There’s a thin line between hope and foolishness. I’ve been on this path before. I knew, and I stayed anyway.
Continue reading ➞ LXI. The Guy Whom I Had Sex With By The Beach (The Boyfriend: Part II)
Ah, the honeymoon phase of a relationship: that shit is like drugs.
People start behaving irrationally in the name of love. We grin randomly like a puppy and freak out when the text replies come late. I understand why people get bewitched in the lavender haze— happiness so strong people are willing to chase and protect at whatever costs. The overwhelming joy often blinds you from the most glaring red flags. You begin ignoring whistle blows to desperately cling to the fuzzy feeling. Only when the haze begins to clear can you see the remnants of your chaos, and often, you’re too late.
Now, I get it—some couples sail smoothly past the honeymoon phase and emerge stronger. What I’m saying is that it’s wise to recognize when you’re in the fog and be able to take a step back to assess your situation clearly.
Unfortunately, I learned this lesson the hard way.
Continue reading ➞ LX. The Guy Who Texted Me Good Morning (The Boyfriend: Part I)
Sometimes I wonder if being gay comes with a membership to the Promiscuity Club. My journey of self-discovery has turned me into a referee of my own thoughts—constantly blowing the whistle on self-doubt and red-carding guilt out of my mind. Picture me on one of those lonely nights: prayers start with “Dear Universe” and end with “Sincerely Confused.” Those prayers turned into tears and guilt turned into self-hatred, and I was forced to grapple with my own thoughts and emotions. Why should I waste my energy condemning the part of me that makes me the happiest?
Hating myself to the point of exhaustion, one day, I decided, enough is enough. If they want to call me a sinner, I’ll embrace it unapologetically. There will be no path to heaven, so I might as well plunge into the deepest layer of hell.
And let’s face it, the thought of putting my junk anywhere near a vagina? That is my idea of hell.
First dates are always financially tricky. When that tall, suave dude in his fancy tuxedo saunters over with that ominous black leather billfold, everyone at the table goes into panic mode. It’s an opportunity for a power play that gets your brain into overdrive. Is this dinner worth the investment? Will grabbing the bill imply I think they’re broke? Are they just here for the free meal?
Like I said, this shit is complicated.
Call me old-fashioned, but I HATE splitting the bill on the first date. I believe the person who initiates the first date should offer to pay for, at the very least, the first date. Fuck the traditional gender norm; if a woman wants to take a man on a date and offers to pay for his drinks, that’s hot. Because personally, there is nothing less sexy than arriving home to a Venmo request.
Continue reading ➞ LXVIII. The Guy Who Sent Me A Venmo Request
The appeal of living dangerously is the myriad possibilities of captivating stories you can retell. It’s a memory that marks your presence in the world, a footprint of your desire to explore the infinite parallel universes life can offer. And isn’t it a beautiful thing? To be able to tell the world you’re courageous enough to walk the roads less traveled? To allow yourself to feel the thrills and sorrows of life? And who am I to say no to such an alluring mystery when it’s presented to me by a smoldering hot gentleman riding a Harley-Davidson bike?!
Continue reading ➞ LXVII. The Guy Whom I Blew In The Woods (Harley-Davidson Guy: Part I)
We’ve all been in a situation where we’re on vacation with people who are not supportive of our hoe lifestyle. It’s especially tricky when you’re sharing a room and have no safe space to properly get plowed by a random stranger. Then add an unnecessarily busy holiday agenda to the mix, and you have yourself a weeklong hell with no dick to mount. Lucky for you, I am here to teach you some tricks you can maneuver to get your regular “vitamin D” fix while still maintaining a healthy relationship with your heteronormative family. For this to work, all you need is determination, creativity, and a shit ton of prayers.
Because, let’s face it. If you’re attempting to follow these pieces of advice, you probably need some sort of divine intervention.
Continue reading ➞ LXVI. The Guy Whom I Took To The Hotel Lobby Bathroom In Singapore
One of my biggest turn-offs is a horrible texter. If I write you an eloquent narrative on how I want you to finger my hole and your response is only “lol,” it’s over between us. According to Buzzfeed, my love language is words of affirmation. And, for once, I can’t agree more with Buzzfeed. This might come as a surprise, but I am a firm believer in the power of words. And before you say anything, I know that my word repertoire is limited to annoying phrases like “bitchhh” and “yasss queen!” But I find guys with an extensive vocabulary to be impossibly sexy. Like… if you can find a way to write a lengthy essay about your mundane breakfast, I will get an instant boner. To me, guys who have a way with their words are incredibly hot.
Unfortunately, it’s not a skill many guys have, and I blame toxic masculinity for that lack of literacy.
With enough luck, the universe might introduce you to a man with a beauty that surpasses age and time. He pleasantly surprises you as your conversations flow naturally, as if you have known this person forever. Your first date with him surpasses all of your expectations. He takes excellent care of people he cares about and turns heads around with his beautiful smile. He often catches you staring into his piercing blue eyes as you’re wondering how lucky you are to call a compassionate and intelligent man like him yours. The evening ends with cinematic kisses and passionate lovemaking. With your naked bodies entangled on a luxuriously cozy bed, you began wondering about the life the two of you could have shared. You would have grown old together in a quaint old cottage in the countryside of Spain, sitting on the balcony laughing about the countless wild nights you’ve shared. It’s a love story many people dream of having, a beautiful romance that will be told for generations to come.
Unfortunately, this chapter is NOT going to be one of those love stories.
Continue reading ➞ LXIV. The Guy Who Came Too Early (First Gay Crush Series: Part III)
After moving back home to Indonesia and living here for a while now, I have experienced the ups and, mostly, downs of being an avid Grindr user. Before I continue, let me preface this by saying that people can use the social networking app however they want to. And on a few tremendously rare occasions, I had actually built genuine connections with kind and intellectually-stimulating men I met on this app.
But oftentimes, shit goes bonkers on Grindr.
Some of the things I write below might apply universally to all dating apps worldwide, especially to those unfortunate souls out there who have to deal with men. The following piece is merely a collection of observations on the questionable behavior of Indonesian gays on Grindr. And if you’re offended by what I have to say, well… #SorryNotSorry.
The lies, the screams, the smokes in the air
The bathroom floor was once our sacred ground
Tainted by a naked man in a white towel
Empty promises armored you in the battleground
In a field of dying bluebonnets
All I could hear was a deafening sound
Of amassed anger and drying tears
I guess the wounded isn’t numb to a new wound
For you, I ruined myself
Soaked up all your madness under a filthy sheet
A pill a night, but your remains stay
We’re a tragedy that began on a leathered front seat
Jaded souls dreaming of a life in Carmel-by-the-sea
A silly dream shattered by drugs and deceits
I wished you never stayed sober
So your words would’ve hurt less
Why couldn’t I stay sober?
God knows I had things to confess
SquirtTale 