Musings

I know I’m getting old because last night my friend told me that he wanted to set me up on a date with someone. I asked him who, and he showed me a picture. In a moment of chagrin, I had to let him know, “Actually, I already fucked that guy. Eight years ago.” Ah, yes, the life and times of hoing.

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Are my dreams just the thoughts that my thoughts have when they think I’m not paying attention?

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I went to a gay party for the first time in a long time last night, and suddenly I was awash with that familiar feeling of actually being comfortable among the other people at the bar. This feeling was immediately ensued by a sense of knowing that I probably don’t belong here because I’m 100% straight, after which tucked my tail between my legs and hightailed it out of there. I miss going to art parties and hanging out with the weirdos. Where have all the weirdos gone?

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Up until two years ago, pretty much everyone I fucked lived within a five block radius of me – there were at least ten of them out here. It was my golden age of fucking. Then gentrification kicked in with a vengeance, and now I am bearing witness to the death of the neighborhood fuck buddy. Thanks a lot, white people, you really harshed my dick game.

 

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