Me and Mr. Jones

“Give yourself over to absolute pleasure,” Tony sings in the shower. I can hear him clearly even though the door is closed to the bathroom and I’m hiding in the bedroom, under the bed. Tony is loud and Tony is horny. If he had his way, I would be in the shower pushed up against the wall while he pushed himself inside of me. He would still be singing. And when we got out he’d ask me if I felt like “Doing it again in the kitchen?” or someplace else in the apartment. This is one of the reasons I am hiding.

Not that I don’t enjoy the pleasures of sex, I do, but I don’t enjoy them every waking minute. Tony, as a displaced segment of my own personality, is capable of sexual activity at any time, time and time again. This isn’t really a negative to some people, but it causes me to feel some performance anxiety because I feel that as a young-ish man I should want to be sexually involved all the time. But sometimes sex feels too involved, and sometimes I am sincerely not in the mood.

And sex to me isn’t really sex. Sex is intimacy. Sex is focused attention. Sex is heightened awareness. And sex is an expression of love. This becomes complicated because of the biology attached and the actual, physical longing and need for sexual release that I sometimes feel. However, unlike Tony, I also have emotional needs. I really enjoy having sex because it makes me feel loved.

Similar to Tony’s need for sex, my need for love is infinite. But it is also exclusive. I only need love from one man. So because I equate sex with love it seems I develop an infinite need for sex from this one man, but I think that is only “seem” and not “be.” It is hard to explain this to the man, however, because my desire for love from sex can be confused with the times that my desire is for sex from sex. And both look a lot alike. But only on the outside.

All of this speaks to the reason that I have become quite obsessed with the topic of sex. And the idea of it, as it is expressed with all sorts of different purposes. There are parts that scare me, such as mens’ desire and their sometimes violent means of fulfilling it. There are also parts that thrill me, such as being the object of such desire. These two things are contradictory, yet both completely true. This is why the one and only man with whom I have sex has a lot on his plate.

The benefits to this man, however, are the fact that I am exclusively interested and intrigued by this one man and his sex, and therefore always appreciative and never bored. (Hopefully this also means I’m never boring, but I suppose only he can decide that.) But once the man has proved to me that he will use his sex to show me love then I will allow him access. And since I only have room for one, this man will not have to fear that I will look to another. And since I have a Tony-sized capacity for love, I will also never lose my interest in this man. And he will always have a place to go.

Tony is not this one man. However, Tony doesn’t understand that. This is the other reason I am hiding.

Well, sometimes I’m bombaloo.

Tony, usually confused and always inappropriate, just stumbled in the room. “Is that all that you are going to wear today?”

A bit defensive, I replied, “What’s wrong with it?”

“You gotta be flashy, baby. It’s the 5th of Cinco. Don’t you own a sombrero or something?”

“Did you just say the 5th of Cinco?”

“Yeah, you know, the day to go out and get drunk on Mexican beer at reduced prices.”

“Tony, have you ever thought about running for President?”

Instead of drinking coffee in the morning, I think I’m going to switch to soy milk, or perhaps white-out. That way it won’t be so obvious when I spill all over the white kitchen counter and/or floor every gosh-damn morning.

Despite warnings that it is unhealthy to read other blogs besides TWAT, I decided to branch out a bit today and see what the rest of the world has to say. I stumbled upon a lovely little site, the thoughts of KM, that introduced the idea of identity in terms of a conversation between two gay men. One was interested to know if KM was “masculine” acting, and KM was rightfully snippy in reply as he explained that the question really became trivial once sex (which appeared to be the whole goal of the conversation) was introduced:

Other guy: i meant mannerisms
KM: i’m a fag
Other guy: haha
KM: so i’ll own that i’m gay acting, if that’s a problem.. well then.. oh well
Other guy: you know what i mean
KM: not really–i HATE it when people ask me if i’m “masc?”–it’s like.. “well, when your sticking your cock up somebody’s ass, screaming away.. you’re not so ‘masc’ yourself.”

What most interests me about this conversation are the characterizations that are implicit in the questioning of someone being “masc” or “gay acting”, in mannerisms or otherwise. And the fact that “Other guy’s” (my label) interest seems to be dependent on the answer. And that interest will most likely be expressed through some sex act. From my experience, this seems to be typical for a certain sub-set of gay men, those who decide to build a value system on their own superficial rules of attraction and behavior and attempt to process the world based on those standards. And for some reason, the whole point is to eventually engage in a sex act. The point of which is most-likely to experience an orgasm. And then to begin the process over again.

Now, this is not a judgment on this sub-set, nor do I dare claim that all of my assumptions are valid. It is simply the impression I have gained from interacting with men who have fallen prey to this uncomfortable value-system. And it seems that I am not the only person who finds this to be a problem, as KM himself expressed his distaste of that line of questioning.

I should also add at this point that I do not think this is an attribute specific to gay men (or even a sub-set of gay men), no, plenty of people (mostly male, in my opinion) are guided by identical impulses. But I am going to discuss this in terms of gay men because they are who I have had my own experiences with, and who I myself identify with, as a gay man.

Whew–let’s take a breather. This is getting a bit heavy for a blog like Tony’s.

So what is this obsession with masculinity, as defined by a particular set of characteristics? Big muscles, strong handshakes, non-expressive gestures, deep voices? I don’t even know what else to add to the list. It is tied in to appearance, but also seems to go deeper into the area of some sort of ability to “pass” as not gay, should the situation require it. Is it defensive, or simply a spill-over from a past need which is now promoted as a good thing simply out of habit. You know, survival of the fittest.

Either way, it seems a poor way to determine whether or not you want to spend time with a person. And it used to makes me feel insignificant because I do not fit into these shallow little lines. Although I do not wish to, I still cannot shake the awareness that I don’t.

However, there comes a time when most people realize that they would like to find company for more than a night, and at that point it becomes important to embrace a person holistically. My theory, though, is that after a lot of exposure to just sex and many many people, one becomes quite inept in their ability to find or sustain a longer relationship.

I remember Mark, who had counted something like 237 men before he met me. And when he met me I did not fit into any sort of “masculine” mold, nor did I have any of the more physical characteristics that seem to be required for those on the prowl. Perhaps his attraction to me was based on the fact that I was different. Who knows? But he pursued me as if I did. And I constantly had to ask him to slow down. It worked for awhile, until he decided that he should get what he usually gets and took it from me without asking–but that was another story for another post.

But Mark’s problem, well, his problem before the other problem, was that he never seemed to really know much about himself or other people. The only thing he ever seemed to be able to remember were muscles and masculinity.

Now, you can’t always justify or explain your tastes, but I do think that you can cultivate them and expand them. And I also think that if these gay men spent a little less time measuring their men, they could spend a whole lot more time enjoying them. And enjoying themselves, for that matter.

The more you allow yourself to expand, the less you feel the need to hide.

Tony asked me if I would “…bite the hand that feeds you?”

I replied, “Will you stay down on your knees?”

Inspiration is hard to come by these days. A lot of quoting and alluding, but very little actual writing. Am I still a “writer” on the days I’m not actually involved in the act of writing? And is writing to be judged by quality or quantity? Must it be read?

I’ve been propositioned to help write some song lyrics for a composer of music who is writing songs for a friend of mine to sing. This is both an exciting prospect and a scary one. I feel that I am definitely qualified to write in a more poignant fashion than you might find in a Lindsay Lohan song, but what does this really mean? I am creatively confused, or, to continue with the trend of quoting pop songs, I am “…losing focus–kind of drifting to the abstract in terms of how I see myself.”

I need a good critic. Someone to help contextualize what I’m trying to say. Someone who might actually encourage further pursuits. For instance, she could explain that “He observes the subtleties of desire with the precision Wallace Stevens applied to the natural world. Not since Anne Carson has a poet so adeptly described the bittersweet energy generated from the touch of a lover. The joy and annihilation that exists within the love of men.” At which point she might also add that my “current project, the composition of lyrics to be sung by his friend, will be an eagerly anticipated contribution to the universe of song.”

Hmmm, you know, come to think of it, perhaps I should be my own critic. I seem to be better at that than I am at actually writing in a primary fashion. ‘Course it seems that I have a tendency to exaggerate and hyperbolize, which may detract from my believability.

until i have time to write my own words, i just want to say something to you, but once again i’m going to let wallace stevens say it for me:

Light the first light of evening, as in a room
In which we rest and, for small reason, think
The world imagined is the ultimate good.

This is, therefore, the intensest rendezvous.
It is in that thought that we collect ourselves,
Out of all the indifferences, into one thing:

Within a single thing, a single shawl
Wrapped tightly round us, since we are poor, a warmth,
A light, a power, the miraculous influence.

Here, now, we forget each other and ourselves.
We feel the obscurity of an order, a whole,
A knowledge, that which arranged the rendezvous.

Within its vital boundary, in the mind.
We say God and the imagination are one . . .
How high that highest candle lights the dark.

Out of this same light, out of the central mind,
We make a dwelling in the evening air,
In which being there together is enough.

It was just pointed out to Tony and I that our little blog’s title spells out “twat.” We thought we’d take a moment to reflect on this rich legacy.

As a noun, “twat” means:

1: a man who is a stupid incompetent fool
2: obscene terms for female genitals

I’m sure the connection between these definitions and our blog is plainly obvious. However, the relationship between Tony and these other TWAT acronyms may seem a bit of a stretch, but upon investigation we’re sure you will eventually understand how we are all part of one big happy family:

The War Against Terrorism
The Warm As Toast (cafe in Cardiff, Wales, UK)
The Western Area Tourers Motorcycle Club
The Word Association Thread (game)
Traveling-Wave Amplifier Tube

Many thanks to Bill for pointing out this serendipitous relationship of letters!

READ THIS NOW!!!

People always ask me, “How can you be so skinny and live so phat?”