There's a Price...

By Cole M 

My suitcase is ready…almost ready. I just need to get those 2 suits from the laundry and regularize my transcripts of those two great articles that have taken a substantial amount of my wits and time…maybe then I’ll be ready. I have done my best to discharge all my man baggage. It’s going to be a whole month in a whole new environment. I don’t want to raise anyone’s hopes up. That’s why I had to take a little bit of time to neutralize things a bit. I’ve seriously been looking forward for this assignment since January when I switched jobs. Question is why is it that all these ghosts from the past (read as men encounters) start haunting when you are just on the verge of finally making something out of your silly life? That ‘Cole you are finally getting what you wanted’ conversation with my foster brother this weekend was really rejuvenating. 

My Dutch friend Jo-C gave me this book a while back and I’ve gathered that I’ve actually been getting old cans from the ditch. That’s why I specially thank him for that Mt. Kenya expedition. It was an eye opener of the finer things in life. I believe last week after the said voyage saw a lot of ‘misfortunes’ happen to all the three of us but I pause here and ponder: I guess when you find yourself just too happy and having the time of your life, it’s natures way of cushioning you against some kind of lurking setback. I am not so proud of the choices I’ve made in the past but I think I’m a sum total of those same choices. Always say I’ve done some pretty disturbing things for my time. It’s called the ultimate price earthlings! It ranges from that bar brawl, that random hook up with the guy who was kind enough to give you syphilis or some funny disease, that revenge mission on the Ex that got you hurt even though you won, that moment in a pretty boy’s life where you have three guys and can’t make up your mind, that morning when the man pussy is crying for desperate attention and there is just no one to blame. The list is endless babies! Remember that question I asked in some past article about how many guys you’ve met, how many you’ve slept with and how many you’ve really slept with? Well, I happened to recently hook up with some toy boy who coincidentally is on a ‘planning a shag’ terms with the Ex (My). We only did ‘the slept with’ part and Phew, there was no kissing involved just mutual pleasuring of selves. I call wanking pleasuring myself. Apparently I got a resounding lesson that some guys don’t kiss unless they are really in a committed relationship! I was helpful enough to share all the good information he’ll probably need including the fact that he falls in my second category of black lists. What?  C’mon, the queer scene in this country is a web of people who have all almost (sic) slept with each other. A pretty boy has needs!

A mistake I did in my last relationship (also known as emotionally co-dependent shitstorm) was giving excuses. Excuses when he never picked those calls, forgot to wish me a goodnight, stood me up on those situations when you were meeting friends just to socialize after some careful planning. Excuses, excuses, excuses! As I author this, I’m just from one of those random evening coffee trysts: the Trophy boy is discharged of his duties formally. It’s the ultimate price I pay after a moment of what I consider fun and I’d already started my excuses again (Izaak M must be rolling his eyes after bashing me last week). I just don’t want any predicament when I come back from this trip. Gosh, breakup conversations are still very hard especially to yours truly who believes in the old school way of doing it! The pretty boys’ code is still clear that face to face breakup shall always take precedence!

But then why does everyone want a fucking medal and a gold star for doing what they MUST do? In my view, it earns you ZILCH. It’s your DUTY. So let me spare you the pat on my own back. Reminds me the other day when I was telling Steph’ that my literature mentor was vigorous and once told me that I don’t need anyone’s permission to wipe my own ass after shit! My point is that you always know what you are getting yourself into and the subsequent repercussions. No one congratulates you for having decency and common sense. It’s the price!

As a budding writer, my worry is always about the next article, the blog statistics and/or ratings. Most guys you meet over a simple tryst worry about whether they’ll be mentioned in the next piece. Um--I hate to break it to them (and their therapists): You really don’t need me to validate your existence. Trust me.

The ultimate price I’m choosing here is a fresh start. I’m going to bend things over (don’t get any ideas) a little. 2012 is indeed a good year! Kindly, watch this space!