Why we search. Why we need to.

Everything in this world is in motion.

There is beauty and motion in everything.
Open your eyes.

From the molecular level to the very galaxy we live in, everything is moving at its own relative speed.  As things of matter, the very building blocks that compose our corporeal forms are humming at their respective vibrational frequencies.  The various elemental components that form our biological chemistry dance their delicate harmonic signatures which distinguish them from one another.  On a cellular level, our cells move and pulse the organic dance of life.  DNA sashays between ribosomes and mitochondria neighbors.  Flagella pulse against plasma currents and nutrient streams.  Lungs respire as the heart beats within its protective bony cage.

Everything in the human body can be disgusting when seen up close...
but even more beautiful when seen much closer.

As individual we move through the world in multiple dimensions.

As persons, we adapt and change our personalties and roles based on expectations imposed on us by economic and societal needs.  We become caring or confrontational, assertive or submissive depending on what we hope to accomplish given a specific point in time.

So many roles.  So many labels.  So many "me" to be.

As societies, we bob with the ebb and flow of hype and social acceptability.   We embrace labels or dodge them, embody virtues or dissolve them depending on the needs of the one.  Or the many.  We are cogs in a machine.  We are machines in a system.  We are systems in a cycle.

Sometimes we are further than we started or closer to the end that we realize.

We journey through time, space and Zeno's paradox, travelling through them in the smallest of microseconds, the tinies of yocto meters, tearing through an infinite number of halves with each and every moment of existence.  And even if we were to somehow negate time and the most minute amount of motion our bodies were to make, we would still be moving as the very continents we are standing upon are moving their almost undetectable lumbering pace.  Entire masses of earth and civilizations tip-toeing between the massive oceans on a planet we call Earth.  

The very planet itself would still be moving.  In a single 24-hour span, our planet makes a complete rotation at the speed close to 1600 km/hr.  We are spinning so fast we never even feel the movement happen.   And even if the phenomenon of continental drift was not real, our planet itself happened to cease spinning, it would still be moving at an astounding pace of almost 108,000 kilometers an hour as it zips by to chase the sun.   On our local standard of rest, among the neighborhood of the other stars near us, we would be moving at about 70,000 kilometers per hour in  the direction of the star Vega in the Lyra constellation.

The entire solar system we are part of is zooming through the Milky Way at an even faster speed.  The sun races across the galaxy at over 792,000 kilometers per hour, and in the planet Earth have no choice but to follow behind it.

We are all travelers.  The question is, how do you make the journey worth the trip?

And even with all that, we are still moving even faster.   The very Milky Way itself is travelling with all of us and its over 400 billion other stars that may have their own habited planets.  We are all zooming through the cosmic background radiation at an astounding 2.1 million kilometers per hour, tremendously fast but nothing compared to the very speed of light which zips by at approximately 1,079 million kilometers per hour.

Everything is in motion.  Everything is constantly moving.  Everything is having its own journey through time and space, constantly tearing away at the Zeno's paradox without care.   And with all this constant flux, somewhere deep inside of each and every one of us is a desire to find some form of stability.  Within every single person is the need to take hold of an anchor that would offer us a semblance of immutability.  That would gift us with a sense of groundedness.  A sense of place.  A reassurance that amidst everything else, there remains one single place of absolute constancy.  We seek to find something which all scientific, biological and social laws are powerless to change.

We seek to have love in our lives.
We seek to have that bond with another person that is pure and honest and true, without any hints of deception or self-doubt.  Without any veiled intentions or compounded subterfuge.

Some look too hard.  Others give up too soon.
Which one are you?

And that is why we enter relationships.  We test them.  We try them.  We fail most.  We get hurt.  We give up.  We start over.

But we always search for that perfect love that we know is real.
That we know must exist.
That we believe exists.

For only a true, honest and equal love can give that permanence.

-----

I love you, Rocky.
I am terribly lucky to have found you.

I'm just happy to know we already have found it.
Here's hoping you find it too.

In the Dark

His hands were fumbling against my belt.

We first met during the night of a full moon.  I was bored and online, surfing through profiles upon profiles of men who seemed to have fit my list of preferred qualifications, when his private message reached my inbox.  I stared at the tiny black number one that was bordered by a yellow burst of color and for a moment wondered if it was really meant for me.  Not being out back then, I did not sport a picture of myself in my profile.  Everyone knows people who did not sport a profile picture rarely received any messages in a social network.  More so in a gay one.

I reached down and offered to unbuckle it myself.  He grunted and instead spun me to face the other way.  With his arms wrapped around me from behind, he slipped the belt free.  I could feel him hard and ready against me from behind.  His jeans did little to conceal that fact.

As rare as it was to get a message, the one he sent was far from conventional.   Most opened crudely with inquiries on one's preferred sexual role: Are you top?  Do you bottom?   His message, while far from the eloquence of Shakespeare, did stand out:

Was wondering if you were bored as I was tonight.  

Hitting a bar and was hoping to drag someone along with me to drink with.  

No promises.  Just company.  

It sounded smug.  Arrogant even.  And clearly, while written to not sound like a sexual invite, clearly implied that the idea was considered but left "on hold" pending actually meeting.   I glanced at the time and realized it was nearly midnight.  It took me barely a second to realize I too was bored.

My last meet up was a disaster.  The guy, while not unattractive, was far from what I had expected to see.  Photoshop seems to be liberally used on profile pictures as of the late, and his showed a greater mastery in the art of smoothening and blending.  His name never lingered in my head.  What did were the craters that marked his face by the unforgiving powers of acne.  But it wasn't his blatant act of deception of his looks or his apparent marked countenance that earned him the label of being an absolute bad night, it was his desperation to convince me to sleep with him.

Barely fifteen minutes into the conversation, Mr. Pimple asked nonchalantly, "So, you are a top, right?"  I was driving and tried not to scowl.  I failed miserably.  "Was that the only reason you wanted to meet up?"  I don't think he heard my reply.  Because what followed was an unabashed admission of how he liked it rough and dirty.

He ran his hands across my body, with his fingers coming to rest against my chest.  I did not have much of a body, I must admit.  Going to the gym was just a recently gained interest of mine.  His body suggested a much longer affair with free weights.    I was about to say something -- perhaps suggest we move to the bedroom -- but he quickly clamped one hand over my mouth and slowly shook his head.  I felt his rough chin brush against my nape as he did so.

I wanted to turn around and face him.  I wanted to kiss his lips and taste his tongue.  I wanted to see his eyes.  But his hand on my face held fast and firm, keeping me from moving.  His other hand pried free the buttons of my jeans and allowed the denim to hit the floor.  My body felt trapped underneath the rest of my clothes.  I strained to move, but his embrace had a power over me.  A control.  And while I knew I had the strength to push him aside, deep down I felt I did not want to.

"If you didn't want to fuck, why did you message back?"  I stared at Mr. Pimple and tried not to sneer at him.  He reached for my pants for the fourth time and I pushed his hands back like I had earlier.  I told him that wasn't what I wanted.  Was it too strange to want to actually spend the first night getting to know one another?  Was a conversation so alien a concept?  "You know, you can just fuck me quick and I'll head home.  At least my night won't be an utter waste."

I shoved him out of my car and left him cursing on the street.

A disaster.

But this time, the message sounded more like what I had been hoping to find.  I ran his words through my head again.  As bored as I.  Drink with.  No promises.  Company.  I quickly typed a reply and stated yes a drink would be nice.  My fingers moved faster than my brain and added how not having sex was fine too, but definitely not off the menu for future meet ups.  Thankfully, my eyes caught up and alerted me from clicking send in the nick of time.  I deleted the last two lines and kept it simple.  There was no need to sound like I was looking too far ahead.  No need to sound too anxious.

"Yes, a drink would be nice.  Where and what time?  I've got a car."

I stared at the full moon as I waited for the light to turn red.  I had a simple pair of jeans on and a plain white tee.  I wasn't much into clothes.  Didn't care for the labels.  He looked like he did.  Or at least his profile picture suggested that much.  Few people who cared little for clothing brands would ever have their picture professionally taken.  His clearly was.

He was standing at the corner where he said he would be, illuminated by the windows of a nearby convenience store.  His hair was longer.  Messier.  His clothes much simpler than his picture offered.  He was tall, just above six feet, and that made him taller than me.  A soul patch on his chin.  A cigarette lit against the night's cold.  I stopped the car and opened the door.  We exchanged hellos.  He waited to be invited in.

We drove to a nearby cafe and ordered something to drink.  We traded stories.   Hobbies.  Anecdotes on what we were interested in.  He shared his recent attempts to find new friends.  I shared my disaster stories.  We were both veterans in the search for friends in a sea that sold only sex.    We talked for hours and yet I barely felt the passage of time.   It was an exhilarating feeling though, to talk and feel like you could say anything freely.   And he gave me that.

I felt him pulling against his own pants.  His hand fumbled once more against the buttons.  I reached back to help.  He pulled my hands away.  I obeyed.  He kicked his pants off and I heard land a few feet away.  His hands grabbed my shirt and pulled it upwards, forcing my hands to rise up with the cloth.  Blind for that moment, I felt him clamp his hands over my chest.  Rough fingers hunted for my nipples.  He squeezed.  I shuddered.  I pulled the shirt over my head slid it completely free.  He squeezed again.   I wasn't sure when he slid his own shirt off, but when he pulled me close I felt his hairy body press against mine.  He was warm.  Comforting.  A heat against the cold of the metal chain around my neck.  In the feeble light, the crucifix reflected nothing but shadows.  

And then he pushed me against the wall.

We met a few more times.  We talked often.  Instant messengers were close allies.  Text messaging more so. Barely a week in, our conversations began to touch on things that were far more personal.  Dreams.  And the roots behind them.  Fears.  And the incidents that left their scars.  He learned of my last relationship.  Of the four long years of lies that I was never blind to.  I simply told myself it was better than being alone.

And he told me of his son.

We went out often, drinking and dancing at times, depending on the mood.  We never kissed.  We never flirted.  But oh, how we danced.  We moved with the music like the world ceased to spin.  We moved and we danced like it was a language we alone could speak.  We danced.  And we never danced with anyone else.

I felt him press against me again.  I felt his breath against my neck.  I wanted to speak.  I wanted to ask where this was leading to.  Was this the turning point?  Was this the time we finally admitted the presence of a growing desire that had been well nurtured those last few months?  Were we finally at that moment when we realized how much we had in common?  How little we had to fear of one another?  Was this the moment when the seed of friendship bloomed into something far more tangible?  Far more real?


I turned around and this time he relented.  He looked at my body, a stark white against the darkness, and slowly began to smile.  I was breathing heavily, uncertain if it was the time for words.  He was dotted with sweat and slid his thumbs behind the band of his boxers.

The rest of the world understood.  Our favorite haunts would open their doors for us when we arrived, together or on our own.  His favorite haunt was this place in Quezon City.  The second floor was exclusively meant for guests of the owner.  And Him.  But each time I showed up ahead of him, I would be allowed upstairs without a second thought.  It felt special.  It felt nice.

Waiters knew what our drinks were.  And the deejays played our songs.

Was I falling for him?  I wasn't sure then.  I was, however, happier than I had ever been.  I felt a connection and felt that was enough.   I felt my company was appreciated and enjoyed and thought nothing more of it.  He never flirted around.  I never felt I needed to.  We were just happy.  We were just together.

It was nearing the end of a friend's birthday party when I decided to ask if he wanted to come over.  I had never asked before.  He said yes.   We reached my house after half a bottle of tequila and a few more shots of Jagermeister.  He asked to use the bathroom.  I locked up and lead him to the closest one.  The lights were out and the windows were open.  The dawn was still an hour away.

We fumbled in the dark.  He stubbed his toe against an unseen chair.  I steadied him from falling.  He clutched his hands around my waist.  His hand found my belt.   He fumbled.

That was a few seconds ago.  

Now, we stared at each other's face.  We breathed in unison, feeling a growing passion that was fanning into a flame.  I think this is how it begins.  How passion grows into something far greater than one night stands. I think this is how one falls in love.

He reaches for his boxers.  I grin, excited to make love to the man who has grown to know me.  I am happy to know he knows me as well.

This was no one night stand.

"No promises."

And that quickly, it was cold again.

-----
In the Dark
a quickie fiction by tobie

Geekwood: Megalith

Few would probably recognize today's choice for Geekwood.  Many years back, while I may have been a huge fan of both Marvel and DC Comics, there was a less known comic line which captured my interest.  The line was interesting in the sense that its comics seemed to have little fear about showing much more gruesome scenes of injury and battle but at the same time show an incredible sense of  empathy towards emotion and sexuality.  It was a comic where both the men and the women were deliciously illustrated, and given characters and personalities which seemed cookie-cutter at first, but revealed greater depth as the issues progressed.

He's got muscles on his muscles!

The comic group was known as Continuity Comics, and the brand had a comic which told the story of a young man who was trained by an organization to compete in the olympics, only to become an unwilling athlete-for-hire.  After a failed attempt to try and rescue his parents who were held hostage by the group, the man whose name was Joe Majurac, became Megalith the Ultimate Man who continues to search for them while learning to embrace his new life as someone who isn't quite ordinary anymore.

Damn the artists knew how to make him hawt!

Created by Neal Adams and illustrated by Mark Texiera and Rudy Nebras, Megalith was a comic character whom I greatly admired for his immense strength, well defined (although somewhat exaggerated) physique, mental focus and emotional sensitivity.  While the likes of Superman and Majestic can get away with being detached from humanity to some degree, Megalith was pretty much like a young boy with a very impressive man's body.

And of all the muscles that the light touches, guess which one caught my eye the most?

Comic Attack.net covers his back story far better than I could ever hope to do so, which is why I hope you will all pardon me for simply directing you to this site to read up more on his past.  While the comic felt extremely dated (it was based during a time with the Russians were still... how do we put this... suspect.  And Reagan was still in power) I felt the comic told the story of Joe Majurac with a nice balance between action and emotion.  In some occasions, his lack of true experience in being a superhero was highlit in the narrative, with him struggling to comprehend why there were people attacking him.  He had a temper, and it was one which was sorely tested whenever his parents were threatened in any way.

A mama's boy at heart.  Awww...

But more than just muscles, he too had an interesting approach to being The Ultimate Man.  In one issue, Megalith was grievously injured and his unconscious body became the very stage for the story to unfold.  Inside his form, a naked projection of himself was suddenly the focus of the story as Majurac mentally conditioned himself to repair the damage his body was suffering from by creating numerous naked duplicates of himself to force the wounds closed.

The comic, however, was short lived and failed to gain enough momentum to last as long as the bigger titles that were out there in the market.  Still, Joe Majurac deserves some attention and I will congratulate in advance all of you readers out there who chance upon copies of his comic book that might still be out there: undiscovered treasures of delectable man meat in bargain bins that most would overlook. 

Sorry Joe, but Marvel and DC beat you bad.

Megalith, you remain an Ultimate Man in my eyes.
Here's to visualizing your many naked bodies helping me close my wounds each time I get hurt from now on.

A growing boy indeed.

The Battle for Bisexuality

I hate the fact that many don't understand the real meaning of being bisexual.  Or at least many here in the Philippines intentionally misuse the term for their own purposes.  For those who don't know what I mean, allow me this chance to explain.  Bisexuality is more than just a gay guy who happens to have dated a woman in the past.  Bisexuality is also more than just a gay guy who happens to act masculine.  Bisexuality is definitely more than just a guy who is confused or in denial and is too afraid to embrace the term gay.

But sadly, and I speak about the gay circles in the Philippines, those misconceptions are more often than not believed to be truths.  I have met people who insist that they are bisexual because many years back they actually dated a woman at one point in time.  There have been encounters with groups that call themselves bisexual groups, a definition that they mis-appropriately believe applies to them simply because they avoid all the visible cosmetic, stylistic and audible cues that categorize a person as homosexual.  And sad but true, there have been those whom I have met who are quite frankly gayer than a rainbow unicorn in heels who insist with a straight face that they are bisexual and don't understand why people assume they are gay.

And born from the corruption of the term is the blanket injustice of many claiming bisexuality does not exist.  The term bisexual has been wrongly equated by many to be the clearest sign of a person being homophobic of oneself and afraid of simply embracing the g word.

I am more than just infidelity, damn it.

Even worse, in the Philippines, the closest local term to refer to a bisexual is silahis, which actually translates to "a married guy who sleeps with men."  So rather than just in denial, bisexual is horribly defined as "a specific form of infidelity."   Ugh.

But no matter how many choose to exploit the term bisexual, its true meaning deserves to be understood, accepted and embraced.

I am a bisexual.
And I remain proud to be one.
I have always been one.  And I will always be one.
I am not in a phase.  I am not in denial.
And I am damned sure I am not the only one.

Our three official symbols.

Why do I say I am one?  It isn't because of the fact I don't like wearing cosmetics or women's clothing.  It has nothing to do with the fact that I have no illusions of seeing myself as a woman trapped in a man's body.  It is not because most people would have trouble accepting the fact that I am not straight, even if my manner of moving, the intonations of my speech, or my choice of clothing would support the idea that I am a guy, and a geeky guy at that. It does somewhat stem from the fact I have had girlfriends in the past (including one I already had dreams of getting engaged with at one point in time) but that's just part of the reason.  And it definitely is not because I am afraid of being identified or called gay.  I have come out to my parents and to the world.  I am proud and out in my many blogs, on my facebook account, and in each day of my life.  In fact, I embrace the term "gay" since the term does officially encapsulate anything that is not straight.

What makes me clearly identify myself as bisexual is knowledge that in all the times that I have fallen in love with someone, and by love I mean felt an emotional connection with another person that includes sexual attraction, intellectual stimulation and an emotional bond, it never mattered to me if that person was a man or a woman.  The other person's gender was never a factor.

"Impossible!"  some would declare, "To fall in love with another, regardless if that person had a dick or a pussy?  How is that possible even?"

But that's just how it really is for me.  In my life, I've learned that my reciprocity of another person's passions was lot hindered by a person's sex.  I have found myself completely engaged in women just as much as in men, with only the individual's personality being a key factor if I were to try to decide who do I like more.

I have heard of what most naysayers proclaim:  Surely, there is one I lean more towards.  Surely, if I perfer men more, I should be gay and not bisexual.  Or gay but in denial.    But what does it mean if I prefer women more?  Am I straight but pretending?

Ultimately, however, with my own experiences as evidence, I have come to understand my bisexuality as being able to love another person regardless of the person's sex.   And if given a choice between a man and a woman, my answer would be:  Well I'd choose whoever between the two I did love more.

"But what if you loved them equally?  Absolutely equally in all accounts?  Who would you choose?"

In all honesty, if such an unlikely scenario occurred, my answer would be, "Both."

A few weeks back, I got into an argument while chatting with one of my gay friends.  We were discussing about the strange need of people to define everything when out of the blue, my friend declared, "What I hate the most is the term bisexual.  It doesn't exist.  No one can ever really love a man or a woman.  Everyone who ever claimed to be bisexual is actually simply someone in denial about his being gay."

Had I never had my Jedi training, my friend would have felt me reach through the internet connection, wrap the projected tendrils of force around his neck, then pull him closer to smash his face against the screen. Not exist?  I don't exist!?!  I sarcastically reminded him that he was talking to a non-existent being, and rather than realize he had touched a nerve, the guy simply continued, "Not anymore right?  I mean, you are seeing a guy now.  So you've accepted you're gay."

Maybe you're all bisexuals in denial.

EXCUSE ME?  Get it in your head, boy.  Who I am dating does not define my gender.  Who I sleep with does not define my sexuality.  If that were true, then prisons are homosexual factories, considering how many men end up getting banged in the ass in there.  But clearly, the act is not the same as the identity of a person.  Not every gay guy who gets drunk and ends up messing around with a girl is bisexual.  They're just drunk and horny.  And likely a tad curious.  But bisexual?  Please.

If all it took was an act, then being gay is just an alternate form of rape.
Clearly, that's not the case.

After all these years of harping the need for the world to accept and recognize that homosexual men and women exist, I find it terribly sad that the same group would be so clearly willing to do the same thing that they have long marched and chanted and pushed against: Discrimination.  Being gay has been equated as a disease, as a phase, as a form of insanity... and for years there has been a push to understand it more as either  a choice, or either as a card that life hands you regardless of what you wanted.    Why can't the same thing be seen to apply to being bisexual?  Or even being heterosexual?

Equality for all.
That includes bisexuals, you know.

Has the need to find acceptance been confused with wanting to blanketly call the world gay and just in denial?
And do we bisexuals need to have our own stonewall incident happen before we too are no longer discriminated by our fellow non-straight friends?

I am bisexual.

And I am loyal to my partner.  Just because I find men and women attractive doesn't mean I am unable to keep myself aware of my own decisions.  Infidelity is not the defining trait of one's gender.  So why should bisexuality be confused as such.

Here's hoping within my lifetime a greater and more intelligence acceptance of bisexuality happens.
Like every one else, after all, we only want to be recognized and accepted as equals.

Geekwood: Ianto Jones

Fans of the Dr. Who spin-off series Torchwood would for certain remember him for his endearing good looks and charming personality.  While clearly John Barrowman's Captain Jack Harness would be the hot hunk for many gay men out there, my vote still goes to the man known to us as Ianto Jones.  Played by Gareth David-Lloyd, Ianto Jones was at first just the guy who makes tea for the members of Torchwood.  But as the episodes began to gain momentum, so did his role in the story.

He looked soooo young and innocent when he was first introduced.

Like myself, Ianto had heterosexual relationships in the past before he finally found the man who made him feel special.  While things may have started far more casual in the beginning, the feelings he had for Captain Jack slowly deepened into something far more important and genuine.

Flirtations with the boss.

Alas, it was in the Children of Earth story arc where Ianto's fate would finally be revealed.  In what seemed like a cosmic act of irony, Captain Jack's willingness in the past to sacrifice 12 children to the aliens known only as the 456 comes back to haunt him with the man who has won his heart paying the price.  Ianto Jones dies in Captain Jack's arms as the aliens release a fatal virus in the Thames House.

I just knew it... I just knew he was going to die.
The hands said it all!

Ianto showed a loyalty towards both his lover and his team in more ways than one.   While the fan following was strong enough for him to return in other spin-off installments of Torchwood (such as in a comic which explores Ianto living as an alternate reality, or in the Torchwood audio drama books which also have a greater exploration of the chemistry he shared with the group's immortal leader), his passing is a painfully beautiful reminder of how fleeting and precious each and every moment of time actually is. 

Didn't like the art much here.  They all look wrong.

In one of the audio books, Ianto watched over a comatose Captain Jack and considered his role in the life of a man whose timeline was greater than anything Ianto could ever hope to match.   He ends up speaking of his thoughts aloud, sharing his insecurities of being so insignificant in the life of someone who was literally immortal:

I wish I could meet you at a convention someday.
And yes, keep the fuzz.  It works!

"But let's be honest, Jack. I'm… nothing more than a blip in time for you, Jack. 

Every day, I grow a little older. But you're immortal. 

You've already lived a thousand lifetimes. 

How could you watch me grow old and die? 

How can I watch you live and never age a day?"

But Jack awakes from his coma and eventually promises him, 

"You will never be just a blip in time, Ianto Jones."

ADORABLE.  And the bears are cute too.

Now, I know many are probably out there wondering why would I feature such a dorky looking guy for this week's geekwood entry.  The guy doesn't look like a hunk.  He clearly fails to deliver a good set of abs.  Some would even consider his receding hairline a huge reduction on any hotness scale.  But for me, Ianto embodies a bisexual man who truly deserves to be recognized and remembered.  His loyalty and compassion were balanced well against his desire to remain logical and structured.  He was an example of strength and fortitude, yet had a sensitive and empathetic side which most men would be too afraid to show.  He is smart, attractive, and charming and dresses very well for someone who might have to square off against some alien monstrosity any time of the day.

Here he is all older, more rugged, and still damn fashionable.

And lastly, he knows "the lots of things one can do with a stopwatch."


You can't beat that, eh?





While there are many people who wish Ianto would come back, and others have even considered their own ways of how it can happen, I am one of those who feel his death should be left alone and respected for the impact is has made both in the show and to the viewers.   Too often, the death of pivotal characters is too easily retconned or rewritten for the sake of ratings or sales.  I would rather Ianto's story remains as it currently is, with any further exploration done instead through flashbacks or other similar devices.





But yes, it would be nice if Ianto Jones somehow still does appear in Torchwood's later incarnations (be it the BBC or the American spin-off).   I wouldn't mind it too much if he reemerges as some kind of Virtual Intelligence Butler in the computers, sort of like a ghost in the machine, that retains all of the original Ianto's memories but knows he isn't the same being... or even just as flashes of his time in Captain Jack's life whenever Jack turns a tad introspective over how things have changed so quickly.

Oh to have my own Virtual Ianto on my laptop!

For those who want to see more of Gareth David-Lloyd, be happy to know he had a recent Sherlock Holmes movie by the masters of rip-offs The Asylum where he plays the role of Dr. Watson.   

I actually find him hotter than Jude Law.

He also is the frontman of a progressive metal band named Blue Gillespie.  

I definitely know of people who'd love to see more skin.
For now, at least we get some armpit teasing!

So here's hoping the writers find a way to get our lovable man back on the show.  Ianto Jones, if only that "stopwatch" meant you were actually just hiding your secret Gallifreyan identity.  And yes, here's hoping that in real life, we are all never just blips of time in someone else's life.

Anything goes but don't blink you might miss

Last night was a blast!

Hot and Dangerous Bear on his Guard Shark.
These are definitely deadly waters, boys.

It seems my relationship with Rocky continues to be one that breaks new ground in so many ways.  After all those years, with the way our lives were moving as separate journeys in the past, one would have thought we would have seen everything there is to be seen.  Then a night like last night comes along and shows you how much more there is in our lives together to celebrate as a couple.


Last night, my partner and I along with our good musically-inclined friend hit O bar for another night of dance-able music, caffeinated beer, and campy fun!  Boy did last night deliver!  Rest assured tonight was a nice of quotable quotes, with my favorite one flowing in this manner:

"So, do you still think I made a mistake getting married so soon?"

"No, definitely not at all.  I'm now rethinking my lifestyle."

And in many ways, that quote captures how wonderful the night was.   While we both indulged in respectable levels of excess, our loyalties to one another never wavered, and once again the richness and strength of a strong and passionate relationship were again visible for all to see.   Visible enough for one to admit that a lifestyle of just one-night stands does not compare.

Not quite what I wanted to use,
but it is close enough I guess. 

I recall someone once attempting to "enlighten" me by telling me about how a relationship is nothing but a gilded cage.  There was another person who tried to question the strength of our commitment to one another, musing about us merely hanging on to each other with spider threads.  It can be sad how there really are people who are so against the idea of loyalty and relationships that they would have to spend much of their own time futilely attempting to erode a happy couple's life together.  But I guess one has to accept the fact that such people really exist.  To quote Fleetwood Mac, "Players only love you when they're playing."


(On a side note, as I type this, my Facebook account is having some weird quirk keeping me from accessing pages and even my own profile page.  While I'd like to think this was just some ISP related issue, the fact that my partner can freely surf on our wifi connection reinforces the fear that this may be another one of my "haters" activities.  I do hope I'm just being paranoid and this is some internal quirk on Facebook's side.)

Good show.  Just makes me wonder where its heart really is.

I wonder why the concept of a loyal stable relationship frightens so many people?  Part of me thinks it is in a great part the fault of shows like Queer as Folk which sensationalized and popularized the idea that a slutty, sex-focused life is the only viable life a queer can ever embrace.  The idea that relationships are pointless since love is nothing compared to the next throbbing boner that comes your way was epitomized by Gale Harold's character Brian Kinney.  It doesn't help that his motto embraces the idea that all straight people are out to hate us queers.   God knows I hate Brian and his shallowness.  He does have some level of depth, but his lack of willingness to embrace honesty just makes him less tragic and more pathetic in my eyes.  I wonder at times what Russel T. Davies had hoped to achieve by having Brian as the lead character in that show.   His Dr. Who episodes are sheer genius and represent the strength of human virtues in so many ways.   Was QAF merely his "release" of the baser things that define us?  Was there supposed to be a great "shift" in Brian's character that was due to come on the sixth season that never happened?  The American broadcast of the show had a disclaimer that read:

"Queer as Folk is a celebration of the lives and passions of a group of gay friends.

It is not meant to reflect all of gay society"

I can't help but wonder if so many people who despise relationships failed to read that particular disclaimer.  Part of me can't help but feel that as wonderfully real and touching the stories are in Queer as Folk, I would have hoped to have greater examples of the strength of committed gay relationships present in television.  Modern Family tries to do this, albeit in a funny way.  Four Weddings and a Funeral beautifully reflected a gay relationship without even having to declare the word, "gay."   I'm still having mixed feelings about Glee, since Curt seems to be too much of a show favorite at times, with his supposed demands for being accepted trampling over the rights of other people to have personal space.  Why I loved the way they portrayed how his father dealt with his coming out, I feel the show was a tad too biased when Curt's imposition of sharing a room with (the man he lusts for) his "brother" Finn lead to Finn demanding for personal space, but rather than showing how Curt was going too far, the show focused on Finn's outburst with the use of a "bad word."

The most non-stereotype gay couple on film ever.

Understandably, one can look at things in another perspective and ask, "Why should one define a successful relationship based on the Hollywood model of a happy straight relationship?  Why should the idea of one's life being a romantic comedy blockbuster be better than a sexually charged QAF episode?"   But the thing is, I'm not going for a Hollywood relationship.  I'm not looking for the happily ever after such movies claim to exist.  I'm not so immature to believe love literally conquers all.  


I do, however, believe that with everything is the act of making a choice.
And the choice to make a relationship work is a choice we all have the right to make.

Those who see a prison obviously mistake guarding something valuable as putting it in a cage.

Choosing to be in a relationship is not about choosing to be imprisoned.  Or choosing to live a boring life.  Oh no.  If anything, last night proves that a relationship that is strong and absolutely secure in its foundations can rock the night away with tongues waggling and eyes envious for more.


Last night was, simply put, Wow.
And let me tell you, no one is luckier than I was last night.
Why?





Because I am Rocky's.
And he is mine.

I found you.

Sex, Love, and No Regrets

I was at my favorite haunt to celebrate a friend's birthday party when a guy came up to me asked for a light.  Having pretty much stopped smoking save for the odd occasion when the need for nicotine hits me in an attempt to keep myself calm, I motioned to the nearby lighter that was on the table and gave him a friendly smile to say, "Go ahead."  The guy wasn't that bad, to be honest.  Much more fit than the usual monkey that hits on me, the guy ran a wide hand over his semi-skinhead and reached past me to get the lighter.  He lit the cigarette, took a deep puff, before holding the lighter out in front of me to take it back.  I cocked my head and gave him a blank stare as if wondering why he didn't just place it back on the table.

Sometimes I wonder if I should let the bouncers toss these people out.

I guess I should have known.

The DJ had yet to shift to the next song when the guy returned, planted himself beside me, and started to dance. I reached for my glass, refilled it with some beer, then added a dash of extra joss as usual.  I wasn't particularly in the mood to shoot down monkeys as usual and I had promised my partner that I would try to be nicer, so I stayed close to the table and gave the dancing guy enough room to dance his heart out.

Before I knew it, I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard:

"So why aren't you dancing?"

I turned to face the guy and raised my eyebrows.  I offered a smile and motioned towards my friends, explaining, "I'm having fun hanging with my friends."  Realizing he was probably trying to ask me to dance with him, I added, "I usually just dance with my partner.  It is just that he's at work right now."

The guy shrugged and reached for my glass to try and take it from my hand.  I looked at him incredulously, wrapped my free hand against his, and shook my head to say no.

Monkeys.  Maybe I should devote a blogspot to explain why
I call them monkeys?  Hmm...

"It is just a dance," the guy reasoned, and perhaps in a bid to get me interested, reached up to scratch his head again and flash a hint of his meaty bicep and the dark valley of armpit hair.  To his dismay, I just pulled my glass free, took a deep swag, and told him, "Thanks but I'm good."  It was an opening for him to just walk away.  It was an opportunity to save face rather than be shot down.   I guess I was hoping for too much.

"It is your fault you know.  That's what you get for being 'married.'"

I stared at him as he said these words.  There was a smart-ass expression on his face.  It was a futile attempt to make me "realize" how much I was missing.   What he failed to comprehend, however, is that I'm not the one who is missing out on anything.   My life with my partner is a life filled with reasons to be happy literally each and every single day.  As cliché as it sounds,  our being in a relationship has not reduced the happiness in our lives.  Nor has it made us feel like prisoners as some would try to make relationships be perceived as.

This incident reminded me of something my partner shared a few days back.  There was a series of status posts and updates from friends of his that were exulting their being single.  They sprouted out declarations of how being single was a choice equated to choosing to live happy, exciting and adventurous lives.  Now I'm all for embracing happiness as a choice of how one views one's life, and frankly I don't think happiness can only be achieved if one is in a relationship, but I don't however think that embracing a life of sleeping around with some new boy toy each night is more fulfilling that finding someone whom you accepts you as who you are and is someone you accept in such a way in return.  Having access to a variety of orgasmic joys might be sensually  intoxicating but people who think sexual excitement dies once one chooses to be loyal and exclusive to another person are clearly people who fail to know how to truly make love to another.

Yeah, you guys can go fill them bottles over and over again.
I'm no longer part of the stupid repetitive machine.

Fucking is more than just point A being inserted into point B.  Satisfying your partner is more than just having a scheduled fuck day, and it is even far worse if the days in between are spent fooling around with whatever new conquests hits the other's fancy.  The human body is filled with places to explore.  And even more secret places when you consider what happens when two people in love truly choose to explore each other's bodies together.

It is called making love for a reason.

Ending the Run.

As I stated about it in an earlier entry, our relationship didn't start with sex.  But as our relationship continues to grow stronger with the passage of each and every single day, so does the many ways we learn to satisfy each other in many different ways.

"That's what you get for getting married."

You betcha.
I'm absolutely sure that I can speak for both of us when I say we have no regrets being together.     Things aren't perfect, that's for sure.  But things keep getting better each and every single day.

I only wish someday, Mr. Monkey, you get a chance to experience what I do on a daily basis.
I'm sure someday you'll realize you'll grow tired of waking up in the next morning and showing him the door (assuming he even opted to stay the night, that is)  But until you grow up just a bit more, sadly, I don't see it happening any time soon.

So yeah, enjoy the dance.

Don't worry Jakey.  We're still reserving some space on our bed for you.

I'm fine here at the table.
You should see us dance when we're both at the bar.
Maybe then you'll see things a tad better.