Karmic Justice

I was contacted yesterday by someone who liked my quote, “If you think that putting my dick in your ass . . .” and asked is he could quote me in his own profile. I was flattered.

Today it appears there might be some confusion around the words “quote” and “plagiarize”.

It is because I stole a rock.

Menen Goes Vintage

Attempting something new, I’ve created an on-line sex profile to read the following:

“If you think that letting me put my dick in your ass makes you less of a man, or that fucking me will make you more masculine, then please use your cursor to move to the next cock.”

This all sounds very mature, doesn’t it? So today I hooked up with the intent of having a great time, and leaving the power struggle out of the picture. I mean after all, sex is for fun, not domination right?

After repetitive attempts to get my limp dick erect my new acquaintance said,

“It’s not going to happen is it?”

I dressed and started walking towards the elevator. Then it occurred to me to go back, throw him on the floor, pin him down and hammer fuck him; reducing him to nothing more than a quivering mass of flesh, begging for my phone number as I walked out the door.

Hard as a rock now, I pushed the elevator button, went home and ordered some really cool vintage t-shirts off of the Internet.

That’s improvement . . . right?

Pain Exchange

The Marine says he is lonely, and I can clearly see the pain in his eyes.

He was only with two women before marrying his wife. He loved her and their child, and showed them everyday how much he cared. A horrible accident, and now they are dead. The man with the body of a Greek statue (military issue) lies on the sand next to me . . . broken.

It was a chance meeting on a surfboard and now he phones me everyday. He says, “Menen, please come”, and so late at night I do. He is asleep when I arrive, but wakes as I walk through the door. He looks like a little boy (shhhh) only with the body of a man.

I hold him; sometimes he looks like he is going to cry. It’s always the same. He kisses me, and takes me into his mouth. He tries, and I don’t want him to know how bad he is at giving head. I’m not even sure it is a lesson he should learn.

His skin is sensitive, desperate for intimacy. My breath alone makes him quiver; my hands cause him to moan. Then, with a burst of courage (or maybe it is fear) he pulls me in inside of him. He doesn’t know that we should go slowly, and it brings him more hurt than need be. I guess it’s a different kind of pain, and judging from the scars on his body, a kind he understands. A mild discomfort lasting a manageable amount of time.

He is strong, healthy and fit. We make love (shhhh) until our bodies are covered with perspiration. My turn to tremble now as the slightest movement of his hips causes me to explode inside of the latex barrier. Seconds later he releases, and looks me in the eyes the entire time.

In my arms, and sleeping so soundly now. For me the ache returns (it’s been so long since I have laughed). Can he feel my broken heart pressed up against his back?

Love Hate Relationship

I have a small plot in a community garden area, where I grow tomatoes, lemon grass, chili peppers, chives, parsley, basil, dill, red bell peppers, lavender and rosemary.

I have mixed in lots and lots of flowers, from Gerber daises, miniature hibiscus, sunflowers, vincas, dahlias, and an extraordinary vine completly covered with beautiful purple blossoms.

Swirled around my lava rock stepping stones (some stollen)I have a pathway of delicate moss-like ground cover. I even have a small pond, with water lilies, and fish.

Much to my delight, the birds, geckos, lizards, mice, ants, bees, and butterflies claim it to be their home. Were the lot in a different location with trees, and a tad bigger, I would be overjoyed to design and construct a small cottage and spend my days there.

I love working in my garden. It brings me peace, yet simultaneously it is a painful reminder how far away I from where I want to be.

Is It Greener Over There?

Her vibrant eyes struck me right away. Her half-eaten cookie made me smile. You see, she is one of the few adults that have managed to retain the curiosity, wonderment and joy found in children's eyes. Passionately alive, bearing a gift that touches souls, Claudia is a testament of what is possible with a life.

Her father encouraged her to dream, and imagine something different for her life. Now, years later, she is healthy, lives and works in another country, shares a bed with a man who loves her, and last night had dinner with a Rabbi with whom she talked about sex.

Alternately, The Man Who Makes Me Laugh cooked dinner for us using herbs from my garden. Afterwards we walked to get dessert, ran into some friends, and ended up sharing coffee with them. Because of a t-shirt I was wearing, we talked about Tijuana and fifty-cent cab rides. Later we moved onto medium-sized spiders, and ultimately stalkers.

It was a wonderful evening, which ended with the two of us having sex, yet there is a part of me, just a little part though, that wonders if Claudia's evening was somehow richer.

Menen Is Special

My Grandmothers second husband died a few years ago. He was very ill towards the end of his life and I helped extensively with his care. Upon his death, and in the midst of her grief, his widow wrote the obituary. She listed all of the family members and neglected to single out any other relatives in the article - except me.

Now I like to believe she was attempting to acknowledge my assistance when she said, ". . . and one very special grandson named Menen." Surely, no one thought that I was mentally or physically challenged in some way, right?

Menen Sees A Wee Little Snail

Of course, the Psychic Gardener was right about the snails and slugs targeting my new plants. As she suggested, I put the pellets down last night.

They work amazing, and it was full on carnage this morning. It was startling how quickly the genocide took place and the number of carcasses dumbfounded me. At this rate, I will have to install a tiny crematorium in the corner.

Actually, I feel uncomfortable about killing them, and I am not sure that I believe the pellet packaging, "Completely safe for your vegetable garden." At some point today, I will more than likely eat the flesh off a chicken cadaver, but this morning I feel guilty about killing a snail just because it likes to crawl on my moss and nibble on my lettuce.

Men • en: the modern definition of the word "Dichotomy".

Menen Feels Guilty

I have just returned from my flower and herb garden, where I planted a very heavy lava rock for a stepping-stone.

Earlier this morning, under cloak of darkness, I scampered to a busy intersection in which I had previously spotted a beautiful moss covered boulder. During a break in traffic, and moving with the grace and calculative nature that only the finest of obsessive gardeners possess, I quickly rolled it into my open backpack.

With a grunt and a snort, I hoisted it on my back and embarked on the journey to the garden. Staggering and sweating, I arrived at the vine-covered gate just as the sun was casting its first rays on my ferns.

As the clouds of dust arose and settled around me, I wondered if I just stole a rock. Maybe I should return it. Like Sisyphus, am I doomed to take this bit of hardened molten back a forth across town?

Menen Dines Out For Lunch

My cooking abilities have come a long way from the mound of Franken-Pancakes I made six years ago. That day I produced a secession of items that resulted in some weird hybrid of crepes and drop biscuits.

After lot's of practice, my flapjacks finally look and taste like they should, and I can actually stand to swallow them. I cannot say the same about today'€™s new recipe. Henceforth, I rename the dish in question, Glop with Little Pieces of Carbon.

As you can see, the replacement meal included a toy.

Change Of Focus

I have a friend that has taken on considerable new job responsibilities. Unfortunately, she has not received an increase in pay for those duties and now there exists an inequitable exchange: underpayment for services rendered. I hope she has the wisdom and courage to restore the imbalance.

The ramifications of making a choice to sell time, energy, enthusiasm and creativity for a discounted price (or even worse, no additional compensation) reaches way beyond the new task(s) presently on her desk. These "emergency" or "important" duties are quite fleeting. In six months time, there will be a new drama and this old one will be but a vague memory.

I fear that conducting herself this way will weave itself into the fiber of her character, and will ultimately undermine her identity. When we make choices to back away from courage, it shows up in the most unexpected places, and influences our relationships with family, friends, lovers, finances and most importantly our vibrancy. The effects are awful, and can be seen and felt by everyone.

Society often encourages a man to be assertive in the workplace and labels a woman conducting herself the same, as a "bitch". Certainly, this double standard is not fair, bemoaning the injustice of the mislabel, and playing the role of a victim is the greater crime though. This is but a mere yield sign and not a place to park.

Each of us has the inalienable right to expect, and if necessary, insist on compensation for work performed. There is simply too much at stake to remain silently inactive. Finding the state or quality of mind or spirit that will enable her to face, what I suspect is fear, will reach far beyond the present topic.

Consider the following:

1. More responsibility equals more pay - period. The construction of a house is at a set and agreed upon price. An additional East Wing would also have a corresponding cost associated with it. Her situation is no different, save the fact that she is not wearing a tool belt.
2. Last month the job she was performing was valued at X amount of money. Was she being overpaid during the previous month?

Menen Watches A Bumble Bee

My second memory is of a giant, brilliantly colored bee that was hovering above my face. It was so close to my skin that I could feel the air movement from its wings. At the time, I was lying in a laundry basket and the edges of it framed my view of the creature. In the background, there was a brilliant blue-sky with white clouds, and my mother was taking sheets off a clothesline.

As I got older, (I am guessing I was around six years old) I would fill tiny containers with honey and place them at the opening of beehives. With my little kid logic, I worried that they were hungry and I was trying to feed them.

When surfing, I occasionally see a live bee struggling on the surface of the ocean. I scoop the insect up, take it back to shore and rinse it with fresh water to remove the salt from its body. Then I set it on a leaf or rock and when it is dry enough, it flies away.

Today I was walking with The Man Who Makes Me Laugh and he told me of his fear of bees, and I in turn divulged my fear of spiders. Without hesitation, he proposed that I be in charge of bee relocation for him and in return, he would transfer spiders outside for me.

I found his proposal profoundly touching.

Out Of The Closet

For years, I felt like I was in danger of being "found out". I was horrified that someone would learn that I was gay, inexperienced at fucking, and came from a poor family. I hid behind closets of beautiful clothes and possessions that I could not afford. I was insecure and I surrounded myself with people who had an even lower self-image than I did.

Five years later, I am completely out of the closet, know how to please a man in bed, have extraordinarily few belongings, and a handful of amazing friends. Financially I am even poorer than I was, and yet my life is richer.

Welcome out Klaw. I certainly like it better out here - I feel like I can breathe.

Menen Waves Bub-bye

A few days ago, I was lying on the grass in the park looking at the clouds when a women and man walked by. They were yelling at each other in a foreign language and then suddenly the man kicked the obese women in the ass and proceeded to walk away. Even more shocking to me was that she followed along behind him crying.

I think that by pursuing him, she was giving her permission for that kind of abuse to happen again. What was acceptable in their world was profoundly sad to watch. I wept for their future, and simultaneously had a breakthrough in mine.

Obviously, there are many differences between the overweight women and myself. One of the similarities though is that I have been allowing a version of the same thing to take place in my relationship with this man. His random outbursts and belittling comments are improper, and my willingness to remain a target is deplorable. I spoke with him about it yesterday.

As I listened to his response of insults, I was reassured of my choice to wave goodbye.

Menen Masterbates

After hours of refining and restructuring a single paragraph, Menen now bug-eyed and delirious, extends his right hand to the Mountain Dew bottle on the coffee table. He appears mortified to find it covered with a slippery substance. With such weighty topics, he obviously cannot be bothered with mysteries now. He knows only one thing in this moment -create.

He quickly consumes the ambrosia, and returns to his masterpiece. Unfortunately the elixir of life has an agenda all its own. It works with incomprehensible grace, its radiant glowing fluid seducing him again.

Although the movement of his fingers on the buttons has increased, his eyes are glossy now and he is making mistakes that could take hours to correct. Deductive reasoning apparently at full throttle, he says aloud, "Ah, I took a drink from the bottle when we were having sex. There must have been lubricant on my hand."

Devoid of resistance, imagery of the sexual depravity between the two warm-blooded bodies washes over him. The waves of memories engulf him as if he were a small stone in the sand. The decadence, the yearning, utterly and effortlessly consumes him.

His fingers leave me now. It has won. Awaiting his return, I mark where we parted and blink silently.

At the precise moment his hand slips beneath his belt, a subtle yet unmistakable moan of ecstasy escapes from his throat.

Was that a smile on his face?

Who Can Say?

I am not one of those people who know what they want to do when they grow up. For years now, I have admired others as they proclaim things like "I'm going to be a botanist." Or I'm going start a non-profit organization." They all seem so task and goal oriented. They even know where they are going and exactly when they will get there. Sometimes they even know why they are going.

I am proud to report that I know what I am doing for lunch today, and I can hardly wait to get there. Right now sharing a loaf of bread, salami, cheese, peanut M&M’s and a Mountain Dew with a good friend is direction enough in life for me.

Menen Has A Sex Dream On The Beach

I attempted to go surfing this morning. My performance on the waves did not measure up to my riding standards set last night. In fact, I could not even get it up. Frankly, I am not sure I could have caught a tsunami if it formed right underneath me. Ordinarily, I am an excellent surfer, and this is something that seldom happens to me. Defeated, I paddled to shore, laid my board on the sand, climbed on top of it, and took a nap of shame.

I awoke to the sound of my three surf buddies laughing hysterically at me. With sand imbedded in the side of my face, and holding my board as if it were someone resting their head on my chest, I was sporting a raging hard on. Much to my horror, it formed an undeniably solid tent in my surf shorts and was equipped with a distinctive pre-cum spot.

As we walked to the showers, I tried to will my cock limp with thoughts of dead kittens and starving children. It absolutely refused to cooperate so by the time we got to the showers the ridiculing had done nothing but escalate. Of the four us, I am the only gay man in the clan. They made numerous jokes about me secretly wanting to have sex with all of them. This is an old ongoing tease between us. Today it played out differently than usual.

Since my shorts were soaking wet from the showers, and now clearly outlining my erection, I replied, "No chance of us ever hooking up though, because I am only attracted to men with dicks bigger than mine."

The silence in the air was positively exquisite.

Menen Needs Sleep

I spent the night having sex with The Man Who Makes Me Laugh. My sex drive had gone crazy and I rode his back side hard for most of the evening. We got very little sleep and I am sure I will pay for it today. Periodically though we took breaks to eat yummy food, and rinse off. Between the orgasms, I found myself laughing and having a wonderful time, and learning more about him. I thought he summed himself up cleverly by saying;

“I am fickle, compulsive, irresponsible, and as you can see (pointing to the beer in his hand) have addictive tendencies.”

What Do You Want To Rub On My Stick?

Gay Sex by Appointment

I awoke from a power nap feeling, um . . . particularly powerful. I readjusted myself and checked my messages to see if the handsome man I have been having sex with wrote me another funny message. He did, and managed to make me laugh aloud with this line:

"[While on the phone with you I] Got some good visuals on better uses for the tables in the conference room than what they are currently used for but then I also had some visuals of me job hunting."

We are getting together tomorrow evening. This is great because the sex with him is amazing, but I do not want to wait until then because just thinking about him has made me even more, um . . . strong.

I have to go now - so I can entice him here with a cleverly composed text message.

Menen Finds a Dog

It was not as if I woke up in the morning and planed to have a dog by the end of the day, but that is what happened. When I found him under a picnic table, wearing a broken piece of twine for a collar/leash, he seemed tired. I sat by him for hours waiting for his owner to come back. No one ever did.

Later that night, with full bellies, we fell asleep on my bed. He smelled stinky, left me covered in hair, and kept me awake by hogging the bed and snoring. In the morning we put up posters and registered with the Humane Society. We knocked and knocked on doors, yet no one knew him.

Ultimately, I grew to care for him as much as any other being. He followed me wherever I went and never required a leash. He waited on the sand while I surfed, filling his time with his favorite game: "Bury the Ball, Unbury the Ball". Sometimes he scared me when he tried swimming out to me. I liked seeing his wagging tail when I came into shore.

His nose took us places I would have never found on my own: abandoned buildings and sea creatures washed up on shore. Everyday was an adventure. I learnt it was perfectly acceptable to get dirty, walking in straight lines is insipid, and power naps rule. Mostly though, I learned how to love.

For months an old man watched our ritual of playing and picnicking and napping in the park. One day he approached us and thanked us profusely, "for renewing his hope in humanity. "He said, I have not seen a relationship like yours since I was a young man, and I thought those times were gone . . . ." Frankly, I am not sure I understand everything he said that day, but I am glad we made him smile.

It has been eight months since I saw my dog alive. I miss his wonderful smell and do not sleep so well anymore: the bed is too big and it is so quiet in here.

Pretty Balls

Homosexual Heartbreak

When I was living in a square state, I was dating a man with a southern accent. I flew him to the ocean and made love with him in front of a fireplace. I showed him waterfalls, moss covered trees and hidden caves. We drank wine in a hot tub. On a morning hike, we picked berries and made pancakes. He even gave me head while I was driving a convertible through the rain.

I knew I would ask him to marry me one day.

Shortly after that trip, Mt. Dew was having a contest, and you checked to see if you had won anything by looking underneath the cap. At the exact moment my boyfriend dumped me, I opened my bottle and it read:

“Sorry, please try again.”

Sex for Food

It is 3:00 AM and I just devoured a large bag of Doritios and inhaled a bottle of Mountain Dew. About an hour ago a gay man with a shaved head lured me with food from 7-11 to his place. The combination of six dollars in my pocket, a can of black beans at home, and nine days to stretch it out made the offer particularly appealing.

When we got there, he turned on the television and started a 1980's porno, and removed all his clothes. He had a nice body, but was so jumpy and nervous, I was not about to get undressed. I opened my drink and strolled through the small house.

The decorating was typical: a futon here, a couch there, a DNKY bottle on this, a photo of he and his boyfriend on that . . . .

I Taste Better . . .

According to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, there are no cases of West Nile Virus reported in Hawaii, making me the luckiest and itchiest person on the planet.

If there are seven thousand mosquitoes within a square mile of me, right now they are flying past thousands of healthy, blood filled people, so they can have a small sample of me.

Are Gay Men Mean?

The man I have been seeing for the last three months, has started saying rude things to me. Today while eating lunch, he told me about a coupon just handed to him. I said, "I have the same coupon in my backpack, it's too bad I didn't bring my bag with me." He replied, "Oh, I'm not surprised." Earlier this weekend he had equally charming things to say but the details escape me now.

Several times now I have also heard him attacking people verbally. Sometimes it is a person in traffic, or an old acquaintance that falls prey to these outbursts. It is surprising because one of the things I really admired about him from the beginning was his respect for other people. Having spent more time with him, I find he treats people poorly sometimes, and the frequency seems to be increasing.

If you drive a car, and are thinking, "I like Menen and want to be his friend." A good place to start would be here.

The "New" Anal Sex

Last night I went to the gym to lift heavy weights. Afterwards I was horny as hell and proceeded to a park frequented by gay men. Peddling through the city I passed a man on the sidewalk clearly interested in me. Minutes later we were hidden in the trees, and he was on his knees sucking me. Frankly there was too much teeth action for me, so I left - early.

Now I was insanely horny. Shortly I found a man in the trees also eager to mess around. We eventually ended up on the ground, and since my dick was sloppy wet with spit, we had inter-crural intercourse. Providing the receiver holds his legs together, this action is surprisingly similar to anal sex.

My good friend, Explorer, says he needs to take "Cruise Control Classes" to temper his tendency to pickup men for sex.

Menen Incorporates Himself

I arrived at group therapy dripping sweat since I left late and had to peddle like Eliot from E.T. to make it on time. As I dabbed my forehead with a paper towel the man next to me whom I lovingly call "No Topic", (as it is often difficult for me to figure out what he is trying to say) yammered away about a guy he met exactly six days ago. He said Prince Charming has Attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) and can be somewhat difficult to have a conversation with - at least for any length of time. No Topic is pondering if ADHD guy will be his next boyfriend.

Having returned to a normal body temperature, my powers of deductive reasoning at full throttle, I was thinking, "Six days?" So I uttered my first words of the evening. "Last week your boyfriend of several years, left you. Do you think it is possible that you're pulling a rebound with this guy?"

It seemed to register.

Frankly, No Topic's six days would be an exercise in restraint for me. Many times I have met a man, and within hours or days he was "My Boyfriend". Some of those relationships lasted a week, others months. The record is eight months. All ended as quickly as they began, and each time I had the audacity to be surprised at the outcome.

Corporations often have a ninety-day probationary period for new employees so both parties can assess if the relationship will work. Maybe No Topic and I should adopt a similar policy. Perhaps I should even incorporate myself.

View Through a Glory Hole

Yesterday I went to the beach with my friend The Explorer (who is an ex boyfriend). We examined the cornucopia of seashells, rocks, coral, and fish as if we were astronauts visiting from another planet. Particularly interesting discoveries were announced aloud and held up as if we had created them ourselves.

Now I am quite fond of picking up sea urchins, hermit crabs, and men. The latter I seem to go home with and for reasons that elude me, call them boyfriends. The others I possess the wisdom to play with for a few minutes and then put them back where they belong.

The first time I came to this remote beach was with yet another ex-boyfriend whom I ultimately threatened with a restraining order. Nearly a year and a half ago we had wild sex on the sand, and again in one of the tide pools. He was charming, handsome, and at times affectionate. He frequently gave me presents, and the offerings made it easier to ignore the times he was yelling at me.

Our blissful relationship began to wane when one night I stumbled across him walking with another man into an adult video store. It was a charming place really that happened to specialize in glory holes. I sat on the ground beside a palm tree and cried.

I should have pushed him in front of a moving bus.