Sunday, February 03, 2008

I wish I wasn't starting to understand

Generally I'm not a big fan of linoleum, but there are at least two things that are great about it -- first of all, I can drop the glass lid to the steamer pot, and it's no big deal. Second, the rain can pour in from outside and flood the kitchen floor, but I can just wipe it up.

I know -- you can already see me in advertising. Which would be a good thing, if it meant that I wasn't at the Nob Hill Theatre, because as soon as I enter I feel awful. Maybe it's because everyone here is in advertising, but really it means I should leave right away, especially when the first person I see is that guy who I wanted to hit back on subcultural realness night, remember that? Tonight I don't even try, although I do notice he's more tweaked than ever.

It's late -- almost 2 a.m. -- and there aren't many people around, I try the usual glory hole booths but then I figure why not just go in the new one, someone's next door. I put money in and the light goes off, then I look through the hole and actually there's a cute guy smiling at me nervous and tweaked, I say want to come over here? Okay, he says, and then he’s in my booth, preppyish and cuter but also more speed-destroyed up close and he has two big gashes on the side of his face. I'll admit I immediately worry that it's the drug-resistant staph infection everyone's talking about but instead I ask him if he hurt himself. Yeah, he says, I fell off a motorcycle. Then he’s sucking my dick, but mostly I'm wondering about the cuts and then after maybe 30 seconds the light comes on because the time runs out and now his face looks more infected, I think of asking him whether he might have a staph infection but I don't want to be rude if it was really just an accident or someone hit him in the face. I'm thinking it would really be awful to ignore my worries and end up getting a staph infection just from bad sex in a terrible place, I pull my dick out and say I have to go the bathroom.

In the bathroom there's this toxic smell, some cleanser even more abrasive than the usual it's almost hard to breathe. Back in the hall is when I really should leave, again, but then I'm looking through the cracks at this guy's dick all wet and arching upward toward the hole maybe he's teasing someone it looks monumental. It's the guy with the beige shirt I saw earlier, kind of looked like a musician from the ‘70s I mean like he was a musician in the ‘70s, rumpled masculinity the seriousness. Anyway then I'm after him, fast-forward to the point where I'm actually in the booth where he was formerly sitting and he's in the next booth feeding it to me, up close it just looks like a guy’s cock and I hate glory holes because I can't touch anything except a wall and myself, another wall. Plus the angle is awkward for my neck and now I'm worrying that is to a staph infection and hurt my neck, all for boring sex, pointless really what a nightmare.

So I'm not that engaged but the whole time I'm ready to come -- that's what's crazy about places like this, I think the franticness is what makes me ready to come so soon but maybe also because I haven't come in a week and I don't know where to have good sex anyway. The guy pulls back like he's teasing me, I call his bluff and shoot come through the glory hole. Kind of funny and then I'm rushing home, way too far away I'm way too hypoglycemic. Thinking about what I need to do as soon as I get back: wash my dick again, even though I washed it in the bathroom at the Nob Hill Theatre I better do it again; piss right away in case there's a risk of an STD they say this can sometimes flush it away, wash my lips because who knows what was in that glory hole, rinse with mouthwash, do feldenkrais movement so I don't hurt my neck it's funny I always have sex after feldenkrais I guess because I feel more in my body but then I end up fucking up my body it's just another depressing cycle.

Back at home I'm okay, until I hurt myself with one of the new feldenkrais movements, the one where I hang my head with all its weight Donna said like a bowling ball that sounded scary. Now I'm worried it's all over because I stretched the wrong way, maybe I would've been fine except for that feldenkrais movement. I hate not knowing what will hurt and what will help, I hate knowing what will help and then realizing I'm wrong. I didn't used to worry so much, there's so much more to worry about when it's not fun I mean tonight I’m doing all these neurotic things because I feel gross, I mean I know there's this middle class fetish of dirtiness, like ooh, sex in a video booth, that's so -- dirty. Or, ooh, you were a whore -- that's so -- dirty. Sex has never felt dirty to me, I mean sometimes it's awful but that's a different story. I guess when I was a teenager hooking up in bathrooms I hated myself I hated my desires I wanted to disappear. Maybe that’s something similar, it just seems like a terrible thing to fetishize. For a lot of these people in public sexual spaces, every time they have sex in places they're trying to avoid they feel angry and out of control and -- dirty, I guess. I wish I wasn't starting to understand.


Richard said...

Finally signed up so I could comment. This is a real good posting. Years ago when I went out I never felt dirty. I had many a good time. But we know times change. Of course this was years ago before all the great worries. Many times it was bad sex. But I did meet some good friends who are friends with me to this day. Just hope that you are careful. No need to add any more to what is troubling you health wise. But I too worry all the time about all sorts of things. There is a posting over at QWB about days gone by. Take a look sometime.

mattilda bernstein sycamore said...

Richard, so lovely to hear from you over here in the blogosphere!

Love --