I should probably be thankful the only thing I contracted last week was ‘frat flu.’ Frat flu. It sounds less like a campus ailment and more like something you'd catch on a certain adult film set, especially at a liberal arts college devoid of Greek life. This silly spring break sickness swept through school, but my disease-ridden body isn’t the focus today. As I lay there, clutching a lukewarm ginger ale, I realized the true malady wasn’t the sniffles, but shame. That five-letter word that clings like a bad spray tan, the kind my friends brought back from their 30-degree beach trips. Because, you see, my spring break, the one I’d envisioned filled with stolen kisses and sun-kissed skin, turned out to be less ‘Sex and the City’ and more ‘should I kill myself?’
![FX107B_10.jpg]( "FX107B_10.jpg")
My last sexual encounter was… insightful. But I didn’t want insightful; I wanted orgasmic. I craved a hot, thrilling night with a parade of men, each a potential fleeting encounter. And the absence of that, my dears, was more devastating than any virus. Because, as I’ve learned, the most potent disease isn’t physical; it’s the one that erodes your confidence. A spring break devoid of even a hint of romance? That’s enough to make even a seasoned college-gay question everything.
My peers returned with tales of romantic escapades, leaving me with nothing. This semester has been a battle against lingering shame. I started this sex blog to articulate feelings my straight peers couldn’t comprehend. And let’s be real, sometimes friends just want to monologue. Venting to sexy strangers online felt far more cathartic. It’s certainly not the strangest thing I’ve done with sexy strangers (thank you, Flingster!), so why not?
![1743107846665.png]( "1743107846665.png")
And just like that, a wave of nostalgia washed over me, a flashback to freshman year, a time of newfound freedom and… exploration. Liberated from parental oversight, I embraced a new college town, though moving away proved harder than expected. I was surrounded by people yet utterly isolated. Being the ‘diversity statistic’ at a PWI didn’t translate to deep connections. Still, I was a young, horny bottom on a mission. But was it freedom I chased? Or something else? A desperate attempt to fill a void, not a hole. A silent scream against the loneliness that gnawed at me between hookups. A realization, sharp as a perfectly brewed Dunkin’ iced coffee, that the most crowded room can be the loneliest. Now, facing my penultimate spring break with those old habits, I wondered: was I combating sadness with shameful sex? Or just continuing a search for… the one? Can shame truly be fought with more shame?
I skipped Monday’s class, extending my break, a regrettable decision. The backlog of schoolwork was crushing. This week has been a masterclass in regrettable decisions. So, I decided to confront the power of the Shame Wizard, not with better decision-making, but with the only true power I have at the moment. Just like that, my weekend turned into a bender, with me and some new friends hiking to the middle of the woods, having a cute bonfire, and sipping on jungle juice. As I mentioned, my weekend became a bender: a bonfire in the woods with new friends, jungle juice flowing. That’s how I met a new friend. I called him ‘Van.’ Liquid courage silenced the Shame Wizard, and we talked all night. A Waffle House run ensued. He was kind, and had we met three years ago, he’d have been another straight guy crush. Now, I wondered: Can genuine platonic intimacy exist without desire? Was I finally mature enough to bid farewell to unrequited crushes? He was kind, charming, and simply… present. A rare moment of pure friendship. And while a part of me, the part that still remembers the sting of unrequited crushes, wondered what could have been, another part, a wiser, perhaps more weary part, simply savored the moment.
![1743108267818.png]( "1743108267818.png")
I tried to be on my best behavior, but the intimacy felt deeply platonic anyway. He offered to pay, a gesture that felt… dangerous. For a fag like me, it could have led to a Waffle House bathroom scenario involving maple syrup and… other things. Instead, I’ll raise a glass to new straight male friends. This unexpected connection was the week’s highlight.
And as for next week? I’m hoping my trip home has less… Waffle House bathroom energy. This has been… Everyone’s Obsession.
My last sexual encounter was… insightful. But I didn’t want insightful; I wanted orgasmic. I craved a hot, thrilling night with a parade of men, each a potential fleeting encounter. And the absence of that, my dears, was more devastating than any virus. Because, as I’ve learned, the most potent disease isn’t physical; it’s the one that erodes your confidence. A spring break devoid of even a hint of romance? That’s enough to make even a seasoned college-gay question everything.
My peers returned with tales of romantic escapades, leaving me with nothing. This semester has been a battle against lingering shame. I started this sex blog to articulate feelings my straight peers couldn’t comprehend. And let’s be real, sometimes friends just want to monologue. Venting to sexy strangers online felt far more cathartic. It’s certainly not the strangest thing I’ve done with sexy strangers (thank you, Flingster!), so why not?
And just like that, a wave of nostalgia washed over me, a flashback to freshman year, a time of newfound freedom and… exploration. Liberated from parental oversight, I embraced a new college town, though moving away proved harder than expected. I was surrounded by people yet utterly isolated. Being the ‘diversity statistic’ at a PWI didn’t translate to deep connections. Still, I was a young, horny bottom on a mission. But was it freedom I chased? Or something else? A desperate attempt to fill a void, not a hole. A silent scream against the loneliness that gnawed at me between hookups. A realization, sharp as a perfectly brewed Dunkin’ iced coffee, that the most crowded room can be the loneliest. Now, facing my penultimate spring break with those old habits, I wondered: was I combating sadness with shameful sex? Or just continuing a search for… the one? Can shame truly be fought with more shame?
I skipped Monday’s class, extending my break, a regrettable decision. The backlog of schoolwork was crushing. This week has been a masterclass in regrettable decisions. So, I decided to confront the power of the Shame Wizard, not with better decision-making, but with the only true power I have at the moment. Just like that, my weekend turned into a bender, with me and some new friends hiking to the middle of the woods, having a cute bonfire, and sipping on jungle juice. As I mentioned, my weekend became a bender: a bonfire in the woods with new friends, jungle juice flowing. That’s how I met a new friend. I called him ‘Van.’ Liquid courage silenced the Shame Wizard, and we talked all night. A Waffle House run ensued. He was kind, and had we met three years ago, he’d have been another straight guy crush. Now, I wondered: Can genuine platonic intimacy exist without desire? Was I finally mature enough to bid farewell to unrequited crushes? He was kind, charming, and simply… present. A rare moment of pure friendship. And while a part of me, the part that still remembers the sting of unrequited crushes, wondered what could have been, another part, a wiser, perhaps more weary part, simply savored the moment.
I tried to be on my best behavior, but the intimacy felt deeply platonic anyway. He offered to pay, a gesture that felt… dangerous. For a fag like me, it could have led to a Waffle House bathroom scenario involving maple syrup and… other things. Instead, I’ll raise a glass to new straight male friends. This unexpected connection was the week’s highlight.
And as for next week? I’m hoping my trip home has less… Waffle House bathroom energy. This has been… Everyone’s Obsession.
