2001-03-13 - 21:28:30
Entitled

Entitled

Not To Sound PRETENTIOUS Or Anything…

Please congratulate me on being nominated for yet another online journal award. I'd like also to extend my best wishes to AdamW and OrchidLove on their nominations.

And bouquets, please, to the creators of such an award; affirmative gestures like this really help bring us together as an online community. I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say that we oh-so-fabulous cyber-scribblers appreciate such recognition of our enviable, inimitable efforts.

Just-Talked-After-Getting-Laid-Glow

Sex with Kentaro was as lustful as ever. But as I chewed him up and licked him all over, as he whimpered and writhed, something wasn't connecting. I was fantastically aroused like always, but as our skirmish messed up my bed in all kinds of ways, I recognized the signs. I was contracted, pulled back, up on the ceiling looking down on this fleshy frolic.

Shame is a fucked-up fact of my life, often woven through my sexuality in ways I don't pretend to fully understand. I can grasp how this emotional toxin fed into previous bouts of sexual compulsion, but its continuing impact on my post-compulsive sex life puzzles me.

All emotions are corporeal; shame, especially so. I feel the contraction, unmistakably, in my belly; the problem is that shame also numbs my mind, a dumbing-down of awareness. So I don't usually realize what's going on right away.

It was the unique intensity of my orgasm that tipped me off. I almost always cum extremely, and this has certainly been the case with luscious Kentaro. But what's different when I'm in one of those shame binds is a powerfully physical sense of release in my belly: as if all that fucked-up gunk is spurting out of me. It's quite incredible.

From my go-around with compulsive sex, I learned that as good as those expellent climaxes feel, getting off is not the answer.

So I knew it was time to have a little chat with Kentaro. What had triggered me, I realized, was the invitation J.C. and Kyle had extended to him earlier last night. They suggested that the four of us go out clubbing sometime soon.

I don't feel like, or need to, trot out all my neuroses to explain why this triggered me. It just did. I knew Kentaro was eager to go out and explore gay nightlife here; he had mentioned it when we first met. I've been quite happy to show him a good time here in my bedroom; I guess I put the clubbing idea out of my horny mind.

Our talk went like this: I said I understood how curious he was to go out to a gay bar; that if I were tagging along, I'd be viewing our outing as a "date". In other words, while Kentaro and I are not boyfriends or involved in any sort of monogamous relationship, it would be important to me that neither of us would pick up some other guy when we are out together. We could choose to go out without the other and do whoever or whatever we desired; that was not the issue. But I needed to come to some basic understanding before going out on the town with him.

The language barrier was a bit of a problem; we lay there in my mussed sheets, two cum-splattered guys trying to hear each other beneath the words. Kentaro did understand me, eventually. While he said he is very curious about having sex with other Canadians before he goes back home, he didn't expect to pick some guy up right under my nose. Unless, that is, some guy came onto him aggressively; in that case, Kentaro shyly admitted, it was all bets off. "When someone likes me that strong, I cannot say no," he said, burying his face in the pillow.

We talked some more. And more. And more. It was not an argument or even a disagreement. I made it clear that I was quite happy to simply not go out with him and the boys; he could do whatever he wanted, pick up whoever, and tell me all about it the next day. It was just that in terms of my own insecurities, I didn't want to watch. Not at this early stage of our sexual friendship. Were Kentaro here in town longer, no doubt six months or a year from now he and I would be going out and picking up guys together; that kind of relationship, I have learned, takes time to build.

As I stammered and repeated myself and asked continually, "Does that make sense?", Kentaro smiled at me and made cooing sounds and caressed my cheek.

After a couple hours, we stopped talking. It was 2 am and we both had to get up early this morning; me for work, Kentaro for school. At that point, I was leaning more towards the easiest solution, not going out to a club with him; he, on the other hand, was insisting that it would be fine, we'd go out together and leave together, no big deal. That was where it was left.

It had been a great discussion, fascinating even. But afterwards I didn't feel peaceful. I felt exposed. While I did not think my request was the slightest bit unreasonable, it rankled me that I needed to make it. That I had to drag all that out with him, reveal this insecure side of me. Why couldn't I be cool and studly enough to just live and let live? Why do I always have to talk about all this shit, come off looking like an airy-fairy freak? He's only in town another month, why scare him away with all my blar-de-blar needs?

You know, that voice.

Excerpt from Kentaro's email tonight:

Let's go to a bar this weekend! (only if you can make it)

I will definitely keep my promise.

Every time we have a good discussion like the one we had last night, I'm getting into you.

Miss you,

K

Imagine that: neuroses and all, I get to just be me.

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