NOT ME.
I repeat: NOT ME.
During undergraduate, I was a Resident Advisor—-I did it for the cash and the private room with its’ own bathroom. A resident on a nearby floor, who was toying with his sexuality—-kinda in, kinda out, crushing on his male roommate would come to my room to discuss his latest quandaries. He also had a crush on a female student, friend of a friend——so he was all over the place but being out and having done sexuality workshops—-every sexuality “case” was referred to me.
One night he’s sitting in my room chatting and he asks could he see a gay porno?—-he thinks over the summer, when he goes back to NYC, he’s going to hang out at bars and get into meeting guys and such as he’s 21.
I’m giving him safe sex speech 101 and he says that he’s experimented some.
And I’m like……. okay.
He had a massive crush on his roommate. What they had in common besides their interest in art and that mournful, slow sloopy droopy baggy clothed loping walk, air of depression and creativity, and an overindulgence in a dead writer or two, who’d been in their own closets, was that they were both painfully shy—-even with each other. How their discussion of the crushation ever happened—-took months of being in the same room, and the other guy, amazingly enough, so shy he mumbled and covered his mouth when he spoke or smiled, confirmed he was straight, led to this young man vowing to have sex with another man——-again. If he couldn’t have his love-roommate.
Again?
He admits that he’d met a guy over the winter break in NYC and been taken back to his place and deflowered. Plowed. Penetrated. Boinked. He’d bottomed.
(Which could have been you know—-okay, a discussion… but then he went left field with it, which was only the first loaded barrel he threw at my head.)
He said while he was laying on his back, being royally screwed by this nameless older gentleman who enjoyed deflowering young men of legal age, he thought about his grandmother and father and cousins and ancestors—-his ancestors—-spiritually surrounding the bed—-all dead—-and watching him being fucked. He knew this is what must happen from spiritual visitations, that the dead you know—-PornHub—-the living.
Before I could suitably reply, as I did some self-psionic healing work on myself about all the menagerie of sex I’d had with men and women by then, and the Kyle Porn-O-Vision my ancestors might be watching——-I was like: “Oh, I’m sure they elevate spiritually if they watch at all and it’s not some judgmental——fuck it! I don’t know!”
I was trying to comfort, assure, deflect and get him out of my room——Then he says he’s done other things.
Oh, God.
He says when he was a wee bairn, not yet a teenager, home alone, his puberty desires just bouncing all over the wall—-he wanted to bottom. (yes, at such a young age! This does lean into Keith Swain's Alpha/Beta survey-theory though.) He was often home alone. He went to the fridge and took out some frozen hot dogs from the freezer, went back his room and proceeded to penetrate himself for hours with the frankfurters—-until you know they defrosted, then he’d switch to a stiffer-frozen frank and you know—-rotisserie it, until he’d worked out both his desires and the 10 pack.
Sadly, I’d done workshops about food stuffs with a nurse in residence, where we talked about Emergency Room removals of tuna fish (maggots started growing in the woman's vagina), pencils in butts, light bulbs—-LIGHT BULBS!!!!—-so insanely, his wasn’t the most shocking admission.
I gave him my continued safe sex 101 speech and suggested he no longer consider food stuffs in a pinch and invest in a dildo.
Now, get out of my room.
I tell this story now, 20 years later because I found out he’s dead. And you know when I’m fucking, he’s probably watching so………..
even the man in the red shoes got the blues…………..
#KylePhoenix
#TheKylePhoenixShow
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