In August of 2007, the summer before my senior year of high school, I visited some schools in California with my parents. First we hit up the San Francisco Bay area and checked out Berkley and Stanford, then down to southern California to see CalPoly and UCLA. While I was over there, I did some soul searching. And by soul searching I mean I snuck out at night and hit up the 18+ bars in San Francisco and LA to see if I really liked the gay scenes on the west coast. It was interesting to see the similarities and contrasts between San Fran and LA. Overall, I liked both, and it seemed both detested the other for one reason or another, almost as if their was some sort of sibling rivalry going on between the two.
While in San Francisco, I went to my first gay establishment. I remember whipping out my dick and showing the drag queen at the front door to gain free entry, but I had taking an Adderall before going out, so her look of approval must have been a lie. Still, I got in for free and saved ten bucks: being a whore in San Francisco, check.
Anyway, I was dancing at this place, and I remember how strange the whole thing was. Random guys were so willing to just grind up on me without asking. And here I was, use to asking girls politely at school formals if they would like to dance before subtly grinding up on them in front of our faculty’s watchful eye. I remember feeling unsure how to decline or get out of a grinding that was not consensual. In fact, I almost left with a guy I had no interest in, but then had a miraculous moment of clarity, just told him off and peaced. I then tagged a long with a bunch of gays and some straights more my type, i.e. under 30. We went to some kind of breakfast place and after that I went home to the Hyatt where my parents and I were staying.
When I was in LA, I ended up befriending a Filipino guy who left a lasting impression on me. He was friendly for the sake of being friendly. He also had an ability, which could have been an act, but felt real as ever to me. After having some drinks and hanging with him for a little bit, he told me how he could sense and communicate with ancestors of individuals. I was game, so I asked him if he could give me a reading. He closed his eyes and held my hand. He said he could sense a maternal spirit on my father’s side. My father’s mother died when he was only 27 of lung cancer and my mother once told me how the only time my father ever shed tears was when he talked about his mother. This grandmother of mine also happen to be the artistic one in the family and several of her paintings still hang in our home, one directly over my bed. In fact, I attribute a lot of my artistic and visual creativity to her. My middle name also happens to be her maiden name. Even though I was far from ever meeting her, I always felt a sort of spiritual connection with her.
What he said next brought tears to my eyes, then and even now in writing these words. He said that she was watching over me, he said that she wanted me to know that I was on the right path in life, and I should keep doing what I am doing. At a time in my life when I was trying to figure out if I really knew what I was doing or not, that message gave me so much comfort. I still wonder whether it was real or not. Nevertheless, the message still stays with me today; just keep doing what you are doing and everything will be okay. I’m naturally inquisitive and sometime question myself too much, and that concept that my grandmother was watching over me in an approving manner as I sat in a gay bar in LA gave me hope and confidence, back then and still to this day, to be who I was always meant to be, me.
Later that night, and after some more substantial under age drinking, I ended up meeting one of his friends. I don’t remember much beside the fact that he was cute. I ended up going home with him to the Chateau Marmont. It was a one-night stand that I will not soon forget… mostly because of the aftermath. I woke up in his bed late, around 10 or 11 am in a daze with a pounding headache and only a few blurred memories from the night before. I remember fucking him for a while, and then him trying to fuck me, but I was in no state to endure that kind of pain willingly. I was also still new to bottoming so I was kind of a bitch about it from what I can remember. But he was a nice enough guy to not try too hard, and so I went back to fucking him. I want to say his name was Jeff, but the only thing I remember for sure was the way he smelt. I think it was some kind of cologne because I will smell it from time to time and think back to him and that night. After I woke up and gathered my thoughts, I hoped in a cab and returned home to the hotel where my parents were staying.
I had snuck out the night before. I also snuck out when we were in San Francisco, and when my mom noticed I was gone and called, I assured her that I was fine and would be back in a few hours, and I was. But this time I missed her calls and I could tell from the voice mails that she would have been frantic over the phone so I decided to just wait to talk to her and my father in person when I got back. When I walked into the room, my mom was crying and my father was livid. They had called the LAPD worried sick about me, thinking I had been kidnapped or raped, or worse. In my hung over state of mind, I thought the whole thing was so ridiculous. I was 18 now and I was more than capable of handling myself in a big city.
Still, I knew that what I had put them through was torture. I also, however, felt a sense of disappointment; disappointment in them for not having faith in my abilities to handle myself. But they were just being my overly loving parents, and looking back now I really can’t hold it against them. I was so ready to break free from their reigns and do it all on my own. I think that was a big part of why I ended up going to college the farthest away from home out of all my siblings. I needed to prove it to myself that I could do it all on my own, but more importantly, I needed to prove it to my mom and dad. I knew I could do it, but they didn’t seem to. In truth, they did an amazing job raising all of us, and I was merely the most stubbornly independent of the bunch.
My senior year of high school was a busy one. I was student class president, I did the morning announcements every other day, and I had a lead role in the fall musical, Anything Goes. In the winter, I was a captain of the wrestling team. I also participated in the math team and tutored students as a member of the National Honors Society. I was also somewhat of a rebel without a cause; the snow penis below was made by yours truly. The janitor seemed pretty pleased with it before kicking it over in the middle of first period.
As I kept myself busy with class and extra curriculars, my relationships stagnated. I developed those friendships made both in and out of class and in my other various activities, but did not pursue anything intimate – besides the occasional internet hook up.
It was around this time that I started using the internet to meet gay guys. I think it started with something innocent, like Chemistry.com, then I tried RealJock.com, but when I found out about ManHunt.com, well that’s when my sexual activity really took off. Towards the end of my senior year, I began keeping a list of every guy I had sex with (I’m talking full anal penetration). I did it because I wanted to remain conscious of my number, and I had noticed that that number was actually higher than I thought once I sat down and wrote out the names. I had thought I was at around 6 or 7, and it was actually 10 or 11. I won’t tell you what I’m at now, but after 3 years and the 30 some porn scenes, many of which were threesomes, you can imagine it has gotten up there. Not only did I keep a list, I noted the date of intercourse, and sometimes even a grade for his performance, along with his first name or what ever I knew him as.
The list has also given me a sense of comfort in knowing exactly who I hooked up with and when. I’m not perfect and I would like to meet the gay who claims to be. I almost always use protection, but the few times I haven’t it has plagued my mind until I got myself tested weeks later. Just in case I ever did contract anything, I wanted to be able to know exactly who I needed to contact so they could get themselves tested. Luckily, that hasn’t had to happen.
I’ve told a bunch of guys and some of my close girl friends about my list and I’m the only person I know to have such a thing. Overall, it gives me solace to know, as exactly as possible, my number. I can also say that it has forced me to pass on hooking up with some guys after I meet them, thinking to myself, “Do I really want to add this one to list when I get home? Is he really worthy of the list?” Don’t get me wrong, I’m still very much a slut, but at least I know exactly how big of a slut I am.