Second Post

So it's been a while since I started this blog now, there hasn't really been much of a reaction but then I guess that's the power of the internet. Well, I say there hasn't been much of reaction, I mean I haven't really heard from anyone who's read this on the net. But for me, that post made me feel a lot better about myself. I mean it's like I told the world, and it looked, and it didn't really care. 

So I guess that begs the question: Why haven't I done another post? Well, dear reader, my invisible therapist, I've been busy... Honestly that the only answer I can give. Maintaining a blog, is apparently, a lot of work. I guess I’m meant to tell you about whats been going on in my life, or am I meant to tell you about what went on years ago. Well maybe thats for me to decide. 

I think thats the impulsion coming through again. I’ve tried to start this post four times today, but I didn’t feel ready three times, so I changed where I was writing. I left my first house, which I won’t give a specific area for but its in the suburbs of London. There I have a dog, a fiancé who I’ll never marry, I may be starting to love the dog more. So I went from there to my flat, which is a posher area of town. There lives my boyfriend. Who I’ve been seeing for about a year now and we’ve just moved in together. So we’re still at that happy, we’ve just moved in, lets have a lot of sex, stage. So from there I went to a coffee shop. But that was round the corner from my girlfriends place so I moved on due to paranoia. Finally I came here, which is the only place which is just mine. My next stop would have probably been hyde park, or somewhere similar to that. Or I might have even just got on a plane abroad. I have some long distance relationships going so I could have gone to foreign city, and spent some time there. 

But this place is my own, I’ve never brought another human here before, well I don’t think I have anywhere. It’s the place where I can really see my life. It’s a tiny little flat, where the bedroom, kitchen, and living room are all merged. Then there’s just a tiny bathroom and some amazing view of London. And it’s all me. There are hundreds of photos across the walls and on every surface of everyone I’ve ever loved. One night stands included, selfies are easy to get when you’re drunk. I have pictures of my family, but I like to keep them separate, for obvious reasons. Besides I don't really talk to my family that much anymore. But I digress.
I guess this should have really been my first port of call when I was having trouble writing this, because this is the place that’s really me, and that’s what I’m actually trying to do here isn't it? It really makes me see how bad and brilliant my life is by looking at this room. I mean I feel guilt when I see all those happy faces looking at me, and then realising that I’ve hurt most of them in, at worst life altering ways. But then I feel elation in just looking at old faces. I look at the picture I have of the first girl I ever fucked and I feel longing to look her up and fall head over heels in love with her again. Then beg her to run away with me, probably making her leave a husband or long term partner, maybe even kids. And if this happened, I would probably end up hocking up with someone from the city we’ve run away to. Say it’s Paris I could end up finding an ex, or just end up going home with someone I don’t know. 

Okay that may have just been me talking myself out of calling up the first girl I ever slept with. It wouldn’t be the first time. Now the first guy I ever slept with, thats a different story, I’ve fallen for that temptation over and over again since I was sixteen. I don’t have a lot of control over my impulses, thats a given, but some people just know how to push these things, in ways I can’t even control. Ethan, was the first guy I ever slept with. Well I don’t like the term slept with. He was the first guy I ever fucked and got fucked by. Anyway, he can literally call me, at any point, and make me want to fuck him. Now if most people do this, then I can reject them pretty easily, sometimes they get lucky and I do want to do what they’re asking of me. But most of the time I don’t let myself get controlled, but this man, who is gorgeous in so many ways, can just do whatever he likes with me at any point. I love him, but I hate him for what he can do to me. 

Now I really want to call him. This is what I mean by manipulation, I haven’t even seen or spoken to him and he’s still making me feel like this.   

First Post

Impractical thoughts spring to mind when I think of… well anything. What should I do with my life? Become an astronaut of course. What should I read today? I’d really like to read that lost shakespeare play. What should I do to get this person of my back? Oh I should just drug them and sell them to mobsters to be used as slaves. See impractical, I don’t know how to knock anyone out. 

But then I’m most impractical when it comes to love. You see I fall in love like most people fall into bed. Easily. And then once I’m there I never want to leave, even though I’m pretty sure I’ve gotta get back to life. Maybe beds a really a separate dimension from where the rest of the world just looks dulled. Or maybe its a government conspiracy, and are beds are full of drugs that are dispersed when we lie down. But I digress. Love, thats thing I’m talking to you about. I think. I don’t know this all seems so stupid. I love like a puppy. Always running to the newest person on scene. When I was little it almost worked exactly like I would if I were a puppy. You see I have this very big, and extremely close, family. And I was the miracle child. I’m the first and only son to Joyce and Kevin Atlas. And the first grandchild, and on top of that Joyce, I mean mum, thought she would never be able to conceive a child. So naturally they loved me a lot, as did the rest of my family. And when I was a baby they passed me around. And I was everyone’s favourite. And then when I was a little older everyone was my favourite. My grandparents gave me extra long hugs, and more chocolate than anyone else. My uncles told me secrets about my aunts, my aunts told me stories about my uncles. Eventually I was the leader of my cousins. The key of any social event. The golden child. 

Okay I’ve got a bit side tracked. What I’m saying is I loved like a puppy. But then when I became a hormonal teenager, well there’s no other word for it, I became a slut. Now theres a special place for male sluts, and yes I’m very ashamed of some of the things I did to people. But I truly thought I used to love those people. They would be pretty, or cute, or sexy. Then if they displayed a bit of intelligence, a bit of whit, and hated, or pretended to hate, Ben Affleck, I’d sleep with them. Sometimes I’d date them, if it was required to get them into bed. I didn’t discriminate for race or gender. Hey there’s another things, I don’t hate Ben Affleck. I just love to hate him. And I’m not even sure why I hate him, apart from the fact that he butchered Daredevil. I guess I just need to balance all this love out. 

So this continued, me being a slut, up and through university. But only then I actually started getting into serious relationships. Well they were always serious at the time. It was when I discovered a more long term type of love. An enduring love. A love that made a lot more sense. But then I would just slip back into old habits and sleep with the next person I rated worth it. I’m a very bad person really. I will always talk with someone after sex, I mean really try and talk to them. I find out people’s secret passions, their ambitions, their secrets. I once found out the boy I was sleeping with behind the girl I was sleeping with’s back that he was also sleeping with her. But thats a story for another blog post I think. 

And now, well now I’m stuck in a big web, full of lovers and ex’s who I still see from time to time, and a couple of people who I’m at different stages of relationships with. I’m having affairs, I’m dating, I’m fucking him, her, and I’m going steady with others. Some people would say that I’m just a sex addict. In fact those who’ve scratched the surface of my facade. My balancing act. Have said that. I guess they’re right in calling me and addict. Because I am. But I’m addicted to love. Well I guess you could see that coming seeing as I kinda already said it at the start of this post. I honestly love almost everyone I come into contact with. I can’t ever let it go unsaid, or undemonstrated. 

I guess it seems like I’m trying to confess my sins, but I’m really not. I just want to let people know how great I’m finding all of this. The more people I can love the more I enjoy my life. And I don’t ever want to stop.