hood. After partially clothing myself I began making out with Hugo and I don't remember how or why the making out started, but my tactic is to usually just grab your face and force my lips upon you. This was a tactic that I began using in college and is still a running joke with my friends. I am a face rapist if you will. My friends would constantly have to apologize after my face rape advances were often shot down. I don't have very good flirtation skills and I have no idea how to "pick up" someone, but I do know how to kiss and I would pretty much make out with anyone. If you have the balls to just lean in and kiss a stranger why not go with it and enjoy the moment. If it ends up being horrible well at least you have a great story to tell your friends the next day.  This tactic even almost got my ass whooped once when I tried to face rape some dude at a gay bar. He literally grabbed my arm and ushered me out of the bar and hurled me onto the street and into a pile of garbage bags. It was not a moment I am proud of, but I can assure you that my intent was harmless and in my defense I am a very good kisser.

And back to the present story, Hugo and I were swapping spit in the foyer and then I ushered him into my kitchen and onto the sink counter. At this point I lowered his pants and dropped to my knees. I'm gonna let you all infer what I was doing on my knees here. This lasted for a few minutes until this became tedious in my incredibly intoxicated state. I led Hugo to the couch in my living room and we began to fool around and I began to undress Hugo. It was at this point that I heard movement upstairs and I knew that my mom was awake. My mother has a bathroom in her bedroom, but she is a hoarder and her bathroom is unusable because it is filled with random shit. Her bathtub is filled with clothes and assorted goodies and her sink and counter is covered in junk, so she often comes downstairs to use the main bathroom. My mother then made it to the second floor landing and peered around the corner to observe Hugo and I canoodling on the couch. At this point I was naked except for my winter coat and Hugo was dressed, except for a shirt. My mother then quickly jolted into the bathroom and I rapidly attempted to make the situation seem more appropriate by having Hugo put his shirt on and straightened up the couch. As my mother exited the bathroom she came down the steps to the living room level and began telling Hugo that he needed to leave. My mother does not approve of my homosexual activities and definitely opposes my casual sexual trysts. With this in mind I'm sure this experience was particularly jarring for her. Hugo quickly excused himself and ran out into the night, while I was left to face my mother wearing nothing but my winter coat (which at this time I had buttoned). I was still very intoxicated and could not even formulate a good enough lie to make my mother think that I had been doing anything else other than fornicating with someone she didn't know on her couches. I went to bed feeling slightly embarrassed and mad at myself for not exhibiting more restraint.

In the morning I awoke with a terrible headache and a fuzzy recollection of the night before. I chugged several bottles of water, got ready for work and drove Hillary home. I'm almost certain I spent that day locked in my office with my head on my desk. Later when I came home my mother confronted me and I believe our conversation went a little like this:

Mom: "You know what happened last night really disturbed me, and was not something that I wanted to see."

Now I was ready for her, and had formulated what I believed was an immaculate response.

Me: "I know mom, but you see when I get drunk I just happen to take my clothes off."

My mother provided a household that did not make clothes a requirement. Now I'm not saying that we walked around naked all the time, or really ever, but I did spend most of my time at home chilling in underwear. And my mother thought that undergarments were basically just an option, meaning she pretty much never wears a bra or underwear unless she is going somewhere that requires her to be presentable (the mall is not one of those places". The best example of this belief of my mother's is one day in the summer she was out in our front yard gardening and she was wearing her summer "uniform," which consisted of a purple wife beater and blue nylon short-ass running shorts. She became very hot from all the gardening and folded her wife beater up to that she thought was the top of her abdomen to cool off. In actuality she pulled it up above her breasts giving our entire neighborhood quite the show. I do not know how long this lasted before she realized her indecent exposure. My mother was also often guilty of trying on clothes sans panties.

This is the climate in which I grew up and this environment allowed me to become very comfortable with my body and allowed me to develop a healthy self-image. My mother bought my explanation and it appeared that she had not seen anything explicit and had not even noticed that Hugo was at one point shirtless. My mother was still ashamed that she had a son that wore nothing more than a winter coat in front of his friends and her, but this belief was a lot better than if she knew what actually occurred that night. I hope that she will never find out and be spared from the trauma that would undoubtedly follow. My mother and I still don't see eye to eye, but I believe that we are becoming more comfortable with each other and our differing beliefs and life styles.

Vials

So now I’m going to conclude my HIV diagnosis story. I guess it’s taken me the better part of four months to get there because I wasn’t really finished dealing with it. I think I needed to really finish processing what it meant to me before I could put it down on paper, well technicological paper.

The next morning Jaime and I went to my favorite brunch place, Red Eye Café, in Montclair, NJ. I ordered eggs Benedict with pork belly. Eggs Benedict is my go to comfort breakfast and I needed some comfort that morning. I was still barely more than a zombie at this point, so I’m sure adequate social functioning was not happening.

After an awesome meal we went to my favorite park in Montclair (clearly today was a day of favorites), had some cigarettes, and shot the breeze while eating Bavarian cream donuts. We then went and picked up my friend Jarek from the bus stop. He somehow felt compelled to come in from New York City to help comfort me at this terrible time. Now Jarek is this super anal, super organized, kind of neurotic person who just makes you hate yourself because YOU are a lazy Son of a Bitch, and of course he pulled no strings here. He was on a mission to find me a doctor and get the ball rolling. I was not in a place to get the ball rolling. I was still continually praying to Jesus on the regular that this was all just a terrible, terrible nightmare Finding a doctor and talking about a cocktail of toxic pharmaceuticals was the last thing on my mind, but that was the beauty of Jarek he was always prepared to make you face things that were intimidating and most likely overwhelming, he was quite the sobering friend.

Anyway, we picked Jarek up from the park and ride and as he came Jaime had to leave to go back to Philly and her marathon nursing program. Jarek and I spent the day schlepping to Central Jersey to pick up my Z-pack from Nelson’s house and then into the city we went to take Jarek home. I then went food shopping with him at Whole Foods, said goodbye to Jarek, packed up my car with groceries, and began the drive home through the Lincoln Tunnel. This was the first moment that I was completely alone since I was diagnosed and I could not handle the silence, and then Sam Smith came on and I was a goner.

There are songs that without fail will leave you feeling vulnerable and teary eyed. Sam Smith has a song, Like I Can, that automatically makes me well a little. The fact that Sam Smith is a bonafide homosexual and I can relate to pretty much all his songs made this song even harder to listen to. Being diagnosed with HIV made me question whether or not I would ever find love, more than I already do, and this song was not helping at all at the moment. So alone in my car, listening to Sam Smith, while driving through the Lincoln Tunnel I began crying, sobbing even. I cried tears for me, for all the obstacles I would have to face, and the judgment I would face from others. It took about two seconds before I was using my car phone to find someone who was available to hang out with me, and in the meantime I went home, got drunk, and watched the Big C. My coworker Nikki came over later and spent some time with me, and life continued to get a little easier, and that was the end of day 2, and I, my friends, was still standing.

Over the next few days I found out I had health insurance, booked an appointment with a doctor Jarek found me, and then having to call the office and admit to them that I was diagnosed with HIV in an effort to get an earlier appointment. I mean I was diagnosed with a potentially life threatening disease, I should be accommodated. Once I uttered the words HIV the doors opened and I was given an appointment for the next day.

On Wednesday morning I went in to the see the doctor and although he was very experienced with LGBT issues I felt like not too much was explained to me. We went through my entire sex history, and he probed my sex life for intimate tid-bits. Top, bottom? Protection? Whips, chains? Anal probes? Size of anal probes? You get the picture. It was clear that this was a gay doctor’s office once the doctor’s medical assistant, Ryan, made his appearance. He was wearing trendy New Balance sneakers, a flashy button-down shirt that looked like it came from A Night at the Roxbury and heavily whiskered medium-washed blue jeans. I was kind of appalled at this get-up. Not only was it not professional, but it wasn’t even cute. I’m pretty sure my deceased grandfather could have put together a cuter outfit consisting of pieces all from Old Navy.

After all the assessing was done it was time for the real fun to begin! They needed to take 15 vials of blood. As I sat there with the IV in my arm and watching vial after vial being filled and my head feeling lighter and lighter the magnitude of the situation really began to sink in, not to mention that after all these vials were filled Ryan was going to need to swab and scrape the interior of my rectum for HPV and the Clap. After all the probing was done I put my clothes back on and went back to my life.

On Friday I got a call from Planned Parenthood that they had the results of my HIV blood test and that I needed to come in to get them. I was pissed at this point because why would I need to go and get re-diagnosed all over again. I begrudgingly left work and headed over, but when I arrived I was greeted with the news that my blood test was negative! Negative!!!!! I hugged the NP that relayed this news and had she been hotter I probably would have made out with her a bit. I really didn’t know how to handle this news. Did this mean I was negative? Which test had been wrong? Planned Parenthood left me with the advice that I was most likely negative, but should use condoms during sex and get retested in three months. This seemed like less than stellar advice at the time. I was completely numb and didn’t know what to do. I then called my doctors office and told Ryan the news. My doctor called me back quickly, and told me that a negative blood test was a good sign, but I was far from out of the woods.

The next morning I received an email from my doctor reporting that my viral load came back and the virus was undetectable in my body. This is when things really started to brighten up. We still needed a few tests to come back to be certain that I had received a false positive reading the rapid test, but things were definitely looking up.

It was upon hearing this news that I decided to get ridiculously intoxicated on gin and lemonade to celebrate. I had my good friend Peter come over to keep me company and entertain my drunk ass. Unfortunately, he was forced to put up with my drunken antics, like watching me strip on my back deck while lotioning my genitals and watching episode upon episode of Girls, a show that he now thoroughly despises. Later in the evening my friend Todd joined us and we were going to go out and grab a bite to eat. I suggested we go to this little restaurant and bar in Montclair, Egan and Sons. It’s one of my all-time favorites, mostly for the Carrera marble countertops and sexy bartenders. I could do without the mostly white, straight, and often douchey and entitled college crowd, but it’s a cross Egan and Sons patrons have to bare.

Upon arrival at Egan’s I was given a t-shirt to wear because men aren’t allowed to wear tank tops. So now I was stuck toting my ass around in an oversized, white Hanes T-shirt with a huge Bud, Miller, Coors, insert another white trash watery beer bottle on it. I was mortified. I pride myself in the way that I dress and now not only was I intensely intoxicated, and still severely fragile from my potential HIV diagnosis, but I was forced to wear a hideous t-shirt. Egan’s was just asking for it. However, I held it together and attempted to be as nice as humanly possible to our pig-faced trollop of a waitress. After dinner Peter bid Todd and I adieu, and Todd and I went to the city to gay bar hop. I don’t really remember anything from that night and I’m ok with it. Life, in general, was pretty blurry for a few weeks, and not remembering my moments of psychological fragility is ok with me.

Fast forward a week and a half I met with my new doctor to go over my lab results and obtain a full physical. I was super anxious to hear his thoughts and get the final yay or nay on my status, but first I had to sit through a gamete of prods and pressures to hit the finish line. The worst of all these tests was the Spirometry test. This test assesses your lung function and capacity by having you breathe out into a tube. I sucked at this test and could not do it properly. I could tell that Ryan was becoming irked by this and politely apologized, and his response (classically gay) was “ Oh, I’m not mad at you. It’s just that there are other things I NEED to be doing, other than watch you breathe.” Thanks a lot douchebag, maybe you should wear tighter white denim to work next time?

This test indicated, assuming I did it right, that I had the lungs of a 68 year old. This seemed pretty unlikely because even though I smoke cigarettes I try to combat this with routine cardiovascular exercise, so I'm just blaming Ryan for skewed results.
After Ryan huffed out of the room the doctor came in to assess me in my very fashionable blue paper gown. He listened to my heart, looked in my ears and then it was time to look in my eyes. Now I have awful vision, like without any kind of corrective lens I'm technically legally blind (I'm still waiting on my seeing eye dog), so the doctor was having a hard time seeing into my eyeball. It was during this examination that his genitals brushed against my thigh and well he was aroused. Either that or he had a cigar in his pocket. I didn't really know what to do at this point. I mean I was attracted to him, I mean I routinely went for the "Daddy" type, but this was my doctor and I didn't even know his favorite color, so I just choked it up to another hilarious life experience.

After the examination the doctor took me into a separate room and we were going to redo the rapid test. It was the only test that I had yet to test negative to, and I guess in many way this would finalize my negativity. The Little Imp, Ryan, came in and administered the test, and what seemed like a billion years later my doctor came in to give me the good news that it too came back negative. It was an amazing moment and I felt like so much weight was lifted off my shoulders. I spent the car ride home calling my friends and telling them the good news.

This experience was a huge emotional rollercoaster and something that I will never forget. It changed the way that I think and feel about HIV/AIDS, casual sex, and the way I treat stigmatized people. I definitely think harder about who I sleep with and value sex more than I used too. I realized I didn't really value sex at all as of the summer of 2014, and that was something my younger self would have been disappointed in. With all that being said I am four months out from this false positive and I'm happy, healthy, and definitely wiser. I don't know that I'd want to do it again, but I can say for sure that I've learned from it.

D Day

So the word load is used a lot in homosexual sexual interactions. It is often the topic of many sexual conversations, either during coitus or not. How big is your load? Do you want my load? What's the viscosity of your load? Can I dump my load all over your face, back, well you get the idea. However, the term load can also be used to discuss things that are slightly more serious than the spunk that comes out of a penis. A little over three weeks ago I tested positive to a rapid HIV test, and my viral load became something of an important item of conversation. I want to take the next few posts to explain what has happened over the course of the last three weeks and the lessons that I have learned.

About four weeks ago I left work early because my back was hurting really badly. It was excruciating to just to sit at my desk, let alone do actual work. It was a Tuesday afternoon and I took a cab to the train station because walking was not a possibility. I then called out sick the next two days because I wanted to rest up. Over the next two days I was on heavy pain killers and sequestered to the couch. During this resting period my body began exhibiting flu-like symptoms. I would wake up drenched in sweat, had golf balls in my throat, and developed chills. All these symptoms seemed odd because I did not have a fever, and it was not flu season.

I think every queer man has this fear in the back of his mind of getting HIV. We try not to think about it, and I think that in recent years HIV and AIDS have become a lot less visible. It isn't the crisis it was in the 80's or even 90's. If caught early and prescribed the appropriate meds most patients won't die from it. It's a lot easier to sweep HIV and AIDS under the rug when people aren't dying from it left and right. And not even dying, but practically living normal lives. Sure HIV has it's health complication, yet most of the time they are mild.

About two weeks prior to the onset of my flu-like symptoms I hooked up with this guy who was visiting Jersey for the fourth of July holiday. I accidentally sat on his dick without a condom for all of a minute until we came to our senses and put one on. I generally have more sense than this, but it had been a while and I was hungry (plus I was really wet and it just kind of slipped in). From this situation I had this little voice in the back of my head that whispered that these flu-like symptoms might be more than just the flu and might speak to something slightly more sinister. Then the night sweats started and I really began to think this was way more than a random summer virus. I work in oncology and night sweats usually mean one thing, Lymphoma. Ask anyone who works in oncology and night sweats are often a warning sign of Lymphoma. How many of you experience night sweats when you get the common cold or the flu? I'm assuming the frequency wouldn't be very high.Bottom line, night sweats should never be ignored.

These night sweats weren't your typical night sweats either. I would literally wake up every hour covered in enough sweat that I could gather it with my hands, fling it at the wall and hear the sound of my sweat hitting the wall. This is when the fear of HIV really started to grow in the recesses of my mind. Luckily, I have this amazing ability to ignore things that cause me palpable anxiety.

I did my best to try and get myself better. I began taking copious amounts of vitamins, drinking tea and coconut water, eating soup, and sleeping constantly. However, none of my symptoms abated and I believe they were even getting worse. It was Friday night and I was going to be a sick loser and stay in. I took a nap until nine and then woke up starving. I got my exhausted ass out of bed and drove to my local Panera and ordered four different bowls of soup and a large tea. I finished three soups with their accompanying bread. I then decided to call one of my gay besties to bitch about how awful I felt. It was during this conversation that he asked the question that would burst open the flood gates to my ocean of anxiety, "Have you had unprotected sex lately?" It was all I needed to hear and I could not keep the fears that were lingering in the back of my mind at bay any longer. I knew what he was inferring, I knew that the onset of HIV was often ushered in with flu-like symptoms. Ever since I began sleeping with men it was something that I was acutely aware of, and the fact that one of my worst fears could become a reality was terrifying. We discussed it and I decided that I would head over to Planned Parenthood on Monday to get a rapid test done. I just wanted to know, I just needed to know.

Saturday morning I had work at 8 am. The night sweats prevented me from obtaining anything close to a good nights sleep, and I was exhausted. My throat was so swollen that even swallowing hurt and I was so achy I could not concentrate. The now pervasive thought that I might be HIV positive was all I could think of as the wave upon wave of chills hit me. The anxiety was so strong that I needed to get tested. Waiting till Monday was no longer an option. I told the nurse in charge that I needed to leave and from work went straight to Planned Parenthood to take the rapid test. Every second that I got closer my anxiety built until my heart was pounding in my chest and my armpits were moist despite the chills.

Once I was at Planned Parenthood I was told I needed to wait two hours because they overbooked on Saturdays. I tried to find another alternative that would not waste my entire Saturday, but this Planned Parenthood seemed to be the only option, so I decided to wait, to know. I wound up only waiting about 45 minutes and being taken into the lab to have my finger stuck. The rapid rest looks a lot like a pregnancy test that uses blood and not urine. After my blood was collected and deposited onto the strip I was told to wait in a waiting room to the side. After about 15 minutes the lab tech called over the nurse practitioner, Ellen. Ellen then called me into her office and it was over. I work in a business that routinely delivers bad news and nurse practitioners are hardly ever used to deliver good news, that's what ancillary staff is for. Before she could even open her mouth I said, "it's positive, isn't it," and I lost it. The room  blurred, my blood surged, and the tears stated pouring down my face. I woozily collapsed into the chair behind me and my bag spilled across the floor. I think I balled from shock, disbelief, mourning the simple sex life I had, and the prospect of having to tell my ridiculously conservative family this news. I have crazy anxiety and it's hard to keep my mind from running about 2000 miles ahead. I must have cried for about 20 minutes before I was able to speak or comprehend anything.

Poor Ellen just sat across from me dumbfounded. It was obvious that telling someone he had HIV was not on her expected agenda for the day. She was a trooper though. She took her time, let me have water and tissues. I took a few moments and called two or three friends, and had my one friend Luke meet me at Planned Parenthood. I could not handle this alone. I can barely survive a paper cut by myself, let alone the news that I had a serious chronic illness. We waited till Luke got there and Ellen explained some things to me, none of which I actually remember because I was in shock and I would soon be ridiculously wasted. Ellen did another rapid test, which turned out to be positive and draw blood for the confirmatory test. After those two things were done and my other friend, Nelson, met us we left. I needed to get as far away from Planned Parenthood as possible. It felt constricting and I needed to breath.

We ventured to a nearby dinner and I proceeded to order several dirty grey goose martinis. I'm pretty sure I ordered three, but I might be wrong. I then began crying uncontrollably in the middle of the dinner, and a scene is definitely what I was making. I mean I usually cry during rom com's and those sappy puppy commercials, so the fact that I was balling in a dinner after three martini's and receiving positive HIV test results should not have surprised anyone. Over the course of that day many tears were shed. I know that with appropriate treatment I could live a full and fulfilling life, and the stigma surrounding HIV is slowly diminishing. However, there are things that would be difficult. Dating and hook-ups would now involve explanations and possible rejection from people, not that I didn't receive rejection anyway, but this was just another reason to suffer rejection. I had to mourn the fact that donating blood would no longer be a possibility. Yes, I am aware that men who have sex with men are not supposed to donate blood, but in my opinion that is an archaic rule that is a remnant of a homophobic society. I believe that as long as I know my status my blood is no more dangerous than anyone else's. It's all about being cautious. I give blood regularly and enjoy doing so, and this loss was hard for me. Also, who knows what the long term effects of HIV meds are? I know that the side effects are much less than even 5 years ago, but since new drugs are being developed constantly appropriate studies testing the effects of users 20 to 30 years down the line have not even been conducted.

All these things went through my mind and I was seriously overwhelmed. I spent the remainder of that day heavily intoxicated on a plethora of clear intoxicants, and surrounded by those who loved me. I have an amazing group of friends that have been by my side through so much of my life. I know that without their unwavering support and love my life would probably be in shambles.

As the day wore on the tears stopped. I was just too emotionally exhausted to cry anymore, to care anymore. I had used up my emotional allotment for the day it seemed.

Luke and Nelson swept me away to Nelson's house and we were gonna have a slumber party. I knew that it would be a little while until I could handle being alone. When you are alone the silence speaks and fills your head with all the fears that hide in the noise of life. I could not let these fears awaken, and keeping busy and preoccupied was essential. Once at Nelson's I forced Luke and Nelson to watch my favorite movie, Bachelorette. It is this amazing dark comedy about how life never manages to reach your expectations. It also star Kirsten Dunst, and I'm pretty much ridiculously obsessed with her. I have made it my mission to expose everyone I know to this film and so far no one has been disappointed. Bachelorette coupled with the alcohol and the company of my friends seemed to sooth me. 

My best friend Jaime (I am not changing her name because she is too large a part of my life to make anonymous and I hope that she isn't going to mind) drove all the way to Philly to comfort me. There are very few moments when all you crave in this world is the voice and closeness of your best friend, but ladies and gents this was one of those moments. I can be very demanding when I want to be and I'm pretty sure I would have thrown a hissy fit if she had not come. She picked me up from Nelson's house and drove me home. We stopped at Moe's on the way home (for the record Moe's blows huge chunks when compared to Chipotle). We had planned on splitting a box of wine when we got back to my house, but I think we were both too exhausted to even manage a glass. She spent the night next to me in my bed, which meant a lot because I was still profusely sweating all night long, however, Ellen did give me a Z-Pak and I was hoping it would start to get these flu-like symptoms under control. 

I went to sleep that night in a daze. I had no idea what the next few weeks would bring and I was too overwhelmed to formulate a plan or care. I made it through D day and I would make it through the next few weeks and months. I didn't know when life would feel normal again, but I knew that it would eventually, even if I had to carve out a "new normal" for myself.

Baby Penises

Does size matter? It is an age old question that we will all debate until we are blue in the face, and the truth is yes. Size does matter, but it differs to everyone. Some like a longer penis, others like a thicker penis, and I'm sure that there are individuals out there that even enjoy the occasional baby penis and the mythical chode (if you do not know what a chode is please Google it, stay away from images).

People often assume that because I am a lofty six foot three and a half inches that my dick is also massive, this is unfortunately not true. Last time I checked with my trusty ruler I measured somewhere between 6.5 and 7 inches, depending on how turned on I am. This is well above the world average, thank you Asians, and above even the United States average. So all things considered, I'm ok with this.

During my 2 year plus excursion with men thus far I have seen a lot of penises in many different colors, shapes, and sizes. I have been with guys about my size, close to my size, drastically larger and smaller than I am, and I've learned not to judge. I have even come to appreciate the baby penis from time to time. There was a point in my homosexual sex life where normal penises hurt, and I had to adjust. I found this Filipino with a slammin' body and a teeny tiny penis, like hard it could not have been more than 5 inches. At the time this more than satisfied my needs, and the body was like a jack hammer. I think this was to make up for his lack of length and girth, so he needed to pound the crap out of things to prove that he was a virile man. I didn't mind I like sex to be a little rough, but this guy was definitely trying to prove stuff.

We hooked up for the first time in the winter of 2012 and then I started dating my ex, so it never went any further. During 2013 we would periodically hit each other up, but the timing was never quite right. Then in January of 2014 we were both in a place where casual sex made sense and we started hooking up for a few months. Sex tended to last about fifteen to twenty minutes and became rather monotonous. Flippy wasn't a huge fan of foreplay so the entire interaction only lasted about thirty to forty-five minutes, which was less then my trip there and back. Some may not think that this venture was worth it, but my booty was very tight for a while and it was really all I could handle. As they say, beggars can't be choosers, plus his body was slammin', just want to reiterate that. A good body can go a long way.

He went to California to visit his sister after tax season, he was an accountant, and I never heard from him again. Maybe he found something better or maybe he died. I have no idea, and really I think it is for the best. I've moved on to bigger and better things ;)

Then there are size queens that will only have sex with gigantic penises, we are talking like 8 plus. I would assume this would be a difficult feat to accomplish because eventually you have to run out of large penises. I just don't understand writing someone off because they have a less than huge penis. I mean what if they eat a really good ass (or vagina for you ladies), suck a good dick, or make excellent pancakes?

Then there are the people that say that it's not about the size, but how they use it. I agree with this argument to a certain extent because sex is more than just cramming a huge dick into an orafice. If this were the case then we would all just use dildo's. There is something to how good a lover is in the bedroom. The chemistry between two people, and how your bodies interact with each other. I mean if a guy had an 8 inch dick, but drooled all over your face, aimlessly thrusted into you, and grunted like an old sow would you really want to fornicate with him?

Essentially, size matters to everyone to a certain extent, but there are more factors involved. My advice, try them all. Don't box yourself in because you think you like something. Go out and taste all the penises of the rainbow!

The Daily Grind(r)

It is difficult to talk about the gay community today without discussing the app Grindr. Most gay, bisexual, closeted, and curious men are on it because it provides easy access to sex and casual interaction. Not that casual situations are all it can be used for, but I would bet that casual encounters are it's main purpose.

Grindr has played a huge roll in my gay life, and I can not really tell my story without it. Since, I did not come out until I was 25 I did not have any gay friends and had no idea how to go about meeting men. My introduction to Grindr happened on accident and without much thought. I was up one night watching One Girl Five Gays on LOGO (the "gay" channel). One Girl Five Gays is a panel show where people send in questions about love and sex. The one girl, the moderator, asks these questions to the five gay men on the panel. The show is wildly entertaining and the panel picks from a pool of about twenty guys so you see the same ones over and over again, so you get to know them a litte. Some are annoying as hell, but others are interesting.

Anyway, one of the panelists mentioned an app called grindr that he said he saw his neighbor on. This was the opportunity that I needed. This app would give me easy access to other gay/questioning/bisexual men with little effort. I quickly downloaded this app and began grinding. At first I was anxious all the time because I grew up in a very conservative household and men randomly sending me pictures of their penises really freaked me out. Plus the plethora of hung daddies looking to breed a tight hole is enough to petrify anyone. Basically Grindr lines up all these guys in their geographical distance from you. It enables you to create a very small, simple profile with a picture (not nude), height, weight, age, several other criteria, and a blip about yourself.

                                              My current Grindr Profile, taken from Grindr

There are men of all shapes, colors, and sizes looking for anything from chat to marriage to orgies. Basically, if you look hard enough you can find anything. At this point I knew absolutely nothing about gay life and sex except for what I had seen on the media and on gay porn. Interacting with other men turned out to be easier than I thought and I tended to attract men who weren't as sexually driven. At some point sex would be something I was looking for, but in the beginning I was still quite innocent and I had no idea what anal sex entailed.

Some people go on Grindr only when they are looking for a hookup, and there are people that use Grindr like text messaging. Going on it regularly throughout the day to chat and make friends with people. I even met my only boyfriend to date on Grindr. The experince was meant to be just a hookup and it evolved into much, much more. There is substance on Grindr, you just have to see past the horny ego's at times to see it.

Grindr is a slot machine of possibilities and you never know what you will come across. The variety and spontaneity of it all leaves the door open to many experiences. Like I said previously you can find anything you want on Grindr. There is even this guy that lives a few towns over that leaves his apartment open, you walk into his bedroom, fuck him and leave. I mean if you can find that readily just imagine what is lurking behind false pretenses.

The many complications with LUBE

So I am gonna jump out of order and discuss something that still continues to confuse me, lube. This probably seems like an odd thing to confuse someone, but there are vastly different kinds of lube that can be used for different purposes. This morning, as I was laying in bed, I was contemplating whether I should get up and go shower, or be a little late for work and masturbate and then shower. My horniness won and masturbation and then showering won. I grabbed my trusty laptop, located an interesting pornographic movie and began touching my piece.

I am not a big fan of dry masturbation and used to use Vaseline when I was younger. I actually didn't discover the joys of lube until a few years ago, but using lube while masturbating changed my life. Currently, I have two types of lube. I have lube for anal sex and lube for masturbating. I am not a big fan of water based lubes because they tend to have a sticky consistency.

Straight people have an easy time with lubes. All you have to do is watch those silly KY commercials where they talk about how pleasurable lube is for his and her pleasure. Straight people don't have to investigate lube or go into sex shops to purchase it because lube isn't really necessary for vaginal intercourse because the vagina is pretty lubricating all on it's own. For vaginal intercourse any average Joe can just walk into their local CVS or super market and grab any old bottle of lube sitting on the shelf. An asshole does not provide the same lubrication as a vagina, so lube is generally necessary, especially if it's been awhile or the dick is especially large. I mean I have had anal sex using just saliva but that's generally not an easy task.

I remember the first time I ever really bought lube for anal intercourse. I googled it, and read the reviews. It was very helpful, but I still feel overwhelmed when i walk into a porn shop and see the shelves upon shelves of lube. There's water-based, oil-based, and silicone-based, and they all serve different purposes. Oil and silicone based lubes will temporarily or permanently stain your sheets, and silicone lube will wear away at condoms so you have to be careful, but the right lube can and will make all the difference.

I prefer a silicone-based lube for most of my intimate liaisons, but I recently bought my favorite lube for anal sex in a water based formula. I have yet to use it because well I'm not that big of a slut and the one person I'm currently fucking is having performance issues. My one friend recently impressed upon me the dangers of using silicone-based lube with condoms, and I recently caved. This warning is actually on silicone lube bottles if you took the time to read the fine print, but when you are in the throws of passion who is gonna take the time to do that. Silicone-based lube can also cause craters to form in your toys if your toys happen to also be made of silicone. Who would have thought.

My favorite lube for anal sex is Pjur Backdoor Anal Glide with Jojoba extract for added pleasure. The first time I used it my whole body tingled while being penetrated. It was quite amazing. It is to this day the only product that I have left a review for on Amazon.com. I dare you to guess which one is mine.

 (Photo courtesy of blowoutcards.com)

Do not fear everyone I still use my silicone-based lube for toys and my self-pleasuring sessions because I love it. It never dries out, it makes everything slicker than a slip-n-slide in August, and it is odorless and tasteless (for those of you that like to suck on a lubed up penis). Oil-based lube is essentially a throwaway. I have yet to meet someone who enjoys the messiest lube on the market. When you use oil-based lube everyone can tell that you've had sex by looking at your sheets. I tend to want my sexual exploits to be mostly my little secret. Well, I hope that you found this little tutorial on lube informative, and if you have any questions feel free to comment and I will do my best to have or find out the answers.

Limbo

Long before I was fornicating and blowing men on a weekly basis there was a point in my life when I was in a commited, long term relationship with a woman, believe it or not. She was a breathtaking vision that I saw the first day of college on my way to our floor orientation and from that moment I fell head over heels in love with her. A part of me is and will always be in love with her, but that is a completely different post.

(This is most likely the straightest I have ever looked.)

Our relationship lasted for several years and taught me a lot about myself inside and outside of relationships. However, at some point, as do most things in life, our relationship ended and I was left on a precipice. I had always known that I was bisexual, correction, I had always known that I was not straight.

I had several boy on boy experiences from the ages of 9 to 15, but it had been a while since I had any sort of sexual contact with a male, and the prospect of such really freaked me out. I mean I wasn't looking to hook up with twelve year olds who get excited when the wind blows against their wieners. I was going to hook up with men who expected things like blows jobs and penetrative anal sex. The idea of engaging in either of those made me very uncomfortable at the time.

For almost a year after my ex girlfriend and I broke up I did not hook up with anyone, minus a few PG makeout sessions. My heart was very wounded and I needed time to heal and figure out what I wanted from life, especially romantically/sexually. It was the weirdest sensation ever. My libido just kind of died for a while. I had no urge to fornicate, masturbate, or any other ate. It was not until my birthday party in February of 2012 that I drunkenly and savagely made out with my friend's best friend that my thirst for sex was reawakened.

It was at this moment that I had this decision to make. I could either continue to live in this heterosexual world that was not my true self or I could bite the bullet and dive into the homosexual world and explore a part of myself that had been dormant for almost a decade. I decided to go for it, and plunge head first down a rabbit hole, that I was not entirely prepared for the world on the other side. There are still days that I wake up thinking what the hell have I gotten myself into, but for the most part I am happy living the life that I know I was meant to live.

What exactly is a baby gay?

I have been a member of the gay community for a little over two years now, and the entire community is still a bitch to navigate. I feel like I am still out of my depth and over my head. Sure I have confidence now in realizing what guys want from me and what this looks like, but the past two years have and continue to be very anxiety producing. This period of feeling lost and overwhelmed is what I have coined being a "baby gay."

I am not entirely certain that I coined this term, but I googled it and nothing else came up, so I am taking some of the credit (please ignore urban dictionary).

I do not mean to say that a baby gay is a young gay, but more an inexperienced one. Someone who has recently come out of the proverbial closet. I mean I was recently sleeping with a 20 year old who has been messing around with guys since he was 16, so technically I am more of a baby gay than he is.

When I first decided to start dating men I was overwhelmed and did not have anyone to lean on or ask for advice. I grew up in a very conservative Christian household where being gay was a one way ticket to hell, and it wasn't a first class ticket either. In the beginning things were confusing, scary, and I was a little naïve, ok a lot naive. I had no idea how "gay" sex was performed or how to prepare my body, and I was definitely under-informed about the dangers of having unprotected sex.

I wanted to start this blog to help out other baby gays that are "lost in translation," help curious straight people understand this complex world, and give established gays some laughs along the way. The first two years of my gay life have been a roller coaster of emotion and I have learned so much about myself and the world along the way that I feel compelled to share some of my most priceless moments. I hope that you all enjoy my adventures as a baby gay.