Plans for the evening?

Well my little "dating" foray has come to an end... already. So there goes my Friday evening plans.

Two dates, two fantastic shags. Then he just stopped responding to my texts.

All right... I can take a hint buddy.

It hurts a bit, but god damn it, its good to know I'm not dead on the inside.

So take him away, and bring me another lover....

Resignation

Life is funny. Not two days after my last post about not having any emotion attached to the sex I've been having, someone comes along to challenge that.

I'd resigned myself to the fact that meaningless sex was the way to go for a while, then the next Grindr hook up manages to surprise me. After I found my pants he simply asked "Wanna get some dinner?".

So we went and we ate. And we learned and we connected a little. Then we went back to his place for more sex. And lo, it was good.

And there has been follow up texts, and last night a follow up date. And today more texting. And plans for Friday night.

I must say, I'm rather enjoying being back in the dating dance.

The autopsy of a one night stand...

I have just finished watching "Weekend" which if you haven't seen is a low budget movie that follows a gay one night stand that manages to stretch out over an entire weekend.

Russell is drunk in a club, trying to hit on a hot guy, but when his advances are ignored he moves on to another guy. Cut to the next morning and you see Russell making coffee for the guy that had ignored him.

They chat in bed, they share, they laugh, they get pissed at each other. They have more sex as the one nighter keeps going.

It ends quite sadly, but very poignantly. I really enjoyed it, but it saddened me in the same breath.

I actually miss the art of a proper one night stand (if you could ever say there is an art to it). Hanging about in a bar when someone catches your eye and the next thing you know you're all over each other.

You get home, for a drunken fumble and potentially mind blowing (but usually disappointing) sex. The next morning you chat through the hangover and awkwardness. If its far too awkward, you find your jocks and you leave. If there is a spark however, you will exchange numbers and have more sex.

I miss the chance to even see if there is a spark. Right now I am having more sex than I have in the last six months. These are generally grindr/scruff hookups where there is never a chance to express a spark.

I want to go through the dating dance again. I want the awkward morning after. I want to feel the uncertainty of whether I'm texting far too often or too early. I want the joy of having someone text me to see if I want to do it again.

I don't want it to be smooth sailing where I find the love of my life tomorrow night at the bar. I want to be hurt, I want to be nervous and anxious, I want to be let down.

I just want a chance to feel emotion again.

Perth Shenanigans...

I went to Perth for a quick holiday a couple of weekends ago. I have a tonne of photos, but I really hate travel photos, so I'll not bore you all with pictures of buildings and shit that I saw (ooooh look... a tree!)

But it was a great 5 day break. Far too much booze, and quite a lot of sun (I have a tan!). Possibly the most exciting part of the trip, I broke my mother fucking sex drought.

That's right... I had to fly to the other side of the fucking country to get some cock. And it was good cock.

Interesting fact - he is actually from Brisbane. So I flew to the other side of the fucking country to get cock that lives only three streets away from me.

Expensive root.

Sad fact - he tells me the next morning that he has to work out a way to tell his boyfriend of 15 years why he didn't come home last night.

Bastard.

They say a change...

On line dating really isn't my thing, but I do have both a Grindr and Scruff app on my iPhone (Scruff being the older, hairier, manlier version of Grindr).

I've never had many pick up attempts off either site (save for a bizarre "Can I lick your toes and then cum all over your feet?" request), so I thought I might change my picture to see what would happen.

So I went from this;

Taken back in March 2009, slightly boozed, but looking rather happy. To this;

Boxing Day 2011, new trimmed stubble in place trying to look brooding and serious (my forehead looks funny because I had to erase a fake tramp stamp tattoo from it. I do not do photo shop well!).

And the result? I think my phone was about to blow up with the amount of notifications it was getting. I felt oh so popular!

Interestingly, I was getting messages from guys that failed to respond to my previous attempts at striking up a conversation. I'm still the same person guys, but I've realised that you are a bit of a shallow cunt.

I still haven't progressed to meeting people off the apps - I'm just not in a hooking up frame of mind still. But it is nice to know that people do find me attractive enough to hit up.

Angry

I am feeling rather frustrated of late.

These frustrations are leading to anger being displayed in ways that are not entirely healthy and/or appropriate.

This usually happens when I've been drinking.

Just like now.

Apparently I was very drunk on Monday night last week, and I went off my tree at my housemate for not keeping the house clean.

I went quite ballistic at another friend for spreading untruths about me on the same night when he wasn't there to witness the things he was spreading.

On NYE I was at a party with a new group of friends, and I told some naughty stories to a group of straight guys who managed to twist them into an insult (confirmed by a sober person there). I let them know that I was not impressed.

And I am seriously pissed right now.

Tonight I find out that the person that I have been crushing on for far too long (long time readers may recall me referring to a "nice guy"), just sprouts shit to me. He tells me that the guy he hooked up with on Wed last week was too camp to consider a future with, then he tells another friend that he would move to Melbourne for the same camp man.

DON'T TELL ME SHIT. I am man enough to deal with you hooking up with other people.

He does nothing but confuse the shit out of me. I get a tattoo - he tells me he doesn't like men with tattoos. Why does it matter? I decide that I am going to have a neatly trimmed beard thing going on - he tells me he hates beards. It doesn't matter what you like.

For the last six months our mutual friends keep telling me that we should be together. Well I can't take it anymore. This guy is holding me back from being happy.

From my substance abuse counselling it has been identified that he is my "enabler" - the person that leads me astray to do bad things. I don't think that's the case. I think he is the man that I am trying to please at any cost, hoping that he will fall into bed with me. I can't please him in that way.

BUT - his friendship is very important to me. I just need to learn how to move on and leave any fantasy about us being in a relationship in the gutter. I respect him professionally, and as a great friend but he will never be my lover.

I hope this post will allow me to have some closure.

I'm not dead...

So what do you think...is orange my colour?

That's me slightly boozed at White Wolf, a 30+ dance party held last weekend here in Brissie with my mate Andrew in the singlet and a shirtless guy that I had been dating who decided to tell me he just wants to be friends about two minutes after the pic was taken (grrr).

Interesting fact... this pic is currently on the White Wolf homepage... someone must think one of us is pretty!!

Check out the galleries to see what sort of party it really was...

Ps - yes, this post was nothing more than me stroking my own ego. But fuck it... I need an ego boost right now.

Some holiday hotness....

Yes! I have a Manhunt account. I'm not ashamed to admit it. Though I have rarely met anyone off the cruise site, it's fun to go through the profiles and see who's out there looking for some fun in Brisneyland.

But sometimes the best thing about logging into Manhunt is this gentleman that randomly pops up at the login screen;

That tattoo, the shaved head, the facial hair, those eyes. THOSE ARMS.

Sigh.

It's Complicated...

So I met a man.

We went on a date.

It was nice, very nice. No bedroom shenanigans. Just a quick peck on the cheek and the promise of another date in the near future.

So three days later we meet for another date. Yes it was fast, but he made all the moves. And once again, very nice. I got boozy on wine and started to get very touchy, so I took him to a gay bar where we made out like teenagers for hours.

He dropped me home, we did something naughty in the car, but no bedroom shenanigans again.

Then the man goes overseas for two weeks. He emails me every day. We share, we learn.

This is looking to be promising.

The man finally returns home, and we meet up as soon as possible, at his insistence.

He certainly knows how to push my buttons.

Date three was spectacular. Nothing more can be said.

Really... could this be going somewhere?

The next morning, he rolls over in bed and comes clean about his ten year relationship that he doesn't plan on ending any time soon.

I still went on the fourth date.

Idiot.

They call me Quick Draw McGraw...

My night's out on the town can be rather confusing and drawn out. SO here's last night's events in an easy to read time line format;

11:00pm - Enter the Wickham Hotel with housemate and mate.

11:02pm - Start sucking face with a cute younger gentlemen.

11:10pm - Leave Wickham Hotel with cute younger gentlemen.

9:00am - Cute younger gentlemen leaves my room.

It's been a while, but I even shocked myself with the swiftness of that pickup.

Ps - It was freaking great.

Gravel rash where?

So.

Have you noticed that I have a list of worries?

Yes?

Good.

My biggest one right now is my inability to control my drinking.

I know some of my more popular posts have been recollections of boozy nights past, but after last weekend, I'm more than a little concerned about it.

Lets summarise the damage of a last weekend's bender in no particular order;

2 - nights of drinking
500 - dollars spent, probably more
1 - Hole in the lounge room wall
3 - ex's attempted to hook back up with on various dancefloors
0 - successful hook up attempts with ex's
1 - Irishman in my bed that wouldn't kiss
5 - smashed glasses in the kitchen sink
1 - arse cheek covered in gravel rash
2 - over worked kidneys
x - number of sambucca shots consumed, where x may equal anything between 1 and infinity.

It was all kind of a blur really. But I do remember both nights getting to the stage where I just went "Fuck it... lets just get trashed".

And I did. With a great deal of success. And that's what really worries me the most. That I had to take it to that next level.

Why wasn't tipsy to medium level drunk enough? I was having a great time both nights, but oblivion was just calling my name.

So two mammoth hangovers, two days in a row, left me pretty much without a good proper sleep in, and a good relaxing day to recover from a fairly hellish week.

And the embarrassment of crashing through the house at 4am with the non-kissing Irish man, breaking all the glasses in the sink and then falling over in the courtyard with my pants around my ankles has led me to the conclusion that enough is enough.

So I've told a few people that I need to cut back, and all are supportive.

"Yes! It'll be great for your health."

"Yes! It'll be great for your budget."

"Yes! It'll be great for your reputation to not look like a drunken sloppy whore every time you go out."

But tonight a couple of those supportive people seem to have forgotten about being supportive.

"So you're coming out tomorrow then?" asks one. When I say no, probably gonna go to the parents for a visit, I get laughed at.

"I'm sure I'll see you on the dance at midnight out of your skull!" Chortle, chortle, snigger.

Fuck you. You have no faith in me at all? Thanks.

And then another tonight sends me a text saying "Come get trashed with me!" with my reply being "I'm cutting back, remember?"

The response? "Oh. Fuck that".

Once again. Thanks.

I know I've said it before, told people that I have to cut back, and will try and adhere to a low booze weekend. And have miserably failed. On more than one occasion.

I need to not get trashed this weekend. I need to display some self control. Just to prove to myself that I can actually do it.

But what if I can't?

I put my togs in my port along with my jandals...

Kiwi ad, but rather witty....



I don't normally go for long-haired men, but that guy does something for me.

Sigh... I need some action.

It's official. I have lost my sex drive.

Gasp!

Apart from a couple drunken dance floor pashes (and one taxi driver pash) there has been absolutely no action for Benji.

Shock!

And I'm not really missing it.

Horror!

This has been the longest period of my life I have gone without sex.

Smurf!

Well, it's probably only been three weeks, but that's a long time between doodles for slutty old Benji.

Jumanji!

Work has been absolutely flat out, and I'm coming home exhausted. Yes! I'm working my arse off.

PAP SMEAR!

I'm not spending hours trawling manhunt/gaydar looking for a potential date and/or bum fun.

EXTENDED WARRANTY!

And when I do go out, the end result isn't me ending up in a random bed having bad fumbling drunken sex.

RHONDA BURCHMORE!

What ever am I to do?

It's like transformers, but not as gay...

Head. Going. To. Explode.

Too much "must see TV" to choose from tonight...

The finale of homeMADE....

The hot one won as opposed to the really hot one. That is - Jason Sullivan (below left) wins the series;

When it's clear the hotness that is Darren Palmer (below centre) deserved to win;


Of course I have really no idea what their designs actually looked like, so I'm basing my choices on their looks alone. I'm shallow ike that.

Then we have the finale of Australia's Next Top Model Series 5 - I've never seen any of the previous five series before, but got sucked into. The finale came down to the chick with a mouth that looks like a well fisted arsehole, Cassie;


Versus the classic, curvy, well mannered girl who deserves to win - Tahnee.


Thank Christ Tahnee won. A very nice young lady, though the "Curvy" tag is totally undeserved. She's not anorexic, so that makes her fat obviously in the fashion industry.

Then we have the premier of the latest series of Torchwood. For those of you who have no idea, Torchwood is fucking fantastic spin off from Doctor Who (Torchwood is an anagram of Doctor Who... clever hey?) and has more fantastic story telling (no time travel bull shit), and with lots of sexual shenanigans... same sex, bi sex, hetero sex. Lots of man on man kissing.

Loves it.

It stars the very lovely John Barrownman (below centre) - an out Scottish man who married his long time lover not too long ago. And he is rather fetching too.

Watch it... yes it's Sci Fi, but fucking watch it.

Then tomorrow its the premiere of the next season of Project Runway - Fashion designers meets reality TV.

Loves it.

There really hasn't been this much good TV in a long time... I don't think I'll be leaving the house anytime soon.

Ummm... it ain't Robert Pattinson

It's been ages since I've looked at my blog stats in Google Analytics, so it was interesting to see that a new referring site has popped up to the top of the list - The Purse Forum - "the Internet's #1 community for handbag lovers and shoulder fashion fetishists!".

Ummmm...

I was a bit confused to see it there, as purses have never been discussed on this blog. Sure, I do carry a man bag with me most days to work, but it's never made it into a blog post before. So I had to do some investigating as to who or what was sending people over to Zeke for handbag related information.

After about an hour trawling through page after page dedicated to the merits of Gucci vs Prada vs Dior vs a steaming pile of dog shit (seriously - who knew there were so many designer purses out there, and that people actually care which is better?), I found a topic discussing Robert Pattinson (you know - the pale looking twink fella from Twilight), and how hot he is (blah). And someone had provided a link to my post on Fernando Verdasco - with the comment "Oh my god I just found the hottest picture of Robert ever".

Seriously, what the fuck?

Just to refresh your memory, this is the very hot Mr Verdasco;

And this is the super-twink Pattinson;

Pattinson reminds me of one of those skinny, malnourished European porn twinks - he just does nothing for me at all.

Now, put Verdasco in a porn, and I'd buy it for sure... straight, gay or bi - it doesn't matter. I'd love to see him in action.

What a revolting development...

It's Saturday afternoon, I'm sprawled out on the man-couch, relaxing and recovering from a hang over. And while I did get drunk, it was a very different night from my usual debauchery-filled booze fests.

I didn't get absolutely trashed on sambucca shots.

I didn't mix my drinks so much I vomit.

I didn't spill booze all over my new white leather shoes.

I didn't smoke a single cigarette.

I didn't send multiple texts to random past hook ups.

I didn't step onto a dance floor.

I didn't pash on with a single bloke.

I didn't stay out till the break of dawn.

Are you as shocked as me?

I was actually home on the couch by 12:30am. I spent very little money, and I can remember every single part of the night.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Doing the walk of shame at pride fair...

It's no secret - I like my sex. I'm pretty sure everyone on this planet knows that I have no qualms about going out to a club, finding a man, taking him home and spending several hours performing rectal examinations on each other.

It's wholesome fun for everyone involved!

However there have been a few gentlemen recently who have wanted to take things a bit further than just the one night stand. I'm not talking deep and meaningful relationships after just one shag (well I think one certainly did) but they want to date and get to know me and share and learn all about me and all that crap.

In the past this would have thrilled the absolute hell out of me that a man would actually want to pursue me a bit, and perhaps eventually end up as a, gasp, "boyfriend", but lately these guys just aren't doing it for me on all the levels I need. I'm not talking sexually (well one certainly turned me off- he liked me to gouge my finger nails into his nipples as he reached orgasm. If I drew blood he was extra-happy... yeah that doesn't work for me, sorry), but more on the emotional level. There just hasn't been a great connection with anyone recently. And I think that's what I'm really searching for.

So how do I tell these guys that I'm not interested in taking things further? A quick phone call to say, "It's not you, its me"? God no. I simply disappear from the face of the earth. I stop returning their calls and texts. I delete them from MSN, I block them from Gaydar. I just do the total silent treatment, and pretend like they never existed.

Asshole.

I hate it when blokes do it to me, yet I seem to have fallen into the easy habit of just waiting til they get the hint, then going on my merry way and forgetting they ever existed.

That was until Saturday afternoon when I attended the Birsbane Pride Fair in Musgrave Park. Pretty much every time I turned around there was a man that I had slept with and then stopped talking too standing behind me. It was actually quite embarrassing.

On the front gate was "The Nipple Twister", then in the beer tent I saw "baldy back hair" and he was actually talking to "Priscilla Queen of Retail". Over in the queue for the toilets I saw "Bad in Bed" and then when getting some fairy floss I got served by "Hung Bottom Twink".

And I nodded and smiled at every single one of them.

And it got to me thinking... I have very few gay male friends. Well none really. All of these guys that I have ditched could actually have turned out to be mates, yet I simply push them away and try to avoid them. There are a couple of guys who I do talk to, but they really are ex's and there's always an undercurrent of sexual tension (probably just me being horny). It would be nice to develop a couple of friendships with gay guys that isn't based on alcohol consumption or the fact that we have seen each other naked.

But then again, I struggle to make new friends no matter what their gender or sexual orientation. Apparently I can be a tough nut to crack, and people often think I'm aloof and rude, when really I'm just extremely shy and don't know how to react in certain social situations.

I did have a great day though... mostly spent talking to lesbians. For some reason I get along with them really well.

Ramsay - Top or Bottom?

This is an interesting side note in the whole Tracey Grimshaw vs Gordon Ramsay "Lesbian Pig Battle" that has been raging since the weekend - he was once arrested for toilet naughtiness in 1993.

From the couriermail.com.au;

Ramsay's alleged "lesbian" comment had opened the door to rumours about his own sexuality, sparked by a toilet arrest in 1993.

Ramsay was arrested with two other male chefs in a public toilet at London's Green Park tube station in March 1993 and cautioned for gross indecency.

"We were drunk, very silly and all of us were messing around in the toilet," Ramsay said today. We were taken in by the police, we all got our knuckles rapped but its nothing to do with homosexuality."

Nothing to do with homosexuality? The police don't take you away for cautioning for just pissing on the floor of a public restroom Mr Ramsay. You must have been doing something indecent (ie - extremely erotic) with those other gentlemen's peni for it to be recorded on your file.

So do you reckon he's a top or a bottom? I could imagine him in the middle of a spit roast. At least he couldn't complain so much if he had his mouth full of cock.

Home Blah...

You all know I love my reality TV, especially when hot men are involved, even more so when they are doing one of my most favourite gay things... interior design.

So I should really love HomeMade on channel nine. Ten interior designers all battling it out to renovate people's homes and change their lives forever....

Blah blah fucking blah.

This show is a load of shit, but it should be great. 5 guys, 5 girls get to redesign some run down homes on a tight time frame with a $50,000 budget. But it is so unbelievably boring. I think it has something to do with them stretching it out over two nights a week - there's just no sense of urgency or pressure, even though the teams are working to tight deadlines.

Its also very obvious they have picked the designers based on the "eye candy" factor. Normally this wouldn't worry me, but with the success of Master Chef on Ten, with its greatly diverse casting, HomeMade just looks shallow in comparison.

Now lets get to the good part... the men.

This one is my favourite... Mr Darren Palmer;

Nicely muscled, nice amount of chest hair and in Sunday night's episode they showed him shaving his own hair without a shirt on. Pity he's straight.

Next is Jason Sullivan;

The publicity shot from the site doesn't do him much justice, so here's a shirtless one;

Damn it being so small, but you get the gist of the hotness going on... Blondes don't usually do it for me, but I'd still say yes.

I missed Tuesday's elimination episode... and I really couldn't care less. One of the skanky no talent whore women went home anyway. I hope the next challenge is at a nudist colony or something... that would really make it a much more interesting show.