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.