The Truth

I am understanding the complete loss of the blog entry that I finished not more than 5 minutes ago in an unexpected Word shut-down as a sign that the entry was just a bunch of bullshit anyway and that I should reconsider and just tell the fucking truth. It said that I haven’t been writing in my blog because the things that have been happening in my life were just too personal to report. I’ll just give that notion the finger, and begin what I have been regretting for quite a while—mixing my quippy, little stories about my life here with some of the darker parts of it, too.


Chris and I are having problems. That’s all there is to it. I think it is normal, at least to whatever extent empirical data can be trusted, for gay couples to experiment with the idea of monogamy. Many of the people I know do not agree with the concept of 100% monogamy, and, therefore, try to negotiate some kind of understanding that enables the relationship to not become stagnant or too confining. This has been a difficult subject for me, since I have been raised in a Puritanical background like no other.

My parents took us to a hoopin’ and hollerin’ kind of back-woodsie prayer meetin’ 3 times a week, each service working itself up to a terrifying 2-hour frenzy, calling all sinners back to the Savior, or running the risk of the dreaded, and, by this time, proverbial Pit of Damnation. How these simple, country folk could have managed to stray between the morning service and the evening service on any given Sunday is beyond me. The “altar call” consisted of seemingly, rather large percentages of the entire congregation on a regular basis, though. (At some point the preacher must have thought to himself ‘Well, I’ll be Mister Preacherman, methinks I am not such a good leader of my flock if a good 30% of them needs to get saved on practically a weekly basis.’ Poor guy. Work satisfaction can be a bitch. Something tells me his mood lightened a bit as he was counting the collection he had guilted out of said flock with that fire and brimstone of his.)

To put it very simply, I have a rather meek and timid sexual identity, one that is more traditional and behind closed doors. I have never been the type to go to the gay sauna and have myself not just one lay, but several, and then go out the next night and repeat process. Chris, though, in his past, has been my alter-ego in this regard, living an active, or what some prudes like me may call, slutty existence. I don’t fault him for that. I can’t understand it, but, hey, there are a hell of a lot of things I can’t necessarily understand about him anyway.

Slowly, through time, I have come to understand him a bit more on this subject, though. I think that visions of the future of one’s personal self are very important, and in my future, I see a relationship with Chris where we both have, only occasionally, a little fun if it presents itself to us. Again, this is a vision of the ideal future. If I ever get to the point where I can have such an adventure without being overridden with guilt, I will count myself, frankly, evolved.

But, when Chris came home the other night, after having been at his grandfather’s 80th birthday party, and revealed that he had stopped at a rest stop to have sex in the woods, it set off a string of events of which I am still feeling the effects.