As a gay man I never thought I would make it past 30. And with my 30th birthday upon me, how do you handle the regrets and disappointments that naturally come with life? How do you look at your life?
Dear Staying Alive,
We’re the new Sex and the City, where looking pretty and “saditty” is just a pair of prerequisites. We are so much more than that. Sadly, some are just that shallow. I remember how things used to be, sucking dick in the bathroom was merely a side effect of too many sliding powders and gliding cocktails. And yet on the night of my friend’s 32nd birthday, we were presented with the same scenario.
I knew when he said, “I want you to taste,” he wasn’t talking about the Rose. And yet I sashayed behind him into the stall anyway. He pulled out his semi-erect penis with shaved pubes. And just like that, we were 17 again. And with my own man at home, why was I so tempted to see this new dick?
To be fair, this new dick ain’t nothing new. We met during my Woodner days at the heart of Washington, D.C. It was the mid-2000’s, where dreaded nights in dreads lead to some sobering mornings.
But I flirted with him anyway. I first met him at the Fireplace. Let’s call him Chris. He represented a litany of unavailable men I went for. I liked them lean, lanky and lightly-attached to women. I know right, I’m cascading in cliches, dripping in diamonds and designers. Oh well, back then I considered that excellent taste.
With Chris, I tried to turn nighttime pleasantries and text messages into something more. It ended way less when I refused to have sex with him after I drunkenly took him home one night. For nearly a decade, the big disease with the little name was a dark cloud that followed me like bad credit. But spending the better part of a decade hiding from something you can’t see is no way to live. That’s probably why I write about sex, love, and romance because I longed for so long.
Although life is short, I didn’t want to make it shorter.
A decade later, he’s still cute. But this time he’s on drugs. Drugs and gays go together like fleet and grease. It all leads to shit. That’s not sustainable for a lifetime; it’s more like a Lifetime movie.
But it’s fun to dance after midnight, holding drinks and eye contact. I loved feeling on abs, soaking in the swag. Yeah, it’s always fun in the moment. I have so many moments to last many lifetimes. But when the music stops and the floors are swept, and the alarm is set — the loneliness creeps in like a Cat-fished. It suffocates the soul like shame and regret.
And I say fuck that. Focus on the good times, the happy days, the lessons learned the friends earned. Maybe our mistake make us. Perhaps if we we didn’t fuck up routinely or overspent or over-drank we would be different people than we are today. But who has the free time to wallow in what could have been when you have bills today. You don’t have a lifetime to figure out your life.
Enjoy your fucking life responsibly but on your terms. You know what feels right, and that hurting others is wrong. Find something you’re passionate about. Dress up some time and celebrate your wins and learn the lessons. And rinse and repeat with the best shampoo you can afford.
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