Originally published on June 6, 2007.
Ovi’s back in Prague, staying with me. He’s assured me that I don’t have to feel lonely because he’s around. He said this after I confessed how hard it has been to sleep alone after 3 months, more or less, sleeping with Marek, an almost perpetually horny boy who had slowly become a real cuddle puppy.
Three years ago, when I first met Ovi, he and I slept together quite a bit and Ovi himself was quite the cuddle puppy. I didn’t appreciate it then, but I’m still a bit shy about asking him if he wants to sleep with me now. Knowing him I’m sure he’d say yes. I really need it right now.
Bryan was an American expatriate and English teacher who became a blogger (The Homersexual) after he read mine. After getting stabbed in Moscow by two..., of Homersexual blog fame, is on his way to Prague from Budapest and will be staying with me for at least a week. I’m quite excited to see him — and the war wound in his side from being stabbed by two Russian rent boys in Moscow. I wonder what sort of trouble he and I can get up to. I really need some decent blogging material.
I still don’t have heat in two rooms, still keeping warm, partially, through the gas oven. As someone said recently,”Don’t light any matches in here!” Two appointments were made to get the heat on and for both I was stood up. Crazy. I hate landlords. Especially the kind who stand there with their hands out for the rent when the basics in the flat have not been delivered. The same the world over. Oh, and the Internet is down.
Arssi née Michal was a tall, young, Czech Roma whom I first picked up at Prague's main train station, hlavní nádraží. He eventually moved in... came to my window and asked to speak to me last night. A couple days before he’d cornered BB’s bf Lazo and asked him if he, Arssi née Michal was a tall, young, Czech Roma whom I first picked up at Prague's main train station, hlavní nádraží. He eventually moved in..., brought Marek to my flat, could Arssi née Michal was a tall, young, Czech Roma whom I first picked up at Prague's main train station, hlavní nádraží. He eventually moved in... and I become friends again. In both instances, the response was: Fuck off!
There are many things I could forgive. If Marek had punched me, or had a hissy fit and thrown dishes, or threw the TV out the window or left for 3 days without a word, I could have forgiven him. Drama and passion I can understand. Violence even.
But he violated trust. How could I ever let him back in, especially with a very expensive computer which represents most of my hopes for the future. Not without locks on everything. Not without locks on my feelings.
That doesn’t mean that I don’t miss him, that I’m not miserably lonely without him around, that I don’t end up fantasizing about his fucking me whenever I try to masturbate, or think about sucking him — god, the time he sat back on his ankles, put his hands behind his head and let me lick him all over; what a huge load he shot that time — or remember sharing his cum with him in a kiss — which he hated by the way — or sticking an index finger up his ass –also never repeated — and desperately begging to rim him, which he usually allowed.
All that doesn’t mean I don’t feel a sick glee when I watch the snow falling outside or feel the temperature drop and wonder where those two stupid, stupid boys are sleeping.
No, it doesn’t mean any of that. Just means we will probably never be together again. Never say never but never seems a very sensible word right now.