A Eunuch's Love Life

The more personally intimate blog of the love life of an androgynous but not sexless eunuch in this post-modern world

Monday, March 26, 2007

I have a dream

I woke up and realised I'd been dreaming I was sucking on a very hard cock.

Later, a handsome young shirtless man threw himself at me behind a soundstage at an undergound party, and I caught him. I even went as far as sucking his cock, but he was obviously drug affected, and not remotely hard like my dream cock.

I went as far as I was willing to go on the cold hard concrete in view of the people working the sound stage, and told him I'l like to continue on carpet, and he asked me home with him. I took a moment, cos I was more curious than turned on, and said "Sure." But then he couldn't find his backpack, and I wondered how much it was worth hanging around for some very drug fucked guy with brewer's droop to possibly get his shit together or rethink his proposition, and went to sit and work out what I wanted to do, instead of following the agenda of some man who had a great body but who hadn't shown much tenderness. He didn't tell me his name, he kissed roughly with biting teeth, and I could have had the same experience with a shaved gorilla.

My best friend gave me a lift home in his taxi, and I couldn't help smiling thinking about the morning's dream. He called me on this, so I told him I'd dreamt of sucking a very hard cock that very morning, in contrast to the limp effort tonight.

"Who's cock was it?" he asked.

" It doesn't matter who it was" I said, "what matters in the dream is what they represent."

"Was it me?" asked the overconfident bastard.

"Like I said, it's not about who it was, but what they represent", I replied, as the cab pulled up at my stop.

"I love you too" he beamed, and I was happily relieved he had taken this well.

Hey, it's just a dream, and my rational mind knows he's a sister to me, but it's nice to think that my subconcious thinks I'll be making love to a physically appreciative (ie rigidly erect) guy who is my friend. Obviously, this will not be another queen as "femme" as me, and my subconscious was just using him or his name as metaphor or a pun or something ; )

But there must be a happy medium between friends who talk with me and give me high quality intelligent human communication, but to whom I am sexually off limits, and guys want sex with me but communicate no more than horny shaved apes.

Labels: , ,

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Old, fluey and flabby

Nothin’ like a flu to make one look and feel old and flabby. I’m bloated, and can’t stand to see myself in anything that reveals I’ve gone pear shaped. The skin on my face is like ancient parchment, and I can’t stand to wear anything that makes me look like mutton dressed as lamb. No wonder I’m single, I’m unavoidably old and stout. I can nearly have a six pack if I go a couple of weeks without chocolate, but when I let it all go, gravity will out, I’m nearly 50 and I’m not losing it, I’ve lost it long ago, and only just noticed. Where did these ancient lumpy-veined hands come from?

The skin on my body still feels nice, but it feels like a girl’s skin, and I look like an old drag queen, and there’s no reason for any straight man to want me when they can find a real woman, and there’s no reason for a gay man to want me when they can find a complete male, but I’ve given up self-pity for Lent, so I just have to trust that I too have some place in human sexuality, although I think I may adjust my expectations somewhat. I’m REALLY old, but have no interest in straight blokes with calcified brains and carnivorous corpulence. Maybe I should be less disappointed if I go the odd year without getting laid. The bright young men who catch my fancy don't catch me eye. Put brutally, they can do much better than this bulbous old wrinkly infertile sexually ambiguous eunuch.

The weather’s colder, so drapey things are all the go. Surprisingly, my hair is lovely. But I’m still shockingly old to most attractive men on the look out. And I aint rich. I can’t imagine why any guy would want me. But that deficit of imagination may not be shared by the Universe. But I am SO old and fat!

And then, after writing that last sentence, the radio plays me singing “My Vagina”(unexpectedly, from a recording done last year for Queer Noise on 2SER), and I am manically happy, and then it’s followed by a public service announcement about manic depression.

It’s a funny old world innit.

Labels: , , , ,