CHASERS, I think they are called.
Guys, usually young gay men, who are chasing the virus. They want to be infected. It's their generation's version of suicide.
"Nobody pays attention to us, nobody love us, nobody notices us. Well now I have HIV."
Silence.
But some hear a type of applause in their warped minds giving a round of...
What about the one's who don't chase the virus, but they chase the act of transmitting it? The one's who will meet someone on the subway, at a dog park, online and go home and fuck. Not suck. Fuck. They will text the first fuck buddy that comes up on their phonebook and alphabetically go down the list until someone will come over and fuck them.
Is sex that good? Is sex that worth it? Is sex with someone you don't know easier than I assume it to be? Am I really such an inexperienced clod that I can not bring myself to have sex in the bushes, or intercourse on the first date, let alone after a ten minute encounter over the last few sips of a Stella.
Intercourse with a complete stranger. Intimacy and nudity with another man who shares your desires. Undressing, lubing up, forced kissing chemistry, lazy foreplay, bad breath, condoms (or not), ass, cock, saliva, cologne, sweat, shit, cum.
My cock burns at the sound of it. And, in the past, my cock has burned after less than the above mentioned have been exchanged.
I know we are supposed to love ourselves and give ourselves up to the moment. I know as a gay community we are more sexually free. That's supposedly a badge of honor.
I feel like I have a huge scarlet letter. Not sure if it's a P for Prude or a V for Virgin or a PS for Plain Stupid.
I know I am a blocked person sexually. I know I have leaps and bounds to make in my lifetime. I just don't plan or hope to make them with hundreds of people. I prefer to keep it in the dozens. If I being generous.
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Me
- Clem
- New York, New York, United States
- Kind, considerate, and generous. Passionate, eager, antsy, sensitive, funny, charming, and wise. Music Lover. Debate Starter. Loud Laugher. Fast Talker.
3 comments:
Dear Clem,
I would think, given your work environment, that you would have a very deep understanding of what the above desires imply. Not to say that said environment should change anything you've written and how you feel, but for what you do and for who you surround yourself with, I would assume you'd understand this culture that you seem to look down upon so steeply. You make some sweeping generalizations about what you think gays are like in a sexual sense. Not to say I wouldn't agree that some certainly are, but perhaps some look to you not as a piece of sexual challenge, but through a connection that they'd like to explore because you are a geniune guy and extremely attractive. Or perhaps people looking to explore the sexual side of their relationship with you speaks to how you've led them to relate to you in person. Remember though, whimsy does not necessarily imply random.
Regards.
i wished if you had something so passionate and detailed to say regarding my post and/or my work environment, since you apparently know me, that you would at least have the balls to stand behind your words. Instead of remaining Anonymous.
Regards
Anonymous makes the point, when stating that 'whimsy isn't always random,' that no, sex isn't always important, and that's okay. (I think he's suggesting that you may be taking sex much too seriously; that perhaps people come on to you because you're hot and they want to touch you, and not because they're fucking whores, but can't necessarily offer you marriage and a picket fence so you shut them down. Just a guess.)
Anyway. Sex is not always deep or profound or moving or even important, and expecting it to be all those things all the time is putting too great an onus on what is, essentially, only a bodily function. A fun one, if you're lucky, and a carrier of other emotions in some circumstances, but mainly just a physical function.
And, as you point out, really not worth dying for.
Bug chasers are, imo, a more tragic and broken version of the kind of women who get knocked up every chance they get. (I realize that pregnancy and death are not parallel, but getting pregnant is both a deep, intense rush AND changes the rest of your life forever.) Getting 'bred' is a painful analog: "Is this it? Did it happen? Did he put it in me?" The guy who infects you is forever part of you, just like the man who fathers your child, even if you never see him again. Fucking for its own sake is pretty neat-o, but fucking to get bred adds a profundity that cheap sex alone just can't offer: it's a hot, dirty, intimate way to off yourself - Honestly, a very, very gay expression, imo, embodying the passion, sexuality, kink, guilt, shame, and brazenness that seems to characterize the modern queer.
Seriously. I realize it's a tragedy and I'm not trying to be glib, but literally fucking yourself to death is a pretty damn gay way of going, I have to say.
[I'm not implying that gay men want to possess the biological imperatives of women. In terms of loss of self, I'm implying that getting pregnant is a lot like getting sick, actually. The moment is deep because of the reverberations: there goes the rest of your life.]
In other news, men who have sex with men claiming that their 'sexual freedom' is a badge of honor? Crack me up! Men are whores by nature, bless 'em. Rallying around slutdom is hardly a quality to rally 'round, and I think a selection of y'all know that - and when you compare yourselves to your 'community,' you end up thinking you're prudes, which, being label-oriented to begin with, causes you to self-identify as prudish, and since most of the sex you have access to is the throw-away kind [true for every one, not just teh gayz], you begin to wonder just when you ended up frigid, exactly. And you're not frigid. You just aren't turned on by the aggressive, desperately disinterested sex vibe you see out there and you're so unfamiliar with normal sex vibes you can't separate the wheat from the chaff.
And then you wake up in your 30's and the physical act of love has become so important that you can't have any because it might disappoint you.
Too much random sex IS cheap and cheapening. No, sex ISN'T that damned important... not the random, cheap kind, at any rate. It doesn't all have to be profound, monogamous, and loving, but slutting around IS an imbalance and based on self-loathing just like frigidity is.
The truth is in the middle. A strong, stable person is quite capable of indulging in silly, light-hearted throwaway sex and can come away from it refreshed and renewed. He can also have a loving sexual relationship that lasts more than seven minutes. Forty-year-old virgins and sluts are alike in their imbalances because neither is strong nor stable within themselves: sex is both much more and much less important than they can perceive. The slut cheapens it through meaningless repetition, and the virgin complicates it with unrealistic expectations.
Healthy sex is like laughter: an individual laugh isn't important, but laughter is a quality often expressed by a healthy person. The quality of laughter is profound, but no individual laugh is important in itself. In the same way, no individual sexual experience is profound, but the overall expression of one's sexuality is.
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