Core memory unlocked!

Before seeing Daniel at Rich's funeral I would've confidently stated my first sexual experience was getting head from Jessica Sophomore year in HS. But the second I saw him, it was like walking through a door I'd passed so often I forgot it ever existed. The last time I saw him I was 13 yrs old and we were in Baja with my grandfather and Daniel's mom. Rich had met her a few years earlier in Vegas. She was either a showgirl or a prostitute or maybe both (PC or not I've always lived life don't ask don't tell)... Either way Rich ended up seeing her for almost 8 years and even had a kid with her that my mom ended up raising. But this isn't about my 22 yr old aunt. It's about her big brother...

At this point I'd known Daniel for almost 6 years. He was this slightly older super kind, not-so-smart, very handsome goofball (think Keanu Reeves but half Native American instead of half Asian) that loved getting into trouble with me. Daniel and I would ride dirt bikes in the oil fields while my grandfather would pretend to know what the roughnecks were talking about. Then we'd strip down to our underwear for the car ride because our clothes would be peppered with crude oil and Rich didn't want us to ruin his upholstery. There's this pretentious restaurant/club atrocity in Signal Hill called the Petroleum Club (you wouldn't know it existed unless you were a member and in order to be a member I think you need to own an oil company) where we kept new clothes. We'd always stop there for steaks and then Rich would disappear for hours and I think we'd go swimming and have italian sodas by the pool.

WOW sorry I just fell down a rabbit hole of crazy memories more than a quarter century old and went on a little tangent there... Almost all those millionaire oil kids I grew up with are bankrupted lost causes these days. With life, you never know how it's going to unfold...

Anyway, Daniel and I were friendly and I was super glad to see him on this trip because verbal sparring with my snobby cousins always left me feeling lonely. It started the first night we got there. I was laying in bed scratching my nuts when he ripped the blanket off of me and was crestfallen to see I wasn't jerking off. Then he asked me if I wanted to jerk off with him and me being a horny closeted boy at the mercy of my dick, OF COURSE I SAID YES! And that's when things got weird. 

I pulled my dick out and started only to realize he was only watching me and not joining in. At first I felt extremely self-conscious but the way he was watching me... GOD DAMN it made me sooo fucking horny! After a couple minutes he asked of he could touch me. My first instinct was to say no, but then I said yes and his hands were all over me. By the end of the week he was sucking my dick every time we were alone. I can't remember ever touching him, and I only ever saw his penis a few times. I think he was embarrassed about his size, but this was definitely the origin story of my small dick fetish. 

We never really talked about what we were doing or what it meant, it was purely about my orgasms and how many I could have in a day. Rich found out his girlfriend was pregnant during this trip and he broke up with her and I never saw Daniel again. Once his daughter was born and the DNA test confirmed it, Rich bought her a house in Vegas. 4 years later she died of an overdose, and Rich's daughter moved in with my mother. This was the 90's and there was no such thing as social media, and he didn't even own a computer so we never saw each other again.

Fast forward a couple decades and a few more years and he's standing in front of me with his wife and 2 sons looking just as handsome as he did the day I met him. I wanted to knock down the plexiglass partition to give him a giant hug. I wanted take him to the dried up oil fields to ride dirt bikes. I wanted to show him how much I've improved as a lover. I wanted to laugh and I wanted to cry, I wanted to bask in all of my forgotten memories and I wanted them all to stop and go back into the vault they were locked in for all these years. 

Instead I just smiled and I shed a couple of involuntary tears because in that moment I genuinely missed my grandfather. That time in my life was the last time I could ever delude myself into thinking Rich was a good person. The way he threw people away like they didn't even matter was never more obvious than in the way he treated this family he'd created and nurtured. I wonder if it was as painful for Daniel to look at me as it was for me to look at him. 

Asante sana squash banana!

Back in December I decided that I really needed to go somewhere far and do something crazy because I had a shitty 2020 that ended in lawsuits, a funeral, and a couple of death threats from some family members. A friend of mine, Minho from South Korea that I met back in my pro athlete days, casually mentioned he and a group of friends would be hiking Mt Kilimanjaro. Then they'd be spending 3 weeks caravanning through Africa to check out the wildlife. So I did what any guy desperate for an escape would do and I invited myself on the adventure. 

First and foremost I need to say beyond vaccinations I did zero research on what this trip would entail. Minho told me that it was supposed to be extremely cold, so I at least packed my winter hiking gear. BUT NOBODY FUCKING TOLD ME THAT IT SNOWS IN AFRICA! LIKE A LOT! Our entire hike to the top of the mountain was in snow up to our knees AND I WAS FUCKING FREEZING! Also I've done Everest basecamp, Machu Pichu, Whitney, and Fujiyama; these were all pleasant strolls compared to how painfully difficult this hike was. 

Minho and his buddies all work in the entertainment industry so they are all tall fit model/actors and basically floated to the top of the mountain. I feel like I was the fat short old man slowing down the entire party. But they were all good sports about it especially because I was the only one in the group that speaks fluent english to interact with our guides. They hired guides that were supposed to be fluent in French, but the guide's French was as broken and incomprehensible as everyone else's broken english. 

There's this feeling I get when I reach the top of a mountain. I am not entirely sure if I can describe it. I am exhilarated, happy, exhausted and feel completely content all at once. We hiked all night so we could make it to the top for sunrise. All the tripping, and sleep deprivation were completely worth it. We saw the sunrise and the moonset and had a 360 degree view of Tanzania. This was the moment I was waiting for to finally exhale and unload all the bullshit that had been weighing me down for the last few months. I shed a couple tears, then pulled my flask out and took a couple of long drinks of whiskey. Then I spent the next 6 hours regretting all my life choices that put me on that mountain navigating my way down. My knees hurt, my back hurt, my head hurt, I was tired, and I slipped and fell so many times that the last half dozen times I contemplated not ever getting up again. 

The next three weeks were wild. I think we were hostages (had a spirited debate with the guys over what constitutes a hostage situation. Honestly I have no idea what the correct terminology is) for an afternoon until I gave these teenagers with semi-automatic weapons $1000. A cheetah jumped onto the hood of our open roof vehicle and just stared at us for a couple minutes. And we snuck out of a village in the middle of the night after a bunch of people with torches started gathering and shouting about the "China Virus" while talking about us. 

Other than that the trip was fun. I got so close to a Cheetah I could actually smell it! I got to work on my Korean and got to the point where I was making dirty jokes and the guys could even understand me DRUNK! We saw lions and zebras and walked through villages where they were making shea butter and weaving baskets. And everywhere we went people wanted to take pictures with us because it was their first time ever seeing Asian people. 

The best part of the whole trip was making new friends. I was invited to Jeju Island in June for a more relaxed guys trip with some light camping and hiking. It's been so long since I was able to be social with more than a couple of people or explore new places that I have never been. I had no idea how much I really needed this experience. Arriving home I was both exhausted and completely rejuvenated. I've been home almost 2 weeks and I'm still in an amazing mood. But also my first trip to the African wilds will most definitely be my last because it was super scary and I'm way too old to be fearing for my life on vacation.

Rich

Rich, my mom's dad, was an interesting character. My first memory of him was when I was 7 and he showed up at 6am on a Sunday to take my grandmother out to breakfast. I just remember opening the door and seeing this gorgeous 6ft blond haired green eyed movie star staring down at me with the biggest smile on his face. He picked me up and hugged me, then set me down and said, "Soy tu abuelo, pero call me Rich." 

Rich was an irresponsible bastard who let down everyone in his life every single time it mattered, but he was also charismatic and exciting and it was impossible to outright hate him. Rich was part of an extremely wealthy family in Mexico. He moved to the US to handle their business on this side of the border, but I honestly feel like his family wanted him out of the way because he was a lazy fuck up that continuously caused problems.   

Anyway, he died on my birthday back in November. Due to his bullshit antiquated sexist and conservative catholic views on inheritance, the entire pile of shit that was his estate was my problem. It's stupid because my mom has an older half sister with 4 kids but they don't matter because my grandfather never married my aunt's mom. Then there's me, the only male in his direct line to be born in a traditional catholic marriage. Lucky fucking me. 

Which bring us to my trip home for the holidays and the multiple lawsuits filed against me by my aunts and cousins challenging a nonexistent estate they all felt there were entitled to. Everyone thought there was millions of dollars and properties up for grabs when in reality there was nothing at all. If everyone had given me time to explain they could've saved themselves thousands of dollars. It took me a couple weeks to figure out things were even worse than him being cash broke. He'd also taken out a reverse mortgage on my aunt's home. The best part of all this bullshit was being able to turn over the financials and letting their lawyers explain they were broke and soon to be homeless. I honestly didn't know how I was going to do it!

Rich's funeral was extremely unsettling as half remembered and aged faces scurried through my vision and memories all day long. I was surprised by how many people decided to show up and pay their respects to Rich during a pandemic. I stayed behind a very large clear plastic barrier and must have greeted and received condolences from over 100 people. My mom kept trying to talk to me but I used covid precautions and my bodyguards as a decent excuse for her to stay away. My brother and sisters didn't even bother coming to the funeral because they'd only met Rich a handful of times. Rich was definitely much closer to my aunts and all their children.

Now that it's all said and done and I've had a little while to process this whole fucked up situation, I've come to the conclusion that Rich was a terrible human being and a sorry excuse for a man. Generational wealth really fucks with a person's morals and self-worth in strangely insidious ways that you never see coming. To me Rich has always been a raging narcissist I was anchored to against my will through blood. But to my aunts and cousins he was a deeply caring family member and a financial safety net for all of them when times got rough. He lied to them and made promises that he had no intentions of keeping all so they'd look at him like a benevolent saint. And then he left me to shatter their dreams and expectations with a super depressing reality. 

Rich, you were my grandfather and I never liked you. I'm pretty sure you never liked me either. I never looked at you the way my cousins did. I never saw you as my savior, because I'd already spent my whole life dealing with snakes just as bad as you were. I'm not going to miss you, but I will respect and remember all the things you did for me and how different my life would be if you weren't in it. You taught me that everything had a price and you made sure that I understood what it meant to pay that price. It's super unfortunate you never learned this lesson yourself, but I will always be grateful that I did. Let's all hope hell isn't real because if it is, that's for sure where you ended up. 

Holiday buddy road trip

I've been VERY casually hooking up with a 23 yr old, Peter, for almost the entirety of the pandemic. I've been extremely clear that I am 35 and not looking for a relationship. I just want casual sex on a regular basis and we live in the same building so its convenient and relatively safe. He's a data scientist and works from home and I watch a lot of netflix and teach 1 calc 3 course a week. So we both have a lot of free time to have sex and try not to get Coronavirus together.

One of the things we bonded over is the fact that we're both SoCal (I'm from LA and he's from OC) boys stuck in this NorCal hellhole together. So when I mentioned I wanted to go home to LA for Xmas, he asked if he could tag along for the journey. "Lucky" me, his grandparents live in my hometown so he asked if I could drop him off there. 

We left a couple days early so we could buy a bunch of wine in Paso Robles and then camp at Morro Bay because we both love nature and outdoor sex. It was nice and I honestly enjoy Peter's company which is rare for me to even have thoughts like that about anyone. My first "I've made a HUGE mistake" moment came when we pulled up in front of his grandparent's house. I KNEW this house intimately. Like I literally had my first kind of sort of group sex experience in this house. I wouldn't really call it an orgy... It was more just 4 couples all having sex in the same room occasionally touching each other due to proximity. There were drugs and team sport bonding situations going on. Don't judge me. 

So we're sitting in the car and I tell Peter all of this, then I'm like, "Yo Peter, your mom isn't Caroline is it? Cuz it would be super weird if your mom was at this sort of orgy I attended back in the day..." He tells me that Caroline's his aunt and she's actually at the house with her husband and 3 kids! 

I'd agreed to an outdoor barbecue brunch a couple days earlier so I had to go in, but I was super nervous and didn't want to be there. I grabbed my hat and sunglasses to do my best to be incognito for as long as possible and I journeyed into the fucking lion's den. In the backyard I finally see Peter's family. The whole clan is spaced out around this massive outdoor patio drinking mimosas and bloody marys.

I saw Caroline IMMEDIATELY! She got OLD and large (is that ok to say?). I'm still wearing my sunglasses and hat because it's super sunny and it's a great excuse to not take them off. I get introduced to the family and we all sat down and started drinking. Caroline is distracted with her kids and husband and whatever else rich country club moms do. So it was super easy to avoid any awkwardness because she was too busy dealing with her own chaos. The inevitable "where are you from" question comes up. I kept it vaguely specific (they're from the horse part and I'm from the beach part of the hill) then quickly changed the subject. 

Peter's a little shit. It's one of the things I sometimes like about him. So this is when he tells everyone that I know Caroline. And without a hint of sarcasm her husband says, "BABE. That's adorable! The kid you used to babysit is now dating your nephew!" The look of horror as she recognizes me and registers what her husband said to her at the same time. Priceless. Then there's me. I do what I always do when I am super uncomfortable, I start laughing hysterically. 

Caroline straight up shoots murder eyes at her husband and tells him that she did not babysit me and we in fact went to elementary, middle school, and high school together (I only recall HS, but who am I to argue!) . And that's when the FUCKING yearbook came out. Sooo many of the pages had pictures of me in them  and I didn't enjoy remembering those manic and destructive days. Varsity Surf, Hockey and Golf. Forensics team, Asian Pacific Islander leader of the year, SB VP, homecoming king, most likely to succeed, best personality, best smile, best friends (me and Tyler. Literally the most iconic duo since day one!). Superficially looking at these things you'd never guess I was always one step away from jumping off the cliff at the end of my backyard.

But that's not something people say out loud. So I smiled and joked about peaking in HS and poured myself another bloody mary. For the next half hour Caroline kept trying to exaggerate our relationship, but I never really liked her, so I had nothing to contribute. She was super clingy and insecure and not really part of my friend group. The only distinct memories I had of her was the intro to group sex situation and a handjob she aggressively pressured me into receiving on a school trip in Catalina. Aside from that I only remember that she made me feel uncomfortable with her constant need to be liked and included but also how she was so unbelievably cruel and vindictive to people she thought she was better than. 

She wouldn't stop with all these stories about how close we were and all the things we used to do together. I just felt dirty. It's weird because I remember a lot of the stories she mentioned, but in the majority of them, I don't remember her being there! High School was 20 years ago and apparently she hasn't changed at all because she's still making me feel uncomfortable with her lies and insecurities. The more she spoke the more I remembered all the reasons why I never liked her. Sleazy, manipulative, fake, and unashamed of how disgusting she is! I had to leave because I just couldn't be around her. I politely yet firmly let everyone know I had to leave IMMEDIATELY. 

Peter followed me out and we smoked a joint together on the horse trail. I apologized and just let him know his aunt wasn't always a kind person and always makes me feel uneasy when I'm around her. He laughed and said both he and his parents felt the same. Then we kissed as I groped his ass for a couple minutes, slapped it, and told him I'd see him next year. And as an afterthought I casually mentioned that I'd drive an hour south to Newport to pick him up if it meant avoiding another run in with Caroline. 

I don't know

I think I'm depressed but I have been struggling with actually feeling anything at all so I'm not sure. Over the last couple months I have been struggling with interacting with anyone I know personally. I only respond to texts when somebody threatens to break my door down to check if I'm alive, otherwise (until last night) I haven't socialized with anybody outside of the grocery store.

My aunt had a stroke last week and my first thought was, "Thank god there's a pandemic going on and I don't have to be surrounded by all those people." Intellectually I know I should feel bad for thinking this, but I don't. I'm super tired all the time, but I seldom sleep. I go for runs like 3 times a day and I skateboard for hours at a time. I've lost so much weight that I don't own anything that fits me anymore.

But I honestly don't feel sad. I just don't feel anything at all. I looked in the mirror for the first time in months. I didn't recognize myself. It was strange. I came home last night from a few hours of just walking. Brad was in my living room pacing. He's been worried about me because I haven't responded to his texts in a while. We used to facetime everyday. Then that turned into regular phonecalls at some point, then texts. I don't know when I last responded to his or anybody's texts.

It was strange seeing him. I took a shower and then went to lay in bed. He came in and he got in bed with me and I fell asleep to him holding me. I haven't slept like that in so long I can't even remember. I woke up and he was still holding me. It felt too intimate. I asked him to leave and he did. I think something is wrong with me but I don't know what it is or what I should do about it.

Why I can't go back...

A couple years ago one afternoon Brad called me and asked if I was going to be home for dinner. I told him I would and I couldn't wait to see him. After I hung up I had the strangest feeling that he was using again. I couldn't tell you why I had this feeling, I just knew in that moment that he was using again and my whole world started to fall apart. I tore the house up looking for drugs. Of course I didn't find anything, he's always been very good at hiding things from me. By the time Brad got home I was so furious with him I couldn't even form sentences as I started screaming at him. I remember screaming "Where are the drugs!?" and every time he tried to speak I'd scream it again because I just knew he was about to lie to me.

I don't know how long I yelled at him, but it was longer than is acceptable. He finally broke down in tears and admitted that he'd used right after he spoke with me but he didn't have anything on him currently. And for a second I was relieved because for a while there I honestly felt like I'd gone crazy. Then I was angry again. SO angry. I ran up to Brad and I punched him so hard he flew backward and landed on his back. I got on top of him and pinned his arms with my legs and I hit him over and over again. I remember him crying and screaming and telling me how sorry he was as he begged me to stop. I didn't stop immediately. When I finally did get off of him he hugged me and he cried and he kept apologizing to me. I ran into the bathroom and I vomited. I flushed the toilet thought about what I'd done and I vomited again and again. After I was finally able to pull myself together, I found Brad in the kitchen cleaning himself up. It was bad. He looked horrible. What I'd done to him was awful.

I remember looking down at my hands and finally noticing both of them were bleeding and that's it. The next thing I remember is lying in bed with Brad hugging my waste with my bandaged hands resting on his head and back. I was crying. I don't know if I'd just started or if I'd never stopped. I untangled myself from Brad. I couldn't find my cellphone or car keys so I put my shoes on and ran 12 miles south along the beach to Tyler's house. I don't remember what time it was when I got there, but it was still dark and for some reason waking him up felt like too much of an imposition. So I hopped his 4 foot fence and accidentally broke a large pot and scared him awake.

The second I saw Tyler I felt the fog lift and I felt clarity for the first time that night. We talked until the sun came up. Then I took a shower and he drove me home where I made Brad breakfast in bed and told him I was moving out. He cried and begged me to stay. He told me he knew what happened the night before was all his fault and he was going to change and this time was going to be different. He checked into rehab that afternoon and in the 2 and a half years since, he hasn't ever relapsed.

A week later I moved 300 miles away and I started therapy. For my entire life I have been a survivor of abuse. My earliest memories are watching my step father abuse my mother and then abuse me when she couldn't take it anymore. Then I remember my step mother abusing me until she was too tired to lift her arms. I was always scared of turning into them. And then I became a violent abuser just like them just like I always knew I would.

When we were signing the divorce papers, for the millionth time he asked me why I just couldn't forgive him. No matter how many times I explain it he just doesn't seem to understand that it's me I can't forgive. I violently attacked the man I love the most in this world. If it happened once, it's very likely to happen again. I'd rather die.

I've kind of danced around this point over the last handful of posts I've written over these last few years. I've basically withdrawn from everybody I love in my life. I'll hook up with a guy or girl or whatever when I'm lonely (read every other night) but besides the "straight" guy I occasionally fuck, I don't form any lasting bonds. I'm not happy, but I do feel safe in the fact that I can't hurt anybody I love if I'm not physically there to hurt them. It's super unhealthy and my therapist side eye judges me like nobody's business, but it's the only way I can survive right now.

Everybody (including my therapist) tells me I need to cut myself some slack. I was living in an extreme situation for a very long time. Everybody has a breaking point. But not everybody violently assaults their partners in a fit of rage. Only the shitty garbage assholes do that. I think about that night a lot. I think about what I did. I think about how I felt. And I think about how much I hurt Brad both physically and mentally. And I know that being alone is the only option for me.

A little shame always makes it better...

Over the years I have come to terms with the fact that I am not fully gay, but I would by no means call myself "bisexual". I once tried to explain to a girl that I enjoyed having sex with women but could NEVER imagine myself in a relationship with a woman. Then she responded with, "Oh so you're a man!" ... And I was like, "yeah..."

Anyway, a couple of years ago I met a grad student in the art department, Juan. He'd recently come across some of my music videos and was really impressed and figured out a way to meet me. Long story short we hit it off and became friends. He's from Mexico City and he's one of the blond hair blue eyed Mexicans that looks like he's from Idaho until he speaks. He has a HUGE chip on his shoulder about this because most of the white looking Mexicans are all rich and assholes, but he grew up poor with all the brown guys giving him a hard time. It's something I relate to a lot being half Mexican but looking like the Asianest Asian man in the room.

Juan's an insanely talented artist with a very strong LatinX influence in everything he creates. You can really see how the duality of being proud of a community that shuns him has played strongly into the way he chooses to express himself. At his core he's a deeply sensitive and caring guy that feels the need to project this aura of machismo that almost seems paradoxical to who he really is. Somehow he's been gifted with the artistic vocabulary to fully express that inner paradox in the most dynamic and deeply emotional ways I have ever had the pleasure of observing.

About a month into our friendship we had sex. He didn't say it was his first time with a guy, but going by the fact that it took almost an hour for me to get in, I'd pretty much assumed I was the first man to plant a seed. It was awesome. One of those animalistic pheromone type of experiences, super wet and sweaty with a constant sense of urgency and just a pinch of danger. But in the morning I could definitely feel like something was wrong. I'd accidentally damaged his tough guy persona and after he had the night to sleep on it, he didn't like it.

Juan didn't talk to me for almost 3 months. At the time I was going through a divorce and had recently relocated my entire life to NorCal, so a fuck buddy ghosting me didn't even register on my daily list of worries. Then one day out of nowhere he showed up in my office and asked me to lunch. We talked for almost 2 hours and it was easy and comfortable and it honestly felt like 2 friends catching up. Then out of nowhere he announced that he wasn't gay. And I was like, "Okay... I'm not straight, but just so you know I've had sex with more women than I care to count. It's just something I like to do from time to time... " He blushed and started talking about his new girlfriend and I dropped it.

The main reason why Juan had contacted me after so long was because he was about to have his first major solo show in SF and he wanted my advice and for me to attend. He was a nervous wreck and I had nothing to do so I decided to go with him for moral support and maybe even invite a few of my friends to check out his vibe. We shared a studio apartment we found on Airbnb. Bad idea. We fucked the whole weekend away and almost missed his show both nights.

There's something about Juan that I can't quite put into words. I've never considered him "boyfriend material" but just thinking about him instantly makes me hard. But it's more than his body, I'm attracted to his mind (so I guess he gives me a brain boner too??) and his artistic ability. At the same time I've always seen the conflict of him not really accepting how much he enjoys sex with a man so it's been really easy for me to turn off my emotions in that sense and just enjoy the ride.

That summer Juan convinced me to transport a couple of motorcycles (by riding them) from Rosarito Beach to Veracruz. At first I didn't want to go because being shot up or held hostage by the Mexican drug cartel seemed like a TERRIBLE way to spend my summer! But Juan convinced me that I was being racist and I was just as likely to be shot by a cop or a rando with a gun in Texas than anywhere in Mexico. Plus I speak Spanish with a perfect Baja accent, and he's actually Mexican and fitting in wasn't going to be a problem. So we went, and it was AMAZING! It felt like, The Motorcycle Diaries: Mexico edition. We went sailing in Mazatlan, toured the missions in Sonora, visited the Pyramids outside Mexico City, and went surfing in Guadalajara. In the end we traveled a little over 2400 miles in a month and I got to experience a part of myself and my culture in a way that I never thought would be remotely accessible to me. Honestly if it weren't for the fact that EVERY SINGLE PERSON we met called me "chinito" and refused to call me by my name, it would've been perfect.

For that experience alone (but also for a million other reasons) Juan is now and will always be one of my go to people. And that's where the conflict comes in. I consider Juan a very good friend that I have sex with. I don't imagine a time where he looks me in the eyes and he realizes that I am the one for him and we sail off into the sunset. I see him getting married and having a couple of kids and every once in awhile we'll meet up and have some amazing sex. It works because it's all he has to offer me and in all honesty, it's all I have in me to accept. I'm broken in a way that I don't think I'll ever heal from. This worked for me for a very long time because I got all the emotional support and mind blowing sex I could handle, all the while never having to commit to anything.

In the last 2 years I've had enough sexual partners to be considered a gold star slut and I've never felt guilty about it because I'm completely unattached. But nothing gold can stay. Pretty much during the entire time I've known Juan he's had the same girlfriend. Her name is Lily. She's pretty, and sweet, super insecure and jarringly possessive. The problem is I'm not sure if she's just naturally that way or if over time this has become a product of me in her life constantly ruining it.

I think she first started acting icy towards me after we returned from Mexico. Looking back it was pretty obvious Juan and I were closer than friends normally are. A year ago she'd finally had enough and forbid Juan from seeing me. Honestly at this point I thought it was for the best that we stop the sexual part of our relationship because it had almost become more trouble than it was worth. That lasted about 3 months. I don't think I am clearly explaining how FUCKING AMAZING sex with Juan is. Like during the 45 minutes it's taken me to write these words I have had a continuous erection thinking about it. Not once did I feel guilty about what I was doing to Lily. Because in my head I had no plans of "stealing" her boyfriend and I was frankly giving her boyfriend something she just wasn't equipped for.

That all changed when Lily showed up on my doorstep crying and screaming and hysterically cursing my name. After she'd calmed down we had a very awkward and deeply personal conversation where for the first time in my time with Juan I finally understood my part in her pain. The highlights of the conversation that really stuck with me are: his phone passcode is my birthday, his "favorites" album has 200 pics of only me, whenever I'm not around or "too busy for him" she can physically feel his depression. I know exactly what it feels like to not be enough for the person you love the most. That alone made me really stop and consider my actions. I apologized and told her that she really needed to have this conversation with Juan but for my part I'd stay away until I figured out this situation from my side.

It wasn't until she left that I finally figured out what was bothering me the most about everything she'd told me. Clearly Juan loves me deeply that's no surprise to anyone who's ever seen us together. What really bothered me was the perception that Juan loves me the most. But even though he loves me the most he'd never choose me (even if I asked) because he's ashamed of what that would mean for him. It reminded me of this incident a while back where we were holding hands in the City and some asshole shouted, "FAGGOTS!" at us in his car. Juan ran after his car full sprint and I just sat there shocked that he ran after the car while this fat drag queen comforted me with platitudes of hot headed boyfriends and how we've all been there. And I thought about how there was a time not too long ago where I would've done the same or worse. But the reason I would've done it wasn't for any other reason than shame.

I used to get angry because the word "faggot" was shameful and not something that I associated with myself. But I am a faggot. I like men. I like the way the look, the way they smell, the way they feel in my arms, the stubble on their face as it rubs against mine. I love it all. Call me gay, call me a faggot, maricón, bakla, I'm all of those things and I am okay with that. Juan isn't and he's never going to be. Even as his friend I will always be nothing more than his secret shame and that's not something that I think I can accept anymore. Especially when I can so clearly see all the pain I am causing in his life. Even if he's quite literally the best sexual partner I have ever had EVER. 

So here I sit contemplating breaking things off with my NOT boyfriend. I want and NEED this friendship with him but I have no idea how we can connect without sex. I would love to figure it out, but I honestly can't imagine what our friendship would be like without sex. Not all friends (no matter how meaningful those friendships are) are meant to stay in our lives forever. But letting this one go is really going to hurt.

This is 35

In less than 2 weeks I will turn 35. Somedays I feel like I am 50, other days I can't believe I am no longer 21. When I was a kid I never thought I'd live to see 30. When I turned 30 I honestly felt like I was ready for adulthood and by 35 I'd have my shit together, probably have a couple of adopted african babies and driving a minivan.

Instead I'm divorced, highly allergic to any type or responsibility or commitment, and I still have no idea what I am doing with myself or my future. But on the positive side, I'm okay with all that. Over the last couple months I've begun to embrace the fact that I am middle aged. It no longer bothers me that I haven't been carded at a bar in years, or how all the college kids at the university I teach at call me "sir" on the first day of class with out checking if I am a professor or a TA. Intellectually I understand that I don't technically look like an old man, but with age comes wisdom and an aura of gravitas that others can feel. It did take me awhile to accept that I could no longer blend in with a crowd of 19 year olds because so much of my self esteem has been based on my youthful good looks. But I got over it because I finally feel like I'm a fully realized man now.

So 35, here I come! I'm ready to start monitoring my cholesterol, and watching what I eat as my metabolism slows down. I'm excited about boring my students with tales of how things were "in my day...". And most of all I am prepared and experienced with turning down all the youngins who flirt with me by letting them know I am old enough to be their father (it's a speech I have given quite a few times over the last couple years and it makes me super giddy every time.). I'm so prepared for 35, I might as well be turning 40. 👴

Wanderlust

Most nights I can’t sleep so I jump into my car and before I know it I’m at a national park 10hrs away. Which is how I ended up at Arches and spent the day paddle boarding down the Colorado. And it’s how I ended up stuck in a snowstorm IN MY CAR overnight somewhere between Tahoe and Placerville. And its how I ended up at Crater Lake getting eaten by mosquitoes and sleeping under the stars.

I’ve never been very good at meditation or quiet contemplation. In general anything that requires me to sit still and remain quiet, I fail at. But walking up the side of a mountain for hours with that slow burn in my legs and that fresh air in my lungs has allowed me to really clear my mind.

When I first started wandering the country in my SUV, it was because I was sad and lonely and felt like my world was falling apart. I needed an escape and the idea of drinking until I couldn’t feel feelings anymore made me feel sick to my stomach. SO I jumped in my car and drove. I ended up at Manzanar and spent the day walking and crying and drawing and imagining all the sad and hopeless souls who fought, suffered, died, and felt like the world had turned against them. And then I spent 5 hours driving home feeling slightly better. 

After that I caught the bug. Machu Picchu, Everest, Whitney, Halfdome, Patagonia and my upcoming trip to Kawaii are the big ones. But between that, road trips to Big Sur, Glacier, Death Valley, Zion and monthly visits to Joshua Tree have become my reason to live. The good people at REI have become my second family, and outside under the stars is my new favorite home. 

For the last 2 years this has been my life. The world is a beautiful place. I’ve spent my entire life experiencing some of the best beaches in the world, so now it’s time to see what else is going on. That’s the logic I apply to my situation to justify what I’m doing. But I know theres more to it. My failures, my heartache and my inability to do anything are always on my mind. I’ve spent so long being held hostage by a sickness that has crippled my soulmate. Even now that I can finally see light at the end of the tunnel, I still can’t help but feel like nothing has really changed. I’m still a failure and I’m still alone. 

I don't really know what I'm saying here. Lately a lot of people have been forcing me to stop and deal with a lot of stuff I have been avoiding. There are so many things happening that I just don't feel qualified to deal with, and running away from my problems has always been my go to move... I keep hoping that avoiding my problems will either magically make them go away, or inspire some answers and solutions I haven't even considered. But that's not the way life works.

That moment when you want to be Emile Hirsch in Into the Wild. But worry you’re actually Reese Witherspoon in Wild… {confused face emoji}

The Perfect Day

You were sitting on the porch of your parents' house when I arrived. You looked at me and your whole face lit up. I would crawl on broken glass all day long just to see you look at me like that. I'm sure I was smiling like an idiot because I was so happy to see you.

You asked if you could hug me. There was a look in your eye, like you thought I might say no. It hurt. But then I thought about it and I realized that I wasn't sure I wanted you to hug me. There you go again, knowing me better than I know myself. We hugged and it was the best hug I have experienced in all my 33 years on this planet. 

I don't know how long we stood there holding each other. It was awhile. There were just so many different thoughts and emotions racing through my mind that I couldn't even begin to describe this moment. When we finally let each other go, you had tears in your eyes. I wiped them away, and thats when you touched my face and I realized I had the same tears. 

We hugged again. You smelled so good. Is it possible that one of the things I miss the most is your stink? All the fear, and anger, and sadness just seemed to evaporate. You looked healthy and you felt amazing in my arms, literally all that I need in the universe to be happy. I love you so much.

You took my hand and we walked. I hate holding hands. Ever since I was a kid, I hated having to hold ANYBODY'S hand, but I love holding yours. I don't know if you weren't ready to talk or if I wasn't, either way we walked in silence and it was perfect. The sound of the waves crashing, the feeling of the sand between my toes, and your hand in mine were all I can remember.

When we got back to the house reality came with us. You fucking broke me. You promised me you were going to be my partner in life. You promised me that all you wanted was to make me happy and that you would never hurt me. But guess what, I'm fucking hurt. Real bad. And it's all your fault, but really I feel like it's all my fault. I should've seen the signs. When I finally did, I should've done more to get you the help you needed. I should've been enough.

You tell me all about your summer in rehab. You talk about this breakthrough you had. It all sounds amazing, and profound, and in the moment, I am truly happy for you. All I wanted was for you to realize you were strong enough to be the man I know you can be. 

We grab lunch, but I don't even know if I ate anything because I couldn't stop staring at you. I am so happy just to be able to exist in your universe again. We decide to go surfing. As you take off your shirt, I just need to touch you. We're kissing and I don't even know how we started. I hadn't kissed you in months, it felt like years. I love you so much.

I think we made it into the water...

Back at the house reality hits me hard again. I have all this anger in me and it's only getting worse. My brother died of an accidental overdose. And I still have all this regret and sadness and impotent rage over all the things I didn't do. Then I look at you, and the road we've been down, and I realize that I surely failed my brother just as I failed you. In that moment I hate you.

I feel crazy. Because I love you so much it hurts. But I look at you sometimes and I just feel disgusted. I don't trust you. I can't depend on you. I am constantly scared that me being honest with these feelings is going to push you over the edge again and that would destroy me in a way I am sure I would never recover from. 

The official term for what's going on with us is a "Trial Separation". We've been in counseling since September. Besides counseling, once a week we get together and we have THE MOST PERFECT DAY. And every week seems to be better than the last, but when it's over nothing has really changed. I still don't trust you. I still know that I can't depend on you. I don't know how I am ever going to get to the point where I can.  

Not with a bang but a whimper...

No marriage is perfect and I’m not done with you. I will never be done with you because you are my whole world. That being said, you know that this is going to have to be the end of the line for now. You’re not getting better and everything I have tried to help you has ended in failure and humiliation for the both of us. Which in turn only makes you worse. 

My heart is telling me that this isn't your last chance because with me you will NEVER run out of chances. I can not imagine a single scenario where I wouldn’t do anything and everything in my power to make you feel even the slightest bit better. But my head tells me that the only way you can get better is if you take this step on your own and figure out for yourself who and what you need to survive. 

When I first figured out you were an addict I was furious at myself for not figuring it out sooner. Then I was furious with you for not feeling like you could come to me to help you with what you were going through. It took me 3 years of marriage to figure out you were addicted to painkillers, which has since turned into harder drugs, and it took another 2 years and 5 rounds of rehab to realize that I couldn’t help and you didn’t want my help.

These last 2 years have been the worst of my life. Sometimes I sit in my car scared to come inside and find you dead. I’m scared to ask you how you’re doing and how you’re dealing because I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you; even though I don’t. And I’m in agony every day because you would choose drugs over me and the life we have built together. Which is selfish and stupid because this isn’t about me, it’s about you

I don’t even know where to begin. I love you. I’m angry with you. I miss you. I need for you to leave me alone. I would give anything for you to walk into our home at this very moment and wrap your arms around me so I can finally get some fucking sleep!

Next week is going to be our 5th wedding anniversary. You were high that day. And probably every day after that. When I first heard you say this, I was devastated and angry with myself for not taking care of you the way that I should’ve. I could feel your shame, regret and humiliation and it broke my heart. The thing you have to understand is that with me you NEVER have to feel shame because I will ALWAYS forgive you and I will NEVER hold it against you. 

You’re in rehab right now for the sixth time and I’m not going to be here when you get home. I can’t help you. I want to help you and I NEED to help you, but I can’t. I need you to get better and I need you to be the man I know you can be. 

Theres this line in my favorite depressing “love” song, it goes, “we fought so much we’ve broken all the charm”. Actually the entire song (FUCK let’s be real its the ENTIRE album) reads like a roadmap of the last 10 years of our life. That line in particular really hits home because of the finality in those words and where we find ourselves right now. Right now we are broken. I will admit that and know it to be true. But I also know we can fix all of this. I just need for you to know it too. 

Figure your shit out and come back to me. I need you.

Growing up again

When my sister was 6 months old, my mother started leaving her with me to take care of while she went to work. I was 4 years old. I remember that first day so vividly because we ALL remember that first experience where we became men. My mom showed me how to prepare a bottle, then she left. I spent an hour silently crying while I cradled my little sister in my arms because I was scared shitless. Then after an hour of crying, I stopped feeling sorry for myself, warmed up a bottle, then watched, “Denver the Last Dinosaur”, as I fed my sister. When she was done I burped her, changed her diaper, then we played for awhile until she got tired and I put her down for a nap. A year later I had two sisters I was taking care of. 

I never really had the kind of relationship with my brothers that I do with my sisters. I didn’t raise my brothers and because of that we had a very different sort of bond. With my brothers we would horseplay, call each other names, and shared this ineffable camaraderie I have never known with my sisters. My sisters would NEVER be rude to me, or treat me like one of their friends because to them I am somebody they respect and look up to more as a parent than a sibling. They remember the years when I sold my surfboards to buy them christmas presents and stood guard with a bat on our front porch to keep their father away. I am the guy who tucked them into bed at night and sang them lullabies, and I am the guy they came crying to when they had nightmares. 

I love my sisters so very much, words can’t even express what they mean to me. But the relationship I had with my brothers meant so much but in a completely different way. They were my brothers, not my children, and because of that I didn’t have to base every life decision on how it would effect them. Loving my brothers came with so few strings attached and because of that it gave me a freedom and a lightness in our relationship that I never knew I could have with my family. 

That’s over now. I lost one brother and now the only brother I have left needs me to be the man I spent the last decade trying to forget how to be. Figuring this out all over again has been a tricky and painful process. I have made a lot of mistakes but I have also learned so much from each of them. Early on I figured out that this wasn’t something I could just drag my feet on. I made a decision to become my brother’s guardian and I couldn’t be angry or bitter about how we ended up here. I just needed to stop feeling sorry for myself, take care of my brother and put on some cartoons to lighten the mood.

The thing that took me a hot minute to understand was that for all of our many many MANY similarities, my baby brother isn’t me. When I was Andy’s age, all I wanted was to be left alone. So in the beginning when Andy first moved in with me I tried to give him a lot of breathing room. That turned out badly. Very Quickly. My brother needs attention, boundaries, and affection in order to be at his best. 

Once I became the guy who protected my brother from the people in his life who were harming him, and he knew he could come to me when he had a nightmare, things changed. We lost that ineffable camaraderie I cherished so much. We still joke around and horseplay and all that stuff, but it's definitely different now. He's starting to see me as our sisters do. I really am going to miss whatever it is that I lost, even if I am probably never going to be able to put into words what it really is.  

Cuz writing's cathartic... Right?

Sometime at the beginning of September my little brother called me crying. This really freaked me out because my brother DOES NOT cry. He’s a cocky little shit. Through a combination of his good looks, super genius intellect, and being the baby of the family, he has had to deal with very little adversity in his life. So yeah, him crying definitely raises some red flags for me.

Since our brother’s death (this is going to get confusing, since I had 2 brothers and am talking about both of them now. My little brother, who is gay like me, is Andy. My other brother was Alex), my mother has sought comfort in Jesus, which in turn brought her to husband number FIVE, the minister of her church. Together they have redoubled their efforts in their pursuit of super duper pious superiority. For a year my baby brother has been their little project and that entire time I had no idea. I left and I didn’t look back. All 3 of my sisters are away at college and my brother was left all by himself with my crazy ass mother and her preacher husband. I should’ve known better. 

When Andy called me he was defeated. I had just seen him a few weeks earlier at mine and Brad’s ceremony, he seemed a little off, but I was too caught up in my own stuff to even notice. He needed me and I wasn’t there for him. While Andy was talking to me I realized this year has been absolute hell and he’s been all alone. The strongest most confident boy I have ever known was telling me he wished he was dead. My heart felt like it was being ripped out through my back. Tears were pouring down my eyes but I refused to let that sadness and anger show through my voice. As calmly as I could, I told my little brother that I would be flying home on the next flight to LA and that he should leave my mother’s house immediately and stay with his friend until I come and pick him up. I told him I loved him, and then I made him promise he would leave as soon as we hung up the phones. 

I was pretty freaked out by how calm I was after I hung up the phone. Booking my flight and then packing a suitcase felt like an out of body experience. It wasn’t until Bradley got home, I finally allowed myself to completely fall apart. Just the thought of losing another brother made me hysterical. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about Alex and how much I miss him and love him; I can’t go through that again. Then Brad did what he always does, he made me feel like the strongest man in the world and made me believe I could do whatever I had to to make this better. I love this man so God damn much, its just crazy.

I had Johnny pick me up from the airport. His brother and Andy have been joined at the hip since kindergarten. So I knew Johnny would look out for him until I got there. My flight to LA gave me time to organize my thoughts and actually come up with a plan. I only have one brother left and my mother has no right to make him feel bad about himself about anything! Who the fuck gets married 5 times before the age of 43 and then feels like they have the right to call somebody else a sinner!? She’s a fucking hypocritical whore who needs to learn how to shut her cunt mouth.

I was ready to cause all sorts of trouble the second I stepped off that plane. I had gone passed the point of caring about how a reasonable adult responded in these situations and I just wanted to fuck shit up. Johnny recognized that in me immediately and pretty much just stopped me in my tracks. He knew that if he let me anywhere near my mother in the state i was in, no good could come of it.

The truth was that I had a plan already. I knew exactly what I had to do to achieve my goals and I knew the only thing that stood in my way was my need to make my mother feel a fraction of the pain and humiliation she inflicted on Andy. Before anything could happen, I needed to see my brother. On the way I called my mom to let her know Andy was with me, and that we needed to have a long discussion after I had some time to calm down. Then I called Andy’s dad to let him know what was going on, de didn’t answer. 

After Alex died, Andy’s dad pretty much checked out. He has never been a very stable person (as long as I have known him). He’s a veteran of “operation dessert storm” and has some serious PTSD problems. He’s a good person, but he has never been able to handle too much without dropping everything along the way. I wasn’t expecting much from him, but I was expecting more than what I got. 

When I finally saw Andy, I was so sad, hurt, angry, and absolutely devastated that I can’t even articulate it now. I wanted so much more for my brother than what he got. I never thought in a million years that he would be inheriting my same problems and I wouldn’t be there for him to guide him through it all. Comforting my baby brother, I finally found the resolve to do what I needed to in order to make sure Andy would be okay. 

I was surprised at how my mother gave in so easily when I told her how things were going to be from now on. I think that for a minute she finally realized how awful she actually is and this was her way to make amends. There was a moment where husband #5 tried to interject, but I calmly and politely informed him that I would BREAK HIS FUCKING FACE if he opened his mouth again. Just to be a dick I told him his marriage with my mom’s not even really official until I get in a fist fight with her husband and this would probably be his only chance. He shut the fuck up and was quiet as a church mouse after that. 

Andy and I stayed with Johnny for a month while I found us a place to live. It’s his Senior year in high school and I didn’t feel right moving him to New Orleans at this point in time. Andy’s seeing a psychologist once a week, and so am I, and occasionally we even see him together. Andy isn’t the same person he was a year ago and it breaks my heart. He's lost a lot of his confidence and he's so angry with everybody. When he gets depressed I feel so incredibly helpless that I can't even stand it. He didn’t deserve what his life became and I feel like I am going to live in shame for the rest of my life for the part I played in his sadness. 

If you find yourself in Hell... Keep going.

Because of you, I am finally a man that I can be proud of. My whole life all I ever wanted was to be proud of the guy I saw in the mirror, most of my life this wasn’t something I was actually able to do. Then I met you and that all changed.

You were, quite literally the most beautiful man I had ever laid eyes on, and from that very first moment I knew I was in trouble! Those first couple years together were an absolute blur! We laughed, we made love, and we began to struggle with the idea that we were stuck in this forever kind of love that had trapped us the moment we met. 

For a very brief moment, we hit a rocky patch and I was scared we weren’t going to find a way back to each other. However, in that time apart I learned more about you, your life, your aspirations, your strength, and your vulnerabilities than I had during the whole of our relationship. I also learned that a life without you was no longer possible for me. Because you are my everything.

Now I wake up every morning feeling like the luckiest man on the planet. Before you came along I was just this stupid boy messing up in life left and right. Then I met you and I became a man. You gave me the courage and the strength to face my demons. You saw me at my worst, you came back for more, and you still loved me. Without you I am not me.

So this is my pledge to you: I love you, and I will spend the rest of my life showing you how much you mean to me. I am yours and I will always be yours. Whether it be fixing a wayward household appliance, or sexing you up until your whole body overloads in ecstasy I will ALWAYS be there for you. And when times get tough I will remember all the reasons why I picked you to be my husband and how I am so very fortunate that you chose me too.

5 years and it feels like I have barely had time to blink. I wonder what 50 is going to feel like…