A Sort-Of Preview to the Book I’m Writing: Part 4
A sneak-peek into the source material for my novel in progress — AKA the diaries that inspired its creation (7-9 of twelve).
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Happy New Years Eve!!! As mentioned in my last letter, I’ll be sharing the diaries that inspired me to write the book I’m currently working on. There are twelve diary entries total and I’ll be sharing three at a time — these are diary entries 10-12. Next week, I’ll resume the newsletter with a different topic each week. :)
Without further ado:
A Sort-Of Preview to the Book I’m Writing: Part 4
Dildo Baggins (June 2018)
So I had this realization, quite a worldly realization. What do they call those? Epiphanies? That’s when the Greeks say “Eureka” right? Is that Roman? Are Greeks and Romans different? Clearly my $20,000 education taught me a lot. I do know a lot though, I studied NEUROSCIENCE people! Just kidding I studied Psychology but took a year long course-load of neuroscience classes and now just say that’s the degree I got because sounding smart seems like the key to success. Fake it till you fuckin’ make it.
ANYWAYS.
The epiphany: I will not be that great at gay sex. Actually I will probably be terrible, because I have never done it before. Imagine your first day of high school, remember how awkward you were? Oh was that just me? God seriously only smited me with pizza face acne? I thought everyone took Accutane. Never mind. Whatever.
The point is, when you do something for the first time you are most likely going to suck. This goes for everything! Writing, business meetings, talking to in-laws, pretending to like the clothes your mom got you at Christmas (for the 20th time—just kidding mom! I love the Costco underwear I get every year ). First timers usually suck. Even eventual prodigies will suck.
BUT I don’t want to suck. I refuse to spend the next year or two or ten of my life hoe-ing around being bad at gay sex. Isn’t there an education reform going around the U.S. (or at least California, the sanest state of all)? Aren’t they trying to add environmental studies to high school curriculum (really though, why the fuck are we learning about Pythagorean theorems—wait is there only one? Just a theorem? IDGAF—why are we learning about this B.S. when the equator is like 200 degrees now)? My point is this: I support this education reform. And I would like to petition to add sucking cock to the new curriculum.
One little Asian boy would have really appreciated that necessary education. Instead, he didn’t get it. He cheated on every Geography test he took and learned little to nothing (except for how to fall asleep stealthily in every class). Fast forward 10 years. Where is he now?
Ordering a dildo on Amazon.com.
Yes, that is the story of this post. My experience with a dildo.
FIRST OF ALL. WHAT THE FUCK? I’m sorry dildo world. I did not know that every human being that walked around secretly has a giant, Big Foot, Lockness monster dick hidden in their pants. It took me a good 25 minutes to find a dildo that was normal sized enough to not give me nightmares. I’m sorry but I am not going to practice sucking something that is bigger than my torso. Get it together dildo welders, your reality is extremely deranged.
And STILL, the normal sized dildo that I ordered is freaking huge. 9 inches is not “medium”! What the fuck!? I wish your sizing was adopted by every restaurant and cafe in New York. I could order a medium sized burger and cold brew and last the entire week.
Enter: My first practice session sucking cock.
Early spoiler: I never practiced sticking the dildo up my rear end because I honestly did not have the courage. I also did not want to be found dead by dildo. At least not at this age. It’s not funny if you read a headline “23 year old found dead by dildo”. Kind of amazing if you read “90 year old found dead by dildo”. Check back on me in 67 years.
My first practice session sucking a materialized cock went terribly. A true disaster. First of all, what? Who knew it was this hard? I did not imagine that the beautiful, sensual act of putting someone’s organ in your mouth meant you had to experience what waterboarding felt like. I actually had to Google “how to suck dick” and “how to deep-throat” because I wasn’t sure if I was doing it right. What did I find? Techniques on how to get past the gagging and get used to feeling as though your airways were being blocked like every goal potentially made in the World Cup.
IT IS NOT EASY PEOPLE.
So there I stood, on my knees in my tiny room under the Williamsburg bridge, mounted up against a shockingly large dildo strapped to my wall, silently crying. I cried. I gagged so much that I cried.
Maybe some people will find that hot?
I don’t know.
I don’t know anything.
Also, does this mean I can never have sex with a big-dicked man? This entire experience was truly devastating. I felt like a kid who wanted to grow up to be the president of the United States, just as Trump was elected. Dreams crushed and turned repulsive.
No. I refuse to accept this reality. Just as how one day a brilliant millennial will lead our country better than the current bing bong (a bing bong with the intelligence of an Equinox desk attendant and the appearance of 4 week old leftover orange juice pulp at the bottom of a jungle juice cup) I will one day take the biggest dick in Manhattan.
And swallow it whole.
A Series of Uneventful Events (June 2018)
The following events occurred over the course of a weekend.
Question: How do you do things alone?
I genuinely forget sometimes. When I first moved to this city I barely knew anyone. I did everything alone. I made so many friends because I am amazing (because I triple texted people until they felt dependent on my attention). Now that I have a community of people I adore in this city, a life in general, going out to do these things on my own (mainly, to meet other guys or participate in the LGBTQ community) seems a bit foreign.
I say this because I have successfully signed up for ~4 LGBTQ events (sometimes even paid for them) and did not attend any of them. One thing or the other would come up: plans with a friend, a black cat walking by me, or Season 2 of Queer Eye coming out. Okay yeah I just had no backbone and did not want to go.
But! I did attend a Queer night this last weekend at House of YES because a random friend I met at a gay bar (flashback to my first gay bar) invited me. And then told me she couldn’t make it as I hopped into my Uber at 1:30AM.
I WOULD JUST LIKE TO SAY THAT I DO NOT HOLD GRUDGES BUT I WILL REMEMBER THE PEOPLE WHO WERE TRUE HOMIES AND THEY WILL BENEFIT OFF OF MY FUTURE, ASTRONOMICAL, WORLDLY SUCCESS.
Anyways I didn’t care at all, no big deal. NBD. Truly, if you are out there random friend, I do still love you (kind of).
I ended up staying until 4AM for some reason, dancing the entire night. Like a maniac. A true maniac.
DID YOU HEAR ME? A TRUE. MANIAC. I danced in between groups of friends until they jellyfished me away, and then proceeded to find a new group of friends to insert myself into. Jellyfished. Repeat.
I just danced on my own the entire night.
It was kind of amazing.
But also kind of sad.
Because this new desire to reach the worldly milestone of getting fucked by a guy seriously interrupts my attention span! Normally I LOVE DANCING ALONE. At every music festival I have ever been to I end up running away from my group of friends and fly solo, dancing like a mad man with strangers to every single set/musician I want to see. It’s incredible. Magical. I am a basic Coachella hoe and I will never feel sorry about that, no no no (that rhymed and yes it was intentional, am I the next Rupi Kaur?).
But now that I have this mission to hook up with a guy I cannot focus. I cannot just listen to Rihanna telling me that we found love in a hopeless place (a dark history between us, I won’t include it in this essay, an agreement between our publicists). Instead I see hot guy 1 and hot guy 2, and then hot guy 3, and suddenly my eyes bat around like a neurotic parrot. If only I had the courage of a parrot to scream “FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME” over and over again until they submitted into doing so! I wonder if anyone has tried that (revolutionary?).
I spotted a guy in a snapback hat who was foooiiiine (not “fine”, you have to start saying it as if you’re ordering chicken pho, “phoooo-iiiiinnnee”). We kept eye-ing each other, back and forth, back and forth. He danced with his friend while I danced with my imaginary friend. He gave a little smile, I gave a little smile. I could just imagine his snapback falling to the ground and me seductively picking it up, then accidentally bumping into his crotch and taking off his pants and then the bouncers would kick us out for our public display of steamy affection and then he’d order an Uber Black because he’s obviously exorbitantly rich if getting with me and then we’d end up back at his rooftop penthouse in the West Village and he’d play one of my 85 FIRE Spotify playlists and we’d bang until the sun rose above the Empire State Building and he’d Postmates us three bacon egg sandwiches (two for me) as I slept endearingly on his well defined, Instagram model chest.
And as I went through this ricochet of likely events, suddenly…
Nothing happened.
So I went into the other room and listened to a FIRE DJ light up the club with his tunes and of course I instantly fell in love with him. I continued to dance on my own like a crazy person, the hours dwindling by as my exhaustion transformed into confusion (that stimulating buzz you get past the hours of 2:00AM that are just enough to keep you up until the next morning), and then suddenly…
It was 4:00AM and the club was closing.
So I waltzed out into the lounge area and called my best friend Olivia, screaming. I was actually screaming and I don’t know why. I thought this entire situation was so funny, me staying at a club until 4:00AM by myself, incapable of approaching attractive men. I felt like a toddler at the big kid’s table, afraid of being ousted. As I screamed at my best friend over the phone said DJ who I fell in love with waltzed out (he was actually an IMG model, like, I cannot explain the amount of magnetic attraction between us — okay maybe a stronger magnetic force omitted from me to him, but probably from him to me also right? I’m a good option, solid choice, the flare of Lucy Liu and the innocence of Cho Chang). I began eye-ing the DJ, and he began eye-ing me. I kept screaming at Olivia and laughing because for some reason I thought that would be attractive, scream-laughing. Like, look at me I’m so fun!
I think it somewhat worked because he kept looking at me. And looking at me… Until…
I hopped into my Lyft and went home.
I have.
No game.
But I am on the quest to find it.
One day, soon, I will.
Small Victories & Other Things: A Wrap Up (August 2018)
I may or may never write more on this little journey of mine, but a lot has happened since June 2018.
Including:
My friends made a GRINDR profile for me and sent whack ass messages to a bunch of guys
I joined the online dating apps (like, all of them)
I went to my first PRIDE
I slept with a guy for the first time (the night before PRIDE)
I joined a gay kickball league to try and make more gay friends but ultimately failed because I hate sports
*Note: The last 3 items all actually happened within a matter of 24 hours, which is pretty amazing
I ended up alone in Providence, Rhode Island and naturally decided to make it a “solo traveling” experience, going out to the gay bars and clubs there on my own and taking home a random guy back to my hotel
At my hotel as mentioned above, all I could think about the entire time was how I was not eating the pizza I planned on ordering minutes before the guy made it to my room
I decided I don’t think I actually do want to fuck 100 men just for the sake of being young, it’s exhausting, time consuming, and honestly I just kind of lost interest
I left the online dating apps (like, all of them)
That’s that! There’s an abundance of details, comedic content, and crude discourse I could go off on with each of those bullet points. I could practically write a novel, and maybe someday I will. For now, though, I don’t really have the time. Nor do I think it is that important.
In conclusion, I’m kind of over the thirst for mad cock. I think I may be a crazy person and am simply goal oriented, and when I reach that goal, then I move on to the next one. This sounds terrible, but hear me out.
This whole journey had the nature of going “0 to 100”. I decided I wanted to express my sexual interests and identity more strongly and clearly, and within a matter of 3–4 months I did. I went out to gay bars alone. I imposed my presence upon a handful of new friends (strangers) I met at those gay bars in the following weeks. I laughed at myself CONSTANTLY for the pathetic attempts I’d force myself to make at leaving my numbers on checks or smiling awkwardly to men who may or may not have ever been down (still not sure how to tell). I joined XYZ, went to XYZ, and scheduled XYZ in my calendar to put myself out there. I JOINED A FUCKING KICKBALL LEAGUE. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I HATE SPORTS ASIDE FROM SOCCER? I vehemently despise sports. Unless it’s just running or kicking a ball. Or dancing, or anything respectably fun like rafting down a river. For a decent portion of my life I thought the Super Bowl was the Super Ball. And then I thought that it was Super Bowl because we all dipped chips in bowls while watching it. I mean, kind of genius but that’s just one man’s opinion.
I did all of this while constantly thinking about the attractive men in New York (there are literally millions of them), jokingly commenting about men with all of my friends, and setting aside time to use dating apps, go on dates, so forth and so on. At one point I would even lose focus—if there was a hottie with a body at whatever restaurant or bar I was in, I would lose track of the conversation with whoever I was with.
It was kind of aggressive.
And I’m kind of over being that aggressive. Though the comedic disposition is invaluable, and I will surely write some story or script or project based off of all of these bullet points, it’s not exactly what I want to be focused on at this point in my life.
I mean, do we all need a slut period? I’m down for it, I just don’t think it should be forced. I don’t really see the appeal anymore. So I’ve been taking the wholesome approach the past few weeks.
Go on the apps when I actually want to (which has, not surprisingly, been never in the past few weeks). Attend events and groups that actually interest me (which, though harder to find than sports clubs, exist). Live my damn life!
There has really never been a point in my life where I wanted a relationship or a romantic partner, but I have always remained open to it. I think the same goes for having crazy, slutty sex. When I think about it, I don’t really want it all the time. AND IT IS ALWAYS THERE. LITERALLY. That is what shocks me, too. Want to hook up with a guy? Go to a gay bar. Done.
So, if I want that, awesome. I’ll go get it. But there are lots of other things I want as well, that I could be writing about, thinking about, and spending the majority of my time on. Like more moments with my friends, conversations with family, general experiences in New York and beyond. Starting my own company and creating my own projects.
At the end of the day, I still don’t know anything.
None of us do.
But we learn as we go, and this is what I’ve learned. Just live your damn life. Make new decisions. Change discourse. Find what means the most to you.
And above all: Use lube.
Lots of lube.
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With love,
Your favorite capybara ~ AKA Travis Zane
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