Wisps Posts Tagged as 'Myself'
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I came out to my mother when I was 17 years old and no longer residing in her household. I didn't expect a good reaction so I called her on a public phone and announced it to her. She cried, became quiet and told me she suspected it but that she loved me, no matter what. I didn't have to lie to mother anymore. It was freeing. I visited her a few days later. She had time to absorb and ponder having a gay son. She cried again, I asked why and she said because being gay meant I was destined for a miserable life. That's impossible, it was such an overwhelming feeling to be me. I had to prove her wrong. She asserted conditions for my new identity: no meeting of "my men," I must continue to have a masculine presence, especially around family and don't get sick. I ignored her, introduced her to every one, told as much of the family as I could bear and kept my masculinity in check.
My mother recently confided to me that she used to receive dick pics from my croc daddy in the US mail while I was living with him. I thought, he might have done it as revenge for my unwillingness to absorb giant dick pain and or tricking him into being a gay bottom. When I took him to Gay Pride he cried because he thought I mistook him for one of those. He was straight. His shit was no joke but he was. A child molester was my educator and entrance into the gay world. I also figured my mother and I were even. Her boyfriend tried to brutally rape me. Mother's boyfriend was two years older than me, my croc daddy was 55. Our boyfriends shared the same culture, understood the nuances that make people vulnerable, and always seemed to be creepily plotting something sexual for us. Neither man represented our community. They were perverts sidling up to mommies so they could play with their children. (Now I know why she tried to cut him out of my photo albums.) I understand her comments and I realized her concern. My gay education came from perverts. The community hates itself more than the media loves it. Clicks work for a minute, the families we create are fake and we all die alone. We need less "Boys In The Band" depression and more gay reality awareness so we can come up with better coping mechanisms. Not smile at weirdos taking advantage of us because of politically correct etiquette.
I apologized to my mother. My croc stalked me, stole from us, used me, beat me up, tied me up and raped me. Afterwards, he thought of not releasing me because he was afraid I would kill him. You bet your life! But I had no choice, I begged for my life, stroked the psycho's ego and he loosened one arm while he Soniced out of the apt. I was stalked by my ex, my mother was stalked by her ex and I was stalked by both exes. I spent a lifetime trying to prove mother's sentiment wrong but in the end, she was right.
(Pic of my daddy croak included. Mother destroyed my croak dic picks but y'all can ask mother if she kept her copy.) 26-Oct-2020
Bear with me as I try to regain who I was...or not. 09-Oct-2020
I broke up with a boy bander because he sang to me before sex and while showering. He was either humming or licking my face. I dug him, he whipped his braids back and forth and unleashed them in a soundless cavalcade of excitement but his vocal training took precedence over my feelings. So, I represented my Seinfeldian upbringing and broke his heart. I apologized profusely but I don't regret it. He deserved to be loved for it. I was a fan of his band music, encouraged his talent but being "sung to" is my Jerry "big hands" greatest fear. I just can't do it. 28-Sep-2020
I used to be the family go-to babysitter. You dare say its because my sister and I were the only colored ones and the kids were deathly afraid of her so I was the only choice? (Only the fear for my sis was real. I think.) I paid attention to them and weaved magical tales that released their imaginations. I showed them the place in my brain where they can go to find a choice and be safe. I shooed their nightmares away. I taught them to move forward to deepen the stories and find resolutions until they could run. It blew them away.
As adults they thanked me for being their only father figure. I was very touched and saddened. Everyone actually thought I'd be a great father one day. I did not. I worry too much. I know what really happens. I was a child, taking care of other children that needed to be entertained and protected. I lived the exact hardships so I handed them some survival tips.
I forget that I also co-parented a child. We (the gay daddies) applied everything social media deemed safe, respectful and representative of a new better world. I concocted favorite meals and experimental creations, picked up after it and endured its ills. We cheered and celebrated everything, we supplied, it demanded, its dads were bonkers but cool, its mother was nuts and married to Archie Bunker with scary reality boys but we kept the humor dry to help the teen laugh. My co-child and I shared music, games, TV and films. Its worries and thoughts I tried to comfort. It's teen brain no longer cracked but there were times I saw a glimmer of bonding in it. Then it grew up and become a Repnazi, realized my color and place and it all went to hell. It was A.I. beginnings with Damien: Omen II resolutions, right through the end. Awareness: most children do not want to be like their fucking parents and they will fuck you up.
Look at that, I had me some children. 25-Sep-2020
I didn't need to see my color on a Hollywood screen when I was growing up. I was a soul man. If they sounded like me and thought like me, I followed them. If they had life ideas worth retrieving I worshipped them. I devoured their art and shared beautiful things of greatness and fleeting joy. I've been idiotically and forcefully enslaved throughout my life. My lack of new etiquette is offensive because it was taught me by masters of social worship. Im just the asshole warning you with a smile. I've witnessed too many mommy (Biden) and daddy (Trump) fistfights to not predict its stupid end. (You can switch them around if that's your sexual fantasy.) I fought the war that got me here that gets passed down and gave me nothing. In my future, I live where heroes are not necessarily of my kind but helped create my heart, my soul, my joy and that thing that makes people wanna fuck you. It's a safe place for me to go. 23-Sep-2020
Just for the frack of it and because it's Sunday on the Galactica I would like to state that no trans, drags, beautiful damsels in distress, female porn stars, female strippers or my mother (thank God) has ever raped or been sexually inappropriate towards me. They flirted (not mother, she took her job seriously) and made cute but they never crossed sexy safety lines unless it was mutual. Let me see, who's left.. 20-Sep-2020
I miss mother/son activities like squishing birds together. 19-Sep-2020
My second and third bullies happened in sixth grade. (My sissy will always be my first.) They were two seasons older, swagging adult height and athletic strength. They were going to kick my ass and all I could think of was that school wasn't like The Brady Bunch... at all. I don't remember what I blurted or how they inspired it but I promise you it was sarcastic and weird as fuck. They started to laugh. I remember the prettier one slapping his in hand in mine and telling me I was alright. "Anybody mess with me will have to answer to them." They were a team." If anybody hassled me, any basketball team member in close proximity would fuck them up. I made them laugh and they silenced every attack during their reign and after. From sixth to eighth I was astonishingly protected. Crap! School "is" like the Brady Bunch. Shit! I'm Peter Brady! My sister thought she was Marcia because she was older and cooler but she was really Cindy. Always getting into a fight and snitching. 13-Sep-2020
To appease my place in the world (I'm an odd duck) I daydreamed I was from outer space. My space parents would return one day from galactic war, and save me from my sheltered and disciplinary life, whisking me off to somewhere I belong. The theme resonated, the exploration peaked and now, the idea is dead. I don't speak or learn like anyone. I obsess over the knowledge I've accumulated. A chunk of that knowledge is incomplete. When we know the outcome of a life puzzle, the need for experience cancels it. I immediately cancel it. That's me obsessing. "I am not like anyone" was cute when they wanted to fuck the weirdness out of me but I don't want to be cute in my 50s. I thought I could be my odd self living with my brothers and sisters in unity and serenity where my odd duck could happily swim but we are one without of a kind. The world became too fast. The elders received the least consideration by the complexities of tech (I don't see the reason why we need to decode everything when that's a techie's job. It should have a three button maximum) and the obliteration of our language. We either explode (Karens are born, though I've always preferred Gladys - wink, wink) or give up (volunteered dementia.) The life we lived was a Matrix lie. We stand naked without the comfort of our past because our lives were nothing. We tiptoe through the new one in limbo because the history that made us, the burdens don't want. The war is as much about family and parenting as it is about everything else. The assholes jumped ship as soon as they graduated from Pedo Tech leaving the uncomplicated in a sad and overwhelmed state. We are the deleted ones. The ones not applicable to the environment. We are slaves to the new honorable and humanitarian corporation that is loosely based on movie ideals. It looks like they stand for shit when its just the other side of the same coin. I like to deduce my own answers and I'm tired of bowing. I just want to survive. I trashed my knees for nothing. Every insult I've hurled, I've received, every love that I've experienced I shared. It's the end of the road. The aliens either don't exist or after the countless anal analyzations they booked. What were the results? The reason we can't reach the other planets is because that's where our afterlife begins. We'll keep ending back here until we reach Star Wars reality. We are the aliens. We've been searching for ourselves. 07-Sep-2020
I keep all positive outcomes behind me
and allow negativity to lead
I like to be front and center
when that beautiful positive thing
surprises me 27-Jul-2020
I've never claimed to be anything
but what I am
I can't aspire to do something
that isn't who I am
I need to be me
to keep me stitched together
At the end of the day
all that remains is
me, myself and I 23-Jul-2020
I hate tyranny. 22-Jul-2020
Porn and masturbation were two ills that my mother expunged from her household.
When cum commenced squirting from my penis I was as aghast as Carrie when she saw menstruation blood for the first time. I was so concerned that I reluctantly asked my mother for her medical opinion. She had me pull my drawers down, pull it out, hold it while she examined it, kept the answer in her head and slapped me away. "Ah, it's nothing. Leave me alone."
The first time I saw porn was my mother's bedroom dresser drawer, hidden underneath the aroma of the cleanest sheets on the planet. It was 101 ways to please a lover. Every position highlighted with a photograph. That did not look like the abuse sex I was having. It looked beautiful. My mother was a hypocrite.
I was taking a bath one day and I stood up to use the rubber shower hose, cleaning my specials... when mother walked in. "That's never going to happen in my house." A beating with a rubber hose was enacted and I sort of accepted it because even though I didn't masturbate at that time, I knew I had before and she knew it too! It was past due punishment.
Boyfriends were not immune to the rule. My stepfather would set up appointments at the nearest brothel just in case my mother got sick (on her period.) He "too" did not believe in jerking off. I knew this because I had to interfere when sex workers started calling my mother for payment. Of course, they're still together.
"I aways feel guilty after I come." 18-Jul-2020
Oh, by the way, they still exist 32 years later, fucking each other's brains out (thanks Viagra, I actually recommended it) and making anyone younger than them, miserable. 12-Jul-2020
Blame my mother for telling me this shit. (Sharing.) 12-Jul-2020
My mother's requisite for a boyfriend or life partner was:
had to be latin,
with great cock,
a job, responsible,
a bit rapey and idiotic.
Before my stepfather became part of the family he had to pay her overdue bills and mama proposed that if he ever wanted to get any of this (pointing to her vagina) he needed to pay these ASAP.
Two hours later he produced paid bills and we had a new daddy. She acquiesced in satisfaction. She applied lady cement before sex and had him bemoaning that my father must have sucked, it was so tight. Even when confronted with the exes (they were "friends of the family") my stepfather never accepted that my mother had hundreds of boyfriends before him. He stated to me that he would have left her otherwise. That's feminism! 12-Jul-2020
When accosted by racism (in its many forms) I always asked, "why are we so hateful?" 11-Jul-2020