Thanks to Ralph Waldo Emerson I’m not a drunk

“Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day. You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson had something going there. After all, how can we move forward when we’re so focused on looking back?

Arguments could be made that we must study history in order to keep from repeating it. Knowing history and obsessing over it are two entirely different concepts. We can know our mistakes, learn from them, and move on. But when we continue to berate ourselves with our worst moments, how can we ever possibly forgive ourselves and be loving towards our inner beings again?

I am the king of self-hatred. It’s become second-nature, and I worry I’ve made it into an art form. My guilt has seeped into my dreams and made my subconscious my own worst enemy. I wake up feeling defeated instead of “too high a spirit”.

So, how do I overcome my most critical self?

My mind goes immediately to alcohol.

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Talk about high spirits, eh? Eh?

But I’ve never been one to enjoy the bottle.

I keep thinking I’d be able to accomplish more if I didn’t carry the burden of my own self-doubt and self-hatred. My friends and family keep telling me I am a great person, that I’m doing the very best I can. So, what do you do with that when you feel like you aren’t doing enough?

I have to put it away.

If I keep focusing on how much I’m not doing, how am I ever going to be able to concentrate on what I am/want to be doing? There’s only so much energy each day.

I need to make sure I use what I have to its fullest potential. And if I don’t, I have to accept the day is over and to move on. I can’t reverse time and try again. I did the best I could with today.

So, go to fucking sleep, and stop blaming yourself for being human.

Just say no to 6AM hook-ups

This is not gonna be good

This is not gonna end well

Today’s a high day. I feel decent, complete, enough, and accomplished, even though it started off with a horrible attempt at an early morning hookup.

At six o’clock in the morning, I was pounding away at my dick, really getting into some porn (this time I tried out puppy play, a new kink I’m quite interested in), and I get a message from a guy on Growlr (Grindr for bears!). We exchange greetings and he asks quite bluntly if I’m horny. I tell him yes I’m very horny before asking about him. He, too, has an itch to scratch. Without much thought, I give him my address and he hurries over without much issue.

Upon first meeting, he’s too feminine. I am not against feminine guys – being feminine myself – but it made my boner go soft. He comes in with that awkward silence. I can tell he wants me to take control, and while I am wearing my “top hat” (imagine a pink-glittered cap sitting atop my head with a monocle in my eye), I am not interested in being overtly dominant.

We start off by kissing, which wasn’t terrible, but it immediately ends with me and him naked, him on his knees giving me an okay blowjob, and me wishing for more foreplay.

I ask what all he wants to do. He said it’s up to me, but I want him to help come up with a decision due to very little sleep and patience this early morning. His bio said he was a “boy” and “bottom”, so I ask if he wants to do anal. He asks if I have a condom, and thanks to the free self-serve bucket at the Dennis R Neill Equality Center, I found a couple I grabbed when I last visited. Combined with my aptly-timed purchase of new lubricant, we were well on our way to pound town.

Unfortunately, things did not happen as easily and quickly as I would’ve liked. As an overweight guy with an average-sized dick, it was difficult getting it into his hole and staying hard simultaneously. When I did manage to enter him, and he seemed pleased by the results that followed, my knees declared emancipation from the position I was in and gave out underneath me, thus causing me to pull out.

A sweaty hot mess, I waved the white flag in the war we call love – or love making – and I told him I’d give him a blowjob to get him off, but that I was calling it quits. He finished on my newly acquired beard, which was hot, and he immediately dressed and left.

I used the hot imagery of him cumming on my beard as the means to get off, but it wasn’t as satisfactory as I would’ve liked blowing inside him (protected, of course). Then, I passed out and slept for 4 hours before waking up thanks to my very confused mental state.

Although things didn’t go according to plan, I felt like a human for the first time in a long while. Will I do it again? Only with someone I know who will satisfy me sexually. But at least I can say I got laid, even if it was the worst lay in the world.

Beardly Beloved

Pretty much

Pretty much

My entire existence should not be called into question over facial hair. I shouldn’t feel ashamed or feel like I’m turning my back on an ideal I held so firmly for so many years.

Growing up, I never liked facial hair. I hated the way it felt on my skin, the way I looked like a baby with a beard, and I preferred not being with men who had facial hair. I shaved every day to retain the smooth, youthful appearance. After all, it was my bread-and-butter when it came to dating.

Now, at 28, I’m growing a beard. A well-manicured beard, but a beard nonetheless. Again, I am confining myself with limits: no goatees because I never found goatees attractive on any male; no weird decorative beards; Duck Dynasty facial hair makes me gag; just short yet shaggy. I’m also finding myself very attracted to men with beards.

Right away, I see a difference in the way people approach me. I’m not immediately seen as a child or a ditz. Instead, people hold their judgment and talk to me with respect. But I often wonder if that’s true or if I’m just full of shit. People keep telling me how great the beard looks on me, how much they like it, and that I look much older. Am I projecting my own feelings onto others because I’m finally receiving some acceptance in the world?

I used to hold on to this feminine sense of self, and it took me a long time to accept that it was okay to be feminine. However, there were moments – and there still are moments – where I’m ashamed for being so feminine or where I’ve shamed others for being so feminine. Those moments, now, are few and far between. In fact, I often berate others for being misogynistic who say hateful things to fems.

But I used to be the one berated for being so femmy. I was judged by people for looking youthful, even asked if I was old enough to be working at previous places of employment. People talked to me about being “so young” as though I never lived a day in my life. Now, these episodes seem to be a thing of the past.

Currently, I’m at odds with the new facial hair and the false sense of self I held so tightly to in my femininity. After all, the most masculine of men wear beards. How can I be masculine while remaining feminine?

Then, I remember the music video to “Not This Time” by The 2 Bears, and there are quite a few bearded queens or queens seen in all their beautiful natural masculinity done in makeup and dressed with gowns. Combined with a beat reminiscent to disco ballads of yore, these fierce individuals do not worry about showing armpit hair, shaving chest hair, or completely covering their five o’clock shadow with foundation.

Masculinity and femininity are social constructs created to label and keep ideas separate. Women and men are two different creatures needed to come together to create children and replicate the Earth. However, women were seen as lesser, slaves to men used only to birth babies and take care of them. What was necessary in the beginning no longer needs to be in place. Thanks to technology, we don’t even need men or women, just skin cells to reproduce eggs and sperm to create test-tube children.

These social constructs can be deconstructed in order to allow us to be free. Why can I not be a male with a beard who wears eyeshadow and shiny red lipstick? So what if I want to wear a dress and prance around in high heels while showing off my hairy chesticles? Who cares that my high-pitched voice does not match my hairy, masculine exterior? It doesn’t reduce my amount of femininity or masculinity being both. Further, there shouldn’t be such a thing as an “amount”, specifically an “acceptable” amount, in order to be accepted or embraced.

I am an individual, a human being, with thoughts and feelings, and I matter. I also change and shift, and I will not always be the same. Nor will anyone else. So, why should it matter? It’s just a bit of hair.