And What Did You Do Today?

by

Not much.

Came home and ate a roasted Japanese sweet potato.

Took a hot, hot, hot shower.

Masturbated.

Yeah.

I know.

What ever, it’s there in my “about page” it happens.

Don’t tell me you don’t.

Liar.

“Oh where did that come from?”  I thought,” then, “whoa, who cares, that works.”

And let’s get off.

Ah.

I was going to go do the deal in the Inner Sunset, but I got done with work a bit earlier than I expected, I was in the Castro and I turned down 18th toward Good Vibes, I had an errand to do that had been on my plate for a little while.

Well.

Hello.

Aren’t you all clean and tidy and re-arranged.

The store has been re-organized since I last visited their outpost on Valencia.

“Oh that’s a great one, but don’t put it in your mouth,” the clerk said, “it tastes horrible.”

Good to know.

Not that I have ever squirted any lube in my mouth.

Yick.

That’s what saliva is for, people, duh.

“Have you tried,” insert some name I have never heard before, “it’s great!”

The clerk, a young gay man, blonde hair, horn rimmed glasses, tidy little beard, jeans with a slight sag, but skinny at the ankles, your basic “gipster” look, gay hipster,  showed me another little bottle at the register.

We talked shop for a few minutes, but I was in and out, no pun intended, heh, and just got what I needed.

I am pretty set up at home.

“Uh, yeah, I saw a light on in there,” he said with a nervous laugh underneath the words.

Oops.

I just was directing him to the condoms, but he stumbled across the rechargeable vibrator.

God bless the Germans, kinky fucks they are, rechargeable and with a handle.

“Only the Germans would come up with the idea of putting a handle on a vibrator,” my lover said to me once, half-joking, half serious, insert dash of admiration.

I suppose I should have put my disclaimer in at the beginning, but…

IF YOU’RE RELATED TO ME STOP FUCKING READING.

Thanks.

I have been debating on and off for a little while about starting another blog, just a secret say it all blog.

But then I realized I just don’t have the time.

Or the energy.

That’s what my morning pages are for, the absolute honesty, although, even there I find myself lapsing, as though if I write it down I will be discovered.

Oh, I still have feelings for…

Oh, I want…

Oh, I don’t want to think about that…

I sometimes don’t write about something as well because I have such a solid picture of it in my mind that I don’t need to.

I can look at the date or the page and know, just know what happened and how I felt.

This afternoon as the rain was falling and I was sitting scrolling through my old Instagram feed, I looked over all sorts of photographs I took while I was in Paris.

Home of the sexy sexy.

Although I never did hook up with a Frenchman.

I had a crush on an English man and a Scots man.

There was that.

And another American I met right before I left.

The possibility of hooking up was often negated by living in such a close space with my room-mate.

Though I know him pretty well and I hazard had I asked he would have vacated the premises to give me some privacy.

It never happened though.

“French men just don’t know what to do with you,” an acquaintance said to me, “you’re too much, so colorful, the tattoos, the hair, I think they are just too afraid to pursue it.” He was occupied in a relationship with a, in his words, challenging French woman, but I knew he had always admire me, and I him.

I suppose that may have been true.

I think that’s just the aura I put out there which, face facts, is just subterfuge.

I am just a big scared pussycat.

But as I scrolled through those photographs I wondered how many other things marked me the way those photos do.

Music.

I also set a tone when I take care of the self and I like to listen to some music, some times it’s rock and roll, I don’t know why, but Rolling Stones Emotional Rescue album gets to me.

Underworld, Dubnobasswithmyheadman, is also a hot standby.

Brings all sorts of old dreamy fantasies to mind.

Music, photographs, love.

Sex.

All wrapped up in piles of words as I sort through them and wonder when, and if that, then, or could be, or hmmm, how about.

The weather did hold on my ride back to the Sunset, although the fog was dense and heavy, the rain did not fall again and were I not carrying precious cargo with me and pre-occupied with what I was going to do with it, I was tempted to walk down to the ocean.

I could hear the ocean crashing from the street and the wild smell of eucalyptus from the last arm of the park mingled with the dark ocean scent was über compelling.

I slowed for the last turn on Lincoln Avenue, thinking suddenly that I was going to get hit from behind, a car sliding on the wet pavement, making that sound, that squeal that seems to presage hydroplaning and I felt my stomach clench.

“I don’t want to die before knowing love,” I thought.

A voice sang out in me, “you have experienced more love than you know what to do with, love of parents, father, mother, love of a sibling, sister, love of grandparents, love of boyfriends, lovers, friends, self, the children you take care of, how many have had the love you have had?”

I could not argue with that.

I felt blessed suddenly and slowed a little to take the turn in a safe way.

I still did not cotton to the idea of being hit on a fog slick street with the high-beams of the on coming traffic gliding up Lincoln, but as  turned, the truth of the wind at my back and the flat pockmarked street on 46th greeted me cheerful even in the waning light.

Here to live another day of love.

What I had meant, and the little voice knew it, but I needed to hear what had been said in my heart.

What I meant was.

I meant I want to be partnered before I die.

Is that a lot to ask?

But then, too, I realize I have known so much love that to foolishly believe that just because I was coming home alone to come alone, ahem, did not mean that state was a permanent state.

It is just a way to care for myself while in this hallway.

“Have you thought about forgiving yourself for being single,” she asked.

It just is an act of self-love and it just meant that I was in for the night, safe to take a hot shower and have a hot meal after a little hot action.

Heh.

Anyway.

Before this heads further south, oops, uh, I should sign off.

Make some tea, relax with my music, go to bed a little early.

The rain is passing for the rest of the week and I look forward to being busy.

Not just getting busy.

Filling my life with more love and taking it, gratefully, greedily, and thankfully, from where ever it comes from.

Me.

Myself.

And I.

Or from you.

And you and you and you.

And yes, oh yes, you.

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