Someone stole my underwear at the gym.
It’s a West Hollywood gym, where lots of huge gay muscle studs work out. So someone stole them to sniff them and jack off, I think. That was the first place my mind went, after I fruitlessly searched through my fucking bag for them like Tel Aviv airport security going through some Palestinian college kid’s backpack. Someone stole my underwear to sniff ‘em and jerk off.
I can feel no moral outrage about this, because a warehouse full of underwear would have to be stolen from me, sniffed, and jacked off into before the cosmic scales are balanced. I used to do this same shit all the fucking time. When I did coke, getting down to my last couple bumps, I knew I would be up for several more hours with no drugs left and a crazy desire to beat the meat, and I would go to my building’s laundry room and raid the lost and found shelf. Nine times out of ten there would be a pair of panties there. If I was lucky, it would have been one that tumbled out of the laundry basket before even going in the washer and they would still have a good head of cuntmusk on ‘em. This was when I was living on a floor full of aspiring actresses so the odds were good that I would be sniffing the vagina residue of someone hot. Continue reading
Cynthia Nixon recently said in the NY Times that she “chose” to be gay, which caused controversy and people freaking out and etc. To all of which Andrew Sullivan responds:
“My own view is that female sexuality is inherently more fluid than male sexuality, and that lesbians and bisexual women, because they are less fixated on crude physical signals for arousal, have more of a choice than men, gay or straight, in their choice of loved ones. I think this is about the difference between lesbian identity and gay male identity. For all the attempt to corral us into one vowel-free liberal conglomerate, I know few communities less alike than lesbians and gay men.”
That is a beautiful and succinct way of putting it. Let me put it another way: my sexuality is tectonic plates miles thick and thousands of miles wide grinding away beneath the earth’s crust on incomprehensibly powerful tides of magma, grinding and crushing and destroying and building up vast pressures sapped only momentarily by hellfire explosions and earth-shattering quakes that ruin civilizations and crush lives. Your sexuality, womankind, is a toy house made of toothpicks and gumdrops that you can disassemble and restructure on a whim. Your sexuality is as the mustard seed, small and unassuming but capable of flowering into something beautiful, delicate and complex under exactly the right circumstances. My sexuality is the fucking SUN. Continue reading