“This goes out to, uh, you know who this goes out to”
– Calvin Harris feat. Big Sean –
Have you ever wondered how it feels like to be able to read someone’s mind? Sure, you can get some indications of someone’s true feeling through reading their body language or interpreting their verbal cues, but don’t you wish you can fathom why your date threw bullshit excuses your way after your seemingly successful first date? Was it because of your overly complicated past relationships? Or was it because of the extremely spicy Korean tofu soup he ate on the first date? Well, to the guy in this chapter, you’re in luck because you get to read my side of the story. And yes, I know you’ve been reading my blog and you’re aware that your chapter is coming up. So yeah, this goes out to you. Welcome to your chapter.
I have to admit, I was in my loneliest state the first couple of months since I moved to Los Angeles. The combination of having to memorize super complicated mathematics formula on a daily basis, adjusting to the glamorous metropolitan life, and living in a glass closet took a toll on me. Consequently, I turned to gay dating apps to experiment with a new identity: a confident and sex-driven Gaysian who was ready to embrace the vibrant Californian life. I guess it helped to make me feel something for a while before I realized that most of my dates were taking advantage of my innocence and insatiable sex drive, slowly turning me into an empty shell aimlessly floating on a sea of bad decisions. I guess that’s the one major drawback of living in Los Angeles; it tricks you into feeling like you’re the center of the universe while simultaneously chips away your identity and sanity.
When I met this extremely tall Angeleno transplant on Jack’d, he seemed like a genuinely nice guy. I was also excited by the fact that he was around my age, which was a refreshing change considering I had previously banged guys old enough to be my dad (kinda sad, I know). I can’t lie, at the time I felt weirded out that my kill count had reached double digits when I had not even dated anyone, which led me to the beginning of my identity crisis. So when my conversation with this guy went pretty lovely, I thought, “hey, this could be the start of something magical!”
I know, call me a hopeless romantic, except in this case, just call me hopeless.
We agreed to meet at his place to “hang out”, but we didn’t immediately succumb to our animalistic instincts and undressed each other to showcase our extremely apparent erections. We decided to go to a nearby crappy movie theater after we finished our late lunch to watch Wreck-It-Ralph, but the only thing I could think about at the time was how he was gonna wreck my ass (I’m such a poet, you can call me Maya Angel-hoe). Overall, it was a lovely first date and we genuinely looked like a normal racially mixed couple in a Hillary Clinton’s campaign video.
Did we have sex after that, you might ask? Of course we did.
Here’s a thing about 69: it’s a much harder position to execute properly when there is a significant height difference between you and your partner. I guess it’s a good thing that his penis length is above-average as it really compensated for the major height difference between us. In hindsight, it’s a bit unfair that he’s only required to spend minimal effort to perform tongue exercises around my crotchal region as he was laying on his back letting me do most of the work. On the other hand, I had to constantly alternate between bending my body forward to reach for his joystick and pushing my bum backward to let him eat my cake. I looked like a confused beginner yogi who didn’t know how to execute the child pose.
We ended up meeting again a few more times and got to know each other better. I mean, who knew a guy with an innocent face like him could store a box full of sex toys underneath his mattress? Here’s one advice for you all: do NOT try BDSM unless you really trust your partner. Like, really, you won’t know if they decide to blindfold you and tie you up only to slowly mutilate your body and sell your kidney. I mean, shit happens. With that being said, I think everyone should try some form of BDSM once in a while. I mean, when I was blindfolded, the thrill of not knowing where you would receive pleasure combined with the fear of being murdered in a random guy’s bed strangely turned me on.
Looking back, although things were going fantastically for us (at least for LA’s standard of early-stage relationship), our relationship had never evolved into something more romantic. But when you were a thirsty guy like me and were bombarded by the media with the idea of “falling in love with your soulmate”, you couldn’t help the feeling of wanting something more, especially when it was your first time being treated like you’re special.
Fast forward to one lovely night the following month, I was driving my friend to Long Beach area so she could see her favorite K-pop boyband, and as much as I think that their music is catchy, K-pop just doesn’t really do it for me. Long story short, I decided to kill the time by walking around the Downtown Disney area before I had to pick my friend up. To those of you who have not been to Downtown Disney, it’s basically a shopping district area where you can find all your favorite American retail stores with a touch of Disney fantasies. Basically, you can walk around the area slurping your Jamba Juice smoothie while jamming to your favorite Disney classics.
I can’t remember exactly how the exact conversation went down because I have the terrible habit of flushing bad memories out of my system as fast as humanly possible, but I was texting this guy to catch up with him and next thing I knew, we were talking about our relationship. I believe I was the one who suggested taking our relationship to the next level, but sadly, he turned down my offer because of something along the line of being unprepared to commit to a serious relationship.
When I read his text, my mind went completely blank. I felt numb.
Not even the sound of hysterical laughter from a five-years-old kid next to me could get me back on Earth. Was it my goofy personality that turned him off? Was it the inconsistency of my ability to take his massive dick that made me an unqualified candidate to be his lover? At the time, the only thing I wanted to do was to yell at him:
“Really bitch?! For God’s sake, do you really have to do this to me at the happiest place on Earth?!“
Seriously though, for a place that claims itself to be the happiest place on Earth, I always had some major drama going down at that place. And to add insult to injury, I forgot to bring my wallet. I thought, “great, I can’t even buy a soft-serve vanilla ice cream to mend my broken heart“. For many people, Disneyland is a place that fosters their dreams of true love and happily ever after; unfortunately, it’s a place where I started to lose mine.
But on a lighter note, things are actually going well for the both of us now and we remain friends. I mean, we sporadically met at a bar in West Hollywood and hooked up again in the following years, but looking back, I was glad that we didn’t commit to a relationship. We both still attempted to navigate our way around our newly-found sexual freedom and didn’t really know exactly what we wanted in life. I didn’t even know what love really meant, let alone how to survive a same-sex relationship. I guess it’s for the best. It just sucks that my memories of Downtown Disney and Wreck-It Ralph are forever tainted by my overly dramatic heartbreaking meltdown over my delusional romantic aspirations.
SquirtTale 