And This? This Is More

What I am about to describe is real and an honest description of what took place after my nights out.
I had my struggles, of course. But there is something beautiful here, which is why I expose this to find a fair and honest representation of desire that went unaddressed.

 – The colors across my bedroom walls took on a new style, and the room began to move in a way that was perhaps demented and wild, or bizarre to say the least.
I used to love this.
It was clear that the LSD had begun to take its turn and the trip was about to begin.
I have seen things unlike the usual or the norm and yet, I have never seen anything like this.
Yet, I was not a novice to this kind of experiment. I was not new to the hours of trippy or self-inflicted insanity. 

My tolerance for alcohol was never strong. I was young, of course, and I was far too young to be experimenting with the doses and chemicals that were indescribable and unbelievable to me.

I was ‘that one”
I was that kid.
I was the distant closeby kid who did not have the proper language or personality to explain my thoughts or express my emotions.

I wanted to fit in. I wanted to be cool and make myself known to a scene of people who were otherwise and equally cool.
I wanted to be wanted. I wanted to be noticed and desired.
Of course, I did.
I had ideas and obsessions yet, I never spoke about these things. And maybe because I was too young to understand what my desires were or maybe because I was ashamed, maybe because I swore that no one could know that I liked them or cared, or viewed them as immeasurable.
I never talked about the way I appreciated soft skin. I never thought it was safe to expose my inner-self or my desires to reach out and touch someone.
Not to mention my fears and the battles I have with rejection-sensitive worries and fears that as much as I loved, lusted, cared or wanted someone; I would inevitably be turned down, pushed away, rejected, or refused.
And that would have been too much for me to bear.
The idea of something like this would have been humiliating to no end, let alone to think or consider the odds of “what could happen” and dare the task of introducing myself.

I always wanted to be wanted. But I was always out of my head or out of my mind and hence, I was never fit or able to speak up or take the dare.
I wanted to love.
I wanted to feel the warmth of someone in ways that no one else in the history of love or connection could duplicate.

I used to think about myself in the arms of my desired ones.
I wondered if I could be good enough or physically impressive enough to make them desire me equally, if not more.
But my teenage angst and lust was often left to solo adventures and thoughts which take place in the secretive moments behind my bedroom door.

There were nights when I’d be too drunk to move or stand. I was somewhere between unconscious and staggering, yet, I was aware and with the wherewithal to take my doses before I fell asleep.
This was my favorite way to trip.
I would dose myself with either a few or several tabs of LSD. I would dose myself before passing out. And then I would fall into this deep drunken slumber, perhaps stinking of rot-gut gin, which I had gallons of . . .

My night out was usually typical and rarely was this anything to write about. Then again, most nights that took place in my teenage existence were spent at local neighborhood dives, or hidden in empty parking lots and behind bowling alleys.
There were places like one of the old video arcades called The Wizard of Oz which was known to us tiny hoodlums as “The Wiz.”
I took my first mescaline trip there. I did plenty of things here, which are undeserving of mention and equally fitting for a teenager on drugs.
If it was not there at The Wiz, it was at some of the local stores or back alleys, which we hung around.
We gathered like some kind of loose type of shoestring mafia and together, we assembled like little hooligans bunched like battalions of longhaired kids, red-eyed, and high and mischievous as ever.

I had my bouts and scars and my battles but most of all, I had my contempt and fits of despair.
I wanted to be more. I wanted to be “someone”
Yet, I was only uncomfortable and awkward at best.
I was stuck with an insecure notion that I was otherwise ugly or somehow incapable of being “seen” or wanted.
I assumed that others saw me the way I saw myself, if that makes sense.
I was skinny and odd and trying too hard.
But hey, such is life when you’re just a kid, I suppose.

The weekend and the nights I encountered were often spent with poses and posturing and pretending to be someone else, —least of all, me or me as myself.

Afterwards, I would often return home and frequently sit on the rooftop of my teenage home. Late at night.
I’d sip stolen gin from my flask and often smoke one of my Marlboro Reds or a Lucky Strike with no filter—just to prove that I could be tough.

I fell in love with an image or a sway. I had the urge and the desire to be mysterious and cool. However, I admit to my fascination for the psychedelic nature which took place when the audio and visual hallucinations took place.
I knew that I could not be anyone else but me; however, I could pretend or even better, I could dose myself into a sentiment of euphoric consideration and be elsewhere and present at the same time.

This was my ‘thing”
I would drink myself to the verge of passing out and then slip a few doses onto my tongue.
Then I would pass out and wait for the bizarreness of waking up to an extreme high that was otherwise unmatchable to me.

 For this, I think it would be best to paint a picture of my bedroom. This was a badge for me. This place was a representation of my rebellion, my choice of music, and the useful tool that assisted the hours of mind-expanding substances.
I had several lights that shot different colors across my ceiling. I had black lights and felt blacklight posters that added to the mood of the room, which was trippy and wild.
Of course this coincided with music, typically something from a band called The Pink Floyd so that I would wake up to the sounds of mind-expanding music. This was to enhance the visual effects of spinning globe lights and a psychedelic vibe that soaked my bedroom.

I was young.
I was still too unsure of myself to admit my fascination with the body and the desires of my choice. I had no idea how to verbalize or put my thoughts into language.
I was too afraid to talk about the way I appreciated the sexual draw of things that turned me on.
And who talked about these things?
Who would be so open about subjects like this?
A perv?
I was told “only fags and queers jerked off,” and yet; I held records of solo missions which succeeded throughout the night.
More than anything, I had no idea this was human.
There was no way or thoughts that prevented me from feeling shame or embarrassment
I had desires, and at times, I had thoughts and feelings, as well as dreams that made me wild. I had needs, and wants that were incredible and unstoppable.
I had no idea that self-satisfaction was not only normal and common but real and true.
I never discussed or admitted to masturbation, which is part of life and part of my youth as well.

But nights like these?
Or as for the nights like this one, after waking up to my arrival when my mind was out of the stratosphere; I found myself alone, in bed, naked and young.
I was growing and forming and feeling the pre-to mid-prepubescent changes that came with my boys.

I was high. Yes, of course.
I was out of my mind.
Absolutely.
I was wild but more, I was free to think or feel the ideas that I otherwise kept to myself.

I thought about the things that I would never dare express.
I thought about my fascination or the need I had to kiss everything, from the toes upwards.

I am not sure why I have always been drawn to this. I don’t know the origin of this kind of fascination. And yes, I have heard people mention fetishes are some kind of sexual dysfunction—but who cares? I was alone. No one was there to interrupt me.
I saw nothing dysfunctional about the way I wanted someone.
I saw nothing wrong with the way I felt and yet, I struggled with shame and embarrassment.

I would never dare to tell someone what I loved or needed or wanted them.
Never.


There was too much focus on shame during my younger years. And perhaps I can say this was so for my generation.
There was too much worry about being “right” or fitting in to speak about our truths. The reason I say this is because the fears of being “wrong” seemed to come with a painful aftermath of being ridiculed or exiled and excommunicated.

I found myself in the solo thrills of a “masturbation marathon,” that took me into the psychedelic depths of sexual euphoria and personal exploration.

I do believe that sex is a high.
I do understand that there is no way to recover my youth or go back and redo a night or a moment.
I have no desire to dose myself, However, I remember the nights when I would rehearse and rethink what I would say to a girl if the chance opened up and an opportunity took place.

I fantasize about this now too.

I did want more than just the pleasure of flesh. I was afraid to say this. I was afraid that I would appear weak or worse, I was more afraid to make an offer and be laughed at with a stream of unthinkable rejection.

I have always wanted to explore. And I say this in the most intimate of ways.

I would pleasure my thoughts and enact my fantasies to a post-midnight celebration that was sexualized and safely kept as my secret.
The trips were wild. Yes, they were.
So was the eventual eruption and sexual explosion that took place.

Then I’d be ready for my final routine.
Regardless of the time of year and so long as there  was no rain or snow falling, I would ride the effects that took over my system with a chemical reaction.
I would climb out of my bedroom window, head to the top of my roof, and smoke the last cigarette.
I’d hold my pipe and smoke the last of my weed to slowly drift myself to sleep.

I have always appreciated the sunrise which was certainly more colorful while watching this on LSD
I have always loved the feelings of introspection and reflection when seeing the sky change.
But that was then and this is now.

It is closer to spring now and I am far older than the teenage version of myself.
I have never openly reported and explored my sexual flavors or fascinations or talked like this with anyone.

Perhaps I was afraid that I would be seen as gross or perverted when no. In fact, I am human.
I am loving and searching to explore the heights and lofty feelings that come with interconnected bodies. I want to ride this better than the drugs of my choice.
I want to enjoy this as an art and explore a form of love-making that counts the hours away.
I want to enjoy this as if it were a symphony or an episode that causes us to crash in the bed beneath the covers.
I want to feel the warmth of our bodies as we hold each other tight, —and we can be closer than ever before.

I woke up after a dream last night.
It was enough to make me think of beautiful things and stand at attention.

I might not be able to physically compete with my teenage ability; but rest assured my appetite and ability to devour you whole has improved with age.

It’s not just about the act to me anymore.
No. It’s not about sustaining an ongoing  feeling. This is far more than the final eruption or the completion of an orgasm that spouts from my body and empties my energy.

No, I want more.
I would rather enjoy the hours like a savory meal and touch, kiss, or feast on the love of my life for hours at a time.
(until the sun comes up)

And make no mistake . . .
I see no reason to feel shame anymore and nor is there reason to regret what I’ve missed.
I know that there is love out there for me.
I know this because I know you are real.
Yes. YOU!
My love, is real
I know who she is and I know where she is.

And even more, I know that when the day comes and she returns to my arms, I will keep her in the constant state or erotic belief that no one in the world is more beautiful than she is.

I know this.
I just wish she knew this too.

God, I love you
and as imperfect as I am or as crazy as I can be, no one will love you like me.
If given the chance, I will never forget the fact that lightning hit us, more than once—and more to the point, I will never let you go again.On my eyes—I promise you this
My love