On Why I Write About Sex?

A lover once asked, “Can you write about something other than your sex life?”
I write about the progress people want to see. My medium happens to be between my thighs.
My spring sexual awakening manifests in Facebook messages featuring dick and ass pics. No, I don’t need to see your dick and no you can’t see mine. I don’t want a long distance relationship either or marry you for a green card. 
The road to romance is more than what happens when you take off your pants. Dating with social media, we get confused on what’s appropriate to share. Am I oversharing? 
Excerpts about my relationship are enhanced with context, structure, and style. I leverage my literary devices daily to express my vices. Sorry straights, I’m not your guru.
My demographic of gay black men is like an infant playing with a knife, a precarious juxtaposition that can go left quick. Gay courtships are clandestine meet-ups after sunset. We mislabeled hookups as dates. And the club is the yellow brick road to forever.
After a decade of fucking around, I’ve only been on a few real dates. Once, I had a fun first date at a Friday’s on a Friday night. He picked me up from my apartment after conversing on Adam4Adam. This was the age of America Online where chatrooms were the guiding light to gay dating. Especially, if you were interested in Down Low men. He was so DL he didn’t reveal himself until he came to the door. He also wanted to see how I dressed and acted. 
I passed the test. We covered politics and religion. I craved an intellectual connection. But the only thing going down that night was his green American Express card. He wanted to come upstairs which I declined. 
I tried following up. Our first date didn’t garner a second. 
Seven years and several dating mistakes later, I’m currently in a relationship. We spend out time eating in bed while watching tv or listening to music while having sex. I embrace the safety of seclusion like a couple cuddled in a cabin. But why do we spend so much time indoors? 
“I like hanging out with Walter. I don’t care much for your alter ego.”
He claims my alter ego emerges as Sarah Jessica Parker when my boots hit the pavement. It’s the catalyst for us always staying in the house. “Maybe you should see a clinical psychologist for Multiple personality Disorder?” He tugged on his tiny, white t-shirt. Is he calling me the crazy one?
I once heard if he loves you he’ll put up with it. That’s dangerous thinking, it implies that if he doesn’t put up with my shit then he doesn’t love me. 
There is a lot of baggage that come with a relationship. His judgments says more about him than it does about me. And as a person that’s getting older and not just older, I’m not going to let “walking with a twist” unravel my relationship. The longer you’re with someone the more they’ll put up with the real you. 
The only thing I’m not compromising is my writing. I put up a Chinese Wall. I don’t need him clouding shit. I’ll seek my inspiration from books and other writers not his fears and judgments.
My world imploded when he discovered that I wrote about him on my blog. He felt violated and asked me to leave. I didn’t. If you set a precedent for walking out of the door whenever a disagreement arises, you won’t have a relationship. He calmed down. I regret not communicating that I may write about him. Although, I thought I mentioned it. When left a spiral notebook filled with my secrets. I told him not to read it unless he wants to learn more about himself. He said he didn’t. 
But he knew what he was getting into. He had too. I write about relationships for a living. And I’m with him full time. So why so surprising when both of those worlds collided? Can’t I have both? 
For now we’re fine. I love him too much to let go. My heart is trapped in an emotional cul-de-sac. No exits. 
When most guys find out what I do they usually ask me not to write about them. I always do. The late Nora Ephron, once said, “Everything is copy.” 
When I shared with my writing group about my relationship roadblock. Their jaws dropped. One said, “If I found out my girlfriend had a blog talking our sex life. I would be pissed. And you go into details.”
I didn’t comment on his commentary. But I digress. My site is not some vicious outlet for revenge sex stories. I’m expressing myself the only way I can. If it were in a book instead would the words be any different? It’s the truth. My calling is to record it. These are not alternative facts. 
If I were talking shit about him online that would be different. I’m not bad mouthing my boyfriend to strangers that don’t matter. Some use social media to waste away copious amounts of words on things that don’t enrich our lives. I rather spend that time reading. I have reading lists the length of monster cocks. 
I look forward to the next stage of my relationship and my writing. I can and will have both. The path to publishing my first book is through orgasms and organized reading and writing. 

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