Pissed off at 3 in the morning

Most days i'm still a fostercare kid. Most days, I'm stilll angry.

I have this story of that whore my father fucked, betrayed my mother. Some say my father got my mother on drugs. And that’s why my mother abandoned me. So there is this bitch, her name was Stephanie, not a bad human being, after my father got himself killed and my mother was decided correctly unfist, I had go into the system. Steph was one of the few people who took pity on me and visited me in foster care. But she made false promises. She would say that she would take me to places. She made so many false promises. But I was a trusting kid. Funny how much hasn’t changed as I got older. Every time she made a promise I would get myself dressed up; plan my day and sit on the curb. People told me i was a fool. Steph was a crackhead, her promises didn't mean shit. She never showed, each every time she had some different excuse. Everybody used to tell me I was an idiot to wait on Stephanie. I said she was the mother of my half sister, why would she play with my feelings. The last time Stephanie didn’t show up after a promise, changed my entire life. I remember, I was eleven years old. We were supposed to go to the carnival. She promised. I believed. She didn’t show. And when she came to me the next day with a teddy bear, I bitched slapped her. I tried to kill her. You can’t play with people feelings.

I write this because I still don’t understand adults. Why it that some of us think everybody is is on our personal time. I say, if something comes up, and you need time, don’t act like some greedy teenager where you need to try to do everything. Be polite and allow others the space to make different plans. I write this specifically. I hate when gay men try to treat other gay men like women. I know what you are doing, and personally, my feelings aren’t hurt. I don’t believe in games, because I know there is something behind the lie.

Some people say I am a bitch, abrasive, nontrusting, I say I am nobody‘s fucking fool. .I know the best and worst of human-beings. I know people who are so honest they are punished. I know liars who are so good they are rewarded. To be honest, is so damn hard because you are marginalized, told you aren’t romantic. Funny how Romanism is correlated to lies.

I am so damn honest, I am not romantic anymore. I used to tell lies, it made me more appealing. I stopped and now I feel stupid. Maybe I should go back to telling more lies.

I can't have sex if i feel fat

I started working out again for my sex life. I don’t like being on my stomach and seeing a gut. I like my full stomach in my bed on Sundays alone, but for sex, it doesn’t put me in the mood. Call it vanity. I always have some reservation about the gym. Honestly, I have a fear of getting too physically fit. I think there is something psychological when one gets really fit that they can’t keep their clothes on. I also don’t want to be harassed when the body becomes a target for lusting homosexuals. Some people just don’t know boundaries. Also, since I do have a sexual addiction, and feeling too sexy will make me want to have more sex than I already have and I need to keep my job. Sex addicts can’t be prostitutes because it takes the fun out of the hunt or destruction. If I got paid, then sex would become practical. It’s complicated with sex addicts. It’s not about the sex, it’s about the greed. All addictions are rooted in some level of greed.

I got that weight monkey on my back. As a former failed model and actor, my weight has always been torment for me. I couldn’t hang with being a model. I don’t have the natural body frame. I am southern boy, plantation field genes that makes my ass plumped, legs thick, and not some skinny white boy in a Calvin Klein ad. I also like to eat. I remember being 18 years old, and every time I would go to the agency that bitch would weigh me and tell me to lose ten more pounds. I was already 5’11 and a hundred fifty pounds. I already lost like thirty pounds. I was only eating carrots and working out like two hours a day. I have no idea where I got the energy. My resident assistant even did an intervention when he started realizing was I was becoming anorexic. My roommate told on me. Finally I had a breakdown. I wasn’t getting any work because bitches would tell me I was too dark or too urban or something. I got a couple of commercials, but nothing significant. I finally realized it just wasn’t going to happen so that night I gorged ten McDonald burgers. In the next two years I would go from 150 to 220. Yes, I went to the extreme. It wasn’t until I felt my ass and belly jiggle as I walked down the hall that I decided maybe I needed to lose some weight. I was a fat kid, so I think for the rest of my adult life I will always have the weight issue and being gay doesn’t help. I go back and forth with my weight. I still struggle with anorexia, that is mentally. When I developed that drug habit, it was so easy to not eat because I was never hungry. The only problem was the drugs. I don’t have that demon anymore, thank god. That will be another subject for another day.

So I am back at the gym because I feel I’ve struck a good balance and peace with my weight. I’m giving up the twink years, size 28-31. When I’m naked, I let to feel sexy and I’m not talking about mentally sexy, but physical. It’s funny; guys I’m attracted to aren’t usually fit. My ex started off really thin but ended up gaining like eighty pounds. I still liked his belly but I could never let that happen to myself. I don’t care what other people do with their bodies. I sometimes like a heavy guy because they really know how to suck a dick and eat ass like licking the BBQ sauce off some ribs. I don’t like really skinny guys are too muscular. I definitely don’t find body builders sexy. I have no desire to fuck a rock. I honestly like a guy who if I am having sex with I know if we get into a fight afterwards I probably could take him. It must be a good fight, not where I can clearly win or clearly lose, just right. Call me Goldie locks.

To blog or to jack off, that’s the real question.

Well things are looking up for me. I’m so happy I’ve finally ironed out how this blog and got it running. It’s not my first blog. It’s more like my 12th. I think starting a blog is like picking a major in college. People usually say go with your heart or interests, yet basket weaving don’t get you laid or a job. I guess I wanted a blog that I cared about. Not to say that I didn’t care about the other blogs, they just weren’t focused. A blog is also like getting a pet. If you are not going to be responsible and take care of it, it will die. I’ve let too many of my blogs die because I just didn’t care about them. I need the motivation like jacking my dick. I’ve gotten to the age where I just can’t jack my dick for the hell of it anymore. I either need to let the frustration build up so I can marvel at the all the milky explosion or I need to be really turned on.

My first blogs, I was young and full of so much ego and cum. I usually just wrote whatever I felt, but blogging should be more than just an online journal. Blogs should be a source of information, a revolution of thought, could be life changing if done correctly.

I think this is my underground blog. I live a very interesting life. I’ve experience very interesting things. As a writer, I have so many demons that need exorcisms so I can get to my real work. It’s funny in America; we sometimes feel the need to split our personalities: the whore in the bedroom, the innocent church bitch in the streets. Yet, my problem is that i'm always a dog in heat.

I decided with this blog it will not be censored or redesigned or edited. That’s the thing about being a writer, sometimes by the end of the process, the writers voice is stripped down and it sounds and reads like any other book on the shelf, the same with songs and movies. Art is not even art anymore unless it goes underground where it remains pure. Yet, even the rats must come to the surface to feed or starve. I have no desire to be a starving artist. I would like to be a smart artist. Many writers take on different identities in order to keep their craft alive and pure. This is my humbled attempt at keeping me honest as I whore myself in mainstream America. Who knows, this blog may become something more than I can imagine. I really don’t like to think beyond the end of the week. I start my life and sobriety over every Monday morning. I guess I believe in taking it one week at a time rather than one day at a time. That’s another subject. Be warn, I’m not going to be gentle and there are no safe words.