2006-05-20 - 7:47 p.m.
It’s a strange thing but I have started to realize that people are far more complicated than I thought they were. My whole life, I have pretty much looked at other folks’ personalities and psychologies and looked for that snazzy one line of explanatory underpinning that might sum them up a treat.
“Ahh,” I might say upon learning that so-and-so was never able to hold a job and can’t keep up a relationship. “So-and-so is obsessive compulsive and narcicissic, and that’s why he can’t be happy.” Well, the joke is, of course, is that someone can be a veritable witches’ cauldron of psychological issues and still wind up behaving differently or unlike his type.
It’s like I was told back in the old days when I was an actor. Anyone can really do anything, and that is why you can never “negate” your character. You never say, “My character would never say or do this” because, of course, someone will say and do anything under the right circumstances. You just have to have the right motivation and anyone will do anything.
Mind you, I have to admit that I think I have been losing my mind lately. Seriously! And the sole culprit, if I can be so bold, so boredom. Ennui! Wearisome lethargy, self created, but unavoidable. I think I am just going mad. You see, nothing I do really excites or stimulates me. I need some new excitement – at least, some excitement that won’t kill me, I mean. So, in June, I am planning to shake things up a bit.
There will be a quick trip to New York to visit my blind grandmother, who is recuperating from a recent surgery and shall be pleased to see me. Then I’m going to go for a quick hike in Yosemite, followed by another quick hike in King’s Canyon. I am desperately hoping that the changes in scene ill make me more… oh, I dunno… energized. For I seriously think I am devolving into some kind of a great squishy knish.
Of course, one thing I will NEVER do is go and see that dreadful sounding movie THE DA VINCI CODE, which I have noticed, has received the most satisfyingly dire reviews lately, much to my pleasure. Geez, the furor around the movie has mystified me – I just don’t get it. I read the damn thing a year or two ago, and, do you know what? It was a total nothing. Seriously. It’s just a loathsome and schematic Euro-thriller, with paper stereotype characters and a patently idiotic storyline full of the clumsiest reverses and the sloppiest “out of left field” revelations.
The novel’s payoff doesn’t match the build up. And the so-called “clever” puzzles that are sprinkled throughout the novel are of an idiotic type that are less meant to dazzle than they are meant to flatter and compliment the book’s most middlebrow level of readership. As for the book’s “jaw-dropping” revelation that Jesus and Mary married and had a family – oh puh-leese. Who gives a rat’s ass? For my job, I have been reading hundreds of books on just this same theme for years and years.
In most of these other books, the idea has generally been handled with more originality and freshness. There was the lumpen Euro-thriller about the Spear that Stabbed Jesus, which was sold to Hitler and President Bush. Then there was the Euro-thriller about the archeologist who is stalked by murderous Cardinals after he discovers a skeleton found in a Jerusalem tomb, covered with the headstone that read “Jesus.”
Then there was the script about Jesus being cloned from the Shroud of Turin and discovering that, surprise, he had no magical powers whatsoever. Then there was the script about Jesus’s Sister, Jessica Christ, who was crucified on a purple dildo with her huge titties hanging out. The ideas truly go on and on and on. So the salient question to me (and my apology for paraphrasing the First Question of Passover) has been, why is this book different than all the others? I just don’t get it. It just stinks.
Speaking of which, I have to confess to having recently experienced what I’d call one of the Worst Tricks Ever. I won’t lie – I know that I am not all that much, but it is an odd fact that my excellent manners and my enormous shlong are usually enough of an inducement to get me guys who are, frankly, way out of my range, if you don’t mind me saying.
And so it seemed the other evening, when my choice of a boy for the evening – or for the half hour – was this curly haired young fellow, about 30, with a cute close-cut, around-the-jaw beard. He was really sweet – and rather petit, no more than five foot five, but that’s all right because I am kind of into guys who are shorter than I am. Anyway, the very nice young man came over, and we fooled around for a bit – making out and groping each other. We cuddled, and he turned his back against me, grinding his butt, still clad in a pair of jogging shorts, pressing hard against my erection. I gently lowered his shorts and his boxer briefs, exposing a sweet, extremely hairy bubble butt that seemed very pleasant to the touch.
This guy was all about being fucked, so he promptly hopped onto the bed and got onto his hands and knees, in the appropriate “fuck me a la doggy!” style. I am a genial and amiable lovemaking companion, so I got right behind him, and slid my cock up and down his ass crack.
“Uhh,” the cute boy moaned. “I liiike that, fuck me fuck me fuck me!”
And so, after taking a moment to slip on the condom, I gently eased my cock into his tight hairy hole. And, oh dear – just as I was getting into the rhythm of feeling the boy’s anus squeezing against my cock, the room was filled with the most unfortunate stench. It was awful! A horrible queasy-making odor, mingling raw eggs with backed up sewage and the dessicating corpses of animals long dead. It bordered on the unspeakable. No, it was way past the border of unspeakable. If the border of unspeakable was Tijuana, this was more like Mexico City or Moolahay. It was revolting. I was mystified as well, for, you see, we had both taken showers before we started boinking, so the truly stink wafting from the young man’s butt was clearly the result of something deeper and rather unwashable. It was disgusting. Now, I know what you’re saying there, dear blog-a-licious blog, as you laugh merrily at me.
There is this character in the ancient Chinese pornographic novel called “Rose Scent,” a beautiful young woman who is thus named because when she is born, the scent of roses spreads out of her mother’s vagina. This is not unlike the scent that was wafting from the butthole of this young man – but it was no rose smell, I assure you. And what can you expect? As soon as this hideous odor assailed my nose, I almost instantly felt myself losing my generally mighty erection.
I eventually hopped off the young man and bade him to relax and cover himself up. There would be no more sex this evening, at least not with him. I urged the young fellow to get dressed and go home, telling him that “it was not his fault, I was just more tired than I thought I was.” I don’t think the young fellow was convinced – but I did not have the heart to tell him that his butt was just far too grodey for anyone to deal with. He dressed himself in shamed silence, his jaw clenching and unclenching, while I tried to make him feel better with charming small talk. Naturally, he only replied to it with a grumpy grunt or a snarl. I whisked him out of the apartment, accompanying him downstairs, just in case he decided to take a spiteful hankering to vandalize my front door or my mailbox. Really, you never know with a scorned sex buddy. And if his soul was as nasty as the grodey odor from his ass, he might have been capable of anything.
