LOVE IN THE TIME OF SICKNESS

LOVE IN THE TIME OF SICKNESS
Rant and Blog
By Guy aka Crownless Prince Timon

Platitudes tell us “love makes the world go ‘round” and “love heals all wounds”. Whoever created these seemingly honest statements was not speaking of romance of course, obsessive or otherwise. They were in the, “Feed the Children”, circle of love and not in the gladiator ring being ripped apart by a hungry lion.

Course I could make less painful choices. As Bunny my pug knows, I’ve had quite a few “strange uncles” visit during the past year. One of them might even have been “appropriate” for me to get to know better but I went for the tried and true; a booze-guzzling, Ritalin popping, self-absorbed, depressed and anti-social, chronic masturbator.

To be fair, he is also one of the funniest, most original, generous, tender, street-smart, non-judgmental, sexy, best lovers and best new friends that I have ever had. In other words, he is complicated and maybe I am more than a little confused. He brought me out of an uptight, self-hating, grief-stricken, suicidal, lonely, manhunt and dick-dock sexual insanity, ex-prostitute style of passionless sex with absolutely no hope for tenderness, and into a brand new, velvet-lined, hell.

I like to call him J Low Low because like J”Lo, he gathers and rules his subjects with his exotic ass. He is also charming, very attractive while not extraordinary, looks like a star especially when he’s fading, and can fill you up with a superficial joy even if you can’t for the life of you remember a word of the song he just sang to you.

Like J’Lo, he is also a master of hype. Outside, he is all smiles, jokes and sex. Inside, he is a sad, nearly broken, beaten-up man, who will forever be looking for enough love to feel less like an empty shell with soft, pretty skin wrapped around it. He will be the first to seduce and say “I love you” but he will never accept or believe you when you say it, in fact he will punish you for even suggesting it.

I am exactly like him of course. Some of the chemically related character traits may be in remission but the rest is the same. Add with me, an obsessive and insane notion that I can make people do what I want by hitting them where it truly hurts the most. I once told J Low Low that I didn’t think he had any feelings, that he was, “just a hole to be filled with sex, booze and drugs” and if he, “couldn’t give me sexual satisfaction then he was absolutely worthless.” Words from anger, maybe so, but I meant them, right down to my core. How could this hot mess be a complete human being with an emotional and intellectual life? It was not possible. All honest feeling being destroyed by Stoly.

I am a complete and bitter fuck.

This was months ago and I didn’t think I loved him or even wanted him as a friend back then and that should have been the end of it. He didn’t speak to me for five weeks. I started to see him as a man and miss his touch in a way no amount of Wellbutrin, Zyprexa, attention, Red Bull or sex could make go away. I drove by his house for no reason. Painted and developed photos of him. I even cried once. It snuck up on me and I have no idea how it happened or when I saw more with my eyes than with my dick.

Last November, he told me he couldn’t, “see his life without me” and I told him the same.

It makes me think of the title of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s book, “Love in the Time of Cholera”, or to paraphrase, “Love in the Time of Sickness.” Not much good comes of two sickos in what they can feel as love. This kind of love risks destroying everyone and every shred of humanity in its path. It threatens making me foam at the mouth; break him and myself into the smallest possible pieces and spin myself into nothingness.

What happened or what was always there but unseen?

First, we became three-dimensional, oxygen-breathing porn. The moments of genuine, eye-locking love, while glorious and still present, were overwhelmed and consumed by the need to self-destruct in one way or another. He took more Ritalin and I began to feel like a crack whore. He came over more and more but stopped cumming. I fucked angrier and angrier and with more danger. Everything, including love, became nothing more than sweaty, ordinary compulsion. He needed more and more. I needed more and more...

Second, J Low Low said, (granted it was during a two-day Ritalin binge), that he was attracted to someone else, “a new friend” and the real ouch began with three small words, “I like him” and ripped me open with , “I want something different.” Then he held me, looked in my eyes, kissed me with a long tongue and said, “You’re my best man. Look what you do to me.”

All this destruction came in one shallow breath.

That same night, he asked me to blind-fold, tie him up, beat, and fuck him.” I did the first three. I couldn’t fuck him. Love, passion and care disappeared with his eyes wrapped in a black silk blindfold and wrists and ankles bound with white cord. I punched, slapped, and spit on him in reality and not in sex play. I was going to hurt him bad. He asked me not to hit him in the same place and I ignored him, pretended it was part of the game. He begged me to fuck him with “sirs” and “pleases” and I told him I hated him and I wouldn’t, “fuck a hole where an army of disgusting pigs had already been.” Sounds like sex play. Feels like real life.

I cut the ropes off with scissors and said I had to stop.

I love him. I wish he would disappear. I wish I could hold him prisoner and kiss him forever.