The Cure

Trying to appear invisible and nondescript, while hiding behind the corner of a stack of bookshelves, I waited for a library patron to leave. He was searching for a specific Dewey decimal number, pointing at the printed numbers on the books’ spines.

Adrenaline raced through me and my senses were heightened. My face was flushed and I tried to keep my breathing shallow. Finally, he found the book he needed and left, so I quickly moved to the section further down from where he had been, labeled “homosexuality.”

I was going to cure myself.

I scanned through the first few books, and slid one thick volume from the shelf, hiding it under my arm, with the blank, back cover facing outward. I walked quickly to a private, partitioned reading table, avoiding the gaze of other library patrons whom I walked past.

I opened the book, and began reading about clinical case studies of homosexual patients, written in a dry, academic tone with a psychoanalytical viewpoint. I was sixteen years old, and struggled to understand the terminology. What I read was that homosexuality was a mental illness, and various techniques had been used to try to cure it, including electroshock therapy and behavioural modification methods. My heart sunk, because it confirmed what I already believed – I have a mental illness, and drastic methods must be taken. Determined to find a cure, I read on.

I’d known for a while that I was attracted to the same gender. Being the son of a Lutheran minister in a small town, I enjoyed being raised in the church, attending youth group, singing in the choir and participating in events. While I didn’t understand all the theology behind church rituals, I loved the feeling of belonging and being part of a community that, until now, had loved me. But, being gay was a sin, and I not only felt great guilt, but a self-repulsion knowing that God condemned me.

I must find a cure. I prayed daily, on my hands and knees, begging God to change me… but to no avail. I still wanted to be with a man – it felt like it was a part of my soul: a part that needed to be severed.

When I graduated a year early and was accepted at a local college, I moved to Vancouver where I had access to the Public Library and a large collection of books. I was determined to read every book on homosexuality available to find a way to heal myself. I was too afraid to see a therapist, so I needed to do it on my own.

This was over 20 years ago, before being gay was widely discussed in the media, and before the Internet had been invented. I was too naïve, and ‘in the closet’ to search out other forms of assistance. The library was to be my saviour.

Three evenings a week for a year, I visited the library, going through the same ritual of stalking the bookshelves for a new book, spending three to four hours reading it front-to-back in a private reading stall (I was too fearful to sign out a book). I eventually began to change my mind.

I realized that there was a large range of viewpoints on homosexuality, depending on when the book was published and who wrote it. I learned that it was no longer considered a mental illness, since the 1970s, by the American Psychiatric Association. I discovered that Alfred Kinsey had developed a new model of sexuality and preference, based on a scale that may shift over an individual’s life. I read radical/political essays – mostly from San Francisco - by gay, lesbian, transsexual and transgender peoples who believed that homophobia was the problem: not being gay.

I read personal accounts from gay men who had suffered electroshock and behavioural modification therapies, lithium psychiatric interventions and more, who had learned to heal…by loving themselves. And I researched a wide variety of theological interpretations of the bible, from diverse religious viewpoints, towards homosexuality.

I learned that I could love and be loved as a gay man, not only by myself and others, but also by my Creator.

I had found my cure.

Intimacy Moment #3

Officially, he'd broken up with me a couple of weeks prior. But we'd organized a weekend camping trip before he ended our monogamous relationship. We agreed to still go on the trip together, but we'd try to keep our hands off each other.

Obviously this wasn't going to work...I was still strongly attracted to him. He was strongly attracted to me. He just didn't want to be committed to me, and wanted to have sex with other people. Since I was his first real relationship with another man, he believed we could keep our hands off of each other. Since he was my fourth relationship, I knew this wouldn't happen. I admit, I was manipulative...I wanted him back, and I wanted sex. I didn't want to let go of him and our fabulous sexual relationship

I think I've written about this before, but let me say it again. I've had sex with men since I was 15. That's about 20 years. I've had sex with so many men, I can't count the number. Plus having four long term relationships. But I learned things about sex with him, that I never experienced or knew previously.

I'm not talking about anything kinky. We only ever had very vanilla sex. But his technique was beyond anything I'd ever experienced. It's ironic. I'm an out gay man for 20 years. He's a straight man trying to come out as bisexual, who knows far more about sucking cock and fucking than any gay man I've ever had sex with before.

Before I met him, I'd never cum from having a blow job. He could make me come in two minutes, without ever touching my cock with his hand - it was just his mouth that did it. He made me shoot my load so strongly, that it would hit my forehead, or the back of the wall, regularly. I also had double orgasms - something I read about in porn and thought was a legend. I'd cum once, he'd continue, and I'd cum again a few minutes later.

He taught me his techniques, so I could do it to him as well. As I've mentioned before, he was extremely well hung, at least 10" and thick, so he rarely ever had a good blow job. Not many guys could wrap their mouths and throats around him, and make him cum. So both of us loved having sex with each other. In fact, the last time I ever saw him (because eventually I did stop seeing him), I gave him the hottest blow job he's ever had - he was groaning loudly, while my straight roommate was right next door to us. Very embarrassing, but he couldn't help the noise. I really loved to gag on his cock and make him shoot his thick, exceptional load.

Back to the camping trip. We drove north, hiked a mountain, visited the ocean, and gazed at a waterfall. It was on the Sea to Sky highway, north of Vancouver, on the way to Whistler. We stopped at typical tourist traps, as well as headed up unpaved roads to unknown destinations. We had packed all our food and a cooler, so we didn't need to stop anywhere. We talked, listened to CDs, and became hornier and even more horny. Since he'd broken up with me, two weeks ago, neither of us had had sex.

To save money, he put a foam mattress in the back of his 4x4, with lots of pillows and blankets, so that we didn't need to bring a tent or go to a campground. So we'd have to sleep together, side by side. I brought my laptop and rented 6 DVDs, that we could watch, while lying next to each other in the back.

At our first stop in the afternoon, for a short nap, I had my hand on his dick, right away, once we were lying together in the back of the 4x4. He was already hard. He said, "No, we shouldn't be doing this." I assured him I knew we shouldn't be doing this, but what the hell. So I gave him one of my now famous blow jobs. I promised we wouldn't do this again, after our weekend. (Right!) I wiped my fist across my mouth, clearing off the excess.

Once it got dark, he said we should find an out-of-the-way place, on a back road, where we could park, watch DVDs and sleep for the night. I agreed. We found one. Then, what happened, I've never experienced before (or since).

We started to watch a DVD on my laptop, laying next to each other in the back on the foam mattress. Of course, my hand was soon on his dick, and his on mine. We were both hard already. He expertly stroked my nice. above average, thick cock, while I stroked his ten incher. It wasn't jerking up and down, hand around cock type of jerking. Sometimes, but not always. What happened is, we were playing with each other and we had lots of precum. So we used the precum to play with the backside of our cocks. The place where the skin connects with the head. It was like being in an extended moment of heightened sexual ecstacy. We did this for at least three hours, if not four. It was like having an extended moment of sexual orgasm - it was Tantric. My whole body was turned on constantly, while watching the DVDs. We both were rock hard the whole time. We both had a steady stream of precum to play with.

There was no discussion, really. We just did it. We both felt the Tantric sexuality of it. We just did it, had fun, and it felt so fucking good. It was really intimate.

I still remember the hardness of his cock. The slippery juice of his precum. The delicious healthy smell on my fingers. I know he felt the same way.

What is intimate about this situation is that there was no talking, just connecting on a very physical level. There were no cumming, no blow jobs, (until later). Just enjoying hard cocks, slippery cum, and massaging that most intimate joining of skin to skin. Mmm. It's worth writing about, for prosperity.

Attempt to tell Intimacy Moment #2 (The B eauty and Horror of Bisexual Men)

We were in the midst of our "honeymoon," high from sexual feelings for each other, but still didn't know each other. We went for dinner at a small Italian restaurant, a block away from Kitsilano beach, where all the beautiful people hang out. We got a patio-side table, next to the sidewalk. We were so engrossed in each other. The energy was thick between us (have you ever experienced this?). We were both engaged in a sense of heightened unreality. We wanted each other. Every word we spoke to each other was important and undeniably fascinating.

In the middle of our main course, a single woman near us, on the patio, asked us, "Are you brothers? You seem to be a lot alike..."

We laughed. I was complimented...I thought, I had found someone very special, who would spend the rest of my life with me.

The horrible thing about bisexual men is that they can fall in love with you, and deny it at the same time. They're not comfortable with being gay, and they're uncomfortable with being straight. In fact, they're fearful of being in love, with anyone...actually, I should say, they're terrified of commitment because that means they have to make a decision. Meanwhile, their hormones, psyche and soul leads them to hook up with a man, but their mind tells them they should love a woman. These men are conflicted and are not good partners.

They can block it off, longer than most of us. After dinner, we walked on the beach. It was July, the weather was warm. We walked down to an isolated beach, where beach-goers lit illegal fires, hung out, drank beer, kissed. There were about a dozen of heterosexual partners around us, sitting around the fire, drinking. But he sat me down on a beached log, myself sitting in between his legs, feeling his HUGE cock on my butt, and began kissing my neck, then my cheek, and then my lips, in front of all the other straight lovers. I felt a warmth from him, that was stronger than any other lover I have ever been with.

I said to him, "You should stop, there are people who can see this." He told me to ignore it.

Meanwhile, he's very publicly embracing me, kissing me, and making love to me in the most lovely way. I was in heaven. But it was only a moment in time. One that I'll remember for its intimacy.

Of course, it didn't last. Two weeks later, driving around in his 4x4, I was caressing his leg while he was driving. He asked me to stop. He was afraid another driver would see me doing this (which was unlikely, considering we're a couple feet higher than anyone else, and his windows are slightly tinted). I've found with bisexual men, they have moments of great intimacy, and then moments of total fear. It's unfortunate they're so attractive.

Moments of Intimacy

Rarely do I read about moments of intimacy. They’re difficult to express. Or, are they so rare, that few people experience them? I don’t know. It may be both. Here’s my attempt to express some of mine.

Delerium
We’re sitting in his Ford 4x4, listening to Delerium on my CD player that’s connected to his car’s stereo system. It’s a winter night on Saltspring Island. His car is parked on the edge of the hill, within a few steps from the bed and breakfast. I sense the drop-off in front of us – if the car were to roll, we’d be dead.

I can’t remember why, but he’s let me drive his 4x4, and I’m sitting in the driver’s seat. He’s next to me in the passenger seat. We’re still new to each other – I’ve only known him for a few months. But I believe we’re a lot alike.

Before we go inside, I ask him to listen to a track from Delerium, the album named Karma, with me.

The funny thing is, I don’t think we smoked a joint, but I remember feeling stoned. Was it the beautiful energy I felt between us, or did we puff on some dooby? I don’t remember, but I think it must be the energy between us, because he didn’t like to smoke pot.

So we lean back in our car seats, listening to the music wave over us. Delerium is a journey. It begins at one point, and ends at another.

I felt every note, and the song seemed to take forever.

I looked over at him, and he appeared to be experiencing the same ecstasy of the song. We listened to a couple more. When it was over, he was all smirks, and his body was draped off the seat. I really felt like we had connected.

For me, it was a moment of intimacy. One that I’ll never forget. For him, I don’t know.

(This post doesn't do the experience justice.)

Thank God, the Pope is dead
I can think of very few people and institutions as evil as the Pope, the Vatican, and the Catholic church. George Bush and the U.S. government comes in at the top ten. I am revolted by the news coverage of Pope John Paul II's death - headlines say things like "The Whole World Mourns the Passing Away of the Pope." Bullshit. Only the tiniest portion of the world even cares. The rest are celebrating. There are very few Catholics in the world, compared to the billions of others in different religions.

Take a look at the Pope's and Catholic church's record...they don't believe in birth control, making women second class citizens and baby producers...they believe gays are an abomination and have caused so much self-loathing and self-hatred for some of God's children...look at all the sexual abuse their repressed sexuality has caused for countless boys and girls, men and women...look at the Vatican's wealth - shouldn't they sell all their priceless treasures to help others? Do you think Christ would approve of their hoardes of wealth?...It goes on and on. I'm so irritated by the media's coverage of his death, making him sound like a saint, when I truly think he has been incredibly evil and caused so much suffering and injustice.

Even the concept of a man being the mouthpiece of God is incredibly insulting to my intelligence and the holiness of humanity. The Pope isn't Christ, for goodness sake! I truly wish it wasn't just the Pope who had died, but the whole institution of Catholicism.

Eulogy to Bloggers who have quit, or almost quit

I’m remarkably saddened by the following bloggers who have quit their blog. So this is my eulogy at their untimely and tragic blog deaths.

Space-Waitress: http://space-waitress.blogspot.com

This man was one of the most brilliant comedic writers online, who sadly had to shut down his site because his employers discovered his site. It was fascinating to hear about the behind-the-scenes goings-on as a flight attendant, and also a manager. He had a unique voice and vision. He also had (has) a long-term relationship that has lasted over a decade – which he shared with readers in an unflinching and honest manner.

Cool-Relax: http://www.coolrelax.blogspot.com

Sweet, sexy, hot. He often posts about his ex-lover DJ who is a creep (and doesn’t understand the meaning of commitment and doesn’t deserve him). CoolRelax loves golf, basketball, singing karaoke, has the sexiest mp3 voice you’ve eva heard. He’s smart and has a job saving the environment. Plus, he has great abs and tight bod. My favourite post was his description of having post-break-up anal sex with DJ. It makes me hard to this day.

Addaboy: http://addaboy.blogspot.com/

The belle of the ball, working at a big-time publicity company, meeting stars, going to parties, attracting and sleeping with New York cops. I loved hearing his ambiguous and unclear references to these.

He’s still writing, once a month. Let's hope he gets back on track.

SlimnMuscly: http://slimnmuscly.livejournal.com/

The most fascinating journal of an escort, who’s a talented painter, who spirals downward into drugs and manic depression. And ends up living with his religious parents trying to change his life. I really wish he would blog again – I’m wondering how he’s doing. I hope he hasn’t been “converted.” (I’m talking religion here.)

Toddo: http://toddo.blogspot.com/

Sigh. He’s gone from the blogosphere. He was intelligent, informative, sexy. He rarely told us about his personal life, but when he did, it was fabulous and fucking hot. He’s a journalist and radio-show host. He was ground-breaking, being a public figure, yet sharing his life with others. I guess it got the best of him? He wrote insightfully about all things. I miss him.

Shaved

I had shaved my head.

I had bought one of those shavers, or clippers, that come with various sized extensions. I used it to trim my bush hair. My genitals. I had done this since I was 14. I also trimmed my leg hair, and the hair on my forearms with a number two. I was a hairy fuck, but no one knew, since I had shaved since I started to get hair on me. I used a razor on my chest and stomach, so it was smooth, not just trimmed.

I felt like I was never supposed to have hair. When it started coming, I took it off. It wasn’t just because I was a gymnast, and there’s some unwritten rule that gymnasts must be smooth. (Have you ever seen a gymnast with hairy armpits?) That’s an excuse I used. Before it was even popular to shave body hair, I took a blade to my bod. This isn’t some kind of foreshadowing, by the way. It’s just the truth.

I don’t think even my mom knows how hairy I am. One of our favourite activities, growing up, was to suntan, and so there I was, all smooth, baking myself in the summer prairie sun, with razor bumps. Fortunately, I’m not so hairy that I have hair on my back…well, not until I was older, anyway.

Now I’m 40, and have some back hair. I’m not an ape, but still, there is hair on my back. I haven’t been shaving myself for about a year now, so I am able to reach back and pull and find a finger full. I’m not about to go show myself naked to someone, so after 26 years of shaving, I’ve given up the task for the moment. At least, my hair is a light brown, and fine.

I don’t remember the moment I decided to take the clippers to my head. The deciding moment. That’s lost to me. Looking at myself in the wall-to-wall mirror, the light a blue/white from morning sun mixed with Hollywood light bulbs and white walls, I took the buzzing instrument with a number one extension and glided it against my scalp. I started in the exact centre of my head. Methodically, I shaved it evenly, one stroke on each side, one after the other, tendrils of dark brown hair clinging to my nose and the stainless steel sink plugger. Ceramic white mauled by prickly brown hair chops.

Inches away from my reflection, I stared into my brown eyes. I was still drunk, but didn’t look it. The whites of my eyes were white. My brows framed them beautifully. Although most of my hair was gone I still looked like me, only unadulterated.

Once, on a crowded bus during rush hour in July, I sat next to a 30-something middle-eastern man who smelled of sex and sweat, and couldn’t keep his hands off his dick. Normally, this should be a turn on, but he exuded abnormality. He was wearing shapeless grey sweatpants, in which he slid his right hand down and started jerking. The bus was so crowded, people were standing hip to hip in the aisles, but this didn’t stop him. Maybe it turned him more on.

I think what turned me off is that he was turned on by me. And because I found him disgusting, I turned on him. If he had been blond or something, I wonder if I would’ve helped him, you know? Actually, that’s not the truth – I tend to find middle-eastern men extremely hot. It was his energy of perversion that grossed me out. My older sister told me when I was 12 that if a pervert comes onto you, that you should embarrass them publicly. Perverts tend to be cowards, and when you publicly state their perversion, they stand down. This all comes to mind while I’m sitting next to Mr. Jerkoff on a crowded bus, in the middle of a sweaty summer day, and he’s smelling of sex and perversion with his right hand bouncing up and down in his sweatpants.

I stated loudly, so all the bus could hear, “What are you doing? Masturbating?”

He looked at me incredulously.

“No!” he loudly proclaimed. Meanwhile, he was still spanking the monkey. He was looking me in the eye and denying that he was jerking off. How insulting is that?

“Do you want me to tell the bus driver?” I asked. A lovely blond woman standing in the bus aisle noticed our conversation, and carefully moved away from us.

The masturbator started threatening me, "I'm going kick your ass," etc. He looked me up and down, all over and sideways, his mouth and eyes agape. “What are you? Some kind of plastic thing?” he asked.

Ironically, I was terribly complimented.

By shaving my head I ended up looking even more plastic - like a science fiction, mass produced, in vitro clone. It made me look generic and indistinct.

I was at the end of a binge, coming down. It wasn’t the kind of binge where you’re just a little hung over once you woke up. It was the kind of drunk where you’ve inhaled 26 ounces within 4 hours, got blasted, said nasty things, ruined your life, then went to bed, woke up, and floated around still drunk. I was floating when I shaved my head. It’s was a graceful slow-motion episode, and every movement is meaningful and thoughtful. Including the grazing of clippers across my scalp.

It was a significant gesture, one that changed my life, forever. If I hadn't shaved my hair off, I would probably never have met Les...

It's late on Saturday night, I'm a little drunk, but here it goes, with no apologies:

Question: Suppose BC calls me, after two years, and out of nowhere? What should I say?

Answers:
It's entirely unlikely that BC will ever call me. In fact, I should drop the question. He has a history of ex-friends and ex-sex-partners calling him, but as far as I know, he never called any "ex" himself. Therefore, this question is moot.

It's assumed BC would never call me after two years because he wasn't as in love with me, as I was with him. When I think back to our relationship, I see he was very disconnected, but continued our relationship mostly because he got something out of it. It wasn't because he felt attached to me. I realize he wasn't in love with me. In fact, I think he used me.

But just in case he calls me, I need to be prepared.

He'd say "hello," and what should I say?

Here's the fast and positive version: "Hi BC, thanks for calling. I appreciate it. You have a good life. Take care. Bye." This would be a positive conversation, in that I'm not blaming him for anything, but also letting him know clearly that I don't want to speak with him again.

Here's the more complicated version: "Hi BC. Why are you calling?" BC would be irritated by this because I'm not playing by his "easy-going" guy-thing. I'm making it his responsibility to explain things, which he doesn't like to do. But this may be the best option. But his answer would be very open-ended and drab, and not help me at all.

He could call me, and say, "Hello." I could hang up immediately, which is probably the wisest decision I ever make.

But I'm thinking....Suppose he's changed. Suppose he has thought about us, how good we were together, and how much he misses me. Suppose he's been with a dozen guys since our relationship (which is likely), and has realized how terrific I am. So he calls me, a changed man. And then, how do I respond?

Do you allow someone a second chance, even when you know better? How do you manage such a call, when he could be the same person (meaning I should hang up on him) or if he has changed (in which I'd need to have a longer conversation with him)?

Who the fuck knows. It probably won't happen anyway, so I don't know why I'm wasting brain cells on the whole issue.

I guess it's a fantasy that he would call, and I simply need to let it go.

I lost respect for the Trump
I saw The Apprentice last night. I can't believe Trump fired the Bradford! I've been trying to work out the philosophy behind Trump's decision, and am not clear on it.

I admit, I find Bradford very sexy. He looks like my ex - BC - in some ways. The tall body, the cute, kind and sexy eyes. Bradford has a lot of charisma. And I like his ability to be decisive.

When Bradford offered up his immunity...he was being courageous. Taking a risk. In business, you have to take risks, and often you are rewarded for them. Especially when you're as talented as he is.

But instead, Trump used it against him, for absolutely no purpose that I can define. Trump, himself, has taken huge risks, and won. He's got an ego that would win world-wide awards. So what's his problem with Bradford? Why did he "fire" him?

I wonder if Trump is intimidated by Bradford's charisma and loveability. He doesn't want competition in his business. If you notice his two side-kicks - the old guy and the younger blond female - they always cowtow to him. They never say anything that would offend the Trump. In fact, they always manage to say the right thing, that is in concordance with Trump. I think they are "yes-men." I've lost respect for them. I think it's clear, from the second episode, that Trump doesn't want anyone who is more talented and charismatic than himself.

Is it possible that Trump's philosophy is that...when you have a gain on other competitors, that you shouldn't offer it up? It's wrong to make yourself vulnerable when you have something over other competitors that makes you safe? Possibly. Do I think it's right? No.

So, I've lost my admiration and respect for Trump, and I'm seriously considering not watching the rest of the show. Unless there's a sudden turnaround, such as Trump inviting Bradford back, I've lost all interest in the show. It's too bad - I really liked it last season.

So FUCK YOU TRUMP. I shouldn't be surprised. People like him are always assholes, interested in their own fame and fortune, and never really help anyone else to raise to the top.

An impasse

Oh fuck. I just spent an hour typing a profound message. Then IE screwed up and I lost it all. So here's the short form (in much cruder words):

I've reached an impasse. I let go of a prestigious job at a prestigious college teaching a prestigious course, with the possibility of tenure in another year. I'm feeling like an idiot. I've felt this way before - having a great job, not being happy with the SHIT going on, and yet in the past I've always succeeded, getting better work, getting better pay.

I'm scared right now that won't happen. But I need to gather my energies to make sure this happens again, now. I also need to get in touch with what I truly want to do, and make a success of it. So this is where I'm at. I'll let you know how it goes.

Fuck. I wrote such a beautiful entry about my experience, and then IE fucked up, and I lost pages of writing.

I guess, you just need to go with the flow...

Upon re-reading this entry, it is much more to the point! Isn't that positive!

Summer is over, here in Vancouver

There's something about summer that makes me not want to post, or feel like writing. It's too beautiful here...there's too much to do. We've had an amazing, third-year-in-a-row, global-warming, summer. Vancouver is always incredible in the summer. All of our city is out, on the beaches, in the streets cruising, going for coffees, hiking, camping, and mountain climbing. I bought a fan for the first time because it was so hot and humid. I'd take a shower, and drip sweat within moments of drying myself off. This is highly unusual - it's more like Toronto's weather.

It's luscious, sexy (seeing all the beautiful men, shirtless and in shorts) and having outdoor lunches with friends, or going camping on the Gulf Islands.

My idealistic summer was cut short by a phone call, from the assistant dean, of the college I work at, last week Thursday. I was about to start a new term on the following Monday. He had his secretary call me to arrange a meeting.

I asked her to forward me to the assistant dean, to ask, "Why?" The AD (assistant dean) said that there were two student complaints about me from the following year, and wanted to meet with me. Pleasantly, I asked, "why, what happened?"

The AD refused to tell me.

I said, "Yes, I did return the student final marks two weeks late... is this the problem?"

He said, "No, it's worse than that."

I asked, "What could be worse than that?"

He refused to tell me.

Over the last two years, I've had a personality conflict with the new AD. He took over two years ago. He has no educational background, and has no idea of what it's like to work with students or in an educational institution. He comes from Toronto, from a corporate/financial/managerial position. Ever since he's taken over, he's created a very negative working situation - not only for myself - but for other instructors. He does everything by the book, according to union guidelines. At least 14 instructors have quit, in the past two years. Some of the instructors have been at the college for 15 years. I have been there 5 years.

In the past 2 years since he's taken over, I've found working at the college very difficult. No one seems to be helpful. This includes long-term employees, as well as computer staff, and secretarial staff. I have problems booking rooms, getting rooms, getting the support staff to help me, getting my office set up with NOTES and computer access, etc. Before the AD came into his position, I never had any problems.

In fact, due to the AD's incompetence, I taught a course without booked computer rooms for 4 weeks. Can you imagine how pissed the students were? They had no where to go for their lab times!

I decided in the second year, that I didn't want to go through the horror of teaching students at the college, due to this new AD's control. I decided to take a term off - I refused the contract. He ended up hiring a totally incompetent teacher. He hired a previous colleague (who had no teaching experience), who had a panic attack for the first three classes. During his first class, he froze, started hyperventilating, and ran outside the classroom to find another instructor in the college for help.

The poor guy who was hired also wasn't knowledgeable in the areas that I taught, so he made up things. The worst aspect is that he never gave the college students any handouts, or gave examples.

So what happened, in the middle of the term, is that the AD ended up calling me, begging me to return. I did and saved the day!

After finishing the first term, to great success, I taught the second course in the spring, and I thought things were going well between myself and the AD. Until the phone call before the Monday (recently) I was supposed to start teaching.

I refused the AD. I said, "I want you to tell me what problems other students have told you about, so I can look up my records, and be prepared when I meet you."

The AD said "No."

The AD was playing things according to union rules (which can be a good thing, but not in this case). So I told him, "Suppose you were being accused of things, without any information, and are asked to go to a meeting without any backup...how would you respond?"

The AD said, "I would show up to the meeting."

In part, he's right. He's right, if I wanted to play the whole paternalistic, unionistic and bureaucrastic game, I would go to the meeting. But the thing is, I don't. In the first three years at the college, I was run by an assistant dean who believed in me, who gave me the benefit of the doubt. He never asked me to follow union rules because he believed in me as an instructor. This previous AD had teaching experience and umpteem years in being a manager. This horrible new AD does NOT!

I told him, "I won't meet with you under these conditions. I won't be put into the position of defense, without knowing what you want to meet me about."

Anyway, there's so much more I could talk about. A couple of things: three highly inflammatory e-mails that I shared with a union representative from the new AD, and they were concerned about - they were willing to take action against this rude AD.

So I told this new AD that I would not return to teach this term. Now he has to find someone new to teach.

I feel like I made the right decision. I will never be controlled, by someone who is not upholding me as an excellent teacher.

And plus, I can make so much more money by doing my own gig.

Update

I can't believe it's been more than a month and a half since I posted my last blog. I'm still here, still alive. But, like CoolRelax says, there's something about summer that makes me not want to post. I'm too busy enjoying the warm summer months. I see there are several other bloggers that feel the same way. I'll be back. Perhaps this post will make me feel like posting again, regularly.

I'm sorry to see that SissySpacechik has gone off-line! How terrible! One of the best sites I've ever seen!

I see that VividBlurry has posted a quote from me, along with several others. This makes me respect him again. I realize...he knows how to play the "media" and perhaps that's his plan. So "I'm loving it" again.

I have so much more to say, yet so little drive, because it's the summer, and I want to put on my swim trunks and nothing else, and walk on down to the beach to watch hot, straight volleyball players in their shirtless attires kick sand. It's the simple things that get me off.

Virtual or Reality?
It's interesting that gay bloggers meet each other, in real life...in person. I've never had this leaning, myself. I express myself too much to want to meet another blogger in real life. I don't want someone new to know what I'm thinking, and what my diary confesses. The blogger would have to be truly special, for me, to meet him in person. It's not that I'm hiding that I'm a fat, bloated, ugly person. My blog is to archive my history, rather than to meet people. I guess I'm odd in this respect.

I wonder what gay bloggers truly think about meeting each other. Somehow, there's an unwritten rule, that you cannot truly say what you think about the blogger, once meeting them in non-virtual reality. In other words, in real life, you cannot express what the blogger is like. I've heard, from good sources, that the blogger is not as goodlooking or as interesting in real life, than they are in their blog. Many bloggers create their own virtual life, via the blog, but in real life, they are dull and boring. Other bloggers suggest they are really hot, but in real life, are fat and/or uninteresting.

So there's lots to think about here.

Reading DogPoet's post about wrestling reminded me of some experiences I had in school. DogPoet has a way of triggering deeply felt and remembered memories at a fully sensory level.

I 'm in grade 6. I've been a competitive gymnast for over a year. I look skinny and not particularly strong. I'm good -looking, and the girls love me. But the boys tend to hate me. They know I'm a gymnast and believe I'm totally gay (I guess they were right - I didn't know it at the time). Especially two boys - one is Asian, the other is white trash.

The Asian boy is known to be the strongest guy in the school. He's a karate expert. He's got a bad attitude to match. Somehow, we decide to compete in an arm wrestle. Everyone is so caught up in the excitement - who will win? I remember sitting at a round table in front of large windows overlooking the playground. Everyone in class is surrounding us, eager to see me lose. Where was the teacher? Who knows! When I think back on my life in school, I really wonder where the teachers are. How come they didn't do more for me? Anyway...we grip hands, across from one another and begin the arm wrestle.

After about 5 seconds of struggle, I slap his knuckles down on the table, with no problem. I was shocked at how easy it was. So was everyone else. So we did it a second time. Again, I bruise his knuckles on the round table top with no problem. I feel like he wasn't even trying to combat me. The girls loved it: the boys denied it. "It's a trick," the boys say.

Then in grade 8, gym class, we're taught to wrestle. I was paired with an ex-friend, named David, who is considered to be very strong and masculine. We were good friend before junior high. We hung out together. He was the first guy with whom I slept over at his place. He showed himself to me naked, got a hard on, and we played with each other's dicks. Even at 12 years old, he had a big cock. It was fun to jerk him off. And he smelled good. Something happened over the summer, and he decided to ignore me. Now we were forced to wrestle each other during gym class.

Like DogPoet expresses, it was a smaller room, with lots of padded walls and mats. So we began wrestling - David was good. He nearly got me. But because of my gymnastic training, I managed to throw my legs over his head and neck, and throw him over, and pin him down. I felt bad about beating him, because I had feelings for him. After all, he let me jerk his big cock. But, I managed to beat every boy in the class in wrestling. Meanwhile, in typing class, I did over 60 words per minute, on a manual typewriter. Everyone was confused.

In grade 9 we were taught gymnastics. I knew, by this time, that being a gymnast was very gay. So I couldn't show off my talents in this realm (I was competing in gymnastics). Also, I was at a different school. So I pretended that I couldn't do gymnastics. When we had to do a forward roll on the mat, I'd make it look awful. When we swung on the parallel bars, I didn't point my toes, and I made it seem that I found it difficult to do (meanwhile, I could do a handstand on them, and many other complicated moves). So I faked it, and made myself look like every other guy in the class. We were measured for fitness ability, and I got grade A marks. I could do at least 40 chinups, and my body/fat was measured at 6%.

Finally, at the end of the class, I told the gym instructor that I was a gymnast, and could do a lot more than he asked us to do. I told him I was faking my ability, because I didn't want to be teased by the other guys. So I met with him, after school, and showed him what I could do. I did my double back handsprings, followed by a full out backsommersault, and more. He was freaked out. But he understood why I hid my talent.

There's far more incidences of me beating "the straight people" with my physical abilities...but I'll leave it for another post.

Semi-Rape Fantasies
I don't think I've ever posted or written about this, but it needs to be heard/remembered, in my blog diary.

After BC went to Saltspring Island with me, one summer, for a couple of romantic months together, we were staying at a luxurious, Italian-inspired bed and breakfast. We were having a great time together, touring the island, making food on the B&B barbeque, slapping back the beers and renting DVDs that we'd watch on my laptop in the bedroom when night arrived. We watched a DVD (I can't remember the name of it) because I fell asleep during the whole movie. I know it had Angelina Jolie in it, and it was very sexual. Anyway, I'd been asleep for at least an hour, when I was suddenly awakened by BC, sticking his huge cock up my ass. Unprotected, and without lube. The DVD was no longer playing. BC decided he was very horny, and wanted to fuck me, even though I was passed out on the bed. But he was hard, and started playing with my butt with his cock. I woke up, was in half-awareness, but, his hard cock playing with my butt turned me on. Eventually he managed to stick his whole dick up my ass, while we were laying on our sides. I have to admit, it was hot. I don't know if he thought I was awake or semi-awake or unconscious...he simply decided to fuck my butt and he was passionate about it, and it did turn me on.

The next time he fucked me, was mostly when I was unconscious, after he returned from Saltspring Island, after having sexual relationships with a gay couple he met there. Again, look in the archives. It's very sad, the whole story. We went out to straight clubs later, with a gorgeous straight woman, then went to a gay club, and BC and I ended up at my place to "sleep." I was ready to sleep - too much booze - but he was very horny, and ended up turning me onto my back, lifting my legs, and sticking his HUGE cock up my ass, when I wasn't really ready. It hurt like hell, but felt good at the same time. He fucked me like an animal. Again, without lube. It hurt like hell, but to be honest, I LOVED it. It was so hot seeing BC get so passionate, about sticking his huge cock up my ass, and loving it.

In the "end" I remember these sessions as being very hot. They're sexual fantasies. It's a raw, but a true, experience.

A run-on sentence of love
today I bought an album that reminded me of you, and when playing it, i remembered playing an album for you, in my car, when we went to saltspring island and were staying at a bread and breakfast together as lovers, and i think maybe we smoked a joint, i can't remember, but i played two songs for your from delerium, which i love, and you listened with me, quietly, without saying a word, and it was just the two of us, side by side, listening, in the car over the powerful stereo at night, when no lights were visible, and i was imagining that you were feeling the song like i was, but maybe you were just being patient or kind, but after the song was done, i felt like you had heard it through my ears, and expressed that you loved it as much as me but since you tended to tell me what I wanted to hear, who knows if you were telling me the truth, but at the time, i thought you told me the truth and it made me feel so close to you and so now, even though it's almost a year and a half of not talking to you, i remember that moment and i wonder if it's true and if you loved me as much as i loved you and you probably didn't. anyway, thank you for that moment. maybe sometime i will be able to experience such a moment with someone.. that is authentic?

what do you do with these moments? were they not important to you? do you not remember them? i guess they're not real for you. were there any moments with me that you can't forget, were meaningful to you? do you ever miss me? i somehow doubt it beause of the way you cheated on me, and met a new boyfriend while we were together. you said i was important to you, but probably not in the way you were important to me, because you could move on to someone else, without a single tear.

anyway, i forgive you and still love you.

Marriage, Salmon and African-American Sex
Cowboy's partner came to visit last week. (Cowboy is my new roommate.) I'll call him "Phil." He's very nice and I'm gave them the whole Vancouver tour. We drove all over Vancouver, and ended up in Horseshoe Bay, a beautiful seaside town and had an amazing dinner overlooking the ocean. I had the 8 ounce salmon, marinated in Maple syrup, with a spicy papaya salsa. Delicious! (My recipe is better though...)

Marinate your salmon in equal parts of orange juice and soya sauce, with a teaspoon of ketchup, tons of crushed garlic, and a little salt and pepper to taste. Bake or barbeque. It is truly the best I've ever had.

Anyway...

Cowboy and Phil got married during his visit to Canada. Phil plans to move here in June and set up house together with Cowboy. I wish them the best.

Phil mentioned he had a couple of black (or should I say African-American?) boyfriends, and for some reason that set me off on a tangent. I've never been with an African-American man. I'd like to be. One of my last roommates was AA, but I wasn't attracted to him. Phil's comment was like an internet virus that got into me. I found myself looking online at AA men, fantasizing. So I decided it was time for me to meet one. So I did.

He is very attractive, muscular and has a nicely sized dick - about 8-9 inches and thick. A sweet guy. Really, I don't know what the whole fantasy was about. It wasn't any different from having sex with a Caucasian guy, with a nicely sized dick.
Not as big as BC, but big enough. I suppose that fantasies are usually more interesting than reality, in general.

I did like his curly black, trimmed underarm hair, and crotch hair. It was cute. I liked his buzz-cut scalp. Thick lips, and small ears. His artful tattoos across his lower and upper back. He was very uncut, and his balls and cock were quite dark. But then, I like lots of things.

I've probably said too much and offended too many people to say anything more. Obviously, I really don't know what I'm talking about, in terms of AA culture, so I need to shut up now. But really, it was nice.

Wreck Beach
At the University of British Columbia, here in Vancouver, there's a world-famous nude beach, named "Wreck Beach." It's only about 10 minutes away from where I live. To get there, you have to walk down a terraced cliff. It takes about 10-15 minutes. You're in the midst of gigantic cedar trees, fauna and flora. It's very beautiful and unspoiled. Once you get down the cliff, you're meeted by a HUGE sandy beach, and the most spectacular view of the ocean and outlying Gulf Islands.

All over the beach are nudists, ex-hippies, hippies, and people of all callings. Both men and women. They're either wearing nothing, or some have a shirt on, and nothing else. All kinds of drugs are sold freely, by people who walk up and down the beach selling their wares, calling out "marijuana brownies," or "West coast mushrooms" or "beer and cola." Sometimes you get exotic drinks, like martinis or Blow Jobs. You can buy marijuana by the joint, or by the bag. Same with mushrooms. Some Wreck Beachers set up tents, where they sell Mexican fahitas, or tofu hotdogs. Everyone is a little drunk or stoned.

It's not legal, of course. But because, in Canada, university lands are only allowed to be policed by the RCMP (who don't show up very often), so mostly everyone gets away with it.

There is a gay section at the main Wreck Beach, by the rocks on the southern side, where both hot and unattractive gay men lay naked, looking to get laid. Or they're admiring the straight body builders who come to Wreck Beach, or the large penises of Wreck Beachers, that dangle so deliciously.

But the main gay area is even more south of the main Wreck Beach. To get there, you go down another terraced cliff. You have to walk about 15 minutes of trails to find the main areas. Here, gay men freely lay about nude, checking each other out. But the whole area around there is gay, and full of outdoor sex. You see guys sucking each other, in the open, or fucking. There are a lot of exhibitionists involved. They enjoy being watched, and often a crowd congregates in front of a couple who are sucking or fucking. There's lots of maze-like trails in the bush, where guys can get it off together. I've seen almost everything, I think. It's not just ugly, nasty old guys doing it - you see hot studs getting off too. It's truly a Canadian West Coast experience.

I'm not into outdoor, anonymous sex myself, but I must admit...I enjoy watching it. And is there anything more glorious than laying naked on a sandy beach, in the hot sand? I think not.

Two Sites that Give Me a Hard-0n

There are two sites that instantly give me a hard-on. One is...Sean Cody. I bought a membership last year, for one month, and watched all the movies available at this time. I was jerking off at least three times a day, as a result. I had my laptop plugged into my highspeed internet connection on my bed, and when I woke up, I watched a movie. Then there was mid-afternoon jerk-off, then of course, before sleep jerk-off. Since I didn't have a boyfriend at the time, it was virtually satisfying.

The site is run by an ex-Mormon, who really knows how to pick his boys, and set up sexually arousing situations with them. And he knows how to hold his camera to get the most enticing shots. I think it's the "uncut" aspect of his pornos that make it so arousing. There's no lighting technicians, or writers, or complicated behind-the-scenes things that keep us from seeing unadulterated sex between "so called straight and bisexual and gay men" who are very hot. I don't care if the men are straight. Sure, it adds a little heightened fantasy behind it. But I love seeing these hot guys suck, fuck and cum on video. It's unscripted, for the most part. So it's so sexy to be a voyeur into this moment, on video.

There's a panoply of men, from a 40-year-old "DILF" to a 19-year-old, all with beautiful bodies, muscular and tight butts, and interestingly shaped and sized dicks, to huge dicks. It has solo jerk off videos to orgies. To one-on-one fuck sessions. From guys who never get fucked, to guys who decide to get fucked, eventually. There's one guy, who reminds me of BC - his name is "Zack." His body and looks are similar. I think his cock is almost as big (but not quite), but I get off on seeing him get sucked and fucked and fuck. A purely virtual turn-on.

I'm not earning any money from telling you about this site. I just think it's the hottest I've seen. If anyone wants to share with me their user name and password, to preview the newest videos, please do! My e-mail.

The other site which is very hot is Straight College Men. Again, it's a similar theme. Straight guys having sex. Yeah, whatever. I know I'm 'sick.' That's why I tend to be attracted to biguys, and am not currently in a relationship. Anyway, the site turns me on. Especially with the discovery of "Dean." He is so juicy. His pecs, his butt, his personality, his skin, his hair, his eyes...he's so fucking yummy! I personally would love to run my tongue over ever cell of his body, every crevice, and personally penetrate that muscular, tight butt of his with my condomed pinky finger (and more). I'd pay big dollars to do it! Anyway, if you want to share with me your user name and password, to perview the newest videos, please do! My e-mail isclick here.

Aaah. I feel so spent. Now I can get down to work.

Bad Clients

Hi guys. Thanks for your e-mails. They were terrific! I felt good, overall, about deleting my posts. My soul was light. And isn't that the most important thing? I slept well. Sure, I had lots of e-mails saying they loved my sarcasm. On the other hand, I had e-mails from my favourite bloggers saying they respected me. And I have to admit...I'd rather please the bloggers I love. And I love you too, GeekSlut.

Right now, though, I'm in a difficult position. I've got a client who started a job with me five months ago, that's only worth $1800. This is nothing! to me. I can earn more than that easily in a few days. So, this client is like pocket change.

Yet this client is connected to another client who brings in lots of income to me. So there is some shit involved there. Anyway, I underbid myself, in terms of a contract, hopefully getting more work from him. We first met, five months ago. Then it took my client 3 months to get the photo shoot done. Then I did all the work in a week, and it's taken my client two more months to respond, with corrections.

Normally this is not a good sign. When a client takes too long to do things, it means they don't have the money to pay me. Yes, I got the 50% deposit. But really, taking a simple job, making it run over half a year is too much. The ironic thing is, this client is making millions of dollars. It's not that he can't pay me. He's just too fucking slow to care about my work.

So, I was in a really bad mood on Friday, and called my client, and completely told him what I thought about his communications and business practices. I told him exactly what I thought. I told him, I won't finish the job with him, unless I received payment, immediately.

He e-mailed and called me, said he would do what I want. But I still hate him. I guess I need to call him right now to discuss things.

I'm not so good with this client thing. Unless they respect me, as I respect them, I'll give good services. If they don't, then...fuck off. I got a check today from him. So I guess I need to finish the interaction.

Does anyone else have this problem?