I’m caught between the upper lip and the whiskers of a strange man. Can’t say why I’m here in this space and time but I know I wanna hang in this moment as long as possible. I know there is stability, there is direction, there is identity. Yes! I wanna ride the ‘stache until I fall asleep for 8 hours straight. Piss in his mouth and roll over instead of getting up. Why because Mustache Man is here for me and I’m here for him.
Mel Street was a country music star who died before his time. Handsome fucker, ain’t he? I really wanted to buy this record but it rang like a lot of middle of the road 70s country music. Kinda dull for this rocker. I am not at the point where I want to spent eight bucks for a hot album cover but this one came close to starting me down that path. Just do me, and Mel, a favor and enjoy his beauty in this old record cover.
Not that long ago I wrote a blog entry about wanting to be called a “Rock n Roll Daddy” if you were to call me “Daddy” at all. I wanted to emphasize that the term “Daddy” is one that is personal and not to be taken for granted. On the flip side I generally don’t throw out the label ”boy” when chatting up fellas online (unless they truly are boys-under 27.) It’s not that I don’t want that kind of intamacy between me and another man, but my experience has taught me it’s rarely that easy to click at that level meeting through social media. Either we never meet, or when we do expectations were not met to facilitate a good Daddy/boy session. Also, I don’t know where my heart is going to lay, who I’m going to meet, what I’m going to learn or who I am going become, so until I find some certainty in the imaginary land of ”Daddy & boy” I’m looking for “buds.” Friends. Friends who like to fuck, fuck and talk, and fuck off together. So if you chat with me on one of those fancy phone apps I might just call you “bud,” because that’s what Daddy wants.