Short Story about Self Love and Care
Hello, my name is Xander. I'm just your typical hot blooded, middle age forty something, liberated, all american male who looks from the exterior well put together. Well, that's what I've always been told. But in all honesty, I'm a mess on top of more mess. I'm balding even though I'm already bald, my body is out of shape but looks fairly healthy with all the wrong things you put inside one's self, I'm mentally stressed out over nothing serious, my job pays me okay but I'm still struggling, I'm all ways sad because my best friend is distance away living his best life with his future husband, and last my sex life has faded away. The only sex I'm getting on a regular is masturbating to porn that makes me cry at the same time in the worse way. Yeah, I'm pretty fucked up altogether if you ask me. You wouldn't really know these things because I'm an Oscar winning actor in my own film. I didn't graduate from a t.v. print modeling school for nothing. Anyways, I'm just your typical guy who has some serious issues.
I started an ad for my boyfriend and I a few days back on Scruff. We got some pretty interesting potential third-party boyfriend candidates, but nothing to say "He's the one". They seem to lean more towards him than myself, and that's okay I suppose. I mean, who wouldn't be interested in my boyfriend. I am of course. He is a tall daddy bear build, with a full salt and pepper beard, soft chemically well balanced hair, small soft lips that'll make you quiver, dark brown shimmering eyes, a nice broad hairy chest made to bury your face into, and smells fresh twenty-four seven every time you walk pass him. His like a fantasy romantic character from a gay bear erotic novel. Damn, why can't I be half the man he is. And did I mention how smart he is. He plays Dungeons & Dragons for God's sake. Enough said. Yeah, he is a bit of a nerd, geek, a dork at times...but he is mine. And we're dating. We live together, sleep together, eat together, laugh and cry together, but the one thing we haven't done together for a while is...fuck. I said it, FUUUUCK!
It's not like I don't want to do that with him. We tried twice within the time we've been together for a year. Don't get me wrong, he is good at what he does to please me, but I've been the one holding out. I don't know why I'm holding out on him. Sex back then for me was something I always had no problem talking and sharing with people. I'm no longer in my twenties anymore, but man if I was we'll be sexing it up right now.
Sex in my twenties was life changing for me. It was fun and so carefree. Having those little hidden gestures in the middle of the night at one or two am, whispers in the ear saying "pull down your underwear", or "I want you so much right now", giggling silently with your roommate in the down the hall because you know you're about be naughty, sweat trickling down your back right between your honey pot, body temperature rising to occasion, back your ass up onto the pole down south, heavy breathing like you just finished working out, toes curling, sweating...lots and lots of sweating, whoa! I'm turning myself on but not even in the mood for it now. Ugh...WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME!
Man, I really would love doing that with my boyfriend right now, but something seems to stand in the way of me conquering that goal. And here I am now. Living an overwork sexless life. Sounds depressing, right? That's because it is depressing. Come on Xander. You're always overthinking everything. Literally, always overthinking about things that shouldn't even be thought of. I hate being in my forties. The years of identity crisis. Or in gay terms "Getting closer to the light". Those golden years have faded and gone away. Well, that's how it feels for me anyways.
Going out to bars aren't even fun anymore. I'm considered a day drinker now. Really, day drinking. Who knew that was a thing. I've become this thing that I use to fear when I was in college...the town's lush. Oh my god, I'M A LUSH! A DRUNKIE! All the things that I worked so hard not to become has now all come to the surface. Plus, smoking cigarettes has become more of a hobby for me now. That's it, I'm done, a dead beat, a gay school drop flunky. How will I ever recover from this life's tragedy?
Every morning I wake up and turn on my Keurig to have a cup of coffee. Then I head straight into the closet to grab my coat and take the exit across the hall to go downstairs. I go outside around the side of my apartment complex to smoke with my coffee and begin conversations with myself. Let me tell you, those conversations go a little something like this: you look smell like last night's hamburger helper, what are you getting from smoking, should I go to work today, I hope that bitch isn't working tonight, I hope to have some clean underwear to wear because I running low, what do I want to eat today, I should workout while I can but I too lazy, I should make some music today, what do I want to watch tonight (an actual movie or porn), I want some pizza hut but I'm broke today, when is pay day coming, I need some more wine and bourbon even though I still have a half a bottle, should I get some more cigarettes, I wish I had some hair, what's that smell? These conversations go on for hours and hours. Sitting in the apartment or outside with myself gets lonely. I'm developing in becoming a fruit cake. *Chuckles*...get it, fruit cake. Because I'm a gay tootie fruity with some cakes. See, I can't even come up with a good joke here.
Overall, I do have some good qualities about myself. Sometimes the only ones that see those qualities are people who are me. I used to not like this you know. Maybe I am losing my mind. Maybe I am over exaggerating things. Maybe I am hopeless. Maybe I am plumb in some areas of my body. Maybe I don't always have to be right. Maybe my boyfriend may leave me one day. Maybe I want to have someone to hold me all the time. Maybe I'm just...scared, afraid, worried. All those negative thoughts that I didn't and still don't want to deal with.
There are times I don't even want to look in the mirror at myself. It hurts so much starting at the person starting back at you that you used to admire. I cry myself at night sometimes, and that's were the smoking and drinking begins. I masturbate because I once was battered and had something taken away from me that I can't seem to get back. And that something is my identity. My physically appearance looks so good from the outside because I mastered on what article of clothing can hide certain portions of my body. But I'm the only one that knows what's underneath these clothes. My boyfriend may know a little, but my insecurities stand in the way of our sex lives. Being able to watch and live under a microscope is so exhausting. Trying to maintain a character twenty-four seven that you always felt you had to do is so overwhelming. Even though I know that I'm a good person from in and out, it still feels like it's not enough for people to accept.
So, what's wrong with me? Honestly, I don't have an answer for that. Because that is an answer as people we'll always continue to ask ourselves. But I know for myself, I'm beautiful in my own truth. And yes, it's not always gonna be the next super model and glorified diamond sitting on someone's shelf. But here I am, someone who is still willing to give it their all. Someone who is always wanting to make someone laugh, even when they're down. Someone who finds smoking to be nasty but still working through the process of quitting.
Let my story be an inspiration to anyone who is struggling with depression. Let my words motivate you to continue telling yourself "You're Beautiful" and "You're Amazing". I guess being and living in my forties isn't all that bad because I'm blessed with so many wonderful friends, a family that supports my decisions, and an out of this world boyfriend that still finds me sexy. Even at my worst he still loves me. Just like the wise words from my favorite queen "If you can't love yourself, How in the world are you gonna love anyone else".
What's wrong with me now? You tell me.