Missing

During my morning shave, I stood there looking at the man in the mirror and I realized there was a part of him/me that I no longer could see. For five full minutes, I stood . . . shaving cream drying on my face, hand just holding the razor . . . face to face, I stared. The mirrored image was mine, each line, each wrinkle, etched by time I recognized, but something was amiss, something was different. A part of this man had vanished, a part of me, gone. No longer whole, I stood looking at an empty shell of the man that once was. I was afraid, I had hidden him for so long, shadowed him in secrecy, denied him for so long, that he had given up. His/mine/our hopes, our dreams swallowed up by the darkness of time. Standing there, staring into my own misty eyes, I wonder if our paths will ever cross again. . .

Comments

There are no words within the covers of the dictionary that could describe what it meant to me reading the comments each of you left on the "Crossroads" post. It only makes me realize that this journey is only made more wonderful by having friends, such as you. Hugs and Kisses: Michael, Dave, Steven, Derek, and Jon.

World Aids Day 2007

In 2007 33.2 million [30.6 – 36.1 million] people were estimated to be living with HIV.

BUT

With more than 6,800 new infections and over 5,700 deaths each day due to AIDS we must expand our efforts in order to significantly reduce the impact of AIDS worldwide.”

*data source: UNAIDS 2007 AIDS Epidemic Upd

Crossroads

When you find yourself wandering around in the valley of the shadow of death with no way out, it is hard finding the strength, it is hard trying to hold onto the faith that has been promised. When you find yourself surrounded by cliffs of jagged rocks and there is no rope, when there is no Bear Grylls vine to climb, how do you keep the faith? When you find yourself standing at the crossroads with no roadmap, with no GPS, how do you know which path to take?

Exhausted

The laughter, the smiles, the hugs were contagious, spreading like a virus, a good disease passing from one to another as each family member or friend arrived yesterday.

Where's my hug? Come here, I haven't seen you in so long.

Haven't seen me? We had lunch yesterday, we talked on the phone last night!

That was yesterday.

Outstretched arms reach and pull you in for yet another squeeze.

That's my family. Seldom a time can I recall not giving or receiving a hug as we see one another and always before leaving there is a hug or a handshake and the utter of those three little words . . . I love you. We don't think about it, it is something we do, it is something we have always done.

So why did I think about it or notice it more so, yesterday? My mind was racing as if a mule's condom bag had burst releasing a rush of its contents directly into my brain. I couldn't help it, I couldn't shut it down. The questions played over and over on my mind's movie screen.

If you knew? Would the hugs still be there? Would I ever hear those three little words . . . I love you? If you really knew?

If you knew? Would the hugs still be there? Would I ever hear those three little words . . .I love you? If you really knew?

Over and over . . . it played!

Today, I am exhausted.

Happy Thanksgiving 2007

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I could not let it go by without wishing you, my friends, a Happy Thanksgiving Day and letting you know how much I love and cherish each of you and how much I give thanks to you for always being there for me. Hugs and Kisses from Stephen

Wind Beneath My Wings

If only I had wings to fly. . .

It Was Hard

I heard the door open but this is a normal occurrence at work, people are constantly coming and going, so I didn't bother to look and see who had walked up behind me until a hand fell to rest on my shoulder. When I shrivelled around in the chair I came eyeball to crotch with a co-worker. A young guy I had never given a second glance but somehow he had transformed himself into a hot stud. He had the day off, had been working around the house and only stopped by to get something he needed from his locker. Tattered, ripped jeans barely kept his crotch full of man meat covered but the worn out fabric did nothing to hide his muscled thighs covered in thick black hair and here I was face level away. Hot Damn was the first thing that came to mind and I'm still thanking the Gods, I had the piece of mind not to have said it out loud. It was hard, so very hard, but I managed to control myself, at least the outer self, but inside . . . the inner self was melting with lust if the truth had to be told. Thank goodness it was a slow day, my concentration wasn't worth a damn for the rest of day.

I Need A Kiss

It's A Wonderful World

Back in 2005, I sat down in front of a blank computer screen and gave birth. Like a newborn baby it came into the world kicking and screaming. Struggling to stay inside, warm, safe and secure, it fought against the labor pains. Bring me my damn epidural now, I shouted. Wait! What was I thinking, was I crazy! Hell, if I had one of those, I wouldn't be able to feel my Dick! The computer screen stared back at me, like a doctor's face peering up from between outstretched legs, it waited. Push. . . push harder, damnit, I said, Push! I wait, I stare at the screen, another contraction comes, I PUSH, it starts to crown, I push harder, out pops some words, a sentence, a thought, it is out, I have given birth. Sucking in its first breath of air, my blog is born. I sit there staring at the words on the screen wondering what in the Hell was I going to do with it now? I hit publish . . . This is from an earlier post describing the day my blog was born, but truthfully it was the day I was born, at least the man I should have been. I had to push hard against the rusty hinges of this closet door, it wasn't an easy task, an easy decision. The doorstop that keeps it open has slipped a few times along the way almost trapping me back into the confines of this darkened closet but the door is still open and it is because of the friends I have met along this journey of self-discovery. It truly is a wonderful world we live in. Always remember, a comment, an email, being someones friend can turn an ordinary day into a special day. Thank-you for my special day. Hugs and Kisses, Stephen

A Blind Date and He Stood Me Up

Weeks and weeks of planning had went into this, all the preparations made, nothing left to chance, all the arrangements had been taken care of, I thought we had a date. I barely slept the night before thinking about our meeting, my stomach full of dancing butterflies, my eyes glued to the clock and its ticking seconds. I played out all the things that could happen, played out all the things I wanted to happen while I laid there waiting, wide awake. Closing my eyes, I tried to force myself to sleep, but I just couldn't wait any longer, I jumped up, I snatched on the clothes neatly laid out the night before and out the door I went. I knew I wanted to be there long before he arrived. I needed time to get my nerves settled down. I had to keep my excitement in check, I couldn't dare allow him to see what this meant to me. Our first meeting had to be perfect and I knew if I got there ahead of him, I had the advantage. I could watch his approach, I could judge if he was a keeper or not. He had to be at least an "8" before I would even consider it and then have some mass to go along with it. Call me a "Size Queen" if you want, but I wanted something I could wrap my fingers around, the bigger the better. It had been a long time for me and I needed a good one, I needed to feel alive again. I needed this to be my lucky day, but alias, it wasn't. I did everything I was suppose to do, I kept my end of the bargain, but he never showed up. I waited and waited. I looked and I watched. I prayed, but he never showed up. My blind date, stood me up!

How was your opening day of deer season?

I think perhaps this post needs a little explaining. My passion happens to be Deer hunting. My date, in mention, was with an 8 point buck, not a man. As much as I would have loved for it to have been about a possible encounter with a hunk of male flesh, I probably would have been the one not showing up, nothing interferes with my opening day of deer season.

Bowels of Hell

Sorry for the lack of posting but before I knew what had happened my demons escaped the chains of their confinement and like a thief in the night, they robbed me of any desire, any hope, any feeling. I was alive, there was life, the rise and fall of my chest as I gasped for air told me this, but there was nothing inside. A void, an empty cavity surrounded by the shell of the man, the man that once was. I looked, I searched, but as far has my eyes could see, there was nothing but blackness. I would be lying to you, I would be lying to myself, if I said I never thought about giving up. Many times I thought about taking the easy way out. Many times I thought about closing the door to forever remain in the darkness of this closet. Many times I thought about slowly slipping away, slowly disappearing back into the anonymity from whence I came. Would any one know I was gone? Would any one care? My demons taunted me with their whispers to hit the delete button. My finger rested on the key many times but I could not press, I just could not. Something, someone would not allow it. I stumbled, I bled from the jagged rocks, hand over hand, I clawed my way back from the Bowels of Hell. Beaten, battered, I emerge once again, I refuse to give up. . . I refuse to shut the door.

God

Are you there?

Are you listening?

Peering From Within

Like a nasty rumor too good to keep to ones self from mouth to ear it spread like a virus infecting each person it came into contact with.

Lock up your children,their coming to town. Their to camp on the outskirts of town, down by the river, they'll be. Keep your valuables close at hand,lock your doors, bar your windows, their coming to town. Down by the river, they'll be.

The virus spread.

My heart skipped a beat, maybe two when it came my time to be infected and I heard "they" were coming to town and "they" were to camp on the outskirts of town. Down by the river, I heard, they'll be. I wasn't afraid of losing a child, I wasn't afraid of being robbed in the dead of night, something far greater caused the hairs on my neck to stand up, and it was this something far greater that I was afraid of. The hands of the clock took their time ticking off the minutes, I waited. I wish I could say patiently I waited, but it was agonizingly painful, father waiting on his firstborn painful. But I waited, I had to know.

Black as a witches cauldron was the night, no moon, no stars, the darkest night I had ever seen as I made my way to the outskirts of town, down to the river, where they were supposed to be. Now too small an area, my heart pounded the walls of my chest in anticipation, scared to find out, scared not to find out. I had to know and this was my chance, perhaps, my only chance. I would have brought someone with me,if it had been possible but this was something I had to do alone. The only light of the camp flickered in the night keeping the arms of darkness at bay as shadows, blackened silhouettes, danced to the music. A stranger stepped from the darkness into the light of the camp, the music, the dance stopped, I stood there, I waited. Without a word, the oldest, not without pain, stood and walked toward me. The music, the dance began again as her gnarled twisted fingers took mine and led me away.

I have looked into the Gypsy woman's crystal ball and there was nothing. I thought there would have been more. I had prayed with all there was inside for more, but once the swirling smoke cleared there was nothing but a glass ball sitting on a table.

Acceptance can be such an evil word . . . she whispers.

Not fully open, not completely closed, always peering out into the world from within. A life, slightly ajar. A dream just out of reach.

Acceptance can be such an evil word. . .she whispers.

Dear Diary

Dear Diary,
With pen in hand, I stare at the blank page, the empty lines, but there is nothing but darkness. Hidden in the void the words are there, they hunger for release, for freedom, but they cannot find their way out. The promise of a new life, a chance to live, tempts them from the light shining from underneath the door. Hostages held, bound, tied, the words struggle to come together. They know in numbers there is strength, in numbers words become thoughts, in numbers words are stronger than the sticks glued together to form the door that holds them captive. In numbers words become sentences, the lines no longer blank. In numbers words becomes ideas . . . dear diary, can you keep a secret?

I Know From Where The Tears Flow

From the start, the very beginning, a mist surrounded the truth of who I was, of what I was. Hidden in the folds of shadows, I traveled down a road searching, thinking, and yes, perhaps fooling myself into believing happiness, my happiness, truth, my truth was only a bend in the road ahead. The clarity of my vision nothing but a lie, me, nothing but a fool. A conclusion, a realization that has taken me a lifetime in admitting is painful, I bleed, the blood I shed are the tears of clouded eyes. I have lived a lifetime surrounded by the fog, surrounded by the gray and I fear it will never lift . . . I fear too much water has flowed under the bridge . . . I fear I have waited too long . . . I fear I will never see the colors of my life as it should have been.

Don't Know Why

In the beginning, they said it would take time, things would get better, would get easier, life must go on, they said. Don't cry they would say, you're a man, a man must be strong, be tough, suck it up, they said. God knows, I tried, but this was a battle I knew I was not going to win. No matter how hard I tried, I could not prevent the water inside from welling up. Higher and higher it rose, the dams of my eyelids were not strong enough, not high enough to contain it within. My cheeks felt the wetness of my tears, as they flowed. I cried. I stood in a room full of people and it didn't matter. I cried and damn it, I was a man.

That was how I felt when a very good friend died, a few years back. After the tears dried up, the well, that was my soul was empty. For weeks, for months, a zombie without feeling, without emotion, I went about the daily grind of what was expected, what was needed, running on auto-pilot.

And now, for days, that feeling of overwhelming emptiness has haunted my ever waking moment and I don't know why. Don't cry, you're a man, a man must be tough, be strong, suck it up, I say. God knows, I am trying but it is a battle I'm afraid I have lost again. Angrily I wipe the wetness from my cheek, but this time I don't know why . . .

Wet or Dry

Being home alone, nothing to do, bored out of my mind, I clicked into a chat room, a few days ago. What, hard to believe? Well, Annelle, I admit it, yes I do pray . . . I mean go to chat rooms. After weeding through, slipping and dodging those only interested in wanting to know, location, age, and always my favorite, how BIG is it, I met a guy that had been to the Land of Oz and gotten a brain. This guy impressed me, he turned out to be quite a conversationalist, well maybe typist, but none the less and more importantly he had a brain. Apparently, like me, he just wanted to talk. OK . . . OK, the whole conversation didn't consist only about global warming, we did talk about other things, as well. One of the more interesting topics that might make you raise an eyebrow was about pre-cum. Yes, you read it right, pre-cum. If you're a man, I sure you know about it. Steven, yes we had the same name, only spelled differently, apparently leaked like a faucet and at times had gotten himself into some embarrassing situations. I guess, if you think about it, hiding a hard-on is, well hard enough, but trying to conceal a wet spot could be a problem. How do you do it? I mean not do it, do it! But how do you hide your wet spot when it happens, he asked? Well, I don't, I replied. It is something that isn't a problem. Some of us do (leak), some of us don't, and I happen to be one of the ones that don't. Perhaps mine is broken, I typed. He knew some men didn't produce what some call the Nectar of the Gods, but had never met or talked with a guy that didn't have pre-cum. Gee thanks, I said, I don't know whether to feel honored or inadequate? He laughed and the conversation continued . . . of course, back to global warning!

The Perfect Vacation

It has come to my attention, actually it is something that I have known for quite some time. I live a boring life. For weeks, I worked almost none stop, then I forced myself to take a few days vacation to only come back exhausted and ever since I've been back, nothing but work, work, and more work. I need some excitement, I need to escape, I need to find my paradise . . .

The sun rose in the eastern sky like it had done the day before and the day before that one, having completed its job for this morning, this day. As rays of light flickered on the walls like winged fairies dancing in the morning light, the night gave way. Having failed at another attempt, Death along with the darkness and all its shadows disappeared, slowly fading away as my eyes opened.

If this had been any other, both feet would have hit the floor before the sleep had cleared the eye, but not today. Alive, awake, but motionless as a corpse, I laid there. I had no appointments, no commitments, I had no reason to spring forth from the warmth of the bed that cradled my body. I was on vacation.

Outside, the mountain laurels rustled in the blowing breeze, the morning air still crisp, still clean. The mountain stream, its waters as cold as the ice cubes in a tall glass of sweet southern tea, flowed downstream. Over boulders, over branches of fallen trees the waters rushed, its power pounding the rocks smooth in its haste, its hurry to reach a destination not yet seen. As the Sirens of old beckoned Odysseus, the beauty outside calls to me, with all its charm, its allure, it tries to draw me away.


But it will fail. I'm already in paradise.

Mood: Exhausted

Why do we call it a vacation, when we get back home often times more give out, more tired, more exhausted than we were before we left. I need a vacation from the vacation.

Soothing Hands

What was I thinking when I made the offer to work, not only my shift but take on the responsibility of two other colleagues as well. I must have been out of my mind. Some days I had my doubts, I second guessed myself, I wondered if I had taken on a task greater than my strength, greater than my endurance. Had I bitten off more than I could chew? Day after day, nothing but work, endless days turned into weeks, but it is over. Dragging, limping, licking my wounds, I endured, I survived.

When I did have a few minutes to myself, I read the comments you left, the emails you sent. They were gentle hands soothing my tired body, they were a Gods send. Hopefully, soon I will be by to visit with each of you, and find the time to answer your emails. Hugs and Kisses . . .

What Day Is It?

I've been busier than a honey bee sucking nectar from a field of wild flowers and there is no end in sight. I'm running on auto-pilot, no time to think, to dream, to post. Someone please untie me . . . I need a day off!

Last Page, Last Line

Were you being polite or did you see the hidden secrets behind the veils of blue when our eyes met? Could this have been the reason for the brief, almost non existent upturn curve of your lips. A flash of warmth felt, a blush of red, had I given myself away? Why could I not stop these betraying eyes from looking? Why did you not look away? Now I felt like one of the opened books that laid before me, I was being read, I was being comprehended. Your eyes searching page by page, reading the secrets I kept hidden between the lines.

Dare I turn to the last page and read the last line or do I have the courage to let this story play out, chapter by chapter?

Did You Know

When the door opened, I did not look up, my eyes were transfixed on the book that laid before me, concentrating on the words of the text. I was spell bound, lost in their meaning, lost in my comprehension, unaware of your presence until I heard you speak. The words escaped your lips, in a whisper, barely audible, but none the less loud enough for me to hear them as you introduced yourself to the lady behind the counter. Your voice was the magic it took to break the spell that had been cast on me. No longer a prisoner to the text, my eyes lifted from the page, freed to search the room, freed to find the voice that had broken their chains. Did I stare too much, perhaps too long? Did you have that familiar feeling that someone was watching you, was this the cause, the reason our eyes met. Could you tell, did you know even then . . .

Finding My Way Out

The opening of my eyelids drove the darkness of the night away this morning as they opened to the sunlight shining through the windows of the bedroom. Arms folded over the chest, corpse like, I lay there motionless, allowing only the involuntary actions of my body to function. Blinking, clearing the eyes of sleep, clearing the mind of clouded dreams, I laid there. Aware of my morning hardness, aware of the deafening silence of an empty house, my senses became alive, but I remained a corpse in waiting, eyes staring out into space. Sitting on the nightstand, only a turn of the head away, a clock faithfully counted the seconds of the passing of the day, but I lost track of time. . . I laid there. The gears of a thinking mind, my mind were turning but no images were being projected, there was nothing but a blank screen. A maze of grey matter and I could not see the exit sign, body motionless, mind spinning, I wandered, I searched its corridors, finding only more dead ends. I laid there . . . catatonic . . . staring into space . . . Amelia Earhart lost.

Tumble Weed

All my life . . . I've been the mighty oak, grounded, able to withstand the gale force winds of the hurricane. Lifelines securely tied, I've been the anchor in the storm.

But . . . time is taking its toil. The winds batter my branches, even when there is calm. The teardrops overflowing the dam of my eyes wash away the earth that remains even when the clear sky keeps at bay the waters of the storm. Uprooted, ravaged by time, I topple over like the ancient pillars of Rome. I fall victim, to time. I can endure for you no longer. No longer for you can I survive. You must take breathe on your own. Our strength that once flowed through my veins is no more, I grow weaker, to continue will surely mean death for the both of us. Even now I wonder if it is too late? Have I strength enough to let go, enough faith, to allow myself to be blown across the barren landscape.

A tumble weed searching for its anchor . . .

It's Getting Too Crowded In Here

Too many irons in the fire, too many pots on the stove, too many hands kneading the dough. Hands reaching out, hands pulling me here, tugging me there, unable to go forward, unable to go backward, I stand and spin around and around. I can do just so much. I can be in just so many places at one time, and frankly, I do not want to do that, or that and I do not want to go there, be there. I don't suppose one of your many options being flung my way is to leave me the fuck alone, is it? You have problems? Well, I hate to inform you but so does she, he and it. And do you want to know what else, so do I. I would love to pull the magic wand out sprinkle you with fairy dust and make the rain clouds over your head disappear today, but I can't, I'm not God! If I was, do you think I would be living in this fucking closet? Can't you understand, I can not fix your problem, stop calling, the damn ringing of the phone is driving me insane. Don't you get the message by now? I'm not answering it! Today is my day off and I have a date with Stephen, Jr. That is, if you will stop interrupting me with the damn ringing of that phone.

Naked

I tear out, by the roots, a lifetime of teachings.

Acceptance without questioning why, will be no longer.

I stand here, as the day I was born, naked, bleeding from the wounds of a lifetime.

Seeking the truth, I present not to you, but to myself a blank canvas.

This time I will be the painter.

Screams of a Drowning Man

The waves wash over me, sucking me down into the depths of Neptune. I gasp, but my lungs finds, fills only with the waters that surround me.

Against the riptide, I struggle but it is too strong, from the safety of the sandy beach I am pulled, I am helpless against its strength, helpless against its power. I am nothing more than the sea weed floating beside me, like it, I've been set adrift by the storm.

I am drowning. . . drowning in a sea of men, with the frenzy of sharks, their masculinity surrounds me. They circle me! So many, yet so few, so close yet so far away.

Will the waves of the storm forever keep the reach of my life guard an arm's length away?

I Am Doomed

I am doomed I tell you, doomed. Do not pass go, do not collect $200, go directly to jail, doomed.


The day started off just like any other day, another sunny day, no rain in sight. Rain? I haven't seen the rain or felt its wetness upon my face for so long, I've almost forgotten what those wonderful drops from heaven are. What I wouldn't give to see the dark gray storm clouds rolling in the Southern sky, what I wouldn't give to see them burst open and spill upon this dry parched earth their tears. Sorry, forgive me. I forgot what I was doing.

Let's see, I remember now, no rain in sight, I was sitting on the deck soaking in the freshness of a new day, checking my emails. I scanned the few I had received and yes, there it was, another one from the special friend. I opened it first, the eyes read the words, his words. . . waiting on a response was the last words my eyes saw, the last words that entered and floated around inside my mind. The heart fluttered, the hands may have trembled a bit as the fingers typed back a response. Where and when? The wonders of the Internet, almost instantly the email alert came back.

Today. . . this afternoon . . .2 pm sound OK with you? I will be waiting for you. No problem, I replied, I will meet you there. After all, I thought to myself, nothing is going to happen, just a chance to finally meet this mystery man I had been talking to for some weeks now. A chance to meet, a chance to talk, and if nothing else, a chance to make a new friend.

We met, we talked, he suggested we go to a more secluded place, a more private place, a place he knew, a place I'm sure he had been before. I admit, I saw the red flag waving in the breeze but I was still intrigued, the logical reasoning of my sane mind, replaced with the lust filled expanding appendage being held captive within my well worn jeans. I know, go ahead. Call me a slut! Call me what you will! It doesn't matter, I am doomed anyway I tell you, doomed.

Things happened, things were done, the taste of his lips still linger, the touch of his roaming hands, I remember . . . but I must not think of these things, I must forget.

"Why did you not tell me this before?" I heard myself asking.

Oh, My God, what have I done? I am doomed, doomed to spend eternity, my soul lost to the bowels of Hell!

Wait . . . maybe all is not lost! Maybe, just maybe, could it be possible? Could this man be also my redeemer!

Bless me Father, for I have sinned!

All I Need

Words are not necessary, lying in your arms is all I need.

Listening to you breathe, feeling your breathe against my skin is all I need.

The warmth of your body replaces the chill I feel inside, all my troubles, my problems melt away.

The exploring of your hands over my body is wonderful, but you know me so well. Today . . . now . . . they just hold me. You know your presence is enough, it is all I need.

Today, you are not my lover, today you are my friend.

It is enough, it is all I need. . .

Is The Well Dry?

When did it creep inside me. . . could I not have felt it slowly worming its way in . . . how did I not know? It was clever, I give it that, laying dormant, patiently waiting for its time to pounce, all the while knowing it would gain more and more strength the longer it waited, gathering more strength the longer "I" waited. It bided its time, lying low, remaining in the shadows the way a sniper waits just for the right moment to pull the trigger. His finger resting on the trigger, concentrating, sure of his skill, sure of his target, he (it) gently squeezes the trigger, a shot rings out, its piercing sound echoing in the stillness of the air. A thump, an instant of pain felt, a wetness of red flows . . .I'm bleeding.

I wonder. . .

Has my time come and gone, is my well dry, barren of its life sustaining water. When did I allow, this thief of dreams . . . this thief of hope to creep inside and rob me of my tomorrows. I refuse to believe there is nothing, but the bucket comes back empty. I thirst. . .

Testing The Waters, Again

Could it be . . . is it possible? Do I dare believe this could be the one? God knows, the last time I thought about stepping out of the "closet" what a disaster that turned out to be. I'm not sure if I can trust myself to be objective enough to see between the (his) lines, and God knows, if anyone should be able to do that, it should be me. Maybe, I'm concentrating more on the pic he sent than the words I'm reading.

This is part of his latest email, read it, give me some feedback, please.

Like you, I've always been able to keep my feelings about guys in check. I've fantasized about a lot of things, but was prepared to never act on any of my desires. I knew as a young guy that I was interested in other guys, but knew I wanted a traditional family life (wife and kids). We've had a computer and Internet access for years but I've never really been tempted to go exploring until the last few months or so. Just admitting I had these feelings scared me. Guess I felt being almost 40 I owed it to myself to experience something with a guy beyond a drunken jo session in college. Anyway, I like your scenario with just being close to another guy. Sounds great to me, and not silly at all. I think that's what I'm looking for more than just sex. A guy who I can talk to about these feelings that can understand it all and not judge me. I also want to experience sexual closeness with a guy, but guess I'm more the type that likes to "make love" rather than just screw.

I Send You All My Love

Work has not been only a killer to my body, wrecked havoc with my soul, but it has captured and held hostage all my free time these last few days. It does not mean I have not thought about each of you, it does not mean I have not missed each of you, it does not mean my Prince Charming rode in on his white horse and carried me away to live happily ever after. It just means my tail is dragging the floor! Hugs and Kisses

Cold Feet

What am I doing? The last time I allowed myself to believe, allowed myself to trust, it was short of a disaster. I gave, I shared, I trusted and it almost caused my world, my life to crumble down around me.

The words I wrote then keep echoing in the cavernous recess of what I call a brain.

Never make the mistake of believing you are in control of your own life, your own destiny, if you share your secrets, your hopes, your dreams with anyone else. You know Stephen lives in a CLOSET, fuck that is obvious, just look at the title of the blog. There has only been one person in my life that knew Stephen perhaps better than Stephen knew himself and when he died a few years ago I never thought there would be anyone else I would openly share everything with. That was until several months ago and what began as a causal "Hello, nice to meet you." What turned into almost daily communications, an earning of my trust, my wanting a friend to talk with, share secrets, hopes, and dreams with, what began as an innocent email turned out to be a nightmare. I won't go into details here but it turned into a nightmare that almost made me never want to look at a computer ever again.

Dare I try this again? How much do I tell, share with this new man? Do I allow myself to trust again?

I Think It Is Time

I've been thinking. Hell, I've been thinking for a long time. Time for what, you ask? Well, I think it is time for me to open the door, crack the window,
explore the possibilities, while I still have possibilities to explore. To what extend you ask? Who knows?
Certainly not I, but I think I will test the waters once again. Condemn my soul to hell, if you must, I am strong, I can take it.

Where Are You?

I have not given up, I know you are out there, you must be, I will not allow myself to think, believe otherwise. If I did, I could not bare it, I could not survive it. I hold fast to the faith that one day you will come. Don't worry, the gift that awaits you has been kept safe from all others, it belongs to you and you alone. It has been guarded, protected and without any and all abandon, I will place into your hand, the gift no one else can ever have. To you and only you, I give my heart.

Is It Over Yet?

This explains how my day went. How was your Monday?

Do You No Longer Love Me?

Is it time?





In the beginning, there was nothing.

Surrounded with darkness, void of any life, a blank canvas longed to live.

Believing, keeping the faith, it patiently waited, knowing its creator would eventually come.

When all others held onto nothing but doubt, it believed.

The eyes of this canvas searched the darkness day after day, until the day came, a small but undeniable flicker of light broke through the stillness.

First one flicker, then another, the light became brighter and brighter, the canvas was no longer blank. Words, thoughts, desires, hopes filled the pages that once was barren of life.

Words had given it a heartbeat, words from its creator had given it breath, words from its creator had given it life. It rejoiced from the love and warmth from its creator, the same way a hard cock welcomes the love and warmth of a lover's mouth. The blank canvas was his to do as he wished.


You, my creator, my lover, came to me sometimes in the early morning, sometimes in the brightness of the midday, there were even times when you came to me in the dead of night, I always welcomed the touch of the keyboard, knowing you were there. Your breath was my breath, your heartbeat my heartbeat.

But. . .

I have been told by the lack of visitors, I have been told by the lack of comments, that something is happening. I cannot allow myself to believe what I fear the most. The thoughts beat at the door of my weakening heartbeat, that perhaps I will soon be no longer. Days pass and there is nothing. Days pass, your touch, cannot be felt, your words do not come. There is nothing but the darkness from which I came. I am nothing without you.

Do you no longer love me?

Monday Blues

After the day I've had, I sure could use a kiss. . .

Where Is That Puzzle Piece?

Broken Hearted

Happy St. Patrick's Day

Prayers to Heaven

You are in my thoughts and prayers, my friend.

Do It and It Will Bite You In The Ass!

You don't have to be told, you just know, when you do something you shouldn't, there will be consequences. Do something you know should not be done and sooner or later it will come back to bite you in the ass, or haunt you just enough.

WELL........

You know I took a day off this week, spur of the moment, totally unplanned, I called in, gave no explanation, I took a day off, a day just for me. I enjoyed it, I needed it, but it is now biting me in the ass! It is the weekend, and yes, it was to be another two days off, but no, oh no, I've just got a call. You know the kind, yes that kind, begging, pleading, don't know what we're going to do if you can't, won't, will you please come to work. Why did I answer the phone? Why am I such a nice guy? In a few hours my weekend will be over, I will be going to work, there will be no chance for me, so I'm leaving it up to you, my friends to have a sexy weekend for the both of us. Enjoy it!

Can't Believe I Did It

I find it hard to believe. I can't believe I did it, but I'm guilty, I confess. When I awoke this morning, instead of jumping out of bed, instead of letting today become just another previous day of just another, of all the other previous days I've allowed myself this year, I laid there thinking. Fuck this, not today! It was totally unplanned, something totally out of character for me, but I did it. There was nothing special about this day, there was nothing making this day any different than any of the other days but something triggered something and I refused to allow today to become like all the others. I didn't think about my actions, I reached for the phone, I did the unimaginable, I took the day off. I'm giving myself a Hump Day Holiday.

Direction

It seems I've lost all sense of direction, my direction. Two months into 2007 and I have yet to find my way back. Searching, stumbling, I've allowed myself to become lost, once again back into the darkness. Finding excuse after excuse, I have allowed myself little time to search out, grasp, hold onto the truth, my truth. Somehow I have allowed myself to become complacent, contend with how things are, with how they have always been. Have I done this to spare pain to those loved, or truthfully have I done this to spare myself the pain I would endure when I looked into eyes that love me without question? Honestly, I do not know. What has become obvious, what is clear to these clouded eyes of mine is that, I'm am sabotaging my own life, I see it, I know it, but I cannot prevent it.

It is evident here, the one place I allowed myself freedom, the one place I allowed myself, to be mine, and mine alone. The one and only place I could be me. In the beginning, it struggled to live, but the words, my words gave it life. It allowed me a place to share a side of myself that had always been but never allowed to be. I had finally found a place of belonging, a place to openly be me, a place of friends. So I ask myself. Why? Why would I sabotage the one place I can be me without any judgment or condemnation. Why would I sabotage my haven against the insanity of my own mind. Why do I find myself searching, stumbling, once again surrounded by the darkness, lost to both myself and to you.

In The Shadows

I am being followed! Someone is there, I know it, I can feel his presence, I can sense it. Following, lurking in the darkness, hidden behind shadows, watching my every move, a spy, a secret agent, a man, his face I can not make out. Walking when I walk, his steps mirror my steps, their sound echoing in my ears, he is there, behind me, following me.

I STOP!

I freeze in mid-step, trying to catch a more audible sound, but he stops as instantly as I. I stand there, I listen, I hear nothing, there is only silence, a deafening quiet. I know he is there, even though his footsteps no longer haunt my ears, I can still feel his presence. I know it is not possible, it must be my imagination, my mind playing a trick on me, his silenced footsteps have been replaced with the sound of his heartbeat. I can hear his heartbeat, I can feel his heartbeat, it beats in tune with mine. Thump . . . thump . . . thump. . .

There are no bed covers to pull over my head as I did as a child, scared of the night, even more afraid from having watched a scary movie, movies of monsters and creatures of the night. I am not afforded bed covers of warmth and safety, I will not find any here. It is time, to face the man.

Searching

I never dreamed, never imagined, didn't have the slightest inkling of what this New Year was going to bring my way. Well, now I know! Work, work, and more work! Right from the start, from the very first day of this new year, my life has centered around nothing but work. I've had very little down time, very little time to update this dying blog, very little time to check in on the lives of friends whom I have missed. So very little time.

There must be a reason. Why have I let myself be so consumed with work? Sitting here, looking at the computer screen, I search for the answer. But I wonder, will I find what I seek by looking for it on the screen or will I find the answer to what I seek, lurking in the blackness of my own mind.

Stephen, eyes closed, rested, arms folded over chest, lying on a black leather sofa . . . while another part of Stephen sits at a desk. This Stephen, the one at the desk, has a pad in hand, he peers over the glasses he has sitting on the bridge of his nose, he looks at the image of himself lying there on the couch, he bites the tip of the pen, thinking, contemplating but saying NOTHING. The Stephen on the couch waits, peering off into space, seeing NOTHING but the blackness behind his closed eyelids, he waits and waits and waits. But there is . . .