IT'S NOT JUST THE STRINGS THAT ARE BROKEN
Sunday, 12 April 2009
IF ONLY THE PAIN WOULD LEAVE
If only the pain would leave. I know it won’t, not for a long while. Pain is there to remind us of just how foolish we have been. Reconciling logic is simple; it’s far harder to fathom the truth hidden beneath anger, loss and competition. Reliving mistakes and misunderstandings reinforces the hurt well; acceptance that there was an unchosen path provides an indelible, yet avoidable sting to prolong the pain.
In spite of this, pain is relative; one chooses its severity whilst grappling with its impact. However well this is accomplished is for the bearer’s speculation alone. Pain is a process; it will hurt - that’s what pain does - it will unpredictably hurt in ways never before imagined.
Friday, 10 April 2009
I COULDN'T FEEL, SO I TRIED TO TOUCH
The situation with Dom and I remained as odd as ever until the reluctant pragmatist in me became fed up with the uncertainty, ambiguity and a seemingly never ending source of unhappiness. The thinking space provided by wandering in the Valencian Mountains gave me no real option other than to accept it was over. The theory was to make recovery from each other simple by leaving no trace of myself, or us, or our history. No triggers. No memories. Like Joel Barish desperate to bask in the 'Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind', if I can't be with Dom, then he's not going to be left with any part of me. At all.
All souvenirs and mementoes of shared moments stored away. Any images of me or us in any format, gone. All of my music removed leaving no chance of our relationship's soundtrack being heard again. Any electronic devices storing anything related to us now either removed or had their memories wiped. Spotless. And Mindless.
Observing what is now 'his' home I no longer feel welcome within its walls. It's all him, no longer us, nothing of me. I have no right to be there. An unwelcome stranger.
I said my goodbyes to Dom. I said I don't think we'll ever be a part of each other lives again. I don't think we will.
Hallelujah!
Wednesday, 1 April 2009
SLAG-O-METER
DATE / TIME
11.30pm - ish, 31st March 2009 - 1st April 2009
NAME (REAL)
Robert
WEB NAME
No idea - met in The New Penny, Leeds. (I'd just like to say beautiful flowers grow from dirt, shameful though)
PHYSIQUE
38, 5ft 10", cropped brown hair, 8-9 inch thick uncut cock, Great physique, toned, sexy, manly. Lovely face, good beard, nice eyes - couldn't tell you what colour they are though.
PERFORMANCE
Considering how pissed we were, not bad, a good hour of unprotected every kind of action - nothing geeky, freaky or odd - just a right good pissed up shag. Nice.
INTERESTING FACT
Did it all again in the morning, I wanted to stay, he wanted me to stay, but I couldn't. He walked me to the bus stop which began the longest walk of shame home ever - including trains, buses, a motorbike and walking - worth it though, fucking FIT!
WILL SEE AGAIN?
Definitely. Looks like a taller, fitter, bigger cocked Dom, without the hair. Same eyes though. And he has no where near finished doing what he could with that thing between his legs.
IPOD SHUFFLE PREDICTOR
Now, this is a similar idea to one an old friend of mine, Charlie - a part time drag queen called Malice, had. The purpose of this random CD track selector was to predict his day and forecast the future. Where as I am using Ipod Shuffle from my uploaded tunes, Charlie limited his options to the tunes of Cher and his CD player. No wonder he was always trying to turn back time in one form or another, be it regret, excessive moisturiser or surgery. I never understood what meaning 'Walking in Memphis' had, especially when he was in drag. Great idea though.
I kind of like the indulgence of silliness that believing your music forecasts your future, and, depending on your interpretation the ipods perspicacious assessment of mood can be scarily accurate. A bit like horoscopes; it also has moments of utter comedy although it can be dangerous as sometimes I really want to believe.
I guess I need something to fill the void, and music understands.
Random, Shuffle, Move on...
Sunday, 29 March 2009
SLAG-O-METER
DATE / TIME
8.30pm, 29th March 2009
NAME (REAL)
unknown
WEB NAME
Yarkos_
PHYSIQUE
28, 5ft 9", Short blond hair, 6 inch uncut cock - nice shape for sucking deepthroat, very slim.
PERFORMANCE
A not unpleasant fifteen minutes of protected anal, a tight hole that gave up the tension easily once I was in.
INTERESTING FACT
Polish guy, been in the UK for 3 years. Likes Yorkshire accents. Has numerous profiles on numerous web-sites stating varying sexual preferences.
WILL SEE AGAIN?
Would like to enter him again, text me with 5 minutes of leaving to request a repeat, said I was 'hot'.
SLAG-O-METER
DATE / TIME
3am, 28th March 2009
NAME (REAL)
Jamie
WEB NAME
J****-***-B****
PHYSIQUE
37, 5ft 7", Black hair, cut short, 6 inch cut cock, medium build that used to be tighter, numerous elaborate tattoos, firm welcoming ass.
PERFORMANCE
Sparodic, energetic bursts of vigourous reciprocal oral and unprotected anal supplemented with Viagra, Dom's alcohol and cigarettes
INTERESTING FACT
A paranoid schizophrenic as he told me when he arrived. Used to be a pilot.
WILL SEE AGAIN?
Possibly, has good taste in drugs and music venues, also used to go to FF.
SLAG-O-METER 2
DATE / TIME
9.30am, 28th March 2009
NAME (REAL)
Dominic Maddocks (yes, the Dom)
WEB NAME
Uknown
PHYSIQUE
30, 5ft 7", Long blonde curly hair, average 7 inch cut cock, also known as George, has a long flat ass that contains a fleshy underhang beneath each buttock.
PERFORMANCE
Brief. 5 minutes. indistinct episode of my willingly taking his cock.
INTERESTING FACT
It was less than three hours since the previous one had just left. I had to fake interest and try to generate tension where previously it had been relaxed. Breathing in seemed to work well. Deposit from previous guy not yet evacuated so I had to come quickly and mix it with what was there already to avoid suspicion.
WILL SEE AGAIN?
As a mate, and possibly fuck too.
AND SO IT BEGINS...
Dom has made it clear about where I will fit in, in his life. I have fully apologised, explained, promised and listened. It is nice that we get along as friends. But does that really give him the right to call me fat. The abuse really has stopped hasn't it.
I have always had problems with my identity. A fat unhappy child whose sexuality only compounded the difficulties. Childhood neglect coupled with sustained extreme physical abuse isolated me further. When ever I muster the belief in another human I run the risk of reliving the past. When Dom stated that I was no longer 'Buff' as I once was when he met me, it triggered the childhood coping strategy designed to avoid hurt. Approval Seeking. It's a lot better than self destruction.
Anyway, Dom safely off to his night shift, me straight to the internet looking for a shag.
My Gaydar profile is succinctly to the point, it's clear I am up for it, and yet clearer that I can't be bothered entertaining idiots. At almost midnight on a Friday night at what is now Dom's place I was entertaining the idea of seeking approval.
And so it begins, the seeking of approval from random strangers. I have never catalogued my conquests, until now.
SOLID.
ROUND, LIKE A CIRCLE IN A SPIRAL...
It's been a while.
Dom has returned from his week Skiing in Sass Fee. He's a different person to the one that left. I said before he went he would come back either worse than when he went having taken neck loads of drugs and pretended to be someone he's not. Or, and this does seem to be the case, gone off thought about his life and where he wants to take it.
I asked Dom if there was any chance long term of getting back together again, he said possibly, but right now, No.
I went through his phone whilst he was asleep. Big mistake. The numerous 3 o'clock post club telephone calls made from numbers not even important enough to be stored with associated names were gut wrenching. The 'Oh Baby, thinking of you, in the shower, come fuck me hard' text message upon reading had me shaking to the point of vomiting. He is back friends with Lisa, the bigoted racist, homophobic South African. Really shouldn't have looked.
All change.
My property remains at what was our home, Dom is still there, No trace of me is.
The stages of breaking up bring things you should expect, it makes sense to prepare yourself. It is only now that after a lot of soul searching that I want to stay with him. The odd thing is, I never really did before, he was just there. There causing trouble, the shouting a lot, the sleeping around, the being deceitful (or just not telling the whole truth, because that's not deceit I'm told) and not accountable. And I want him back? Thing is he has changed, become more independent, seemingly, only from me.
We get now though, so in some ways it's not worth disrupting. He makes it clear we are friends, then goes and kisses me. This tells me a number of things; he's still playing emotionally abusive games; I need to work out just what it is I am doing; he hasn't really changed.
Wednesday, 18 March 2009
IT SHOULD'VE BEEN ME
An interesting day, one framed by a morning of dense fog optimistically leading to a warmer than the average March afternoon full of cloudless skies and a sun that seemed pleased to see me. With several plans for travel imminent I needed to go into York to transfer funds from a safe account (not able to spend online) to one whereupon badly needed discipline needs to kick itself into action to enable me to still go. It wasn't going to take long, it couldn't I had lots of college work to do.
On my way down Micklegate after checking the over priced stock of Oxfam, I saw Steve.
The day became brighter.
I nearly walked past him, he was on his mobile phone. He recognised me yet looked intent on continuing his conversation until I said his name. Politely he terminated the call and greeted me. I asked if he was working in construction; his crumpled, over sized sweatshirt and nicely fitting, yet somehow, seen better days jeans suggested that maybe he might have altered his career from youth work to a role that suited his apparent upper body bulkiness. The last I'd heard Steve had embarked upon attending a gym to develop his physique beyond that of his 30" waist and 36" chest. It would seem that during the 16 years since he has maintained his gym attendance, and his calorie intake. Bulky, but nice, and not how I remember.
I have always thought fondly of Steve. He gets mentioned within distant social circles. Always the same, no-one knows much, but he seems fine. People wondered why I kept asking. Steve was the first person I'd ever had sex with more than once. Looking back, it meant something to me. I don't think I knew what love was then and I don't think what we were doing was either, but I certainly fancied him, and we spent the entire summer/winter together - it was fun. Steve drank alcohol, I took drugs. Steve slept a lot after a night out, I didn't. He had other boyfriends during this time; usually for a week or so, it never bothered me, I never had any entitlement to be bothered, we were just mates. But saying that, our nights out that were often spent apart usually lead to us to clambering back together upon whichever horizontal surface would best accommodate our drunken attraction to each other. This went on for some time, it was nice, I recall he had weak legs that were no match for mine and a really fit arse. One night he screamed at me, 'You don't have any friends do you, you don't know what they are', then just stormed off. He was angry, I seem to remember that I laughed, confused at what had taken place. I later discovered that, at the time, Steve considered me more than a friend. I never knew this, he was just someone nice I liked being around and having sex with.
In 1993, selling and taking far too many illicit drugs I went off to London. York was small; the inhabitants small minded. Appearing in the local rag as wild raver drug dealers was too much. That was the last summer I had ever seen Steve.
Steve has been in the same relationship since 1994, with Andy, they were married two years ago. He seems happy; same job; moved house a couple of times; dealing with life well; content. It seemed like he almost tried to explain his life away with a sense of regret of having not done enough. But God, 15 years, and still happy and still in love, and they're gay!! I doubt he could do any more. It was interesting seeing him. He still possesses the likeable attributes that I liked all those years ago. I like his laugh and his arse. We never exchanged numbers; I never asked, he never offered. Some things are best left where they belong, but I'm pleased he is happy, if not deeply jealous.
Monday, 16 March 2009
THE GOOD STUFF I FORGOT ABOUT
Naked kite flying at Salinas / Druid's leap at St Ives / Champagne breakfast / Saving me from a lonely hotel room / Budapest hillside at night / Ibizan city walls and the stars / Kilimanjaro clouds / Crayons on stone - Lady Chatterley / The Den / The fake Harry Potter Forest / Heaton Royds / Trastevere - First time Mojitoes / Breakfast / North Cliff / Taz and Shadow / London Rain at The 4 Seasons / Asleep in bedroom sunshine / Indecisive golden hair / Kippers at Robin Hood's Bay / Camping Pineapple / Cava on trains / Sledging the Eiger / Goosepimples / Your Lips, oh, your lips framed by your stubble / The way you bounce /
Sunday, 15 March 2009
He's Gone Away to Sass Fee
I knew this was coming. I knew it was going to hurt.
Since breaking up we'd both strived to demonstrate independence from the other by booking time abroad alone. Travel, investigation and awe connected us; our experiencing alien customs and learning about foreign habits together made these moments more special. A great passion, one more so for being shared.
Both our faces registered the sting from being informed of the others imminent solo ventures. The wide eyed don't-look-bothered, keep-your-face-still expressions gave us both away. We were bothered. I wasn't going to be with Dom, and I wasn't going to be alone either.
Distracting me was soon to be the company of 18 gay men, only one of which I knew, but all of whom I knew were older than me. Aah, the gentle stroking of my precious ego, such facts reminded me that it is far too long since such an event had occurred whereupon I would be regarded as the young, fit one! Benidorm is well known for being cheap, easy and available, I'd happily wager such characteristics are evident in the majority of tourists who find themselves in such a place. A place harbouring barely contained licentiousness that quickly whips out it's cock for unrestricted action at the drop of some strangers undergarments. A place plentiful of loud bars and cheap beer, with even cheaper men populating the gay nudist beaches and cruising grounds that together adequately accommodate the vast selection of infection awaiting.
Observing Dom's failing resistance to react to the sharp sting upon hearing my plans without him, whilst imagining me as the errant young, fit one (despite my being too old regardless) provides a mixed response; I don't want to see him being hurt, I want to see what he'll do to prove he's not. That said, I hate seeing him when he is hurt, I cause that, which makes it my fault. It's strange - I want you to hurt, I want a reaction, I want you to be bothered.
His ensuing trouble causing bravado belies any reported indifference.
Anyway, Sass Fee, Switzerland.
Unlike me, he has told me nothing about his plans other than the country and resort. That's where we differ, he knows telling me nothing results in the sting delivered to me being strong enough to paralyse. All my thoughts become about him, I obsess, I must find out, I must know, what's he doing? Who with? Where is he? Is he really where he says he is?
And so it goes on. And on.
Or, it used to do.
I have recently realised that we no longer have any automatic entitlement to each others affairs any more. We both want to know what the other one is doing, but neither one of us wants to be the first to be told that our business belongs elsewhere. I knew this was going to hurt.
Tuesday, 10 March 2009
First Day of Spring!!
Outside is marvellous today. Spring seems to be upon us. Thankfully. Things might start to brighten up.
My definition of spring is the first day after winter when the warmth in the air accompanied with the freshness of its brisk scent arrives. The gloriously subtle aroma introducing new life for the year ahead outside. It won't last - it never does. A solid day of rain and greyness removes the memory of the first spring day; it just does, it always does. You only ever realise the following year when the invitation is delivered once again and you kick yourself for forgetting so soon.
I do love it though. I imagine the woodlands waking up; the winter aches of stiffness stretched into life enjoying a spring day - just like I am. I wonder if trees moan about the weather? It should be the time of year you get a bounce in your step, finally shake off the cold induced frigidity of dark nights and introduce an alternative to spending your limited daylight in a room. Be it a classroom, an office, a kitchen or, if winter really gets to you, hospital or the bar.The architecture that supports our hibernation limits us most while keeping us company for its duration.
Dom called me from his pocket today, weirdly I listened. I still question mark whether or not it was genuine. Foolishly I had asked him earlier if there was any possibility of our future being shared. there was no answer until his pocket called me. He was at work, he works in the local emergency services dept. Hearing him work makes me feel proud of him; there is a palpable sense of pride in what he does, almost as unmistakably as mush as he adores the authoritative tones instructing those around him to follow his lead. The call totalled 11 minutes, almost quarter of an hour servicing the deserving poor and their problems.
Jesus, it was dull.
I wonder though, does listening to the person you are waiting for an answer from make you the deserving poor with a problem pleading for help when no conversation takes place?
People...
THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Do you know what, I am not the easiest of people to get along with. I make things difficult, not always on purpose, but usually it's about seeking attention. It's not good is it?
Jesus, 37 and this Countryside Management Degree I am studying not far from the middle of nowhere is beginning to become a source of attention. Not least mine. The need to make things bigger than they actually are is never sacrificed for the truth of the matter. I fling up mountains from nowhere - all smoke and mirrors - something adequately great enough to distract me from the fact I am unwillingly single.
I hate it. I don't know if I hate it, or I just miss Dom.
Who knows? All I know is that I have stuff to do and I ain't getting on with it.
Monday, 9 March 2009
DIGITAL TURNTABLE SAYS:
And I don't want the world to see me,
'Cos I don't think that they'd understand.
When everything's made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.
IRIS - THE GOO GOO DOLLS
Where to start?
37, just.
Changing a lot.
Life without Dom? Not an easy one.
You would think that repeated exposure to the anguish of a compromised character would assist in establishing revulsion from returning to the rage of one so damaged. No longer does the broad term 'Love' encourage forgiveness or provide excuses.
Still, Not easy without him.
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