Been away too long
Have you ever strayed away from life's path and purposefully delayed going back. I felt like that for the past couple months.
I've embarked on a new path, leading I know not where. This blog, meant for the fictional side of myself, has suffered in the process and I've delayed getting back, plus I've delayed getting back to the original purpose of this blog.
. . .
They've been friends since high school, since the day Damon first offered to suck Bobby's dick. They aren't friends because Damon is gay and Bobby isn't. Their friendship is worth more than the sexual relief Damon offers and Bobby keeps refusing. After all, a friendship that lasts over forty years and two marriages on Bobby's part has to be worth more than just sex.
Damon never considered himself to be gay, even after moving to New York for three years instead of going to college like his mother and Bobby kept bugging him to do. Later, after he returned, after he knew what being different was all about, even then he thought some day, some where, he would meet a girl, a woman, who would allow him to give his mother grandchildren. All his other brothers, and sisters, had done that. After all, was fucking a girl all that different from doing it with a guy?
He was average, for the baby of a family. The last of nine children Doris and Reg Palsi brought into the world. Unlike all his brothers, Damon didn't excel at any sport, but just got by, doing enough to get a passing grade in Physical Education. As far as he was concerned, the only benefit from going to high school was meeting Bobby, everything else was simply fluff that would blow away in the slightest breeze.
When asked, even at an early age when every boy wanted to be a fireman, policeman, or cowboy, Damon would simply respond, "I don't know, maybe, an artist." Except, even becoming an artist didn't raise Damon's aspirations enough to devote the time necessary to become anything more than an average artist of untested abilities. He floated through life. Even in New York where he thought he'd find the talent necessary to overcome his mediocre life, all he found was other people who wanted to use him for their own needs, desires, or, most often as not, momentary sexual gratification.
Now, after spending a life far from the edge, never attempting to extend his abilities, Damon lived in the beat up Corolla Bobby bought for him three years ago.
I've embarked on a new path, leading I know not where. This blog, meant for the fictional side of myself, has suffered in the process and I've delayed getting back, plus I've delayed getting back to the original purpose of this blog.
. . .
They've been friends since high school, since the day Damon first offered to suck Bobby's dick. They aren't friends because Damon is gay and Bobby isn't. Their friendship is worth more than the sexual relief Damon offers and Bobby keeps refusing. After all, a friendship that lasts over forty years and two marriages on Bobby's part has to be worth more than just sex.
Damon never considered himself to be gay, even after moving to New York for three years instead of going to college like his mother and Bobby kept bugging him to do. Later, after he returned, after he knew what being different was all about, even then he thought some day, some where, he would meet a girl, a woman, who would allow him to give his mother grandchildren. All his other brothers, and sisters, had done that. After all, was fucking a girl all that different from doing it with a guy?
He was average, for the baby of a family. The last of nine children Doris and Reg Palsi brought into the world. Unlike all his brothers, Damon didn't excel at any sport, but just got by, doing enough to get a passing grade in Physical Education. As far as he was concerned, the only benefit from going to high school was meeting Bobby, everything else was simply fluff that would blow away in the slightest breeze.
When asked, even at an early age when every boy wanted to be a fireman, policeman, or cowboy, Damon would simply respond, "I don't know, maybe, an artist." Except, even becoming an artist didn't raise Damon's aspirations enough to devote the time necessary to become anything more than an average artist of untested abilities. He floated through life. Even in New York where he thought he'd find the talent necessary to overcome his mediocre life, all he found was other people who wanted to use him for their own needs, desires, or, most often as not, momentary sexual gratification.
Now, after spending a life far from the edge, never attempting to extend his abilities, Damon lived in the beat up Corolla Bobby bought for him three years ago.
posted by Carl Holiday at
5:47 AM
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