Well you heard him, gentlemen. If he doesn’t find him a honey to help him spend his money, he’s going to have to blow this town.

So please line up in an orderly fashion for your chance at a genuine Cat Stevens blowjob. You will be served in order of cock size/tastiness.

Hey there folks. Here we are, you and me, on yet another Saurday night. I have ordered my food (Pizza Hut, this time) and now I am typing away to you nice folk.

Because I love you. Never forget that.

If you love me, read me.

When putting together my order on the Pizza Hut (or as we called it when I was a kid, Pizza Slut), I was very tempted to order one of their devastatingly delicious desserts, like the Hershey Chipits Cookie or the Hershey Chipits Brownie or the Cinnaparts.

So I had to remind myself that no matter how good those things look and how tantalizingly easy it would be to get them, eating them would immediately make me feel very bad and regret my poor life choice.

No food is tempting when you know it will immediately make you ill.

But it was close. Definitely a case where reason had to step in and take a firm stance against the foolish and self-destructive thing emotion wanted me to do.

Not sure why I was tempted, though. Other times, it has been easy to resist for the exact reasons I listed above. But tonight…. I almost slipped.

Perhaps my blood sugar is low. That’s been the culprit before. My blood sugar runs low and my body starts craving that which it knows will solve the problem the fastest.

Bodies are so impatient.

Or it could be that my mind wants pleasure. I have been under a bit of stress lately over things I don’t feel like going into at the moment, so it is positive that said stress created the sort of pleasure deficit that leads people to do all the things they do in order to activate the reward center of their brain.

Like eating junk food, or gambling, or sex.

Speaking of sex (what a segue), my libido has been running pretty hot lately.

Guess it’s that time of the month. You know…. bills.

And it’s occurred to me that I do not handle myself often enough very maturely when it comes to my sexuality.

For the most part, I ignore it. That’s not entirely by choice. I would rather have the active libido I had in my twenties, where I had so much fun cybersexing with other fuzzy dudes on good old FurryMUCK.

Those were the days.

And you knew who you were then…. girls were boys and boys were men.

I’m so old!

Anyhoo, my libido (and worse, my ability to fulfill it) is suppressed by my antidepressants, so it doesn’t really matter how often I want to masturbate to release, it’s just not an option.

Instead, I can get off maybe two to three times a month. No lie.

And that’s pretty sad, isn’t it?

I hold out hope that maybe I could up my penis output average if I found a superior source of stimulation, like, for instance, a partner.

That comes with it own massive boatload of issues though. Every time I have ever had sex with another dude, it has been in the midst of a panic attack. No matter how horny I am or how much I want to get it on with my partner, part of me freaks the fuck out when actual gay sex is occurring and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Well, apart from the therapy I am already doing about it.

I assume it’s due to my being raped by a stranger at the age of 4. The same rape that broke me in a deep and terrible way that I don’t think will ever heal.

Heck, that rape might be the whole reason I am gay. Wouldn’t that be ironic? Don’t you think? A little too ironic?

Yeah I really do think.

I have never quite entirely bought the idea of there being a biological origin to homosexuality. To me, it’s too complex a phenomenon to reduce to that level of simplicity. I think most nature and nurture must be involved.

Obviously, for legal and political reasons, we in the GLBT community have had to take the biological destiny stance because that’s the strongest position to argue from.

Nobody in the modern world can sustain an argument against a group if belonging to that group is genetically predetermined.

That’s too much like racism or sexism.

But in my opinion, it can’t be all nature or all nurture. My best guess is that it falls in line with modern genetic medicine in that there may be a genetic predisposition towards it in some people’s genome, but whether that predisposition manifests itself as the phenomena in question depends on life experiences.

Sort of like how some people have a genetic predisposition towards heart disease, or alcoholism, or algebra., but not all of those people develop the symptoms.

Only way more fun.

My position has always been that whether it’s a choice or predetermined doesn’t matter because the issue is none of your damned business.

Whether I sleep with dudes or chicks or a candy-striped Fleshlight is both morally and legally private and has absolutely no legal or moral importance.

So whether it’s genetic (like blue eyes) or a choice (like religion) is meaningless. Either way, keep your prying eyes out of my private life unless you want me judging you on what you do in private with other consenting adults.

Obviously, this is not how most people see it. But I am used to that. My point of view on most things is quite unusual. Social isolation sucks in most ways, but the air is very clear up here on my philosopher’s mountaintop perch, and I can see everything.

For some of us, blissful ignorance is simply not an option. We see and understand too much for that.

But it sure gets mightly cold up here sometimes.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.