Don’t worry, this one is short.

It’s short because there isn’t much of a plot. I’m there, she’s there, we are both SUPER eager and horny and racing to get it on. I even help her out of her jeans and her super cute purple-pink panties.

Once we are both nekkid, she more or less pounces on my erection with her mouth and…. then the goddamed dream ends.

This is frustratingly familiar. Nearly all my erotic dreams end just when I am getting to the good stuff.

Could it be more of that goddamned intensity gating?

Man that shit has got to go.

Frustration aside, this was certainly my most vivid and real-feeling hetero sex dream ever. And I was as raring to go as she was. I was really looking forward to exploring her body as she enjoyed mine.

And not in some intellectual curiosity way, or just a spiritual longing for a new kind of experience.

I was horny as hell and harder than a railroad spike.

As a result, the idea of sex with a real woman in the real world seems like more of a real possibility than ever before.

If I found a willing lady, I would be down to get up, get in, get it on, and get off in a heartbeat.

I wonder if I posted an ad somewhere that said “gay guy looking for first time with lady”, if I would get any offers.

If I was them, I would find the idea intriguing. Certainly if I saw an ad that said “lesbian looking for first time with guy but because of issues it has to be a gay guy”, I would sign right up.

We’d be each other’s first times! How cool would that be?

And neither of us would know what the hell we were doing. It would be hilariously inept. I’d want to tape it.

Anyhow, the point is, I drift closer to being truly bisexual every day. If anything, it seems like the process is picking up speed, and I could not be happier about that.

Now I get to not have the courage to get sex from BOTH sexes!

Seriously though, if I get into chicks, it will really expand my choices in terms of pornography. Don’t get me wrong, there is a ton of gay stuff out there. I mean duh. There is probably more of it, in fact, than is statistically supported by our percentage of the population.

But that”s because we are all men, and men are pigs.

Just kidding. Mostly. I could go on and on about how much of gay culture stems from the fact that it involves men only and therefore does not get slowed down by women as gatekeepers, but that’s for another day,.

The real reason is probably that gay porn is the only safe (ish) way to express your gay sexuality in much of the world.

And that’s sad.

Back to me fucking women, maybe.

As I snarkily implied about myself earlier, my main barrier to sex with man, woman, or understanding livestock is courage.

I have no doubt that I could find a willing partner if I were not so shy and scared of the world in general and people in particular. I mean, there’s apps for that kind of thing. And I know that I can be very charming and charismatic and appealing to people.

But I’s too a-skeered.

I hope I will get over that some day. There is a whole world of humptastic opportunities waiting to be explored just waiting for me to stop lingering in the shadows and jump right in to the deep end.

By the way, none of this vagina sex talk means I am any less into men. I still love da cock and want one in every orifice, please.

Right now, I am incredibly curious about hetero PIV sex, and that makes me rather eager to try it, whereas gay sex to me is old hat,

By the way, have you ever had gay sex with an old hat? It’s amazing.

In order to overcome my sexual shyness, I would need some kind of bridge. Something that would make it easier for me by making it at least a little bit easier to cross that mighty void between me and others. Maybe some sort of talisman I could cling to in order to feel safe, or some trustworthy person to introduced me to a scene so that I would not freak out because I didn’t know anyone there and bolt.

Social anxiety makes life so god damned complicated.

Without a bridge, I would have to activate my kamikaze mode, where I just throw myself into the deep end by convincing myself that I didn’t give a fuck what the consequences were going to be, I was going to go do the thing with great zeal and gusto and fuck everything else.

That would entail doing something I think I have mentioned here before, namely deciding I don’t give a shit if I am being obnoxious, pushy, arrogant, demanding, or just way, way too much.

That’s just who I am, baby. If I am to activate all that latent charisma and magnetism, I can’t worry about shit like whether I am being obnoxious.

After all, that’s how I am as Fruvous. And some people think he is obnoxious and pushy and all the rest.

But a lot of other people think he’s amazing and delightful, and what the hell, I have never been the sort to need everyone to like him.

I only need enough people to keep me from getting bored and lonely.

Admittedly, that’s not a small number of people. Fruvous has a LOT of friends. He is way more extroverted than I am.

But what he is represents what I can be. He is, in many ways, my idealized self, and so if he can do it, so can I.

It’s just a little trickier for me because I’m a 6’1″ 300 lb fat dude and he’s a cute little floofy foxy thing.

But the real power is in the power of personality, and that’s one thing we both have in spades.

So who knows. Maybe I will get out there and sow my VERY ripe wild oats some time in the future.

Until thing, I will just keep on fingering my butthole.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

God damn it, Internet. First you fail to have a Muppets themed USB drive for me to buy, and now you have the “After these messages…. ” bumpers but not the matching bookend of the “And nooooow…. on with the show!” ones.

In what world does that makes sense? Grr.

Okay, now I am going to talk about the quetiapine thing. I already talked about it on Facebook but that, as it turns out, did not come close to expressing how I feel about this whole thing, so here I go again.

First, the narrative portion.

While Googling the Wiki page for quetiapine for yesterday’s blog entry, I noticed that one of the Google Answers results was “Is quetiapine a sleeping pill?” I have wondered that myself, so I clicked.

That lead to an Answer that basically said “No”, but that Answer linked to a very disturbing article, and now I dunno what to do.

I already knew that quetiapine was not indicated for insomnia. That means that the medical authorities never approved the big Q for use in treating insomnia, and given that the drug is listed as an atypical antipsychotic for use in treating things like schizophrenia, that’s no big surprise.

That means that my therapist giving me quetiapine for my sleep issues was what is known as an “off book” use of the drug.

So far so good. It seemed like a weird decision on my shrink’s part but what the hell, it helped when other meds (like trazadone and zopiclone) did not, and therefore I just kind of went with it.

But it never occurred to me that the “off book” use would be very bad for me. Until I read the article.

Here’s the juicy bit. There are many side effects…

…including an odd sensation of tension and restlessness (akathisia), Parkinson’s-like tremors and movement abnormalities, weight-gain, high blood sugar, new or worsening diabetes and, in rare cases, heart arrhythmia that can cause sudden cardiac death. A recent Health Canada review linked quetiapine and other so-called “atypical” antipsychotics to an increased risk of sleep apnea —breaks in breathing during sleep.

https://nationalpost.com/health/seroquel-for-insomnia

Emphases mine. I mean, what the FUCK??

I have had nearly all those symptoms. The only one I missed was the one that was fatal. I have had terrible tension and restlessness on occasion. I have had (admittedly minor) tremors. I have high blood sugar and worsen diabetes because those are actually the exact same thing.

And the feculent cherry on this shit sundae is that of course I have sleep apnea and it turns out my sleeping pill might make it worse.

I mean Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.

But it gets worse, because according to the article, millions of other people have had the same terrible prescription foisted on them by doctors who were apparently helpless against a very strong marketing campaign for the drug as a sleep aid.

One of whom was my psychiatrist, Doctor Avrum Costin.

And suddenly, questions he has asked me about side effects are thrown into sharp focus. At the time, the questions just struck me as weird. Why was he asking about such crazy side effects? Whatever. Therapy!

And this is not the only time he has fallen for drug company hype. I had to go through this whole rigamarole once because of his insistance that I get brand name Wellbutrin instead of the generic version.

And he justified it with a bunch of bullshit talking points that I saw through instantly as the exact kind of bafflegab that a drug rep with the impossible job of convincing doctors to pay more for no reason would come up with.

You know, bullshit things like dubious stats about some mystical definition of “purity” and how the name brand is “more pure” based on it.

This, despite the fact that if the generic wasn’t in every way identical to the name brand, it would be illegal to sell.

So now I am faced with the higbh probability that I have been taking poison for years because my doctor is a dupe.

God damn it, can’t there be one authority figure in my life who is actually smarter than I am?

Do you have any idea how fucked up it is to grow up being smarter than the adults who are supposedto be your mentors and guides and leaders through life? To have no intellectual authority figures at all?

Or any other kind, really,. When you know you can think concentric rings around someone, it is kind of hard to take them seriously.

When you are in that situation, you know that, essentially, you are on your own. You’re the one who is going to have to figure things out for yourself because nobody in your life can match your speed.

My one cold comfort has always been that there are people who know a lot of things that I don’t.

That’s not the same as them being smarter than me, but it has to do.

Anyhow, existential rant over, back to the topic.

Clearly, what I have to do is have a serious talk with my therapist about his choices and how he makes them and I am going to have to demand he write me a ‘scrip for a different sleep medication.

Preferably one that is actually indicated as a sleep aid, and not some vaginimus treatment that happens to make people drowsy.

And I am not looking forward to this conversation because I know I will be coming in angry and he’ll get defensive and it will become this whole thing.

More importantly, though, is that my trust in my therapist has been shaken. And I do not trust easily. I have layers and layers of defenses like a fort from the height of the age of castles specifically to keep me from having to truly trust people and rely on them.

And my therapist, up until this point, has been the person I have trusted most in this world in terms of letting him see the parts of me that nobody else has ever gotten to see.

And he’s heard stuff that I didn’t know I had in me until I said it.

And he knows me better than any other human being ever.

And I would hate to start over with a new shrink.

So we will have to come to some sort of understanding.

I just have to keep reminding myself that incompetence is not malice and that nobody is perfect and we have to work with what we have.

Hopefully that will be enough to soothe the savage rage inside me made of so many of my ISSUES that it’s like a black tornado of rage.

Luckily, I have venting to you people to help wind me down.

Have I mentioned how much I love you people lately?

‘Cause I do.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.