The appeal of living dangerously is the myriad possibilities of captivating stories you can retell. Fortunately for you, I love doing things for the plot.
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
During a cold shower on a mediocre afternoon in lockdown, I was brave enough to dream of the post-pandemic world. I dreamed of living in a universe where the virus didn’t affect our lives anymore. I promised myself that when it happened, I needed to be courageous, unafraid to feel everything that the world threw my way. To embrace a warm touch, to ache from heartbreaks, and to dance the pain away — I wanted to experience them all. I promised myself to savor each moment as if everything I had in life would disappear after the sun rose. I promised myself to be authentic, to enjoy every moment the way I would have wanted to.
When that dream was suddenly about to come true, I was overwhelmed. I felt like a domesticated puppy living in a golden cage about to be thrown into a concrete jungle. I was not, physically and mentally, ready for New York.
My butthole certainly wasn’t ready.
What makes sex awful for you?
I am personally a big fan of intimacy and passion. Many people love to talk shit about the missionary position and call anyone who loves it a boring-ass bitch, but I couldn’t care less about what other people think. If that’s what it takes to get myself some much-needed love and affection, I don’t mind being called a basic twink. What can I say… I’m a sucker for elaborate conversations under a weighted blanket with a semi-attractive gentleman who cares about my aspirations in life. But obviously, this is LA that we’re talking about, a city filled with self-centered people trying everything they can to claw their ways to stardom. Waiting to develop a deep emotional connection with someone in LA is like waiting for Rihanna to release new music in 2021.
That was why, most days, instead of dealing with another big dick with an intolerable personality, I preferred staying at home and viciously flicking my bean to some amateur porn.
Continue reading ➞ LXIII. The Guy Whom I Played Beer Pong With
I can’t pinpoint one exact reason why I wanted to leave Los Angeles. It’s a place where I began to discover the kaleidoscopic facets of my adulthood, my sexual desires, and, most importantly, love. I developed long-lasting relationships with some of the most beautiful souls I have ever encountered and created fond memories that I still cherish to this day. I fell in love with the city almost instantly— all corners of its vibrant streets were filled with an abundance of unceasing excitement. LA made me believe I was capable of anything; to be whoever I want to be, to be free. For a while, I had no desire to ever leave. Los Angeles will forever have a special place in my heart.
Continue reading ➞ LXII. The Guy Who Made Me Leave L.A. (The ParTy Series: Part IV)
Dear the person responsible for giving out official names to all sex positions,
First of all, how did you come up with all these weird-ass names? For example, doggy style. What made you think it’s a good idea to draw inspiration from the way dogs reproduce? I did quick research before writing this chapter, and I learned there are way too many obscure sex positions out there. Like… The Wanton Wheelbarrow. What in the bloody hell is that?! And how does any sane human being find any enjoyment in this torturous position? I always seek for pleasure in sex, not trying to break a couple of bones.
Call me a boring bitch or whatever, but I’m perfectly content with the good ole’ missionary position. What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic after all.
Continue reading ➞ LXI. The Guy Who Put The Dog In Doggy Style
SquirtTale 