Bar close

It's after two am, and I really should be in bed.

The bars are closing, and through the open windows I hear people shouting in each other's ears as they walk down the sidewalks.

Not that anyone is listening.

I'm just typing to myself.

Sometimes I go through these periods where I feel like my life is completely out of control.

Like there is this dynamo inside me, a strange machine. And when it gets switched on (the location of the switch is mysterious, and constantly changing) then I'm powerless to switch it off and I just have to go along for the ride until the turbines wind down the ironworks grind to a halt.

Then I might have a few days' respite.

It's fueled by porn and poppers.

Often it's like revving a car and spinning the wheels with the clutch out--gears grind away and produce a smell of distressed metal.

This weekend I let the machine carry me to the riverbottoms, where the men go to cruise. I was there on Saturday night for about four hours, on Sunday afternoon for about two hours, and on Sunday night for about two hours.

It just felt so good.

So anonymous.

It was the good old times.

Like when I used to spend hours in that park in London, cruising...all night long sometimes.

Just wandering in circles, smoking cigarettes.

Hours and hours.

Not that I would actually orgasm--that's saved for the end. The bottle of poppers, until the last cigarette has been smoked.

Nah, it's just in the wandering, circulating, exhausting my body, running it down the drain until I am forced to cum and then fall into bed, freshly showered, my lower back aching, my lungs ashed, my nose flaming from the amyl, my dick a bit raw.

Someone please castrate me.