Is there anything more to it?

Well, it is an accepted fact now. Questions and doubts regarding the same can’t change anything now. And frankly, all of this vexes me. It is like people aren’t ready to accept the fact in its totality. Well, it’s clear and out there!

The entire time and thought process can’t be centralized around this fact. It’s well and good that I’m gay and the acceptance of the same fact by me, myself is proof enough of the fact that I need not provide clarifications to anyone else. I need something, something that now sets me forward on to the track chosen by me. Some kind of a Lord, you know, to set me on and set me in. The experiences shared by people who have similar kind of experiences might prove of some help, I don’t deny but they don’t seem to be of any help as of now. It’s like I am able to identify with those experiences and feel what he’s been through/felt but what after that?

It has been a crazy time, though. Of revelations, of confrontations, of acceptances, of scariness, horniness, restlessness, frustrations and also of some unwanted deviances. It’s not necessary to blow up one’s so called “tensions” and “frustrations” in a puff. It’s just a pleasurable exercise in self-recklessness and an unfruitful exercise in achieving nothing. They are just moments of fake “introspection” and inflammation of any productive work that could have been. Agreed, we are living the “dream” keeping everything at risk. But does that “we” have to necessarily include “I”? I know myself to quite an extent and know that “this” is not contributing to anything I would wish to achieve. Or, maybe this was supposed to happen? Crazy shit.

Also, there are people around me who are such crazily good ones. The fact that they understood it and now readily listen to whatever shit I have to say is good. But this is luck, pure shit fucking luck. Now, I don’t want to go into the analysis as to what would have happened if these crazies hadn’t been there. Why should I? Why should I question the goodness (?, not such a nice word, but fuck the niceties here!)?

There’s this fat-ass who has this radar fitted onto his head to detect any abnormality as to the normality of my behaviour and the sometimes concerned, sometimes over concerned questions he asks freaks me out. Why the hell and from where the hell? Well, enough of this crapping –the-other-person shit. Let’s get down to some gross stuff.

The beard, the smile, the nose, the collar bone and moreover, the awesomely-casual appearance just gives me a high. It’s sometimes even the folds of the cloth over the well-formed body that makes want to submit to his godliness. (It is godliness, no he can’t be from this realm of human existence, for sure!) The veins pumped up symbolizing the animal inside which needs to be stroked to be put into activity enthuses in me the desire to just rip him off, strip him down to basics and just hold him tight and close. Whoa! I am horny, indeed.

Sometimes, even one aspect, rather one feature, is enough to set me or set me off. But sometimes, a nice warm smile and its non-extension to a grizzly-bear like excitement is enough. Sometimes, not even that. Sometimes, it’s just the appearance...uhm...not really though. If that bastard turns out be an out and out rustic, well, it’s a put – off.

That was a nice deviation. The perfect articulation of sexual fantasies really helps getting off the load and then helps the mind to concentrate on other fantasies.

Okay, what are my other fantasies? Introspection, writing (scribbling would be a more appropriate word, though), reading? Are these even fantasies? I don’t fantasize about them. I don’t have dreams of me sitting on a bean bag with a cigarette (these days, a cigar should be the more appropriate hand-holding object) and blowing away my writings and readings...What the fuck am I even writing? This does not make even the least amount of sense.

Have you ever liked the feet of a person? You know those clean, well structured feet (as if they’ve just come after a jog or playing football or any other strenuous activity) in a single – strapped chappal (preferably black or something in combination of black). I can perfectly imagine those feet circled around my back or feeling everything that I’ve got to give it to the guy. I may even suck the thumb. You know, the way Keanu Reeves does it to Charlize Theron/imaginary sister in the Devil’s Advocate (a mind-fucking movie). But I’d rather he sucked the toe.

So, this has been a toe-sucking, sexually charged, vein pumped writing piece. Enough of it. Let’s get some sleep and wake up tomorrow to see forward to what other fantasies I acquire. But for now, let’s sign off.