Tag Archives: gay sex

68. James Gets Cold Sores of the Bum

Standard

 

Last time we talked, I said I didn’t want to talk about it. Well now I want to talk about it. Put your fork down cuz this about to get nasty. Mom, this will be too much for you. Dad… you still have a flip-phone so nevermind.

Last August, I had unprotected sex with this dude who showed me all the paperwork from his doctor’s visit saying that he was absolutely STD-free. Five days later, I shit my pants at work and slept with an ice pack shoved up my asshole having sex dreams about being sodomized by popsicles. (I didn’t read The Secret but I heard from someone who read the cover synopsis that if you will things into the universe, the Universe will respond. So I stood on my bed with my eyes closed and arms outstretched like Princess Elsa and screamed, “UNIVERSE I WANT FROSTY THE SNOWMAN TO LICKY-LICKY MY MAN PUSSY!”) #bussy

The next day nothing was better. Every time I had to shit, it felt like shards of glass were passing through me. I had been going through this for a couple days, but I thought it was just hemorrhoids so I was just using some god damn witch hazel which was not doing ANYTHING. So Kelley came with me to the doctor.

The doctor made me lie in the fetal position with my pants pulled down while she made small-talk with me about golf. Honsetly, I would’ve rather talked about Serena Williams’ splits,but the doctor was in charge. It struck me that I had been in this same position earlier that week, and it had been MUCH more enjoyable.

Finally, after whispering into my post-apocalyptic asshole about the world’s quietest sport, she said, “Oh, you’re not gonna like what I have to tell you.” At that moment, I thought to myself, ‘You could literally tell me I have three days left on this earth, and I would still kiss you on the mouth just MAKE IT HURT LESS.’

“You have anal herpes.”

…Divine.

The next week was pretty awful. They gave me medication to treat my outbreak but nothing for pain management. I kindly declined my friends’ offers to score me pot or something stronger from the WASPy people they knew. It took three more days until I started feeling even marginally better. Every time I had to go to the bathroom I told my roommates to crank the volume on the TV cuz I was going to SCREAM on the toilet. It still felt like shards of glass coming out of me, and I would bang my head violently on the wall until I was done. At this point of the story, I would like to thank the rapper Desiigner for the songs “Panda” and “Tiimmy Turner”, because I listened to both of these songs every time I took a dump learned ALL the words to both songs. I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’ve heard this, Desiigner, but you made my first outbreak of anal herpes much more tolerable.

Before the meds started kicking in, I went back to the doctor to get some painkillers. They gave me an appointment with a male doctor. ‘I hope he’s not hot.’ He walks into the room. He’s gorgeous. “What seems to be the problem?” I tell him about my broken asshole and how I wasn’t given any painkillers and I was definitely face-to-face with my pain threshold. “Alright, just pull down your pants and lie on your side.” ….’I really don’t want to do that. He’s so hot, and I’m so…herpes. Well maybe he’s not gay.’ As I pull down my underwear, I catch sight of Hot Doctors pink socks. Defeated, I lie down in the fetal position and pretend to disappear as the Hot Gay Hot Doctor spread my ass-cheeks apart.

Now, if you’re ever diagnosed with the Sexiest Virus ever (formerly known as ASS HERPES), DO NOT GOOGLE IT. I was v depressed at first. The doctor told me I would have this virus for life. So I figured I should find some sort of support group to learn to grapple with this. Well the internet is NOT a friendly place for people who are monumentally terrified. All the threads were people posting things like, “Why did this happen to me? I’ve never had unprotected sex. I feel like my life is over. I don’t feel comfortable having sex again. Maybe we should just only date each other. Is there a website solely meant for herpes-infested people to date each other?” My friends thought that this last comment would be a BRILLIANT new dating app entitled”Herpes Ever After”. They even researched to  make sure the domain hadn’t been purchased yet. They were very excited. I have since murdered all of said “friends.”

Here are the things that you are thinking about me since reading this far:
“Well you got herpes because you had unprotected sex.”
“Herpes is gross, and I don’t want it so I’ll never date you.”
“I’m so glad I don’t have genital herpes. That’s disgusting.”

I thought all of these things, too. I was pretty devastated, because I felt for the first time in my life I was involuntarily disgusting.

After the test results came back from my orgasmic swabbing, CityMD made me come in for my official diagnosis. I met with a very awkward male doctor who didn’t know how to sugarcoat any facts. For this, I am eternally grateful. Because by this point, I just needed some numbers and facts and shit so I could realistically prepare for my future with my new bff ANAL HERPES. Here’s what he taught me:

  1. “Cold sores of the bum” is WAY less threatening than the term “anal herpes”.
  2. There are two types of herpes: HSV-1 and HSV-2. HSV-1 is commonly known as “cold sores” where HSV-2 is commonly known as genital herpes. I had HSV-1 on my asshole. Yes, the “cold sore version” in my anus.
  3. 4 out of 5 people have HSV-1, but many people don’t know because they don’t present symptoms.
  4. Some people who never show symptoms of HSV-1 never see any reason to get tested for it. And many doctors don’t even suggest testing patients for HSV-1 because they don’t want to scare them. Yes, your run-of-the-mill STD/STI test does not include a herpes test.
  5. You can learn if you have HSV through a blood test. If you test positive for HSV-2, then you know you have genital herpes. But if your blood tests positive for the HSV-1 antibodies, you still don’t know if you have cold sores or genital herpes. You would only learn this from swabbing the infected area while your body is shedding the virus.
  6. Both types of herpes are transmitted through skin-to-skin contact, NOT through bodily fluids. And you’re not going to just get herpes from touching any part of my body. You would have to have intimate contact with the infected area.
  7. If you have HSV-1 in the form of cold sores, you can transmit it to someone else’s genitals through oral sex even if you aren’t presenting symptoms.
  8. Both HSV viruses are transmittable right before an outbreak, during an outbreak, during the healing process after the outbreak, and randomly when the virus is present on the skin without symptoms (which is called asymptomatic shedding).
  9. A person with HSV-1 experiences asymptomatic shedding about 5% of the time. So if you have HSV-1, whether you’re aware of it or not, there are 18 days of the year when you could be transmitting the virus to others even though you aren’t showing symptoms.
  10. There is no way of knowing whether I contracted HSV-1 through the unprotected pound session I had or if I had received it through oral sex on my butthole earlier in my life from someone who has had cold sores at any point.
  11. In my first two years with HSV-1, I can expect anywhere between two and ten outbreaks.
  12. I have only experienced one in my first year.
  13. I take one pill every morning with breakfast. Her name is valacyclovir, and I am very grateful for her. I will take this pill every day for the rest of my life. I am grateful that I had Obamacare at the time of my diagnosis, and I will need to have health insurance for the rest of my life.
  14. Medical friends have said that I don’t need to take valacyclovir every day, and I don’t need to be insured forever. But HSV-1 presents itself when the body is enduring stress. I never want to experience that kind of pain ever, ever again in my life. Thinking about that kind of pain puts stress on my body, and I’d rather be safe than sorry. Yes, I experienced a more extreme outbreak, and yes, they decrease with frequency and intensity over time. But at this time, I plan on being insured/medicated until I’m dead.
  15. Unfortunately, you can still contract HSV even while using a condom. The virus is spread through skin-to-skin contact. If the condom doesn’t entire the infected area, there is still a possibility of transmittal. Thankfully, daily doses of valacyclovir dramatically decrease chances of transmitting the disease to my other sexual partners.
  16. There is a huge stigma surrounding “genital herpes” while no one gives two fucks whether or not you’ve had a cold sore before. They’re the same fugging thing.

I feel like these are all things I should have been taught in health class in high school. But either we didn’t learn any of that or else I was too busy slamming my boner in the desk and then fucking it. It’s impossible to tell.

I’m dealing with my diagnosis much better now. I’ve since started using a gay app called Grindr in which men meet up to pork each other in private and then the next day one of them ignores the other in public and then the ignored one goes home and skullfucks the voodoo doll he made of the man who ignored him. I asked my doctor if disclosing my status to my sexual partners was necessary, and he honestly told me it was up to me. He said herpes really isn’t that big of a deal and it’s highly probable that my sexual partner already has the virus and doesn’t even know about it. I’ve decided to disclose, because it’s the responsible adult thing to do. But I only disclose if we’re going to have anal sex, because that’s the only possible way they could contract the virus from me. I don’t let guys eat me out or finger me. So if we’re just meeting to 69, then it’s none of their business. I’m very responsible about it. Still, after sharing the information, some dudes decide to ignore me. The more kind dumbasses just tell me they’re no longer interested, and that’s their prerogative and I clearly have no hard feelings toward those losers.  And then I’ve had more frustrating encounters, like this one:

*Me and Dipshit are making out. He pulls away to ask me in his sexiest whisper…*
Dipshit: Do you have any incurable diseases?
Me: (Whispering back) Yes. But it’s none of your god damn business.
Dipshit: What do you have?
Me: Nothing that concerns you.
Dipshit: What is it?
Me: You’re not gonna get it today.
Dipshit: Today?! WHAT IS IT?!
Me: I HAVE ANAL HERPES BUT YOU CAN ONLY GET IT FROM EATING MY HOLE OR BAREBACKING ME WHICH WE’RE NOT DOING SO IT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS.

That got him REALLY horny for my juicy-juicy so I sploojed everywhere and I left. AND THEN he started texting me and apologizing for being so intrusive but he’s SCARED THAT I GAVE HIM HERPES. Literally minutes after I left. He thought he contracted my herpes by letting me half-heartedly fuck his fist. Boy, bye. I told him to stop texting me and to educate himself. He told me he thought I was cool and wished me success. Well. All I have to say to that is I AM COOL AND I WILL SUCCEED. SO THANKS FOR not SUCKING MY SEED.

Is that too much? Perhaps that’s overboard. Well if Overboard is good enough for Goldie Hawn IT’S GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME.

Funny enough, the only two people from Grindr who have consented to safer sex with me after disclosing my status has been doctors. Yes, that’s correct bitches, the only two people who have let me sit on their condom-clad weiners have been EDUCATED-ASS DOCTORS. Just think about that.

Oh, also, to all the guys on Grindr who have bareback sex just because they’re on PrEP, you are very, very dumb. HIV isn’t the only lifelong disease you can get from unprotected sex. You could get herpes in your bootyhole and then cry on the toilet as your feces slide past your open sores. Poppers won’t help you through that.

Anyway, I’m much better now. I don’t cry myself to sleep due to my diagnosis anymore; now I just cry myself to sleep because of my unbearable loneliness. And I don’t have to sleep with an icepack under my hole which is nice because now when I wake up and my bed is soaked, I just have to lick it to figure out if it’s human urine or nocturnal emission. And my friends have helped me concoct the best pick-up line ever which I have yet to use:

“Hey daddy, you want some anal herpes?”

God how PERFECT would it have been if this were my 69th blog. Oh well, life is hard and so am I.

#DONTGIVEUP

JAMES

“Tiimmy Tiimmy  Tiimmy Turner
He be wishin’ for a burner
To kill everybody walkin’
He knows that his soul’s in the furnace.”
~”Tiimmy Turner” by Desiigner

68

This is me giving no fucks about my herpes-infested anus.

Here are some articles to reference. And please don’t be afraid to talk to me if you have questions. But I, Ms. Kitty Marvin Hansen, reserve the right to be frustrated over stupid questions. Lucky for you, I’m the nicest person I know so I will probably answer inane questions with an immense amount of patience.

http://www.npr.org/2011/04/15/135442942/even-without-symptoms-genital-herpes-can-spread

http://www.thestdproject.com/hsv1-resources-info-herpes-simplex-1/

http://www.herpes.org/protecting-uninfected-partners/

http://myprepexperience.blogspot.com/p/what-is-prep.html

Advertisements

55. James Is Not That Kind Of Gay

Standard

So I’ve been realizing lately that I’m a bit different than many of the gays around me. Let me give a few examples:

Sex Parties: Someone was telling me about this sex party that they attended. My first question was, “Now… what makes this party a ‘sex’ party? Does everyone wear party-hats on their wieners? Does everyone use glitter as lube? Does everyone throw confetti when they ejaculate? Or like…. Ooooooh, a sex party; like sexuality, like a celebration of the broad spectrum of sexuality where all persons are all welcome? Oh okay, I’m down!” But then I was informed as to what a sex party really is. This same friend, recovering from the all-night sex party, said, “I am so full of cum that I could vomit.”

My response was a long silence followed by some very violent vomiting. I could not relate to the way my friend was feeling, but, using my powers of empathy, I’m assuming he felt similar to the way I do at the end of a free buffet dinner or when I’m at the movie theater alone finishing my third bucket of popcorn. Also, I know someone else who went to a sex party and got some juice in their eye! And no, I’m not talking about fruit punch… although it was technically punch from a fruit, if you catch my drift. Listen, I don’t need to be losing my damn eye sight for no sex! And I definitely don’t need to be basted like a Thanksgiving turkey until stuffing is pouring from every orifice! I mean, my thirst is real, but DAMN, y’all! A Costco-sized package of Gatorade couldn’t QUENCH your thirst; that’s how real it is!!! I applaud you all on your bravery and sexual gumption, but I just couldn’t! I would be asking everyone if they’d been tested recently while they impatiently pistol-whipped me with their peepees. Or asking everyone if they had a pleasant day while they hurriedly put on their… “party hats”. It’s just not my scene. But party on, friends!

Grindr: Okay. So I have never had a Grindr ever. Ever. If you are unfamiliar with Grindr because you are so old you sneeze dust or you don’t have a smartphone because you’re afraid the government is tracking your every move, Grindr is this app for gay dudes who want to get laid. You make a profile, the app uses your location and shows you where the closest horny gay dude is. It literally tells you how many feet away they are from your current position. And then you can message each other and meet up and then pound each other like you’re tenderizing a chicken breast. Or whatever. So this is all secondhand knowledge, because I’ve never had it. Again, it freaks me out. So I made a Gay explain it all to me a la Clarissa:

I said, “So, do they just come over and you just bone?”
He said, “Sometimes.”
“Wait, please explain it to me. Like, do you have a conversation when they come over? Or do you just get naked and wrestle like sweaty pigs?”
“It really depends. Sometimes they come over, I’ll ask about their day and then we’ll go to my room and turn off the lights and then do it. And then sometimes they just come over, we say hi and then go to my room.”
“But like, afterwards… do you keep talking? Like, do you see them again?”
“Eh, sometimes. But most of the time I don’t talk to them again.”

Well, I clearly couldn’t grasp this concept. I can only imagine how this would go for me…

I would invite them over with a message FULL of inappropriate emoticons, including, but not limited to, the poopie emoji. When they got to the door, I would try to greet them with a kiss. Remembering that that is an inappropriate greeting for a hookup situation, I would play it off by biting their ear while honking on their dick too hard. They would gasp in pain, and I would smile back seductively, not knowing that a piece of their earlobe is stuck in my front teeth. I would try to take their coat to hang it up. But they would be confused by my generosity so I would overcompensate by throwing their coat into the kitty litter over my shoulder. The cat (that I don’t own) would promptly shit all up on it. I would slowly lead them to my room, stubbing my toe a minimum of three times. Limping into my dark room, I would close the door behind them. I would be too eager in the pitch black, and I would attack them with kisses, attaching myself like a koala bear going in for some juicy eucalyptus. Of course, it would take me a minute to realize that I was making out with the coat rack. I would recover by crawling all sexy over to them. I would try to pull their pants down, but they would confuse me for my feral cat and they would kick me in the face. I would lose conscious for 5 minutes, tops. Eventually, we would make it to the bed, and it would be so, so, so….awful. So awful. I would accidentally say, “I love you,” a few times, and I would try to cover it up by giggling their name aloud. But there’s no way I’d remember their name. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m positive that I would call them one of my ex-boyfriend’s names anyway. They would look perplexed so I would make some very scary, guttural gorilla sounds to simulate me reaching climax. But it would suddenly hit me how bad I wish this person flopping on top of me would just love me. I would burst into ugly tears with all the snot a la Viola Davis in the movie version of Doubt. I wouldn’t want them to know that I was crying, so I would tell them that my face is ejaculating and that it’s a New Age thing. It would finally end. There would be a deafening silence while the wreckage from our colossal car crash smolders on the abandoned highway before anyone’s registered what’s really happened. I’d be covered in snot, tears and regret; he’d be covered in… “fruit punch”. I would ask if he wanted to stay and watch a movie. He would try to make a hasty exit. I would try to salvage it by wooing him with my singing, but the only song I would be able to remember the words to would be “I Can’t Make You Love Me”. He would run out the door with his shoes in his hands while I howled out my sad ballad, the whole time my imaginary cat peeing on my face in an effort to make me shut the hell up. And I would lie there, staring at the ceiling, smelling like ammonia, wondering if I could get a second “date” with that mysterious man who left me alone with my persnickety pussy.

I can’t do casual sex. I can’t. I would be terrible at it. I’ve actually tried it. I’m pretty sure I cried. I just want something substantial. I feel that there was a window of opportunity that I could’ve learned to be good at relationships based on sex, but I don’t want that anymore. I want some sort of stability in my hectic life. My whole career is based on flexibility. Sometimes I have less than a week’s notice to prepare for an audition and to find someone to cover my shift at work. Most theater gigs happen outside of New York for just a few months.  I leave my job and all my relationships to learn an entire show and cultivate brand new friendships in an excruciatingly short period of time. I’m grasping at stability like straws, man. I’m already bopping around from city to city and relationship to relationship for my career; I can’t be hopping around from dick to dick, too. I would love to be with the same dick for an extended period of time. Like a long time. Like, 3 weeks or so… Or 3 months. Whatever, I’ll take whatever.

I’m 25, man. I don’t wanna do the “sexually adventurous” thing. That’s not my gig. I wanna do the “go to dinner and smile across the table” thing. The last time I went to a gay bar, I pushed a dude who tried to grind up on me. Perhaps if he had presented me with a rose, I would’ve responded with more courtesy. But instead, he decided to rub his weird little boner all over my leg, and my Hulk rage took over. I’m not that kind of gay. I’m looking for somebody to stick around and have dinner. Or go walking. Or just be my friend who I have sex with. Repeatedly. Isn’t that what a relationship is, a best friend that you have sex with? I mean, we can turn it into a sex party. As long as it’s just the two of us. I’ll bring a cake. No, I’ll bring three cakes; one for me, one for him and one emergency cake. And we’ll eat our respective cakes, and then just have sex with each other. Or we can sleep off our sugar hangovers. And we won’t do the Grindr but we can grind—Never mind. That’s just filthy, James.

I’m just not those things. I’m this thing. And I’m totally okay with that. I’m sure there’s another gay out there who is horrified by the thought of a sex party that doesn’t have an emergency cake…

And I’m gonna find you.

#dontgiveup

JAMES

“I could tell you was fantasizing that you would come slide in me and confide in me.”
~”Buy a Heart” by Nicki Minaj (feat. Meek Mill)

55.2

I wanted to use this really cute picture of my grandparents when they were younger, but I realized that I talked about someone vomiting out cum…. so it didn’t feel appropriate.

 

30. James Teaches Gay Culture: EXPLICIT

Standard

Ok. I have been steeping heavily in the theatre community for the past 2.5 months, and I have learned some disturbing thing about ignorance within and surrounding the gay culture. It is very frustrating, but I have chosen to educate with patience instead of getting mad at people for their ignorance. If this comes off as a rant, I am deeply sorry. I sincerely intend for this to be eye-opening and enlightening. I hope you have learned something when you’re done with this.

First. Let me start with humor:

Fleeting
 If you are going to put a D in your B, you need to buy one of these. It’s an enema. Let me be frank: if you’re having sex (ladies and mens), you really don’t wanna poop on the bed. And if you DO, if that’s a fetish of yours, by all means, BYPASS this advice. Crap away. But if you are terrified during anal sex and you can’t stop thinking, “DON’TPOOPDON’TPOOPDON’TPOOP,” never fear: this is your solution. This is how you should use it:

Empty it out. Don’t use the solution in it. You don’t need it. Unless you’re actually constipated. Empty it, and fill it with warm water. You only need to fill it about halfway. I’ve read some things saying that you don’t need that much water. And I’ve also read a lot of things saying it isn’t healthy to use it every day. This is foul, but I read about it drying out the natural mucus that your anus secretes…. WHO’S HUNGRY?!?! ME, TOO!

Ok. So take that turkey baster contraption and put some lube on the tip or something. Otherwise it SHAN’T be pleasant. If you don’t have lube, I think it’ll be ok to use just a little bit of unscented lotion. NO BATH AND BODYWORKS SCENTED SHIT. THAT. WILL. BURNST.

Ok. Then. Um. STICK IT IN. JUST RAM IT IN. I’m totally kidding. Say a prayer to Jesus (he’ll listen in this time of great need), squat over the toiley and slowly slide it in. It helps a little bit if you’re kind of pushing like you’re trying to… shit. (Let’s be honest, the time to be coy has passed by a LONG SHOT.)

Squeeze all the water in. (This should be half a bottle. And it should be warm. But not hot. Just… pleasant.) Now. You should wait a little bit while it’s all inside of you. Maybe wash off the bottle. Disinfect it with some alcohol. Jump up and down and do some cartwheels to make sure all the water is swishing around. …Totally kidding about the last part. But you can read the box that the enema came in! It’s quite fascinating! I DISTINCTLY remember this phrase on the box, because it has been seared forever into the walls of my fucked-up memory: “Wait until the urge to evacuate is strong”. I laughed really hard when I read that, and I evacuated all over the floor. I’m kidding, but I did laugh really hard.

Ok. After you have “evacuated” take a baby wipe (preferably a “Flushable”) and clean yoself up, bitch. Flush. NOW GO PARTY. Some people say you need to do it more than once. But. I think as long as you normally wipe, once will be good enough.

OK. Now that you have puked in your mind or quite literally from your mouth, let’s get down to business:

Sometimes I hear some ignorant questions. But if you are not a gay man or you are an inexperienced gay man, then I can’t really blame you for not knowing the answer/ not knowing that your question is offensive. A good friend of mine recently asked this:

“So, is one of you the boy and one of you the girl?”

I responded calmly, because the question wasn’t meant to be offensive. It was earnest. So here’s my answer:

We are actually both men. I think being gay is all about equality. The cool thing about being in a homosexual relationship is that there are no preconceived gender roles. We’re both dudes. So neither of us is expected to curse and fix cars while the other cooks and cleans and dusts. We just fulfill the needs of the other person. I’m a pretty clean person. I don’t mind washing dishes. I’m not good at cars, but I can sure care for my man when he needs it. When one is sick, the other cares for them. And sex is sex. There are no boys and girls in my sex cuz neither of us has a vagina. (I know; many of you who really know me are shocked that I have no beaver, but I promise I don’t.) Which sort of brings me to my next point:

Top  vs. Bottom
Ok. If you think this is gay terminology that describes who is literally on top and on bottom during sex, you are wrong. This is what it most specifically means:

A top is someone who fucks someone, and a bottom is someone who gets fucked. I know. So vulgar. So. Sososososo vulgar. I apologize. But here’s the problem I have with this:

You are no less masculine if you take a dick in your butt.

For some reason, I’ve met a lot of gay men who are ashamed of their sexuality, especially if they’ve ever bottomed. Listen. A REAL man takes a dick up the butt. You know when people say, “Take it like a man!”? They’re talking about anal sex! I promise. Anal sex isn’t like a walk in the park. Unless during your park strolls you regularly fall violently and unexpectedly on a penis. I’m just kidding. It doesn’t have to be awful. But I’ll be honest with you: if you are a gay man and you refuse to bottom, you need to let go of your shame surrounding being gay. There is nothing shameful about being gay. And even if you don’t bottom, you are still sticking your peepee in a dude’s b-hole, which still makes you gay. There is no degrees of gay. You can’t be “really gay”. People say that. But if you’re gay, you’re gay. And if you’re F-ing a dude, you are JUST as gay as the dude that you are plowing.

Listen, I strongly believe that equality is the prominent theme of homosexuality. We want equal rights. Our relationships are about equality. And in that same vein, in a relationship I don’t think there should be a “top” and a “bottom”. I think it should be about versatility. After you’ve tried both, I think you can have a preference. Absolutely. But. Gays: don’t pigeonhole yourself; Republicans will do that to us enough.

I hope you learned something today. Here’s my most important lesson:

Let go of your shame. Acknowledge it. But let it go. Don’t let it inhibit you. People frequently call me “extremely gay”. But I don’t care. I just wanna be me without worrying about what people think of me. I have a Lady Gaga belly shirt. Perhaps I’m challenging people to call me out on it. But YES. I AM GAY. GAY GAY GAY. And I don’t wanna be ashamed. So don’t make me feel ashamed. I know that “no one can make you feel anything without your permission”. Yeah ok booshit. Admire me for my courage to tell the story of myself with my whole heart; don’t chastise me because of your own shame. Just stop caring what people think. And do what you want. You’re not gonna live forever. I know few things but I know that for certain. And I don’t have time in this life to live my life within the confines created by someone else’s ignorance. I wanna wear a bright pink. I want to wear girl’s clothes cuz they’re bolder. I wanna wear a huge peace bangly necklace. I wanna wear my Lady Gaga belly shirt. I wanna wear my skanky underwear. And I REALLY wanna wear my “Likes Boys” tshirt.

I don’t wanna hide.

I refuse to hide anymore. If I don’t fit in this world then so be it, but I will no longer change myself to fit a world in desperate need of a change.

This is not a compromise I am willing to make.

“Sometimes the only way is jumping. I hope you’re not afraid of heights.”
~”Meaning” by Gavin Degraw

JAMES.