12:38 p.m. - May 06, 2003
Warning: Gay sex 7
In a perfect world fantasy and reality would converge much the same way the Jell-0 powder interacts with boiling water: Dissolution of properties, breaking and forging of new ionic bonds, synthesis creation of a structure that pleases the palate. Too often, especially for me, there's a weighted unbalance, a bit of reality-grit in the fantasy, a bit of fantasy-grit in the reality. Perhaps great sex is a combination or a diminuation of this weighted unbalance? I've yet to experience that momentary plateau and perhaps I never will live in the moment where the thud of the heartbeat is measured in hours, but this past Sunday I recognize and affirm that I did experience Plato's Real. Different from my experiences with Spec yet similar in a way that I struggle to distinguish.
It is challenging to write without being embarrassed or ashamed and frankly, this worry is external. I, me, Jason, myself, am not embarrassed by my Sat-Sun activities but rather I worry that my actions, should I divulge them here, would reflect poorly on me in your impression of me. I realize and own that I've established my own moral hierarchy at odds with Maslow's and quite simply, am a hypocrite. A one-day-and-a-half-stand for me is different from somebody else having a one-night-stand; it is the privilege of judgment, isn't it? What's low, base, and immoral in you is my brief letting-go, a one-time-shot, an error I can overlook. Yet what happens when I don't want to overlook, to castigate myself? That's my current frame of thought; how do I reconcile or rationalize?
In a perfect world with a perfect Jason comfortable with himself and his place in it, I would be in a physical and emotional relationship with a masculine man who can ply the fine line between taking charge and being overbearing, someone who knows the things I'm afraid to say out loud, someone who doesn't judge me for the things I think. I had half the equation with Spec, the - [note to self: Jason, don't be embarrassed. Just write] my being submissive or dominated aspect - but not the rest, the not-being-judged portion. I recognize Spec's need to be affirmed as a real man as his own inner pathology and conflict, but I didn't like and refused to accept his own hierarchy in which I did the things I did - submitting to him - because I am inherently a half-man as opposed to wanting to please him, from which I derive my own pleasure. There is a difference. Somewhere. It is okay to like my fantasies, isn't it? To not be repulsed by them? To not feel ignominious? To act on them? To compare Spec and myself, I would venture that I knew better of what I wanted sexually and he didn't; I want/ed to feel overwhelmed by a man's presence, I want/ed to be taken and be controlled - be a bottom, an uninhibited bottom. Spec, on the other hand, is/was conflicted by his need to be a real man - i.e., not gay - yet attracted to men and in his world view, that means he must be a top, 100% all top, all man, all macho, a role he plays with gusto. Yet the times he would bottom for me, he loved it, he wanted and liked it when I took control and spanked his ass and I think our inability to clearly communicate these wants, wanting each other to mind-read, just made a mess of things. Then there were his post-bottom issues in which he'd reassert his masculinity and hit me or top me against my will convoluting with my own desires to be the bottom, my own preference? He saw my submission as weakness, and I do too. Kind of. Neither of us knew, or felt comfortable with, the desires and wants of the other.
Saturday I met [let's see . . . Marc] Marc.
Saturday-Sunday we had [sex? Bliss?] an encounter. Encounters? Not surprising to note I'm struggling to talk about this. I don't know where to begin. Cut and dry: [not edited; don't know how to say, what to say]
Right before my eyes rolled into the back of my head I watched my spooge head towards the ceiling when I came.
I don't know how he knew what I wanted or liked, especially the things I certainly wouldn't admit to. I like being - you know. Submissive. Is dominated the right word; I'm hesitant because it conjures, for me, visions of leather and spikey things and that's not what I mean. He asked what kind of guys I am drawn to and the only concrete example I could provide was to mention that I enjoy guys taller than myself; he smiled [ooh hot and sexy] and said You enjoy looking up at a man and my heart stopped, did the annoying palpitating-will-this-turn-into-a-heart-attack-thing and I could only nod my head. It was less so the words themselves and more the tone, the cognizance.
I cannot capture this experience, not because I'm ashamed - I'm half-not - or embarrassed - I half-am - but because I lack the channel. I worry that I'm weird, abnormal, that what I like is mere re-creation of the next-door-neighbor. This is where community is important, isn't it? Damn it, if you're gay and know what I'm talking about, let's be friends.
To remediate this lack of channel, I resort to the tried and true: Listing.
What I like/d, in the purely physical form:
1)I like older, confident guys2)When this older, confident guy says Call me daddy I feel an inhuman thrill
3)I like being told what to do - Lick this, roll your tongue around that, keep doing this, do as I say
4)I really like being spanked. Hard but not too hard.
5)I get off, I enjoy, the realization that he is fully expecting me to submit, obey. It's the expectation part that thrills me
6)I like them big. [Beginning to realize my perceptions are skewed; I thought I was average though Spec said I wasn't, but compared to him, well . . . Marc said I am so-very-not-average but again, compared to him . . . I worry about the day I come across somebody smaller. Size-queen is the term. How sad.]
7)I like a confident attitude.
8)I like that confident attitude especially when he whispers Why deny that you want to stay? We both know you want to and will
9)um . . . This is becoming both a long list and a shameful list, focusing on physical elements only. But I want to emphasize that it was the total picture that overwhelmed me. He knew what I liked and wanted and he didn't make me feel bad for enjoying it. I felt he accepted me and I accepted him, even when he asked/told me to do something that - talk about really out there beyond Jason's Pale - but you know, it blew my mind away.
I felt comfortable expressing myself, felt comfortable with him expressing himself. I didn't panic, I didn't freak out, I didn't have an unpleasant experience. Yes, I was shy, awkward, uncomfortable at first, but rather than making me feel bad about it, he enveloped me with him - does that make any sense?
Since then I've been struggling with self-contempt; how can I say I'm not like everybody else or or or or. I can go on but you know, I don't want to. I don't feel dirty and I would do it again, but the jaded part of me knows it's unlikely. That's where I feel bad. I'm already feeling nostalgic!
As wrong - see, self-contempt - as it was, again, I have no regrets. I think this is great. Struggling to understand my feelings and responses; I'll probably write about it more.
I loved it. I felt/feel good; this [hot] hard-body wanted my own [soft] and I didn't panic, didn't run away! He sent me an email, has called. He likes my voice, likes my laugh; I like his smile, his sense of humor. I like how I let go a bit. Go me.
