The worst part perhaps is that I feel very little guilt.

We haven’t hooked up yet. Only the hot and heavy marathon sexting session culminating in a change of clothes for both parties. Is this cheating? Where is the lie between cheating and porn? What happens when there’s that thin digital wall separating touch between two friends?

It’s an unhappy marriage, the one between my friend, T_____ and his husband, N___. One it would prefer not to recount here or now… Boys moving from the Sticks to the Big City…A husband with an unfulfilling job who takes it out on the friend of mine. Ah, the rancid simmer of growing entrapment. And the bits that bubble over.

Somewhere, out there is another horny male with a conscience, half-heartedly searching the interwebs for safe, guiltless, screen-to-screen cock… 

UGHH OMG I’M SO FUCKING HORNY

If only I gave less pause to using Grindr or Scruff or Chesthair or whatever every gay in my age group uses these days.

The weirdest part of this particular episode of thirst is that I’ve been having extreme lust for T_____… Why is this strange? Well, for one, he has a boyfriend. And two, he and I already hooked up once, after feeling severely manipulated by him into coming over and his incessant prodding, bating my feelings for him… 

And yet, I don’t necessarily feel terrible because his boyfriend has hit on me several times as well. Nearly every time I’ve hung out with them. And I’m 90% sure that those marathon “bathroom” sessions in which his bf will suddenly disappear in the club for twenty minutes, involve something less than kosher. 

Ostensibly, they’re each cheating on each other.

So what keeps me from texting T and jacking off to high heaven? Perhaps my own sense of dignity. 

Though dignity does not another man’s throbbing cock, replace.

Yep. I definitely over-plucked my eyebrows. 

Fuck.

From the bottle, to my fingers, to the keyboard, these keys are becoming greased with the sticky residue of my throat medicine. Gargle 4x a day, swallow 2 of those times, for 2 weeks… It’s less inconvenient, than it is embarrassing, since I doubt M___ enjoys kissing the sweet and acrid flavor it leaves in my mouth.

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With full awareness that this entire endeavor could be a completely selfish and self-serving one with potentially very little value (literary or otherwise) to the random user who stumbles across my posts, I hope that by documenting my neuroses (neurotically documenting?) I’m able to make some sense of the tangled jungle of my twenties, and perhaps pull back a leaf or two from someone else’s.