Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Painted Faces
First of all, despite what many of you might have heard, I’m not a girl. Nor do I have any sort of desire to be one. It amazes me how many people still believe that a guy being gay means that they were inevitably born a woman trapped in a man’s body. Trust me, I never have, nor will I ever, wish to be a girl. They have enough problems as it is, without worrying that every gay man (should I say boy?) in existence wants nothing more than to be one of them. Plus, and I know its crude, but I have an incredible attachment to my cock and the amazing actions that I watch myself do with it most every night. Ooh shocker... a guy who likes sex, so what? Sue me. I’ve heard every explanation for my sexual preference over my short eighteen years; just a faze, confused, wired wrong, changing world opinions, and my personal favourite, God’s will. If me being gay has anything to do with the way that ‘God’ created me, then I just have to assume that he’s a massive, bearded homo, or he just really likes gay porn. Not that I believe in all that religious mumbling anyway, the idea of an invisible man in the sky creating everything just seems a bit farfetched. Although if it’s true then I’m seriously going to hell. Unless, like I mentioned before he’s a big gay dude, then I’m sure he’ll welcome me right into his Pervy Gates. Get it? Pervy instead of Pearly... Nevermind, I’m obviously far too funny for the universe.
As I’m sure anyone with half a brain... hell anyone with half a brain cell can tell, I’m gay. Well, now that I’ve told you, you can guess. Ask anyone who’d grown up with me and the thought would have never crossed their minds. Then again their descriptions of gay men involve lots of high pitched voices, constantly hitting on anything with a dick and feather boas... for some reason I could never quite figure out. Completely the opposite of the pale guy with scruffy black hair, a low growl of a voice and my complete nonchalance towards guys, or girls for that matter. I don’t hit on people, which apparently makes me all the more attractive to everything with a pulse. Not being arrogant but I could stand in the corner of a crowded club for all of five minutes and someone would be asking me to fuck their brains out. Yes, gay men do feel the need to say things like that, straight (well...) to the point. And fine, I’m being a little... lot arrogant but screw it. I’ll admit it, I’m fucking hot. I look and smell like walking sex and that draws guy (and girls... ew) in like you wouldn’t believe, flies to frickin’ honey, sugar.
Before you ask, because you’re bound too and everyone does, no I don’t particular want to or believe in ‘The One’ and am incredibly bored of the horrified looks at my sexual conquests. I’ve slept with well over a hundred people, not all of them men (weird I know!) and have savoured every last fuck. I was hooked from the very first time, losing my virginity; bent over a pool table after hours in the club, both of us 15, he was far more experienced than I was and I nearly shook the ceiling lights when he hit my prostate. There’s still a stain on the right hand side of that table, and it makes me chuckle every single time I go home and we have a game. I don’t even mind fucking girls that much, I just wanted to see how it felt the first time; she was nice, quiet and didn’t complain when I told her it was an experiment. I guess I’m just greedy, maybe even a sex addict but fuck it; I’d rather have it all than none at all. I’m... well I guess you could say that I’m obsessive in a way. Not about people, no never about people, but about the act itself. Spotting some random guy across a dance floor and waiting to see how long it takes for me to spin him into my web, I love the chase most of all. They all fall so easily, it’s like I can see the mental argument that goes on in their heads and how quickly they cave in. Almost even before I’ve finished shagging them I’m bored, they’re all the same; the bodies, faces, moans and names all just sort of blend into one, admittedly rather large, mass. It’s becoming tedious; I just want something that will hold my interest for at least an evening, a fuck that’s beyond the usual crap, someone that sucks me in.
I can honestly say that don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone. I mean sure, I’ve wanted them in my bed, out of their clothes and then out of my bed, but I’ve never particular wanted the person themselves. It’s become more of a number game than a genuine interest in screwing the guy (it’s mostly guys these days), counting them off in my head like a fucking calculator. Never the same person twice, they’re never interesting enough for me to want them to stay beyond the initial first shag. I would make a list but I never remember their names after I have no need to use it anymore, just another notch on my bedpost. Well, it’s more like a toothpick now, just too much whittling if you get my drift.
My brother Mikey sometimes feels sorry for me, he doesn’t say but it’s so obvious in his voice when I call and tell him of my latest nights out. He’s been with his girlfriend for the last two years and constantly tells me that he wishes I could find someone to make me happy ‘just like he is’. I mean, I’ve tried to make him jealous, to shove how much sex I’m getting in his face, how free I am, but he’s just so fucking happy. And sometimes, hardly ever, but sometimes when we hang up I feel this pang of loneliness and... Jealousy that he can be so ecstatic in the sort of situation that makes me feel trapped. I ‘just need to find the right one’ according to him, and then I won’t want to run away from commitment, but the thought actually makes me puke. I don’t want commitment, someone else that I have to think about, sex with the same person continuously; I’m perfectly happy with my nameless fucks and drunken hazes... alright?
As I’m sure anyone with half a brain... hell anyone with half a brain cell can tell, I’m gay. Well, now that I’ve told you, you can guess. Ask anyone who’d grown up with me and the thought would have never crossed their minds. Then again their descriptions of gay men involve lots of high pitched voices, constantly hitting on anything with a dick and feather boas... for some reason I could never quite figure out. Completely the opposite of the pale guy with scruffy black hair, a low growl of a voice and my complete nonchalance towards guys, or girls for that matter. I don’t hit on people, which apparently makes me all the more attractive to everything with a pulse. Not being arrogant but I could stand in the corner of a crowded club for all of five minutes and someone would be asking me to fuck their brains out. Yes, gay men do feel the need to say things like that, straight (well...) to the point. And fine, I’m being a little... lot arrogant but screw it. I’ll admit it, I’m fucking hot. I look and smell like walking sex and that draws guy (and girls... ew) in like you wouldn’t believe, flies to frickin’ honey, sugar.
Before you ask, because you’re bound too and everyone does, no I don’t particular want to or believe in ‘The One’ and am incredibly bored of the horrified looks at my sexual conquests. I’ve slept with well over a hundred people, not all of them men (weird I know!) and have savoured every last fuck. I was hooked from the very first time, losing my virginity; bent over a pool table after hours in the club, both of us 15, he was far more experienced than I was and I nearly shook the ceiling lights when he hit my prostate. There’s still a stain on the right hand side of that table, and it makes me chuckle every single time I go home and we have a game. I don’t even mind fucking girls that much, I just wanted to see how it felt the first time; she was nice, quiet and didn’t complain when I told her it was an experiment. I guess I’m just greedy, maybe even a sex addict but fuck it; I’d rather have it all than none at all. I’m... well I guess you could say that I’m obsessive in a way. Not about people, no never about people, but about the act itself. Spotting some random guy across a dance floor and waiting to see how long it takes for me to spin him into my web, I love the chase most of all. They all fall so easily, it’s like I can see the mental argument that goes on in their heads and how quickly they cave in. Almost even before I’ve finished shagging them I’m bored, they’re all the same; the bodies, faces, moans and names all just sort of blend into one, admittedly rather large, mass. It’s becoming tedious; I just want something that will hold my interest for at least an evening, a fuck that’s beyond the usual crap, someone that sucks me in.
I can honestly say that don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone. I mean sure, I’ve wanted them in my bed, out of their clothes and then out of my bed, but I’ve never particular wanted the person themselves. It’s become more of a number game than a genuine interest in screwing the guy (it’s mostly guys these days), counting them off in my head like a fucking calculator. Never the same person twice, they’re never interesting enough for me to want them to stay beyond the initial first shag. I would make a list but I never remember their names after I have no need to use it anymore, just another notch on my bedpost. Well, it’s more like a toothpick now, just too much whittling if you get my drift.
My brother Mikey sometimes feels sorry for me, he doesn’t say but it’s so obvious in his voice when I call and tell him of my latest nights out. He’s been with his girlfriend for the last two years and constantly tells me that he wishes I could find someone to make me happy ‘just like he is’. I mean, I’ve tried to make him jealous, to shove how much sex I’m getting in his face, how free I am, but he’s just so fucking happy. And sometimes, hardly ever, but sometimes when we hang up I feel this pang of loneliness and... Jealousy that he can be so ecstatic in the sort of situation that makes me feel trapped. I ‘just need to find the right one’ according to him, and then I won’t want to run away from commitment, but the thought actually makes me puke. I don’t want commitment, someone else that I have to think about, sex with the same person continuously; I’m perfectly happy with my nameless fucks and drunken hazes... alright?
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