Antiquated Manoeuvres in the Dark

I've also been experiencing some new kink-aggression and extended chats resembling what might not still be referred to as a 'cyber'; is that an archaic term for erotic chat? Well, that's what's been happening. There've even been Skype invitations, which I'm yet to accept. That feels like a significant upgrade from present conduct, with its own set of potential behavioural/attitudinal pitfalls.

One French guy keeps telling me how much he'd enjoy having me on my all fours, slutty ass raised while I lick the floor. Licking his boots would make more sense, but why the floor? Am I cleaning up my own jizz or something? I feel like hypothetical sex scenarios have to be specific enough for me to immerse, otherwise it's like feeling out a puzzle together; 'you're where, I'm doing what, who's that joining us?' Maybe I'm not a lateral enough thinker to benefit from such practices. I prefer real dicks, with the lights on.

Okay, this guy is really persistent. I'd probably not be reciprocating if he wasn't also very hot. And French, I've had shattering experiences with the French (one of whom is the model for a particularly strong fuck cycle, a constellation of tastes and preferences fixated on this one guy that, like weird gravity, draws me to similar sexual partners and emotional terrain). 

On top of everything, I'm feeling like grindr isn't the free-associative erotic forum I thought it to be. Rather, it's where hegemonic ideals of what is and isn't an acceptable appearance are incubated, misshapen, exaggerated and disseminated. Heaven forbid you be a few kilo overweight and NOT a bear, in which case being slightly rotund is a fetishised standard. 

I thought facebook was an insidious platform for comparative living, but grindr works just fine. I've encountered a few profiles rather desperately affirming professional lifestyles, advertising a relatively 'together' person seeking the same. 

How fucking boring! 

Spontaneous chemistry that happens with no prior knowledge of a persons lifestyle is pretty cool; a person is an entire universe with (hopefully, fidelity to selfhood assured) their own unique mode of living. I don't want to 'order in' a human that's curtailed themselves to some myopic specifications of attractiveness, written from a few cinematic odes and antiquated commercial identities. 

Finally, I had a real 'date' and not a hookup. Grindr can still pleasantly surprise, though it's yet to meter an existing ratio of disappointment. 

Mildly Racist

Less and less grindr is becoming something I can write about, I'm losing my objectivity. It's officially integrated, feels completely normal, no longer disrupting the banality of my day; rather, it's become indistinguishable from said banality. It is no longer an adequate holiday. 

I haven't written about my hookups because I haven't been able to articulate myself regarding them as easily as I used to. They are just a given of my week now, rather than novelties to mull over after the moment with pen paper and erection (or tablet and erection). I don't even recall most of them fondly anymore. Perhaps I'm less discerning now, simply out to get a hookup, crossed over to the dreaded notch on the belt mentality. 

There have been a few goodn's though. Ive recently concluded I'm sexually prejudiced. All the evidence is there. So, I decided to go counter-type and pursue someone I'd not normally.

Was really hot, and contrary to type re girth (don't make me reiterate and sound like a total bigot). I don't know if satisfaction levels were mutually exclusive with race. Too many variables to isolate an ethnicity-based sexual inflection, identifiable by approach and technique, perhaps a survey alongside the practical could bring such enquiry closer to empirical standards. 

Sounds like a future project. 

Fuck Cycles

Hello new year. 

Haven't been updating the sphere because last few hookups have been godawful. I can't remember if these preceded a negative deeming of grindr, or if my negativity thereof incidentally heralded a drought of semi-decent good times/strangers. My love life of late has been under something like a karmic upheaval, unexpected resurrections and the return of once-missed connections, all without aid of grindr. 

Maybe it's because I've changed focus without realising, and the app is no longer serving me on the level it was. I sense a pending review of self, most pressingly my attitudes regarding sex, because clearly I have different needs right now and grindr's not the ticket.

It's been good, weird, psychologically disorienting, bad; I feel emotionally frail. And hot to boot. I mean literally, I can't get a lazy pump-action going before I'm apologising to some guy about how profusely I sweat, that it's just a thing and he'll have to cope. I have in mind a stairwell fuck that was so humid I swear my fingers pruned and I thought I'd pass out.

Fuck summer. 

So do I have any ideas re the abrupt disinterest in grindr?

Using it recently, I've found myself stopping mid chat, realising I have no intention of hooking up with this person, commencing guilt on my folly and throwing myself into some other productive pursuit to redeem the wasted effort. But what's more productive than pleasure? Has my appetite transformed into something higher, am I transcending my most basic biological functions albeit momentarily?

On stale incentives, a friend enlightened me to the hazards of 'fuck-cycles' a few months back. These are when you have a legendary sexual experience with someone, and this person becomes the cast of your ideal, beyond whom you try and recreate that experience by enacting similar conditions and recruiting numerous doppelgängers. 

Ironically, the deliberation of the simulated moment falls short of the miraculous providence that guided the encounters's various components into being firstly, frustrating and exacerbating the memory-desire endlessly.

It's like blowing a neural fuse after reaching nirvana and never being able to quite make it back.

Perhaps pleasures need to be relinquished as soon as they occur, fuck this compulsive documentation. Nostalgia generally segues into suffering, creating a schism between the past and the present whereby the latter is negated. 

Like that golden age shit.

I'm unintentionally leaning towards hemp-toting notions of The Endless Moment, revering the unique essences in times passing without attachment, enjoying the procession without anxious critique (popularly symptomatic of an aggrandised sense of self; bad Westerners!).

I don't know.

(Admitting ones own ignorance is the first step toward enlightenment...)