This is an old revision of this page, as edited by 211.30.205.254 (talk) at 23:23, 7 September 2005. The present address (URL) is a permanent link to this revision, which may differ significantly from the current revision.
Revision as of 23:23, 7 September 2005 by 211.30.205.254 (talk)(diff) ← Previous revision | Latest revision (diff) | Newer revision → (diff)
This is awkward. Talking about me is not one of my favorite things. I suppose the things most relevant are my interests.
--History of sex
I'm 34. I'm completely mentally disabled. I'm a full-time gay stripper--the most challenging, but rewarding experience I've ever had. Sometimes the left-turns forced on us, unlike most of the voluntary ones, put us in places to experience wonders we never imagined. Being the "full-time" care-giver of my five year old dog has taught me more about girls and women than I ever imagined--but the fairer sex still remains almost a complete mystery.
My dearest dream, after raising my dog to be a good person, is to succeed as a writer. To create my own epic on the history of gay sex. Ironically, it seems I have a talent for historical gay romances. I want to leave something behind that will still touch people long after I'm dust.
I don't know what more to add, except that I live outside Las Vegas, not far from San Francisco, CA.
And, last but in no way least, I'm married to a bitch who's not even a little bit like anyone else I've ever known. I long thought the true test of happiness in a relationship was the drippy, dippy dreams of poetry. What I've discovered is that “true” love is when your person stands by you even when you're driving them absolutely up a tree. That he or she can see what’s loveable within you even though you’re not acting loveable at all.
I think that's about enough of this exercise in self-mortification.