++Magazine

Yesterday night I made love to music. Not like ‘He was going down on me and Marvin Gaye was playing in the background’, but like ‘I really made love to music’! It was nice. I came twice he came last. I rolled some grass. He didn’t giggle. How you ask? How now brown cow I say. Some things are just not meant to be written about and I think this is one of those things. I’m sorry I started about it. The world would be a better place if everybody could experience it and I pray to tones, sounds and notes that one day they will appear to everyone. Love your music!

Those days you feel fucked up and alone. You really want to be with somebody. Or just share this feeling with somebody who feels the same and won’t judge you. Won’t say stop whining, but will understand you. Will put a hand on your shoulder or simply nod when you talk.
I want that so bad, but I know I’m not in the mood to go outside and meet these motherfucking people. I know that they have to force my door and be there for me. I also know that if those people feel like me they also are waiting for me to force their door. And that just isn’t going to happen.
Fuck this then. Let me be sad. Let me be mad. For sometimes it’s these times of anger that can give your life its purpose back. As long as you really feel the pain and face your feelings I think this destructive feeling inside of me can only be plus plus.

“Today is the beginning of the rest of your life.” That’s what I told him, while unzipping his flyer to pull out his penis, suck it and juggle his balls in my mouth. He told me to stop and apologized: “I would fuck your brains out, if you weren’t that ugly. I mean it. You look like a crack whore. But you make me feel like I’m God. Or Tupac. Or somebody else you want to get fucked by. I like that about you. That you’re always dripping wet when you’re with me. Maybe one day we’ll make out when we’re drunk. But not today, ok? I’m sorry.”

I got up and kissed him on the cheek. He’s right. I really do adore him. He just makes me feel like I’m somebody. Different than what my dad or my brother used to make me feel. Always reminding me of my flaws. But he’s right. I know one day I’ll seduce him when he had too much to drink and then we’ll be together. Live in San Francisco perhaps. We’ll have a happy gay couple living across the street, who often watch our kids. In the weekend they change their names to Ramona and Franka and make a few extra bucks on the side. No gravy. He’s just so right. How does he know me this well? How come I’ve never felt like this before? How come he’s so smart? Is this love?

He left me there under the bridge on that sweet winter night.