Love Don’t Live Here Anymore????

It has come to my humble attention as of late that most of my friends have garnered the wrong impression about me. Since it has been a little over four years since I was last involved in a committed monogamous relationship, many of my friends have come to the brilliant conclusion that I had just give up on love.

That is absolutely not true.

Just because I don’t’ live behind “The Monogamy or Die” banner like some of my friends or try to build a relationship from a fuck, doesn’t mean that I don’t bleed like everyone else for love and companionship. It’s just that I never put myself out there emotionally like that just to build a so-called relationship with any old body just for the sake of being in a relationship.

I sort of kind of think of myself of a grand counter to two of my friends whom I considered the epitome of forging relationships out of nothing.

Unfortunately, one of my friends ended up loosing his life to AIDS because of his need to be in a relationship. Not to speak ill of the dead (because even today he was one of my greatest and truest friends) but he had an insatiable habit of building and destroying a relationship within a week. He would go to the club single, date when he got in, and usually was engaged by last call. Of course, because everything happened so suddenly they would have a long engagement that would last until the next night because the wedding and the honeymoon and the marriage would ensue. And after the last nutt was cracked, be it that they would have their sights set on someone else or they realized they had nothing outside of sex, the divorced is finalized when one calls the other gay (in the case of DL) or a flaming faggot (in the case of a sissy who don’t think they are a sissy.)

Now, my friend and I usually made a point to meet at least once or twice a week, if not more. But it took me about a good six month to figure out that my friend wasn’t talking about his past (considering we were just out of our teens), but the many events that had transpired between the last time we saw each other, the longest time being a week and the shortest time being a day.

So it kind of fucked with my head, being that my friend was so knowledgeable about diseases that somewhere between the minute he and his boyfriend/fiancé decided to become exclusive, he would make the decision to engage in unprotected sex, because “he” was the one.

In his defense, though, he did eventually find that one.

The two of them when on to have a lengthy, longstanding relationship that was filled with happiness and commitment but like anything else there relationship fell apart after a year and my friend ended up dying a year after that, still in the full swing of his old habits.

Unfortunately, because my friend was afraid of “poppa” preaching, or rather the feeling like a disappointment in my eyes (which I would never in a million years have thought), he informed friends that knew about his statist not to tell me until two years after the fact, making up a convincing lie that would spare me and his family.

My other friend is the sworn testimony to “Monogamy or Die.” To me, and I later found out, to himself also, below that he is nothing unless he has a man by his side. Ironically, I have a lot of friends like this, but he is only one of a handful of tops that I have as a friend that feel this way. And he will admit, much like my late friend, that it is the fear of being alone topped with self-esteem issues in a community that frankly make a big to do about nothing, from body image to education status, to clothes to cars because things come and go. Not only that those that perpetrate those things only have those things. Oftentimes, they don’t have any character or substance or self-worth about them because if they did they wouldn’t be around people they have to question on those things. Because at the end of the day, they would know we are all nothing more than flesh and blood.

Okay, I would’ve preached a little!

Back to my other friend.

Even he has to admit, he has stuck it out in relationship held together with spit, for the sake of avoiding loneliness, even going to the extreme of flying and bussing guys in and vice versa. But as he hinted to me over the years, he knows he isn’t the best looking thing in the bunch therefore he goes through these unnecessary extremes, which sometimes complicates our relationship because he feels that I chose to be single repelling guys and girls that are not bashful in wanting me while he feels like he has to look under every rock to find someone.

The sad truth is my friend is a really cool guy, very well educated, and very inquisitive. And though I don’t make a habit out of looking at my friends, he is not bad to look at, in the sense that neither he nor I will ever look like a Greek God. And not everybody wants a Greek God. (Ironically, when I was younger I walked away from a perfectly good guy because while I was incessant about my flaws, he loved every inch of me just the way I was because of them. What was wrong with him! (lol))

I say all of this because I have seen the paces people have put themselves through just to have some sort of validation in some faceless society, in some so-called relationship that they themselves are unsure that they want to be in.

As for me, though, being single ain’t bad. Especially, considering that I am making the most of my singlehood pursuing my dreams along with mending my recently wrecked financial house, threefold at the speed I would’ve had had I split my time between that and pacifying a relationship at this time.

But I will admit, it hasn’t always been happy being single, particularly when it comes to my coupling friends doing couple things. Which are also grander than when you just hang out with your usual group of friends, especially when they attend cultural events and such.

My content of being single really began at nineteen, right before my twentieth birthday. I had just gotten out of a year and a half relationship when I found myself in the thick of the Black Pride Weekend here in Atlanta. Because I had always been thick and masculine and love for my man to deliver the same, the parade of paper-thin sissies vogue-ing their way through the Renaissance on their way to the club did little to make my dick jump. But when I laid my eyes on this thick masculine dude, I was done! And since he lived in the area, I knew I was in there!

One problem: Unlike himself, he liked his men paper-thin and feminine. Because I always liked my dick and the testosterone that comes with it, I tried to starve myself to at least try to be thin. Then, a good friend of mine pulled me aside and told me to stop. I was too well feed to start looking like a Somali refugee. So I decided to go celibate, as a way to stand out.

About eight moths into my celibacy, it worked. Me and they guy became good friends, hanging out and everything. Then, as soon as he was ready to “try something different,” a friend of mine with extreme insecurity issues decided that he wanted to be with the guy. Now he had already disclosed that he wanted to be in a relationship with me, and now wanted to be with the guy. Being that my friend had slowed down considerably giving up to everyone with a hard dick, I decided to forego my dreams of being with the guy, much to our dismay.

But it turned out to be the best thing in the world because the guy I was pressing turned out to be very trifling, and my slutty friend, a year after the fact couldn’t even remember his name when he saw him!

So not only was I spared from a relationship that would’ve surely brought stress on my head, the main reason I spared it couldn’t even remover his name after he professed tahta he wanted to be with him. And that a so-called friend is stomping around pissed that I still won’t fuck him!

I can honestly laugh about it now. Back then, I was upset. Because by the time everything came to a head almost a year into my celibacy*, I wasn’t in the business of having sex again—at least not with just anybody. So I sat around about six months more until my dick was literally dripping with pre cum and a path juice ass was daring me to dick it down.

*Remember celibacy is when you have no sexual relations whatsoever including masturbation. Abstinence can include hand-to-dick combat.


I know I am rambling, but I say this because I took myself through hell and back (not the celibacy part) in trying to get a relationship that I almost lost myself in the process. I say almost because, in truth, I really didn’t know who I was. I mean, honestly was I the kind of dude that would go through changing my entire being just to get with a man whose type I originally didn’t bill in the first place?

Fortunately (and I say that loosely), I learned from my misstate, taking away the notion that I have to start off showing who I am first before seeing someone to share my life with, be it a generic relationship or a marriage without the legality—for now, because I want him—that man—to have a strong sense of character and know who he is as a man.

Even the events that folded four years ago with my last committed monogamous relationship and my ability to articulate it in full mass at the end of last year, I can’t sate being with someone because I make the happy when they do nothing for me.

What I mean by that is I’ve been with guys who were gung-ho about me or my dick. Yet, if it wasn’t for me pleasing them, it was really nothing in it for me. In some cases, not even horniness or a fantastic nutt.

I guess the major problem (not that I feel being single is a problem for me) is that either the men that I am attracted to (good-looking, thick solid men secure in their masculinity) don’t find me attractive, or my favorite, believe that my masculinity with his might leave society to question who does what in the bedroom. My other almost-always constant, is that I can be feeling a dude and that dude is feeling me. But his more-often-than-not insecure friend is feeling me, too. And when it comes to our friends, we want them to have to go through as little pain as possible, so they’ll push their friend up on me as a humble gesture. And for awhile I understood totally and completely, since I ended a possible relationship because of it. I soon realize none of that does any good if only one person is feeling something and the other isn’t.


So I made up my mind four years go that I didn’t want to be with somebody because it makes them happy or because I feared being alone or I feared that somebody in society was going to feel that I was less than because I was flying solo.

While I am happily singer for now working on my self (I already know a great deal about myself) and what I want out of my future, I want a real relationship someday. I want to truly get to know someone, with the hopes if we have enough in common, in spite of our differences, we can building something strong upon. Love. Respect. Trust. Monogamy. Faith. Loyalty. Finance. A life—two into one.

Shit, I’m not going to lie, I want to fall deep in love and have the same love reciprocated, and make love with our clothes on just being in the same room together, be it kicking it with friend or sleeping in the bed together.

Now I believe that I am emotionally mature enough to know that that ain’t about to happen with just some random dude that will cure me of some loneliness, as I know that he isn’t likely bound to show up until just shy of when I feel I am able to receive him.

So with that, I am happy and single, knowing that I can’t give or receive the kind of genuine love that comes with a relationship until I got my shit together in the sense that I am able to give and receive that love back.

So I can sit my happy-ass down and be patient, listen to my friends complain how there aren’t any good men out there in the world. Then I happened to look at the relationship they have with themselves and they forged with others and it makes me sort of glad that I am broke (for the time being) so that I can plan my line of defense. More importantly, enjoy worrying about my feeling without having to worry about my future partner’s.