Friday, August 31, 2007


When I was a young gay kid I passionately loved those guys I went to school with, even though they could act like bastards in their great panic stricken rush to prove to everyone in sight that they were quite normal guys, the evidence being that, as everyone knew, they pounded the fag. This was the safest thing to do at the time.

Even so, it was just impossible to pound the love out of me, and it was just as impossible to pound out of me the desire to have sex with those guys I loved so much, and to prove to them just how passionately I felt for them by sending them away from a sexual encounter with me staggering, and all wobbly and knock kneed. Whether they were straight or gay, did not make any difference to me, I loved them all, and I was quite convinced that even those straight guys would be wobbly in the knees when I got through with them, and they strongly suspected this to be the case as well, which then explains all the beatings confused young adolescent boys felt the need to dish out, for they had been lied to and bullshitted by a society which told them that no real man would ever be like they were or feel the confused feelings that they did.

Yes, I loved those guys, and there was no better way to show deep affection for another living breathing human being than to pour your heart and soul into having sex with them, and send them out of the galaxy and off to Andromeda, or even further than that if you could hone your skills and become good enough.

Yes, as soon as I hit puberty and sprouted that first patch of pubes, being the sensible and level headed kid that I was, I made it my goal to become history’s greatest lover. My goal, simply put, was this – the super duper orgasm. Damn I loved those guys and somehow, someway, they were going to be having super duper duper orgasms, You see I loved them just that much, loved them till the end of all time, until the sun went Nova and until the last star in heavens height burnt out, and then, long long after that would I be loving them, so great was my passionate loving affection for those guys.

Now being a pubescent adolescent I had some concerns about reaching my goal, because I was wise enough to understand that even the great masters were once apprentices. This thought fucked up my plans, because I did not want to waste any time giving a few guys moderate orgasms as I learned the ropes. My great secret dream was that perhaps I might be the Mozart of sex, a child prodigy, a real virtuoso. Now I was realistic enough to know that such brilliant child prodigies were quite rare, and given the high odds, as much as I was hoping that perhaps I might be Mozart, the child sexual prodigy, the odds were kind of stacked against me, and I would probably wind up being just Brent, the apprentice.

Fortunately there is no such thing as a really bad orgasm, so it is not like those unfortunate guys who were my study guides would walk away from the encounter feeling totally ripped off, as I slowly climbed my way to the top. They just wouldn’t get it as good as some of those later guys were going to get it, and who knows, perhaps I might run into them again later in life and thus have a second chance to make up for my past mistakes.