Two Gazes

I have to write down those moments. Despite the tiredness, the haziness, the desire to forget. Those moments that haunts me and confuse me.

A gaze.

What could the gaze do to me? How can it so penetrate me? Does it violate me or excite me? That moment when he opened my ass up. I thought he was just checking where my asshole was, in preparation for a penetration. The moment lingered on. He was gazing into my hole. He was watching. As I realized so, this warmth crept up me. I was slightly enraged and completely bewildered. I was being opened up to a new experience. He was good for other reasons too. Reasons I thought I'd dedicate a post for. His provincial humor mixed with sexual rawness and honesty. His lack of shame thoroughly bemused me. How the conservative forces in his society actually drew him nearer to his "true sexual" self. My friend told me he's a keeper. I don't know if I'd see him again.

Another gaze.

He just pointed the flash into my face. It was completely dark all around us. My face was the only thing lit up so clearly. I stood there, paralyzed, letting him scan my face. I didn't know what he was up to. He could have wanted to do anything to me. Was he jealous because I was in that bathroom with someone else? Did he want to fuck me first? He let us go and we continued fucking. I went out and then he started a fight with the guy I was fucking. I ran off. That gaze raped me. The helplessness froze me.

  The gap between thought and behavior? The extremes that we're willing to push ourselves into. Those moments are not opposing or contrasting, but something puts them in the same category for me.

An encounter.

From a demure smile at a documentary screening to a full-fledged hearty conversation, that 20 year old was something fresh amidst staleness. His cross-cultural background made him more, and his consciousness of it made him more endearing. We had the usual debate. Casual sex versus relationships. The endless division between heart and testicles! He wan ted to end up in a village in south France with a lovely house and lots of books. I talked embracing uncertainty, getting real, and the need for experimentation.

Edgy encounters.

The next night I was hounding men and men were hounding me. I went far, I put myself at great risk. I thought to myself, I won't even live to be a desperate 50 year old drinking alone at a bar. I'm going to get myself killed way before. A la Pasolini style.

I did put a condom on him though. I left on the floor. It made me think of who's going to see it. How would they feel about it?