The Bitch in me...

So I wrote an email to a client this morning. When my boss - who reads all my out-going mail to ensure I don't cause international collapse - read it, he laughed. He wondered how it was that I hadn't been arrested or sued or murdered or given an award for being the most bitchy, snarky, biting letter writer of all time. He opted - wisely - to rewrite my email, so that the essence was still there, but the venom, bile, and hatred was not.

This has given me pause for thought. That and the fact that the general consensus of my last blog was that it was... well ... very mundane! Me? Mundane! I rebel at the thought! But I've been working so hard, mundane seems all I'm capable of after hours. Which seem to get longer as the weeks get shorter and the deadlines closer. Hell even my fencing instructor (a lovely Russian woman, made even more lovely with a sharp metal sword in her iron-like fist [who is I'm sure ex-KGB hiding out here but with a sword who's going to question her right?]) said:

"Your ankle! Its too looze. Titten up, ste'ab mi wid sord. Don't... neargh!" (At that word she sort of did a swan dive, if the swan was epileptic, having a fit, and had only one wing (and was possibly giving birth to an emu) attempting to emulate what I'd just done). Subsequent to me nearly breaking my legs as I tried to lunge with straight tight angles (not looze ones) I discovered Russian doesn't seem to differentiate ankles from wrists. Lunging with tight wrists makes sense. Ankles not so much. So even my instruktor feels I'm a bit limp after hours. I think... although she may just feel that I am a neargher and destined to impale myself upon my male opponents sword. Oh how I love the English language when coupled with my sexual preferences! Wasn't that so nicely set up? Well I thought so.

So the KGB and my readers feel I'm a bit limp in the blog... (snigger). Luckily my boyfriend doesn't think the same (cough, cough). Actually I had a wonderful experience with him just this evening. He popped around en route to some function or other and fell asleep on my lap - ah now before anyone thinks it: yes it's an expansive lap and several moderate sized individuals could in fact fall asleep on it, and possibly open a small pub with outside cafe and parking there. Anyway, so Apollo falls asleep on my lap and I feel, physically feel, him go limp. And no I was not holding his dick in my hand/mouth/other body part, I mean he relaxed. He let go and just dozed off. I felt very... humbled by it. Another human trusts me enough to fall asleep in my lap.

But I digress. OK so fine. This blog is in actual fact an attempt to regain popularity with the masses as a foul, disgusting journey into the pit of homosexual debauchery. But well perhaps within that dark den of degeneracy there are occasional moments where the leather clad sex warriors stop licking, sucking, and spanking one another, and just put the kettle on for a cupper whilst they wait for the lube to drain. I don't know. To be honest now that Apollo is insinuating himself into my everyday world, those huge concerns that used to plague me are ebbing a little. My concerns now are: did I put on that expensive scent he bought me? Are my teeth straight? How accessible is my fly...

In all honesty financially I'm a little worried. Things are all ticky boo elsewhere. Just there - AS USUAL. Apart from that I'm actually getting to a place where I can honestly say I am thoroughly enjoying this planet and all it has to offer. I want to experience more but I'm happy where I am right now. Is that such a bad thing? I'm learning to just live in the moment. Who knew I needed someone else to be there with me to find a place where I'm happy with me?

And so I look back to those various couples I've questioned, those romantic 'dullards' and I realize I'm the one who's a dullard. Achieving a place of existence without fret, without personal introspection to the Nth degree is in fact a great place. So long as there is still some form of personal accounting and questioning because I think that's always important. Apollo has got me to relax about who I am, to 'let out the crazy' one bit at a time, and realize - hey wanting to sleep with a Stormtrooper isn't so crazy...

I don't want to say it, but this is an open blog: What happens if Apollo and I break up? Will all this 'in the moment' shit shrivel and die? Will those letters I write get worse? Will I tear down the walls of nicety and simply sublimate myself into the inner darkness which boils inside me? Should I become like Batman, only to be called Fatman, and beat up bad guys with snarky, biting comments? (Sadly the post was taken by Barry Ronge some years ago, and in girth and pure venom I don't even come close.)

I don't know, and I don't want to know. I'm a 'in the moment' gay guy, at the moment. I won't piss on my own parade... unless the parade likes it, and they're hot, sexy, deviants in leather with a penchant for a quick cupper every once in a while...

Boyfriends, friends, boys, and Me

It's been a few days since my last post. And to be honest I'm not sure what exactly I wanted to say. Although it must be something, otherwise why am I here right? It could be one of a few things, so I'll work through them and see what takes my fancy.

Boyfriend - going well, I think. I know he's a little put out that I work so many hours, and so often on weekends. It's something that we'll either have to deal with, or something that will ultimately break the relationship. I can't and won't reduce my hours, and at the same time I can't expect him to be in a relationship with a 'forever never here' partner. For now things are going OK. Lets wait and see. I remain optimistic. Otherwise I think we're great. Really enjoy spending time with him, and being around him, and feel that he feels the same way.

Oh and I tried weed with him for the first time in my life the other day. I have to say: WHAT A LET DOWN. After years and years of living in Durban and hearing how most of the population smokes it at least infrequently and how great it is, all I found was that it made me horny ( luckily boyfriend was around) and then incredibly lethargic. I smoked some the other morning, and found that I could sing more freely in the car ( throat didn't hurt as much) but other than that... nothing. Now apparently the particular type he uses is called Cob and is supposed to be mild.

OK, so that's boyfriend, and drugs. What else?

Fencing? Oh Fencing is fun. I do find though that I don't like th idea of being alone. I prefer being part of a team. I find working solo a bit too... well a bit too solo. I like collaborating with others. Maybe it's so that I can shift the blame? I don't think so though. I like the team aspect, the working together, the thinking up of ideas together, the adaption of plans and so forth. So I don't think it's that. So I'm stopping after next week.

But fear not, because now that Leon is living with me up in JHB, we go to the gym regular...ishly. Running, jogging, stepping, cycling... it goes on and on. So health is getting better I think. Also the blood-pressure pills seem to be working a treat. Heart much more stable. In a couple weeks time I have to go back for the doctor to check on how things are going. I suspect they are going well.

Work? Work is nuts. I'm running with so many projects all at once I don't know if I'm coming or going. So I've decided to work on one project at a time. Even if it's all at the SAME time. Writing musicals, kids shows, documentaries, and corporates. Work has never been so good. It really feels like I'm moving in the right direction career wise.

Family? Well all good as far as I know. We all have our own lives to lead, and we're all doing it furiously.

Gosh, this is boring. I'm bored. A recap of my past couple of weeks. Sorry to have wasted your time. Although sometimes it's good to put things down, keep a check on things, and make an account of your existence. How's yours going?

Some cats like fish... some cats don't.

So I asked Apollo - Boyfriends name for blog purposes - why was it that he preferred to ... oh wait:

WARNING SEXUAL REFERENCES AND QUESTIONS

Now that that is out of the way, so I asked him why he liked to put his penis in a bottom and not into a vagina, (there that wasn't so bad was it?) and he had no answer. As I suspect most of you don't. Why do you find the shape of someones knees appealing? Or the fall of their breasts? The bridge of the nose turns you on? Maybe it's the smell? Perhaps it's the sound they make when they bend over. I don't know. What I do know is this: The answer to that question will, in my humble opinion, solve the entire worlds problems.

It will. I swear. And yes this blog is now a rambling where I prove my theory to begin with and then disprove it to myself later in a self indulgent exploration of my inner mess. Deal with it. Or don't. Whatever. OK so back to penis and bottom references.

Picture it: Howick 1994. A young 13 year old boy sees another boy and just wants to be accepted by him...no. We need to go back further. Durban 1845. An ox wagon slowly... wait too far. Try this: Camperdown 1987, a really young 6 year old sees a blonde haired boy, 8 years old. For some reason he really, really, wants to be liked by this blonde boy. The boy stands out. All that memory preserves is of images of his smile, his angular face, his bright blonde hair, and a desire to make him smile and approve of me.

Oh, shit. We can roll back even earlier to 1986. But I'm not sure that's relevant. Forgive me. I continue: One could argue that it is the inherent impulse of all humans to want to be given approval and acceptance by their peers. What makes some though stand out as being the 'main okes'? What is is that made me so desperate to impress this blonde haired fellow? Once he allowed me to play Rounders on his side. I was so proud. Knowing me I probably dropped the ball at a crucial moment. Anyway. After him came my best friend. That was later in 1991.

I wanted him to like me. I liked him. But with him, I wanted to see his penis. I still distinctly remember trying to get him naked by going for walks down to a local dam and getting so covered in mud that taking clothes off seemed normal. I got him down to his briefs once, but he wouldn't go further. That was 1992. After that I was obsessed with seeing penises. Anyones, but his in particular. In 1994 my focus was added to by the inclusion of a few more friends. Of my bunch of friends though, only some of them I harboured secret desires. Through the closeness of our friendships though, I can speak with alacrity here as none of this should come as a surprise to them.

Why though of my friends did I want to get naked with some, not with others? And why did I want to get naked with them in the first place? I discovered masturbation quite by chance in the bath one day. Then, like all boys, I couldn't get enough of it. But I wanted to do it with specific others. Why those others? What set them apart? Now I look at my relationship with my boyfriend. What is it that will turn this relationship into something I can say: I love you?

He has things that really attract me to him. I want to, and do...hehehehe... get naked with him. He has some of things that I am attracted to, he has some things I'm not attracted to. When he is near my I just want to hold him and be held by him. When he's away, I get pangs to be near him, but I sometimes get moments when I just want to be alone. Is this normal? If I understood what makes me like one thing, and not another I would be solved. I could quantify (and yes again I realize how this sounds, android alert) points and then make a rational decision.

If all humans understood the underlying wants, needs, desires we would be a much better place wouldn't we? So the boyfriend did actually have an answer. I lied. However his answer was at once solved my question and frustrated me even more: Some cats like tuna, and some don't. Some enjoy dry food, others don't. This is frustrating because it means on some level the wiring in our brains fix upon certain things before we are able to do anything about it.

And these become ingrained. Sure some can be changed but others seem locked down. If some cats don't eat tuna, it can't be because once their older brother hit them with a wet fish, and so psychologically they can't go near fish. It just means the poor bugger got it into his head that he just don't like fish. So I'm fucked. Thankfully. Sorry.. cough cough (did I mention Apollo and I really enjoy sex with one another? Eight times in one weekend, that's all I'm saying) .

I am stuck in a proverbial: BECAUSE IT SAYS SO ON THE BOX YOU DICK, DEAL WITH IT situation. That means I have to rely on those stupid emotional things. But they can get confused so easily. I have to hold back what my tongue says out of fear that it's just an emotional thing based on hormones pumping through my system. Isn't that all rather clumsy and chaotic? I mean how are we as humans supposed to function as a society if we're all holding back our true inner 'emotionals' for fear that our own hormones are simply trying to get themselves reproduced as offspring for the next generation? It's all a bit sloppy if you ask me.

So have you asked yourself recently: Why do you like someone? Or why do you like the bottom or the knee or the elbow, or in my case the side occipital orbit? (Flat piece above the eye, leading from the eyebrow to the ear)? I'm afraid the answer is simple: Because you do. Crap. So my whole blog is that when it comes to some things we just have to trust that 'we do because we are'. God we're doomed as a species. Start again I say!

The Boyfriend blog...

So I have a boyfriend. Gosh. Those of you who've followed my blogs may note with some joy (I would hope) that this is an amazing place for me to be in. I've moved from a socio-path wannabe to someone who has taken arguably the first step into a deeper relationship then mere friendship. So what should I say in this blog? Hoorah! It's happened and now my blog is over? Me thinkest not, and I should hope (lots of hope in this blog eh?) that you dear reader would agree.

The other day whilst having a great Christmas lunch with some friends one of them commented how he felt sorry that I wrote my blog. Not because I wrote so badly mind you, but because I seemed so confused and lost in the world. I question/ed everything. I seem to be uncertain of anything and always frantically, and enthusiastically trying to answer a very diverse range of topics that all center around my life. He went on to say that his life was sorted. He'd either answered or grown bored of trying to answer the major questions in his universe and was content. He felt sorry for me, and I felt sorry for him.

Yes his life is sorted in that very human way: Wife, house, car, dogs, and kids on the way. He has reached his career goal, and now is just saving up to finish off his life in comfort. I know I'm over-simplifying his world, and that I'm sure raising kids is perhaps the greatest science experiment of them all, but surely that can't just be it? I mean to reproduce is - and with India's population as an example - painfully easy. To raise good, decent kids, is tricky but with enough electro-shock therapy , do-able. But to stop thinking about life's little mysteries and why the sky is blue (don't care so don't share) is to me to give up on potentially finding more wonder in the universe.

I'm not religious by any stretch, but the more I learn about how bizarre and wonderful the human brain is, the more I want to experience. I don't want to be stuck in a reproductive dead-end (if you'll excuse the oxymoron). Once kids arrive the time for wonder about the simple things in life (and the simpler they are the more complex the answers it seems) ends, and the time of screaming and laughing and growing begins. Does one have time to think about why a certain perfume makes us feel horney whilst another leaves us thinking of mothers day?

Or perhaps I spend my timing thinking about these things to avoid thinking about other things? Is me, thinking about my thoughts, a waste in it's own right? I think I think there for I am I think? Why is my friend so sure that what he thinks is fine, whilst I challenge what I think all the time? Is he so happy with who he is and his place in the world that he doesn't need to think about it? Am I so unhappy in my place that I want to change it so much I have to constantly think about ways of doing that?

My answer to that is no. The other day I was sitting in a burger place eating a huge burger with my boyfriend (ha you wondered when I'd get around to actually talking about him). I'm a million miles away from all my close friends, it's raining, it's a Sunday afternoon, and I haven't slept much (I spent the night at his house, in his bed). I'm stiff (sex eight times in 16 hours or so), and the burger and beer is making me feel a little sick. I'm looking at this magnificent plain tree light against another black Jozi sky. And I felt for one brief moment that I was happy. I didn't know what I was feeling for a while. It was completeness. For a brief time the world vanished. I felt his warm hands in mine, and knew that I'd achieved something special.

I was pulled out of it a moment later but to me that must be what my friend feels. His world is complete. But does it last? Or will his world collapse when he's 50 and he runs off to prove that he's still got it? Because he didn't question himself, he just gave up when bliss arrived? The alternative is that bliss arrived because he stopped thinking and just lived it. So is too much thinking a bad thing?

In previous blogs I've written about not allowing oneself to talk oneself out of doing things just because one could. Well I still agree with this statement. But now I need to add to it:

Don't not do something because you think it won't work.

Sometimes you must resist doing anything to let it work.

Gosh what bad English. Even I'm not sure that's what I mean. But it's what I feel. I'm not going to think this one. I'm going to let my Boyfriend be. I'm going to be me. I'm going to go with the flow and see where we end up. I'm not going to blinker myself and deny what's happening, but I'm also not going to think and think and think about what to do and what not to do. I'm going to do what I feel I should do at the time. No holds barred.

I hope this works cause otherwise I'll look like a twit. So here's the thing: Do you do what you do because you think you should do it? Or because you didn't think you should do it, you FELT you should do it? I've never gone with the 'feeling' to do something. This will be a new experience for me...

Just a game...a new level of incompetence

Wow, two blogs in almost as many days. Well the first one was a serious one with serious implications which my wonderful friends have all taken the time to comment on, and comment on beautifully as usual. So now I want to turn to something a little less serious, for all it's seriousnessnessness... ness.

I play a game called Dungeons and Dragons. I've blogged about my frustrations with my players in Durban, and now I'm going to blog about it again, here in Johannesburg. Here is a game that I love playing because it's an interactive story telling exercise, and wonderful couple of hours of pretending to be in another world.

And yet I keep finding myself at odds with people I normally wouldn't be at odds with. In Durban it was players who used the rules to control my game. Up here it's players demanding that I read the rules so that I can control my game. Rules, rules, rules. And why don't I read the rules I hear you ask? Why not just pick up the 1000's of pages of rules and commit them to memory? Well... there are 100's of pages to start with. I've got the core mechanics down, but all the little extra bits...

Why is it that I don't care about the rules in this game, and yet others are so obsessed by them? To me, if something is dramatic then that is great. Forget if rule X says that I must multiply 3.4 by the number of orcs to get some kind of ratio to work out how much gold its got. But it leads me to ponder: Why don't I want to read the rules? The more these poor players demand that I read them, the less inclined I am. The more they complain about me not knowing the rules, the more I refuse to know the rules.

Why? It's got to the point now where things that were leant out in friendship are being returned, money owed repaid, and all ties of friendship seem to be breaking apart. For me this means fairly little. I'm old enough to know who my true friends are, and cynical enough to not care about new ones that don't last because there are always more. It's sad because these particular 'mates' I really felt I could be friends with outside of 'the game'. But that doesn't answer the question as to why this simple little thing - the rules of a make-believe game - can be so important to people.

And more importantly why I am so flatly refusing to learn them. I was trying to think about it this morning, and then again after squash this evening and the only thing I can think of is that I'm afraid that even after I learn all the rules I still won't make a good game master. Perhaps I am using the rules as a defense? I'm not very good because I don't know the rules... not I'm not very good because I'm just not very good. Know your level of incompetence a cameraman once told me.

He feels that everyone has levels of incompetence - the point you reach when you are no longer competent or capable at a given task. Is my level of of incompetence so low with regards to this game that I am ashamed of it? Is my level of incompetence as a story-teller low? Am I a bad storyteller? I cannot believe so, although I was told by someone that I am a better actor than a director or writer... was that a compliment to my acting, or a serious dig at me as a storyteller?

Perhaps I am? Perhaps I am not a very good storyteller, but a better performer? Is this a bad thing? Should this stop me from trying to be a good storyteller? Should I look at my career and move from behind the camera to in front of it? John Candy made a fortune as the fat man in all his films. So perhaps I should. But at what point does one stop trying to reach ones dreams and go in a different direction?

Do I dream of getting an Oscar for playing a mental wheelchair-bound apartheid victim? No, but I do enjoy playing the various roles in dungeons and dragons. Putting on an act. Showing off my many accents, and breathing life into my characters. God is that it? Is that really it? Am I a Quinton Tarantino? A wannabe actor who needs to write his own material in order to get into a film?

I'm not convinced of it as a totality. I want to write my various documentaries and films because I feel they are an amazing subject that deserve to be told and recorded. But perhaps I should look at moving into the other side of the screen. I do enjoy the sound of my own voice, I must admit. I like the way it sounds, how it modulates, and can, at a thought shift and convey a totally 'different' me. It's one of the few things about myself that I can actually say: Fuck, I'm good at that. Hmmm....

This is an interesting place I find myself in. Secretly I get a rush out of people being entertained by me. I think I've even blogged about it before, but perhaps that is really where I want to be? Or is it simply an easier route? I think it is immeasurably easier to act than to write/direct/edit a film. Am I just trying to bow out? Again I don't think so. Have I been using my D&D groups all these years as captive audiences to my performance? No wonder they - most of them - got tired and frustrated. The Actor does not need to know the rules! The Actor must simply Act. Everyone else must just watch. That may be painting too heavy a portrait of my game, but I think it paints a fairly complete one.

So now that I need to question my career and start to look at moving outside of my world, I ask you reader - are you following your true calling or are you simply playing to a different captive audience? Begs a thought doesn't it?

Relationships...and other things

What is it that pulls two people together? And what is it that pulls them apart? When I think of the millions of people who are married (happily or otherwise) I wonder how they did it? How did they find people they could be compatible with? When I look at people I am attracted to - physically - I actually don't want the mind. I want that person for sex. I want to touch their body, rub up against it, and be fucked by it. Afterwards I want them to go home. I don't want them to sms me a thousand times, I don't want long phone conversations about nothing. I just want sex.

Then when I look at people I'd want to live with, to share my life with there is no single person I've met thus far that I would say: Forever till the day I die. Am I simply too self centered? Too specific in what I want? I know the word before I even try to spell it - narcissistic. I want myself. Except thin. I want someone who is funny, who reads Terry Pratchett, who loves Jean-Luc, thinks the last three star wars films were crap, finds it amusing to talk in funny accents... who is British by pretense and upbringing not by nationality. I want me.

Except why do I have such low self worth? It's getting better and better as time progresses, I think I'm learning not to care too much about things and how people see me. I think also that every time I take a knock to my ego, my temper flares. And I feel stupid, so terribly stupid at the same time. So why do I want me? And is it so bizarre that this is the case?

I don't know. When I look at my wonderful friends, each one of them possess some aspect that I want and take joy in and have fun with. Some are adventurous, some are comical, some are serious, others are fools. Some are creative geniuses, others are amazed and awed by simple things. If I could take each aspect from them, and build a human from it, that's the person I would want to spend the rest of my life with.

Does this make me a terrible person? So self absorbed that I can't look beyond myself? Am I so arrogant that I am perfect that I think of others as unworthy? I don't think so. I don't know. I don't want someone who compliments me. Someone who is quiet, reliable, hard-working, clever, who'll laugh at my jokes. I want someone who will stand up for themselves, argue, fight, laugh because it's funny, and then make a counter joke. I want an equal in design, not status.

Do I want a fat person? Or a large person as some people so kindly call me? I don't care. I'll have sex with the pretty boys, but will have a life partner with the One. So how is it that others don't seem to have this self desire? Surely what others strive for is what they want in their partners? I don't want a partner who is not creatively wild. I don't want a partner who doesn't obsess over their job. I don't want a partner who doesn't 'get' Monty P, or laugh at a Terry Pratchett. I'm not saying I want a partner who is in the film industry etc. Although that would be nice.

It would make things easy. And perhaps there is my true issue? Am I looking for the easy way out instead of the hard, making it work, route? Is it better to find it difficult to love someone than to find someone who is easy to love?

I think this is an interesting thought experiment for everyone to do. Get your pencils ready:

What would happen if I met myself?

Well I'd look him up and down and knock him off as some kind of gay creative who doesn't work out at all. Probably lazy. Then when he starts to speak I'd get a little buzz. Surely there are not that many people who know so much about so many irrelevant things? How could anyone be so passionate about some woman in the boer war? And now he's making stupid sarcastic jokes which are fairly amusing. But he's stubborn. God how stubborn. And he manipulates the crowds. Gets them thinking about other things whilst he makes decisions that benefit himself first... Hmmm... we shall fight over that. What is he doing now? Drawing? Writing? Making something. We could do that together... since we're both fairly good at it.

Although I might clash with myself in terms of leadership, proved that we both had enough savvy to talk about it - which I think we would - it could be shared. A united leadership is a strong leadership. What we couldn't do! Create, write, make, forge...

But I see my friends all trying to marry not themselves, but people who need something from them. Need support, need protection, need money, need to dominate. When I think about all the married relationships I know of, not one of them was equal. My grandparents used to have a power struggle with my grandfather always bowing down. My parents had the same problem, except my father refused to bow down to my grandmother (odd that isn't it, and she could never understand why).

Is that truly what love is then? The finding of someone whom you can 'use' to fill your need? A need to be relied upon? A need to go around helping? Why do people not marry because of a common desire? A common objective?

Again therein lies perhaps my downfall - why a common objective? Why can't people just marry because they want to? Why must there be some useful product at the end? Why must I find someone who will help me and I can help with in creating a painting or writing a play? Why should I not just be happy with someone who likes it when I write, will offer a bit of advice from a distance, but is busy clipping the begonia's?

My therapist once asked me why I am always so busy. At the time we decided it was because I was using as an ego boost, as a way of avoiding things that needed to be dealt with. I think he was right at that time, and I still think I do to a large degree do that, but as my patient boss keeps pointing out, I have to learn to not take on so much. Which I am doing thanks to him. But I still like to do things. A lazy Sunday with nothing to do? I don't really remember ever having one. I'm always doing something because I enjoy it.

Why write this blog? Because I enjoy it. And also it opens up my thoughts, gives me pause for thought as it were. And maybe it might help someone one day? Who knows.

So am I just a selfish, self absorbed arsehole who really just deserves to wank in a corner until I'm dead? Or am I simply too complex a person to manage to find the need for someone else in my world and so place such high demands on that someone that they can't exist? Or am I simply afraid of a relationship, and so use high standards? I don't know. If this was a film I'd have to learn to just live and let things flow, to stop thinking about them, and just go... but I know how those things are written, and I also know that I can't do that. It's not who I am.

Oh well reader, it is an interesting question I feel. One that I shall ponder for some time to come.

Ps. I just want to thank all of you wonderful people for putting up with all this crap over the last year. You have no idea how much it really has helped me. I really mean it. Thanks guys.

Can I please find a sexual partner who:

So far I have had a few sexual partners who:

Are charming, good looking, and on first dates end up naked in my bed. Who smell nice, have beautiful bodies, talk far less than I do, and who don't mind me worshiping their flesh. Who are timid and shy but who've I've forced into making the first move because I'm too damned self depreciating. Who are polite, don't drink nearly as much coffee (milk) as I do. Who are by nature either naturally fit or who volunteer to go to a gym (regularly). Who take my clothes off first, and then let me take their clothes of, slowly, and with romantic intent (of a half starved sexual maniac). Who, on the face of it, are really nice people, and who, when you dig a bit deeper are normal human beings. Who are not nearly as bizarre, odd, weird, nerdish, geekish, or British as I am.

In short I have as yet to sleep with anyone that I have not found totally attractive. Sadly I have as yet to sleep with anyone... at all if one goes by the traditional notions of sexual activity: Foreplay, rigorous intercourse, and then climatic moaning, followed by an awkward moment of what to do with the resultant juices. I've had everything except the last two.

Now I have a growing fear that I may never personally experience them. I'm not sure. I've just spent the last hour rubbing, sucking, pulling, and dare I say it, licking a relative stranger. And yet I'm comfortable with this. I however do not seem to be able to reach a climax. Although my partners before this one were never really interested in me achieving that, this one (tonight) was. OK, granted I'd released earlier in the day, and I realize that I may not have the stamina I once had, but it was a non-event tonight. Not that he achieved anything else either, he was in a rush. Supposidly coming back next weekend.

But he's given me a list of things that need to be done:

1 - I need to sleep more. I thought 7 - 8 hours a night was good. Apparently I may need deeper sleep. I shall look into not consuming coffee 4 hours before bedtime. But what does that leave me with? Horlicks?

2 - I need to shave. Now shaving has always been a sore point for me. Literally and figuratively. I don't like doing it because it takes up a lot of time, and to be honest I've never been able to tell if I look better with, or without a beard. It is a scraggly thing reminiscent of a fat fifty year old lesbians bush I will admit but I think it gives me a certain... maturity. And yes I hear Professor Mature screaming here. OK, so I'll shave. It'll grow back.

3 - I need a bedside lamp. This one I whole-heartedly agree with. The light in my room is insufferably half a meter too far for me to reach from my bed, especially when I have a mouth attached to my penis. So a lamp it is.

4 - I need to eat healthy food. Well I don't eat unhealthy food - as in poisonous, rotten, or contaminated, that should count? Towards the calories it would seem. OK, so just what is healthy? And more importantly can I simply put healthy into the microwave for 3 minutes and then eat it? If not, it's a waste of my time.

5 - I need to go to gym. I know I do. But it's going to eat into my time. Stop fucking grinning, I can see it from here.

Time. OK, I get it. No time for shaving, eating healthy, exercise, and orgasming. So what is so important about the time I do have? What is so important that I want to spend all my time on stuff that has none of the above benefits?

Computer games. I log onto the net the moment I get home. I look at porn sometimes. But mostly I play games. It's social - kinda. I play with some people whom I know where they live in the world, I know their online names, and sometimes their real names. I know that I have to heal them, and that each night we need to run into a dungeon to find levers to pull to open doors to kill monsters to get the treasure to buy armour and stuff to go into dungeons to find leavers...

I have a headache already. WHY?

Well on the surface it gives me a wonderful sense of minor satisfaction. I walk away to my bed thinking - so tomorrow I can run into a dungeon to pull a level etc. so I can go up a level to run into bigger dungeons to pull bigger levers... WTF is wrong with me?

Surely it makes sense to focus all that energy - about five hours a day - on solving some real world problems? Surely the real game is more important than a fake one that counts for nothing but time wasting? How is this in any way legal? It's worse than drugs or alcohol. At least those impair your thinking. Online gaming is purely voluntary with social peer pressure from across the globe as loud as the speakers that get plugged into the computer.

I know why. It's easier. In the space of a month or two I can become an all powerful, fear me, shit hot Cleric capable of healing all those other all powerful, fear me, shit hot clerics/fighters/thieves/wizards. In a couple of months at the gym I might loose a few centimeters, I may build a little muscle, but the gut, the man-boobs, and the other flabby bits will still be there.

It's going to take years... being a cleric is easy, and when I don't get it right, or we all die in a dungeon I can just log off and go masturbate. My boss would take a dim view of me if every time after a meeting went badly with a client I did the same, I'm sure. "Where's he going?" "Oh... he failed the meeting, the monster won." "Ah...bathroom?" "Yup." Smirks all around and then an avoidance of any substances on the ceiling in the bathroom for a week (as opposed to them touching substances on the fucking ceiling, what crap am I writing here? And why the fuck are you reading it?).

Today is the 1st of November 2009. I shall not see another one, hopefully. I don't want to make one of those: Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life statements. It is a day, it's the first 2nd of November 2009 of my life. I don't make those statements because I very seldom keep them. There have been a few - this year I will get a car. I will have sex before I'm 30... oh shit. I've got 350 odd days left to finish that one off (technically). So what I'm going to say is that I am going to try to shift my focus from time spent on easy and 'cheap' victories, to time spent on some real world issues.

However this does not mean that I abandon all those activities that distract me from the world. Fantasy is part of who I am, and I believe that I need to spend time totally absorbed in another place to actually function in this one. I am not Vulcan - to use a fantastical character as way of describing a real world personality. So I'm going to now take time for myself... in a personal way. That of grooming and personal health.

This leads me to wonder about how others perceive me in terms of personal grooming, and I'm amazed I've had as many sexual encounters as I've had. It also may answer one or two questions regarding how my employees think of me. Curious. I sense another blog. Well there are two now pending, one on racism, and the other now on personal grooming. So watch this space, when I have the time... har har I couldn't resist now could I?

So if I spend all my time avoiding things, am I along in this? Or do you dear reader also avoid and abnegate yourself from time to time? Till next time, love, ejaculation, and joy.