The Contract

Last night, I shared this blog with 5 people that I know personally. All gay/bi, young black men. 3 of them read it (or at least that's how many told me they did) and 2 of them asked me the same questions.

1) What makes you happy?
2) What are you looking for out of guys?

I answered the first question pretty generically, talking about my hobbies and other things I do on the a daily basis. The second is where there was some gray area and I had to stop and think.

What DO I want from guys?

Its a tough question because I made this blog to help me get through my hypersexuality and I think when I solve that problem, I'll have some clarity.

I can say that I didn't jump out the womb, speed through puberty and start fucking everything that walks (that came after I started chatting with guys online). I really started this whole "gay" thing out as innocent, nervous and careful as possible.

I knew that I had feelings for guys since I was in middle school and I figured that out not by looking at guys, but from watching porn.

PROBLEM #1

I used to watch straight porn and find myself gravitating towards the male actors. After all they had nice bodies, big dicks and seemed to be "the man" in an area that I hadn't explored yet; so I was intrigued. Before I knew it I was watching porn for the men and had my favorite stars to boot! Mr. Marcus (poor STD spreading guy), Lexington Steele (that DICK), Justin Slayer (I mean...have you seen him?) and a few older ones like Jake Steed (where'd he go?) etc.

At first I thought that my interest in them was rooted in me being envious and young, but then I crossed the line. One day after school, I was watching porn on my desktop at home, before my parents got home and I had to clear the history, when I dropped in the yahoo search box, gay black porn. 

The rest was history.

I found myself entranced by it. I knew after that very moment I would never be the same; I was gay.  I tried to convince myself otherwise and watch straight porn again, but it didn't have the same effect. I liked men. Well built black men. Now I'm not talking about the malnutrition-ed actors on breed it raw or sloppy daddy types on black breeders; I mean taggaz and dawg pound when they were in their prime.

Fast forward to my late teen years when I first started having sex, I never had the confidence to hook up with guys that were "super hot" and I wasn't "out there" enough to get their attention anyway. I never hit up gay clubs and I only talked to guys on BGC (remember that?).

I remember my first encounter with a guy named "D", he was older, versatile and back then I was young and inexperienced so I was versatile too (WHEW GLAD THAT'S OVER). We hooked and I ended up topping him first. When it was his turn to do me, he couldn't get hard because he had already came from me doing him.

That hookup left a major, damaging impact on me that I haven't been able to shake. No we didn't mess around raw (GOD I was terrified of doing that...back then at least), he didn't give me a permanent STD and he didn't set me up to get robbed or anything crazy like that.

He told me he "liked" me.

Now it may sound trivial to you, but telling a 17 year-old brand new ex-virgin with a shaky foundation as he enters his sexuality that his sex game was "crazy", he liked "that big dick" and we should "chill" again; fucks up the whole game..at least that's what it did to me.

I didn't know much about him, but that he took my virginity and he let me sleep with him from time to time. He wasn't always available when I wanted him and I later found out he was older than 21 and had a boyfriend, which totally rocked my naive world, but I wanted to be around him.

Looking back on the moments, we hardly talked. Just would walk in the side door of "his house", go into the basement and have sex until we both came.  Each time, he'd reinforce the fact that he had a good time and I asked him about his past sexual experiences.

He went on and on about them and I sat their wide-eyed, almost in a trance, listening to all of my fantasies become crafted right in front of me. "I'm gonna do that one day," I would think. He encouraged the behavior and made it almost second nature for me to look at other gay men as things to be played with and physically enjoyed. 

Even as his words and sweat from sex washed over me like a twisted baptism into the world of homosexuality, I still held onto the first thing he told me; that he "liked" me.  We never talked about anything, but sex and that's all we did; but I had hope that we would become something more.

Did I think a boyfriend? God no. A friend? Well..something like that. A companion, someone I could trust and confide in.  I was young, completely closeted and guarded about anyone suspecting anything.  Besides, I couldn't tell anyone I was actually fucking a random dude instead of going to Building with Books after school. It made coming out impossible...so...I never did; to anyone close with me at least.

Somewhere deep down, I was ashamed of my cowardice, but justified by the fact that my secret would be safe with him. After all he HAD to care about me or he wouldn't have been fucking my brains out twice a week...right?

Today, I don't keep in contact with that guy. I haven't spoken him since I went off to college over 6 years ago. He didn't like me. He was using me to get a nut and when I went away, he replaced me with someone else and probably someone after that.  I haven't even seen him on any of those networks and he only told me his name was "D", just like "J" (I'm too old to fall for that shit now...).

What I got from him was a sense of belonging and connection to guys I never had before; the problem is its only about sex. TODAY there are times when I try to form a simple friendship with a guy and I start to flirt, let all my cards out and before I know it, he's looking at me the same way "D" was. 

Is that every guy's intention or are they reacting based upon what I put out there? I've had more reserved experiences where guys are forward with me that tell me its the former. I've also been in enough situations where I open my big fucking mouth about my sexual past where it could be the latter. 

Either way sex to me has been like a contract. A contract that let's me know a guy "likes"; if not for a relationship for a friendship.  A contract that I've drafted over and over again with what appears to be endless men, where we both signed the dotted line with each other's cumshots.

The problem is cum isn't ink; it isn't permanent. When it dries, you can't see it and it flakes away erasing the obligation to the agreement as if it never existed.

The older I get the more I feel like I'm running out of paper to write with and the more exhausting building friendships based on false potential with freaks and fuckbuds becomes. 

Then it seems like every time I tell myself I'm done with that way of thought, a guy comes along, hookups with me and stays cool with me; messing with my head all over again.

Maybe if I strike up friendships by extending my hand instead of my dick, I'll get through this. Until then the unsaved numbers in my phone from nights past and repeat screen names in my various inboxes will remain "what ifs..".

Anyway that's enough for now. I've got a stack of contracts that need to be read over; some of which I'm bound to "sign" again.

- CGN