me that I have to remember the good sex I have -- which sounds stupid but in fact it might be an absolutely necessary component of my future mental health. This is, of course, where it gets complicated and embarrassing -- because I have to admit that I am still very attracted to beautiful young men. This fault is characteristic of a gay writer who I admire very much -- but I don’t necessarily admire this fault in him. Anyway, Tennesee Williams is supposed to have once said that he needed to ejaculate on the chest of a beautiful young man regularly in order to be truly happy. It doesn’t really matter where I ejaculate, or even if I ejaculate, but I do need to be naked with a beautiful young man now and then. I know, this is something you fully expected, and it makes me a gay stereotype, and it probably disgusts, or saddens, or disappoints you. Too bad. I couldn’t care less. I don’t judge you do I? I don’t care what you do in bed, really I don’t. The difference of course is that I tell you about what I do. But everything I write here is lies, don’t believe a word I say, because it’s all from my point of view, just like your notion that your sex life is somehow more mature or better or more stable than mine -- is also a fanciful construct of your abundant imagination -- which you have a regrettable habit of referring to as either ‘intelligence’ or even just as ‘the truth,’ Anyway, today's blog is an exercise assigned by my therapist -- and if you are erotically or psychologically inclined, you might find it interesting. Not that I care. I don’t care if you are not interested in what I have to say but I do want you to be interested -- and I suspect you are, even if you feel guilty about it. So, back to beautiful young men. Well I can’t seem to get naked with a lot of beautiful young men in Toronto. There are certain logistical reasons for this, and also some practical ones, i.e. I am rather old and not as desirable as I once was, and also in Toronto, I was — as of four years ago — once again, regrettably terribly infamous (I get infamous every few years for just being ‘me’ — don't ask me why, it just seems to happen). But in Montreal these disadvantages don’t factor in. Why not? I mean I'm just as old and unattractive here. Well perhaps more younger men fancy older ones in Montreal than Toronto, I don’t know. I do hang out at a great bathhouse here: that could be it. (And yes I’ve had the damned monkeypox vaccine -- but I’m not getting another one! Jesus. Are you nuts? How many vaccines are we supposed to get? And why is there no information about all this? I have been vaccinated against both monkeypox and smallpox-- so why do I need another vaccine? And there aren’t enough vaccines to go around anyway, so-). So this last week in Montreal there have been three beautiful young men, who I will tell you about here, so I can finally stop counting. Yes I count. When I get back to Toronto I will be saying things like ‘I haven’t had sex with a beautiful young man for a month!’ And other stupid shit. I know, (I’m a very sad person.) But if I look back at this blog I will remember that I am desirable and that a beautiful young man will -- and does always -- cum my way at some point. Sometimes they even cum in droves. Anyway, the first one was Arab, at least he looked very Arab, and yet his name was Melvin. I don’t know what to say about him except he had beautiful brown skin and I sent him out of my room at the baths after awhile, because I got tired of choking on 'it' (I presume you know what ‘it’ is) as I occasionally do, but he kept coming back -- and then I would choke some more, and then we got into other things. And he was remarkable versatile, and just very nice to be with, in bed. Sensitive. The next night was crazy. I wasn’t drunk (which is unusual) and there were two boys in the room beside me — one tall and thin and hairy and another -- well he was just a beautiful blonde punk. I got into a bit of a threesome with them -- but of course it was the blonde punk I really wanted. He came into my room later, and I did very nasty things him which I won’t go into here. But I will say, he was very good at moaning like a porn star -- as if every bit of pain I inflicted on him brought him nothing but the deepest pleasure. I’m sure it was all an act but he was so pretty! And I got to kiss him on the mouth! And he was a very good at whatever that performance was he was doing. Finally, there was last night's offering. A tall willowy brunette was lurking outside ay room -- and he was so slender, and so extremely tall, that one would have expected him to have a gigantic you-know-what, but he didn’t, but who cares, as he had a classically kind of beauty --a straight-jawed handsome face - and I was aching to kiss him, and when he ejaculated, his balls were nestled in my hand. (How’s that for explicit?) And he was grateful to me -- which is a strange turn of events -- as I am usually the grateful one, or expected to be, or whatever. So I must remember this; that a kiss is much more than a kiss. And that beauty will come my way again. I believe in that 'Oprah Mantra'— if you imagine it, it will come, that is -- in your face, or on your chest, or between your thighs, or inside your 'nether regions.' So I appeal to you! Imagine it! You can create your own reality. I do it regularly here.
