Just because I’m a nice guy…

Doesn’t mean that I want to be drawn into your bullshit.

Especially if you don’t have the balls to directly ask me what you want.

I think I’m going to have a T-Shirt made!

I’m basically a nice guy. I can be an asshole, but to be honest that’s a defensive screen because so many people want to take advantage of any nice people they meet.

Being nice is perceived by some, sadly too many, as inherently weak and easily manipulated. So a lot of nice people cloak themselves in the mantle of being an asshole. If we didn’t, we’d be manipulated into doing shit that we don’t want to do, or indeed didn’t have the time to do for other people all our lives.

I can tell you this from bitter experience, once someone gets their hooks into you and figures out that they can manipulate you they will never stop. They’ll be a fucking parasite until you’ve got nothing left to give them or you actively burn them out of your life.

I have a lot of respect for people who can say “No” without guilt, fear, or remorse.

I have a hard time saying “No” because growing up I was conditioned to please EVERYONE! Instead of breaking that conditioning which was built from the damn cradle onward, I created the asshole cloak. My problem is that sometimes I leave the house without it.

An interesting case in point was Saturday.

I had a very disturbing call with my Mother. The call was beyond disturbing it was very upsetting. (No one can push your buttons like your Mother!) Normally, when I get this kind of upset, I do something physical to dissipate the hurt and anger before it turns in on me and causes further damage.

This is how we came to have a drip irrigation system at our house prior to the place burning. It’s a serious challenge to dig any kind of hole where I live. One day, The Other Half and I had a throw down of an argument. I grabbed my handy trenching tool and proceeded to dig all the trenches necessary to bury the drip lines. When he stepped out onto the deck with a tall glass of ice tea and told me to come and drink something I took it as him apologizing. He wasn’t… He was just worried that I’d work myself to heat stroke. Later he told me he kept thinking, “That dumbass will come in soon, he’s been out there working in that heat for six solid hours with no food and no water.” He only fixed me a glass of iced tea when he realized I was fixated on what I was doing.

From then on, he’d keep an eye on me. He realized that day that I was very stubborn and if I was completely engaged in doing something, I would literally forget basic stuff. This was especially true if I was working off anger, frustration, or sadness. He wasn’t so worried about me in the Winter time but Summer always made him nervous.

Anyhow, I’d had this phone call with my Mother. I pulled on my boots, grabbed my yard tool, and got to cutting and trimming. Trouble was, I ran out of plants to mangle before I ran out of anger. I switched from the chainsaw to the weed whacker and discovered there wasn’t anything tall enough in my yard to trim down.

Then I remembered that my next door neighbor had been out in Palm Springs looking after a sick friend. I marched over to his yard. Surely, there must be something that needs cutting! No Joy! Nothing had grown since the last time I trimmed his place. (I took care of his yard before the weed abatement people could ticket him.)

Now I’m getting frustrated about not being able to vent my frustration!

Hmmm. The new guy… he’s going through a divorce. He’s been spending time with his kids and doesn’t have any of his stuff with him. He’s only living there for 6 months… And he’s gone for the afternoon with his Son.

His rental yard is ripe for the trimming…

So I get to work. My anger and frustration flowing out of me as I focus on trimming the weeds. I’m happy in my own world mowing down thicket after thicket. I’ve moved to the area where he parks and have just about completed it when I hear my name.

FUCK!

It’s the neighbor that lives next to Crazy Pants. The guy who NEVER says what he means. Who never just asks for what he wants, instead it’s always a long drawn out convoluted miasma of words and randomized ideas. I sometimes find dealing with him excruciating. And in my current state… I’m in no fucking mood!

But then, he hits me with a question that makes me concerned that he’s losing his mind just like my Mother. He asks if I’m the property owner of the rental air B&B. He knows that I’m not. When I tell him, “No,” he asks me if I have a key to the place. Uh, “No!”

Suddenly I flash forward to where this conversation is going because this conversation is like 10 other “conversations” before.

He’s going to bitch about the exterior lights being left on and since he sleeps in his living room how these lights bother him and disrupt his sleep. YAWN! NOT MY FUCKING PROBLEM!

But he wants to make it my problem. He wants me to talk to whoever and make them turn out the lights. He seems to expect me to be interested or concerned or frankly give a damn.

In the back of my mind I’m thinking, “Get off your ass, put down the fucking bong, and deal with your own shit.” He’s still droning on and on about how tough it is for him sleep and how put upon these lights are making him feel, no-one understands how difficult… blah, blah, blah.

I’m at the end of the conversation while he’s still droning on. And I’m getting really angry about it. I put my brain in neutral. Why does this guy think I, or anyone else for that matter care? Can he not see that I’m hot and sweaty and his puerile issue with the lights is of zero concern to me, I just want to get back to burning off angry energy which he’s actively refueling.

I cut off the remaining 45 minutes of his bitching and complaining, “You know man, both of the lights shine into my house too. We’ve discussed this before. The folks are renters and probably haven’t figured out what switches do what yet. When it was an Air B&B those renters always left the lights on. Having a permanent renter is better than an Air B&B here.”

He blinked, “Both Lights????”

I pretty much growled, “Uh yeah, the porch light and the deck light both shine into my house. I use this new thing they call a shade.”

The whine of the weed whacker motor drowned out whatever reply he might have made. Then I realized part of what had made me so angry. For all his whingeing and blathering on about his interrupted sleep, not once did he ask me directly to speak to someone on his behalf, he just assumed that because I’m a nice guy he can delegate his shit to me.

Now I’m really pissed off. How about this motherfucker asking himself, or me what’s up? Not once in 30+ years of living here have I gone unbidden into someone else yard to clear weeds. Clearly I’m exhibiting odd behavior.

I popped open the gate to the rest of the rental’s yard.

The weeds in that yard now know the meaning of Vengeful! The weeds on an odd small patch of land at the end of my street also learned the term.

The battery died just as I finished the little patch.

My anger and rage had abated significantly, but embers still remain.

I’m going to be really screwed the next time my Mother calls.

OH LOOK! There she is now.

Maybe I really need that belt sander I’ve been looking at. There’s some painting to be done around here. Perhaps that nice compound mitre saw too.

Sigh, “Hello Mom. No, we spoke yesterday. Yes we did, I’m sorry you don’t remember. No, I’m not lying to you…”

I’m not looking forward to dating…

Yes, I’m still a ways off from that. Nonetheless I’m not looking forward to it.

The reason is straight forward.

Statistically all gay men are Democrats. Sure, there are actually some republican gay men, and there are some conservative gay men. However their numbers are so vanishingly small as to be numerically insignificant. Therefore they don’t exist.

Given the premise that all gay men are Democrats and all Democrats are liars, it follows that all gay men are liars.

I’m sure there are gay men who are not liars, but statistically the number of honest gay men must be so close to zero, as to be functionally zero.

Since I don’t like liars, I’m expecting for dating to be pretty unpleasant.

My other half was a Democrat when we met. I was a Republican. That was back when gay men were just happy to find someone else who loved them and didn’t care about stupid crap like politics. Sure, we canceled each others votes out for years, but over time, we both moved to a more centrist view and then both left our respective political parties so we could hurl insults at Democrats and Republicans, without being hypocrites.

The process of us moving toward more centrist beliefs took many years, and honestly, it was a fun process. We both learned a lot. Mostly, we learned that we loved each other.

I doubt I have that many years ahead of me so I’m not going to engage in another long term conversion project. I have decided in general that I’m not going to date Democrats. Of course rules are made to be broken and someone who is particularly interesting could be forgiven their political insanity.

Given what I’ve seen with the dating apps & sites. I’ll Pass! I think I’ll find a bar or pub that’s comfortable when I want to be around people and other than that I’ll just live my life doing the things I want to do.

There are things I’m interested in and perhaps with a little discretion I’ll find other guys who are interested in those things too. Maybe I’ll just get some nice subtle rainbow items. (Old rainbow not that new abomination!)

Something to hang on my backpack or dive gear, small but noticeable to the discerning eye. Possibly I’ll add some swag from my political party affiliation too. I could also add some swag from the Atlas Shrugged website… That would be over most people’s heads, but some might get it.

This adornment might be off-putting to most, but to the kind of folks I’m interested in hanging out with, or knowing in the biblical sense, it might be a way of winnowing the wheat from the chaff.

Alternatively, I could simply resolve to confine my dating to nothing more than prostitutes…

“Your cash is on the counter Chad, thanks for the mediocre blowjob, now get out.”

I must admit that does seem to be more direct, more convenient, and quite possibly cheaper …

Perhaps we’re slicing it too thin.

I was scanning the bread and circus news this morning and ran across Matt Gaetz (R-FL) asking questions of the Air Force Academy Superintendent Lt. Gen. Richard Clark.

I thought, “This should be interesting,” and opened the article . There are times when I feel almost sorry for the top brass still in the military. They must long for the days when they could call all the recruits, maggots, faggots, pussies, or worthless excrement.

“Recruit! I dropped a deuce this morning with more brains than you’ve got!”

Ahhh, the good old days!

To be clear I wasn’t able to serve, so I never heard any of the myriad insults directed at me. But through my friends telling stories I gather it was brutal.

Holy shit! I just realized with all the bullshit gender fuck stuff, A DI probably can’t kick the door to the barracks open yelling, “Drop your cocks and grab your socks,” anymore, for fear of hurting someone without a cock (or socks,) feelings.

Ain’t that the shit?

Anyway Gaetz was questioning Lt. Gen. Clark about the Brooke Owens Fellowship that sets up internships in aerospace companies.

“Okay,” I thought, “it sounds like this fellowship is one of a number of similar organizations designed to encourage women and minorities to take jobs in areas where they typically haven’t had a large representation. That’s cool, and it’s nice to hear the Air Force is supporting that.”

Having worked in aerospace I can say that in higher level positions women were few and very far between. The executive staff did look like a boys club. It wasn’t all that surprising, since most of the executives had come from the military and given their ages, they’d earned their stripes at a time when there weren’t a lot of women in the military.

Notice I said earned their stripes.

Gaetz was annoyed that the Brooke Owens Fellowship excluded so called CIS Men from the running when setting up internships. Gaetz was questioning why the Air Force would support such an organization. A reasonable question, but …

I’ve been to the Brooke Owens Fellowship site and didn’t find any particular exclusion. I did find the usual word salad of diversity, equity, and inclusion terms. My brain shut down attempting to process the Fellowship’s explanation of purpose… It’s very likely that Lt. Gen. Clark hadn’t been to their web site or reviewed all the internship admission materials personally.

I think Gaetz was unfair to Lt. Gen. Clark I’m sure that Gaetz doesn’t have the time to personally review every bit of paperwork that comes across his desk and might well have been blissfully unaware of the Fellowships requirements if it hadn’t been brought to his attention.

As I read on I was thinking, “Gaetz shouldn’t have done a preamble to his line of questioning like this, he should have asked the Lt. Gen. the real question, just straight up.”

I was about to bail on the article but scanned down one or two more lines…

Gaetz asked Lt. Gen. Clark if he knew what demisexual meant. When I read that, in my head I heard the sound phonograph needles made when they skipped off the record.

Lt. Gen. Clark couldn’t define what the word meant. I can’t say that I blame him.

This is what went on in my brain.

Demi-Sexual
Possible meanings:
Late Pubescent but still a virgin?
A person generally ambivalent about sex?
Yet another bullshit transgendered condition?
Half sexual (perhaps someone who’s only interested once in a given period like Spock)?

I knew, Demi-God meant half god, half mortal. See Hercules, or Perseus. However I suspected my foundation in English and spattering of other languages was probably not serving me… Again!

This is perhaps what was going on the the Lt. General’s mind as well…

I looked it up. After all that’s what one does when confronted with a word or term never before seen.

Demisexual – noun

a person who experiences sexual feelings and attraction only after developing a close emotional relationship and not on the basis of first impressions, physical characteristics, etc: since demisexuals require an emotional connection to feel sexual attraction, building trust is key.

Again, I’m thinking, “okay, I can see this, and have experienced this in my life.” It makes sense as a method to describe folks who aren’t entranced instantly by looks and lust. I thought perhaps that instant lustful attraction was something that was only the province of the young. I remember it fondly but appreciate not being driven by it now. (I still question the use of “Demi”.)

I’m not really sure that this slicing and dicing of human sexuality into finer and finer categories is healthy. Isn’t it possible that eventually the slices are so thin, the filtering so fine, that no-one is going to have sex because a prospective partner doesn’t check all the boxes?

As I’ve aged I’ve become far more selective, and far less likely to just want to shatter the commandments in an instant. I had no idea that there was a name for it, much less that there were people who might be this way from the get go.

As I said above I accepted it as normal aging.

Ahh! There’s the question. Is this something that is, and has always been, a part of the wonderful spectrum of human sexuality, which now has a definition? Or is this just another way to create a specialized and potentially oppressed group?

As I looked further into online definitions and encyclopedia entires I couldn’t help but feel it was about creating a group to need to “Protect”. A healthier mechanism might be to acknowledge that sometimes you’re looking for something more intimate than just a quick orgasm.

My friend John described this feeling as, “Sometimes It’s just not worth filling the kiddie pool with lube.

I share his sentiment, if not his particular kinks.

In my case I’ve attributed this to age, a certain personal jadedness, a bit of experience, a realization that physical pleasure can be had easily solo, but satisfaction and /or gratification seems to be a function of knowing the other person in a wider context than them walking in, stripping and 20 minutes later walking out again.

Having been on both ends of that particular equation. I’d prefer to be the dude walking in, being serviced, rather than the person who has to spend the next 45 minutes cleaning up. (After all, kiddie pools full of lube are a pain in the ass to empty, and get out of the living room before your parents arrive for Sunday dinner!)

Maybe the rise of Demisexuals isn’t about anything other than people being confronted with the immediacy and anonymity of endless meaningless hook-ups at our fingertips.

There was a time when that was exciting, it was the “Orgy” paradigm. You didn’t know these people but there was a smorgasbord of flesh to sample and the only limit was your energy.

Even orgies become commonplace and mundane if you’re in one every night. Sex itself can become formulaic. Porn is a great vehicle to describe this. A porn scene is essentially…

Plausible (or not) reason for persons to be in proximity.
Attraction sparks interest (or not). Alternatively horniness / rampant lust results in persons removing enough clothing that erogenous zones are exposed.
From there everything boils down to “Kiss Kiss Kiss, Lick Lick Lick, Suck Suck Suck, Thrust Thrust Thrust, Cum Cum Cum”
The only real issue for the writer is describing which orifice “B”, “C”, “D” is invaded by Tab “A” and the realization that not all orifices may be available.

Strictly speaking, real interactions between people aren’t all that different if there’s no emotional connection or component. The perk for porn actors is that they’re getting paid. I suppose that in part explains “OnlyFans”.

If you’re going to rub one out, why not on camera, hearing the cash register sound effect accompanied by some personal request?

Even that can get boring. Where do you go from there? Ever kinkier sexual activities, or at some point does jadedness and cynicism take over, making even the pleasures of masturbation, nothing more than another function like taking a leak or evacuating one’s bowels?

At some point when your friends notice you’re not getting as much action and that you aren’t interested in any. Perhaps you need to be able to say, “I’m demisexual. Oh, you didn’t know?”

After all, the hardest and perhaps the most dangerous thing these days is to be non compliant. Identifying with a “protected” group may be one of a few methods to be an individual and not be stigmatized as a MAGA Republican, or Domestic Terrorist, because you’re no longer interested in meaningless sex with complete strangers… Granted that’s a bit of a leap.

Oddly, prior to the ubiquity of hook-up apps, people were arguably Demisexual as a part of normal everyday life. That’s why we went out.

The purpose of nightclubs, bars, and theaters, was so that we could meet people and decide if there was enough of an emotional connection, or sufficient inebriation, to move on to being naked with each other. We used the time to answer the fundament question, “Was it with the risk of an unwanted pregnancy or social disease?” If the answer was “yes” then we’d spend a night in sweaty passionate embrace and hope for the best the next morning.

In those days, at least we talked. It was required that we say something more substantial than;

Hi
Sup
Power bottom
14 inch, very thick cock
1234 Anton Street apt 104 door is open
Cool 10 min

We used to hate doing the walk of shame. I know guys that do the walk of shame 3 times a day and think nothing of it.

They haven’t reached Demisexual status yet. I suspect they will one day, when they’re holding their phone while having sex, ostensibly filming their pistoning cock in a random hole, but in reality checking their email.

Perhaps all these names and victim groups should be a wake up call to us all but especially to psychologists, psychiatrists, and sociologists, that continuing to label and normalize isn’t fixing the problem.

Maybe it’s time to speak brutal truth to each other, not worry about hurt feelings, and see where that gets us.