Ironing...

Normally, I post about a specific subject, often influenced by what London life has inflicted on my weak and addictive personality.

And as usual, this Friday, just after work, and with a shiny new laptop in my bag, I wandered around the bars. First of course, it was only going to be for one drink with one of my lesbian friends and her future ex shag / girlfriend. Although after that night and the mouth eating I've witnessed (I even considered a trip to the Vicar to confess, but I was afraid of him wanting to know more), they probably finished the night together.

Then of course, a moment of clarity and I remember I don't have any way to get home until one of my flatmate gets there, and I am stuck in central till eleven. Thanks god for dress down Friday, I wasn't in my suit and tie for once.

7 o'clock, and the adorable The Edge, followed by Element, followed by... Was it Ku bar? I can't really remember. All I know is that when I left, it was raining, and my so called boyfriend was trying with me to get a cab. Or rather he was and I was walking on the middle of the road trying to stop any car. Oh and bumping people off the sidewalk (it seems two tried to kick the shit out of me, but I have no bruise so no proof). Finally a car was found, a dodgy driver that seems convinced I owe him money. Its not really my fault if no cash machine accepted my card, and if the boyfriend's only got 20£ out of the machine. Plus he's not legal so he can more or less fuck off.

In the process, I dropped my bag on the floor while shouting at god (casing intended), and my new shiny MacBook Pro that cost more than £2000 ended up with a big bump on the case near the DVD player. I'll have to call the shop and see if they can order a replacement for the case.

Ah there we are. Bit of writing about everything and it all comes to mind. So much to tell you, so many weird things have been happening over the last few weeks. But back to my story.

So managed to get home with my boyfriend. Yes it seems I have a boyfriend. A few things strike me as being uttermostly weird.

First the age difference, I've become so fast this young professional with a big budget and a starving need for independence, comfort, and requirement for an easy to deal with boyfriend I can see whenever my calendar allows... Years are really gone, I'm really not the 20yo twink I was and I'm starting to grieve. I feel more and more depressed by the prospect, and at the same time I have a strong feeling of liberation, as if this newly found maturity was my new dope. Depresses me to realize I'm high, but I'm high so it's not that bad.

Second, I realize I'm very much the kind of guy I thought was inappropriately manipulating youngsters when I was 18. Not that I manipulate them, far from it, I have an admiration and a certain amount of jealousy towards these young, slim and smooth bodies, fresh uncluttered minds, lacking the cynism and the sadness that comes with maturity. Maybe the chasing is very much a form of chasing of my own past, my regrets, an irrepressible need to not become old, outdated, to not die. Maybe it's just my childish desire to pretend my past didn't happen. After all if I am surrounded by 18yo people, surely I can't have lived through this destructive relationship, self-destructive drug addiction, etc etc.

Then, I realize I have less and less confidence over the years. Going out in a club with him (the boyfriend, try and follow!) the other week was eye opening. All the cuties I fancied for a while and that were completely ignoring me before were all over him. Youth. It came as a big shock, a realization that as fit and as slim and as well dressed as I try to be, I'm not one of them anymore. The absence of any porn career lately has been a strong hint, but it's getting more and more obvious.

And that gets us to jealousy. Oh my dear god almighty (see, after insults, always says something nice before going to bed), am I jealous. And not because I fear loosing him. To be honest, even though he's an adorable guy, and probably smart, we don't talk much and spend most of our time having sex, which is quite fine by me. I never complain about having too much sex. Except maybe in the morning because some people's breath is vile, and because I like to cuddle the duvet in the morning, not to try and suck a dick when I feel like I have a dead hamster in my mouth. No, if I lost him I'd loose a very good and very docile shag that on top of it comes to mine when I want it and sees me more or less when I decide. And I'd loose a perfect boy magnet when I go clubbing. No, I feel jealousy and inadequacy. And I know way too well where that leads me.

See, a few years back, I got in an LTR that lasted three years. I feel that calling a Long Term Relationship an LTR removes any humanity from it. And it's just like what my experience of it was. And I felt inadequate, not because I was, but simply because the over the top in-your-face Gucci wearing anorexic idiot that served me as a boyfriend was so comfortable in his delusional neurotic slutty personality, and I've never really been comfortable in public... And my reaction since then has been to forge myself a public personality you'll meet when clubbing, the socialite. Everybody and their brothers know me in the clubs and bars I go to, and the ones I used to go. The only rather anonymous places I still manage to not be recognized are Fire and Orange, mainly because am off the drugs and don't intend to go back to them. Except for cocaine when there's a special occasion, but even that is slowly fading away.

So uh, yeah, jealousy. Am very very very jealous. It's a pulsion, an automatic reaction I can't control. Boyfriend sits on a stranger's laps instead of mine when in front of me, I get upset. He disappears on the dance floor (with my permission) for half an hour and I assume he's getting a blowjob in the toilets. All this because I want to be the center of attention and constantly needs to be told how fantastic I am. Also because all the men I've been with all cheated on me. And also because none of them even considered inviting me.

Ah well. I'm trying to deal with the megalomania and the jealousy by breathing slowly and reacting logically. If he wanted to sleep with someone else he would either tell me upfront or hide it well, the in between makes no logical sense.

So the whole boyfriend situation is a bit weird. I don't think he's got the slightest idea what goes on in my mind. And to be fair to him, nor am I really interested in him knowing. For that matter, very few people expect me to be a big brain. I suppose most people have not the slightest clue that I may actually be an intelligent being, preferring to remember me as the drunk porn actor.

Actually, very few people know. My best friend, my ex best-friend, maybe my mother sometimes, and you my beloved readers. But with you it's easy as I keep this blog rather anonymous. I regret it in a way, because the few of you that have been sending me messages are lovely people that I'd probably love sharing a dinner with. But if I was to meet you through this diary, and you suddenly became friends, I'd loose the complete freedom I have to write.

Freedom is a big word to be fair. Am I completely honest? Most of the time. But I can't reveal too many details about too many people, I would be recognized easily and that's certainly not the point. I did that before, and as soon as it started people started reading to know what was going on in my mind, and ended up with too many people knowing about my struggles with life, drugs and alcohol.

Because I believe I have a struggle. An addiction. Not to any drug or any form of alcohol in particular. I have an addiction to being wasted. I feel a huge pleasure in being slightly drunk or buzzing from a cocktail of class As and joints. Not always, not every day, not even every week-end these days, but I do indulge myself. And I feel shit the next day.

Is it really acceptable to get completely wasted? Where's the line between random drunkness and alcoholism? A number of glasses? A causing factor?

I think it's a question of moderation. And I don't think I can do moderation. I just can't, in any aspect of my life. In the evening, my glass of wine just to relax usually turns into finishing the bottle. And when I get wasted on a Friday night, I stay home all week-end and I do... My ironing. Thanks god to all that free time and my steam station, I finally finished most of the ironing I've left to accumulate for months.

And that's how I'm going to go forward. Every week-end, I'm going to focus on one task and finish whatever needs finishing. Paperwork, my business, my accounts (anyone knows a good accountant?)...

It's not a solution, it's just a path.

Oh and, believe it or not, I chose the title of the post before writing, and I still managed to hook up all the themes I wanted to talk about, and just let the text flow until I went back to the title. And when I see how much text I manage to spit in only half an hour I sometimes wonder if I should start writing a book. And then I realize reading something free is one thing, buying my ramblings is certainly another!

Of friends, brains and food.

Blogging is like the gym. Once you get in the spirit, you just start typing away and off you go. But if for whatever reason you stop, even for a few days, you get out of the loop, and starting becomes more and more painful.

Oh well, at least I'm trying.

I was thinking over the reasons for witting this blog. It's not the first time I try and write something. My attempts at witting novels have all failed miserably. My previous blogs have all failed as well, mainly because my readers knew who I was. Sadly this has tempered a lot with my creative flow. Ah who am I kidding. It's just prevented me from telling the truth.

Today I added a link on the right to my second reader, now everybody knows who they are :) A nice blog and a funny tone, I enjoy reading it. But it also depresses me. To explain why, I'll quote the comment Paul left on my last entry:

But having said that... there's a lot to be said for us 30-something, medium sized cock, guys you know? ;o)

And he's absolutely right. Although my comments were related to my natural sexual attraction to the younger crowd.

Reading Paul's blog, you can't fail to notice all the interesting places his friends and himself go to. And that's where the desperation strikes in.

I'm reaching 25 very soon. Nothing that bad some would say, and most people would consider me to still be a little baby. However true that may be (no diapers fantasies though, sorry), I can't really relate to 20yo kiddos anymore. My tastes are different, so are my wages and certainly so is my life experience. And still, most of my friends are younger.

And most of these young boys spend their whole social life in Soho. Don't get me wrong, I'm absolutely guilty of this as well, and am well known in most bars and clubs. But god am I just dying to be brought to a musical, go to the opera, go shopping on Sunday morning to buy some rabbit to cook a nice Lapin a la forestiere for people that can enjoy nice food and a good bottle of Chateau La Tour. Or spend a Saturday afternoon going to the opening of some art gallery somewhere?

Here's the dilemma. How to find new friends, out of this vicious circle, that can be gay but can go outside of Soho? Some people in their thirties or even forties that are happy to be with you as friends without this nagging feeling you get from the ones that want you around expecting a shag they'll never get. And I'm not even talking about boyfriends just yet, as I don't think I'm ready to take the plunge again. 3 years single and I still don't feel the urge. Not that it wouldn't be nice, but when you live with someone for years, it puts things in perspective.

Well I do take steps towards that. Went to the cinema the other day. And last night cooked for my 18yo date, not the brightest guy but cute and relaxing. I did a Quiche Lorraine, even did the pastry myself. Followed by a ginger and coriander chicken that failed completely and turned out completely burned. And finally a Tiramisu.

In the end, I think both cooking and sex are a good therapy to kill boredness. Just wished I could add a third chapter with people with a brain.

Oh the shame of being a slut! NOT!

It's been a strange last few days.

First and foremost thanks to my readers, the two of them, for the lovely comments. Sorry I haven't post sooner, but other priorities have surfaced.

Of course the first one is money. For the last two weeks I've finally been sending my cv around to try and get a new contract soon. Money is certainly not bringing happiness, but without it you can be sure to find sadness. So that's done and am starting again next week.

I'm actually a bit worried about going back to work, because I hate working. During the day. With normal people. I think, after years of reflection, that my normal and natural state is to wake up at 5 or 6 in the evening, go out, meet people, socialize, smile, and shag. Not necessarily in this order though! Work is just an in-between that let me afford my lifestyle.

Then, I had another appointment at the clinic to get my top up of p.e.p. treatment. The tests came back negative so far. To be honest, that was a huge relief, as I did take a few risks before. However they've never been very worrying for the young sex machine that I am. Call it stupidity, I call it society-induced boredom of restriction.

And when talking about not understanding the risk, a gorgeous guy I met at a party a few weeks ago just did his HIV coming out when his results came back positive. I feel for him as he's a nice guy, but he admits himself that, a bit like me, he did have sex without condoms quite a few times. Except that so far I've been lucky and he hasn't. Life is unfair. I still fancy that guy though and hope to manage to bed him eventually... With a condom!

The rest of my time has been split between days of staying home thinking about how life couldn't get any worse, and going out, getting drunk stupid and shagging.

Since my last post, I had a guy from Kent with a gorgeous smile, a fantastic body and a medium sized willy, and an 18yo from Sheffield with a massive dick and a cute smile.

The first one doesn't want to get fucked until he gets a boyfriend, which is understandable enough. Except that I'm really not sure how I could cope with a boyfriend at this point in my life.

The second one is getting attached fast, which I don't mind because the sex is great. But what to do if suddenly he realizes that I won't go through another straight-centered view on couples like I did for years with the vile ex? Oh well, as I said, the sex is good. Only thing running against him is that he's a screamer. You know the type that shake and scream and jump when you fuck him. First time I had to put a pillow over my partner's face when fucking though! And he also doesn't last very long, I think we only had sex for about an hour and a half to two hours, way under my normal standard for the first time you have sex.

And tonight I'm seeing the object of my sexual attentions. Let's call him DDG for donkey dick god. That guy has the face and the body of a model, an absolutely huuuuuuuuuuuge cock, a fabulous ass, and is fully versatile. He's also bright and funny.

Sadly, only reason that one is not tied in my bed 24/7 being used as my sex slave is his boyfriend... And that's where I'm going tonight, to their 5th birthday together.

I don't mind the boyfriend, he's a fit 30-something guy, and he can deepthroat like no one else. On his own he would be attractive to many men. But I prefer the 20 something, have a thing for nice bodies and huge dicks, so he can't survive the comparison.

Oh well, I just enjoy the hours and hours of sex we've had together on coke and GHB.

Oh yes I'm a nasty boy. And trust me, you're only at the beginning of the ride!

HIV treatment after-effects

You get told both on the p.e.p. clinic, and at the hospital, and on the phone on terrens Higgins trust, that the after effects are fairly terrible.

Well I've finished my third day on the drugs. And I really don't know if the ear infection I have is related to it, but the normal effects haven't hit me at all.

I feel more hungry, maybe a bit more tired (but that could well be because of the ear infection as my immune system is working against the infection), but no nausea, no diarrhea, nothing.

That's quite a relief to think that I'll not be feeling like shit for 4 weeks. Will still try and avoid anything that can fuck up your immune system in the meantime (alcohol, drugs, etc).

Save the Astoria? Please!

Just noticed this blog asking for people to sign a petition for the g-a-y Astoria to not be knocked down.

Seriously guys, the place is disgustingly dirty, you should petition for them to finally refurbish that dump. In its current state I don't mind it being knocked down. Not a sausage.

Made me laugh!

Found here.

Middle ear infection

It's only my second day on P.E.P. and I develop a huge middle ear infection. How are the two related? I hope not at all.

Woke up with the left part of my nose completely blocked, and the ear not hearing properly and fairly painful. The pain is growing steadily, and there's a bit of blood leaking from the ear from time to time now.

Seems from the information I found on the web that the pain would be due by the pressure put behind the ear by the liquid not getting released in the throat properly. Seems I risk the tympanum exploding, how sweet.

Hospital tomorrow I suppose.

The P.E.P.

So what's that P.E.P. all about. It's a combination of three drugs:

• Stavudine
• Nelfinavir
• Lamuvidine (Ingredient: Lamivudine)

Two of them are Nucleoside Analogue Reverse Transcriptase Inhibitors (NARTIs), in this instance the Lamuvidine and the Stavudine, and a Protease Inhibitor, the Nelfinavir.

I could point you out to wikipedia to find out how it all works, but it seems like an overkill, the explanation is way too complex. So I'll have my own little attempt at explaining how it all works.

The HIV Virus

So HIV is a retrovirus. That means it's a virus that work backwards. Normally, genetic material that produces the elements our body need to function is in the form of DNA. To duplicate, DNA gets copied into a negative, the RNA, that then gets copied again back into DNA. Do a negative of a picture twice and you obtain the original picture.

But HIV doesn't have any DNA, it has RNA. It contains the negative, and relies on our own cells to replicate itself. It also contains an enzyme called Reverse Transcriptase, and Protease and Integrase proteins.

The penetration

As soon as it reaches our body, the HIV virus is gonna work like a magnet, getting attracted to anything containing the CD4 protein. Anything with that protein is called CD4+. In our body, it's mostly the T cells and macrophages.

As soon as the virus docks on one of these cells, it's membrane fuse with the cell and its content gets injected.

The replication

Now that the virus is in the cell, it's going to start using the cell to reproduce.

First, the reverse Transcriptase is going to duplicate the RNA we talked about earlier in double stranded DNA. During the process, a lot of errors are made, which explains why the HIV virus can change so fast and can stop responding to certain drugs.

The DNA then gets injected in the cell's own DNA by the Integrase. The T cells are the ones fighting against the HIV infection, but when they get told to start fighting is the moment the virus can start replicating.

The viral DNA is then replicated by the cell itself back into new RNA that will eventually form new viruses. They then slowly leave the cell, assembling like a bunch of Lego.

The kill

Because the HIV virus infect the CD4+ T cells, the CD8+ T cells (the killer cells) will do their jobs and kill them. Hence why the more you're infected the less CD4+ T cells you have, which in turn disable your immune system.

The treatment

The NARTI drugs we talked about earlier will try and stop the transcription of RNA into DNA.

The protease inhibitors will prevent the virus from forming completely when it gets released from the cell.

Conclusion

That's how vicious this virus is. Not only does it use the cell itself to reproduce, it is only those cells that are activated by its presence that are used. It turns our own immune system against itself.

Sadly, while the virus can be very effectively prevented from replicating and then killed, it cannot be removed completely from the body once it has reached certain immune system centers. That's why stopping the treatment pushes the virus to start multiplying again, and why P.E.P. is supposed to be taken before 72 hours. Of course from one immune system to another things vary, so I'll just have to pray the development of the virus, if he came through, will have been slow enough for the P.E.P. to be effective.

Bareback sex...

You meet a nice guy online. You decide you gonna meet. The guy comes home and you have wild sex, in the heat of the moment you "forget" the condom.

That's exactly what happened this Sunday night. The guy looked healthy enough, gorgeous even. Fantastic body, tight ass, gorgeous looks and deep blue eyes in which you could easily get lost.

I can't remember if it was the second or the third time we had sex before going to sleep, but I went without the condom. The sad reality of it is that the condom does change the feeling so much, makes the experience so much more enjoyable. The whole ten minutes of it.

And for these ten minutes I may just have ruined my chance to live to 80.

I'll admit it's not the first time, over the years I've not always been careful. And I have dates with which we never used it. And if you think I'm alone in that situation, think again. Young gay men on the London gay scene are very often "forgetting" the condom.

So why the sudden stress? Well as it happens, someone I know recognized that guy because some people were talking about their foreign friend that was HIV positive and how you could not tell.

And indeed I couldn't tell. And before that event I've not been overly worried about bareback sex because positive people seemed so remote in my sex life. Forget the fact my best friends in two of the cities I've lived in were positive. It just didn't seem possible.

The stress of the whole situation paralyzed me for a few days... I knew about P.E.P., the Post Exposure Prophylactic treatment that can save your life. It's the same combination of drugs positive people take. I completed the assessment and it showed that the treatment was recommended.

And it was not before Thursday afternoon that I went to get it. You'll notice that the treatment is supposed to be taken 72 hours maximum after the exposure, by UK guidelines. Other countries recommend 10 hours. And I went to get it a whole 4 days afterwards. That won't cover an infection I would've developed on the Sunday night. But it may, just may cover the other time, the Monday afternoon.

I just gambled with my health by forgetting the condom, and I just gambled again because of fear. Call me suicidal. If I get out of this one, I can guarantee you that I won't ever gamble again. Feeling death so close to you is an extremely unnerving experience.