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The First Sexual Encounter Of My Life

This post may contain some explicit content.

It’s the story of my first sexual encounter and I want to be as honest as possible. Before I can begin, I must take you back almost a year before the actual act. I was 17 years old, in high school, and still coming to terms with my sexuality. I developed strange feelings for guys at a young age and  spent a lot of time thinking about kissing and doing more with them, but there was a problem. I never had “the talk” with my parents, so I didn’t know a thing about sex. I didn’t know what “more” meant, but the thought of two guys having sex always fascinated me, better yet, I became obsessed with it. I was really more curious about the idea of sex, rather than the act itself.

I remember sneaking to the backyard one night, logging into the internet from my PSP, searching gay websites for the first time, and finally being exposed to the online gay world. What I found shocked, but excited me at the same time. I was entering a different world, a gay one at that, which was much more sexual and raw. That night I saw another mans nude body for the first time and instantly got aroused. Seeing another person naked suddenly brought new sexual thoughts to mind. Thoughts of touching another man’s body, his thighs, his penis, his chest, his arms, and his face; I mean really touching these parts. I soon spent hours looking at pictures of naked gay men and inventing different scenes in my head, but after months, pictures were not enough.

I signed up for a gay dating site using a fake name because I was scared my friends would see me there. Interacting with gay guys proved more difficult than I had anticipated. I didn’t understand the language, and would get confused when I received messages asking if I was a “Top or Bottom?” I assumed that if I was on my back and a guy was on top of me being penetrated then surely I must be a bottom. I got many messages whenever I responded like that. Being young, inexperienced, and ethnic must have been appealing because I would go online and talk to many guys at once. I was soon addicted to the attention. The fantasies I once had were being replaced by ones that these men were providing for me. Perhaps months of chatting with nice gay guys and learning about sex from them was enough reassurance to try sex; or perhaps I was just horny.

He was Latino, 21 years old, and chubby. He asked if I had done anything with a guy and I responded with a simple no. He immediately sent a lot of messages asking if he could be my first. I still don’t know why I said yes to meeting with him after knowing him for less than an hour. I guess my urges got the best of me. I called him using my aunt’s number and risked being caught. For some reason I hoped that he didn’t answer. He didn’t and I felt relieved. That is until he called back. The conversation was brief, but he sounded like a nice person. He and I decided to meet at a nearby store. I immediately regretted my decision. I stepped inside, began sweating, and my heart began beating fast. He pulled up to the store really fast and didn’t even park correctly. He seemed really eager. He went inside the store, saw me, and signaled me to go to his car. I walked there slowly.

I entered his car and began breathing heavily. He quickly looked at me, rubbed my thigh, and told me that everything would be alright; I smiled. Then I took a real look at him. He looked more stocky in person and his face was much more round than in his profile picture. I couldn’t look at him directly because I felt nervous, so I looked down instead. He began asking if I knew of any places where we could have sex, and I told him that I didn’t and that I was sorry. He told me not to worry. He drove around and found an empty church parking lot and parked (I know, I’m the worst). He was quiet for a few seconds, but then he proceeded to undress me. I felt cold. I didn’t know where to look, so I looked outside the window. I had forgotten that it was around 3pm in the afternoon and that the sun was out. It was a really nice view.

I then looked at him as he was performing oral, and I suddenly felt small. Not in that sense. I felt unsure if I wanted to be in the car with this person, this stranger who I just met. He knew what he was doing and here I was not knowing a thing. I was sitting there in silence. He began complimenting me and saying that I was cute and perfect. I smiled; I really didn’t want to have a conversation with him. He began playing with himself and asked if I wanted to perform oral as well. I said no thank you, so he continued to perform oral on me again. I enjoyed being pleasured this way; I’m not going to lie. He seemed to be enjoying himself more than I was, so I felt a bit guilty. I finished quickly and cleaned myself on his towel. He began playing with himself again, but I didn’t want to look. Once done, he told me that he loved every moment of it. I didn’t say a word. He drove back to the store and he thanked me for the “fun” time. He told me to message and call him again. I just said okay.

I waited until he was out of sight and then walked home alone. I kept on thinking about what happened and why I decided to do something sexual with a stranger. I guess I felt dirty even though I did clean myself. I didn’t want to talk about what happened to anyone. It was years before I did anything sexual with another gay guy again. I remember arriving home, logging online, and blocking him.

I hope my like my story. Feel free to make a donation to my Paypal.  Any amount of support will be appreciated. Thank you and have a wonderful day.

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Writing The First Book Of My Life

I did something that I wouldn’t think would be possible. But recently, I starting writing a book about my life. And I don’t mean to brag or sound smug, but this book is starting to develop itself into something very interesting.

The reason for me finally writing is that for the past few years, my life has drastically shifted directions. From working two jobs with at-risk populations to quitting work and pursuing a Masters degree in Marriage and Family Therapy. And along the way, there were certain events that shook up my life which in turn, I somehow ended up in a position where I could start writing about my life, my struggles, and the people that I connected with in the process.

It’s going to be an interesting read. And an honest take.

I have spent the last six months coming up with an outline and I expect the book to be complete in two or three years. And I know that seems like a long wait, but I want to make sure that everything comes together in the time that it needs to. And I also want to make sure that this experience is as fun as possible for me despite some of the challenges that may arise.

This is a my first venture into writing a book, but I will use my blogging experience as a stepping stone into this grand adventure.

I just want the audience to understand my thoughts during some of my most defining moments in my life whether they agree with my decisions or not.

But we shall see what happens. For now, I want you all to know that I am doing well and to thank you for following me along into this weird journey of mine.

Here’s a glimpse into my book title.

“Fighting Intimately Neglected Demons Of Myself”

Feel free to comment. Any positive feedback would be taking seriously.

If you like what you see, feel free to make a donation to my Paypal. Any amount would be appreciated. Thank you.

My Life: A Small Update

Hello?

Is this thing on?

I have been absent in the world of the blogging for years. Today, things will begin to change.

When I first started by blog, I was in a world of chaos.

I had just received my Bachelors in Psychology along with my Minor in Counseling and I was tirelessly filling out resumes day-after-day in the hopes of landing a job in the a field that related to my degree. I was constantly thinking about my ex and believing that living in close proximity to him would be the spark to rekindle our relationship and the change needed for our relationship to work. In addition, I was living in a house occupied by fifteen of my family members.

The pressure to begin my adult life and start my professional career had increased to the point that I was sleeping and eating less and throwing random tantrums when my family asked questions about my life.

After researching ways to deal with stress and reading on how writing could be a helpful coping strategy to deal with my anxiety,  I decided to start this blog.

During the process of writing and reflecting on my life, I was better able to understand the multiple traumas that had occurred in my childhood and how they shaped my perception of the world. The more I wrote, the more comfortable I became about sharing  intimate moments of my life and gradually, the number of followers on my blog started to grow. Soon, they began sharing their own traumatic experiences, disclosing how they overcame those obstacles, or how they were dealing with their daily struggles.

Regardless of how different our paths in life had been, my followers were able to find something to relate to in my writings and were supportive and encouraged my journey of self-discovery.

Engaging with them offered insight on the importance of sharing life moments with strangers and made me aware of my need for connecting with people no matter how different we each may seem.

That was five years ago.

Today, I can confidently say that, at the core, I am still me, but my understanding of the world has changed.

I no longer carry the burden of others on my shoulders and have prioritized myself and my mental health.

I can only laugh now when I think back on how I used to blame myself for the actions of those around me and how I approached life trying to vigorously help every single person that meant something to me.

I almost lost my sanity in doing so.

I can let go now and move forward with my life.

I would like to say thanks.  For the people that randomly showed up in my life – the ones who broke my heart, the ones who pieced it back together, and the ones who filled it with love.

I am not alone. And I hope you, whoever you may be or wherever you may come from, understand that you’re not alone either.

I was once you. And in some strange way, I hope this journey that we call life, brings us closer together.

Here’s to the future and the continuation of sharing my life experiences with the beautiful people willing to listen.

Thank you! Truly.

My Life: The Unspoken Monologue

As a school assignment, we were to give a presentation about the reasons why we wanted to be a therapist. I, of course, decided to write a monologue about my life and how it led to me being in a classroom learning skills to become one. However, as the weeks progressed and my monologue became more personal, I decided that I was not ready to share. Instead I gave a presentation using family photos that showed a glimpse into my personal life. I concluded by saying that I wanted to be a therapist for my family. Funny, how I almost convinced myself that this was the truth.

Here’s my true monologue:

Through the process of looking at my childhood, adolescence, and adult life, I discovered just how much of my past I had been running from. I do hope everything makes sense. Thank you.

In order to understand why I want to be therapist, I had to reflect back.

I thought of when I was a kid and how I constantly heard my mom get yelled at by my dad.

I remember how she just stood there, took it all, and begged him to stop drinking.

I thought about when my dad drank, his anger, and the pain I felt when he hit me and my older brothers.

I remember my older brothers, the drugs they took, them getting locked up, and taken away.

I thought about how alone I felt, the bad thoughts in my head, and how scared I was of someone finding out.

As a child, I wanted to escape my family.

But those thoughts of hanging and drowning myself became unbearable.

Instead, I decided to separate myself from my family. That way their problems were no longer mine.

My older brother wasn’t schizophrenic. He faked all the voices he heard in his head. And just for attention, he lost those twenty pounds. Barely slept. Never showered. He stunk so bad from not cleaning himself after going to the restroom that my dad forced him into the bathtub, yelled at him, and threw water on him until he was clean. Slowly his screams faded. He never learned his lesson.

My other brother, I hated him. His promises and his lies. The last real conversation I had with him was when we were both outside staring at the clouds and he turned to me and told me that things were only going to get worse from there on. This was before the meth. Before he got locked up for breaking into an empty house to sleep in when my dad finally decided to kick him out. Before the drugs messed with his head so much that he could barely speak in complete sentences.

At the age of fourteen, I convinced myself that they deserved it. We stopped talking soon after.

Years later when both were deported, I was too focused on school to care. And when one of them went missing, I was too concerned with moving to San Francisco to pursue a degree in a field that helps people that he never crossed my mind. And when I graduated, I was too obsessed with finding the right job that I had forgotten to visit the remaining one. And when I got the job, I was too stressed out to notice that he needed my help.

At the group home, I worked most days and long hours. Heard all these tragic stories by clients. I thought I was making a difference.

Then one day, a client ran away and I ran after her. I didn’t mind her cursing at me or the fact that I was running into traffic. I needed to save her. We ran far until she eventually got tired and decided to lie on the grass. She turned to me and asked why I didn’t just leave her. Nobody wanted her and nobody cared. I stood there silently. As she began to cry, I thought about how alone she felt. Her life full of pain. How much she reminded me of my older brothers. All her life she struggled with abuse. At the age of eleven she started using drugs. At thirteen she was arrested. And at fourteen she was sent to the group home. Before she ran away, she was told that she needed to stay there a few months longer because she was caught using drugs again. She told me she felt stuck and just wanted to be home and see her family. As I looked back at her, I finally said that I cared for her and the only thing that mattered in that moment was her. She began to cry again, but a few minutes later she stopped. A staff came and we were able to get her to return back. The next day she thanked me for running after her and to let me know that I was fast as hell. I smiled. Weeks later she relapsed and months later she ran away again. I will never know what happened to her or if I ever made an impact.

So why do I want to become a therapist?

Because of the guilt. Because I convinced myself that if I help others, it will ease the pain of not helping my older brother’s. But it won’t. And I will continue to search for that missing void in my life. And it will hurt. But in time, I will learn to let go. Learn that not all the things I experienced were my fault. I know that’s not the healthiest reason. Or a good one. But that’s the truth. And perhaps, that’s what that assignment was all about.

If you like what you see, feel free to make a donation to my Paypal. Any amount would be appreciated. Thank you and have a wonderful day.

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My Life: Becoming a freelance writer

Hello? Is this thing on?

If so, I would like to say hi and welcome you to my blog. And for those who have not heard from me in years, I would like to apologize. My life these past two years have been chaotic (and that’s keeping it simple). I went from home to home trying to find a place to call my own, changed job positions, and invested a significant amount of time and money on pursuing a Masters degree.

However, life happened and I am no longer in the right circumstances to continue.

I hope to share with you, in time, that chapter of my life. You’ll understand all of my struggles, my joys, and my pains. But for now, I would like to share that I am no longer going to school. These past few months I have been trying to find meaning in my life and in the process, I have decided to become a freelance writer. To tell you the truth, I don’t have a idea of what I am getting myself into, but that has never stopped me before.

When my guidance counselor told me that I would not go to a four-year college, I ended up graduating from San Francisco State University with a B.A. in Psychology and minor in Counseling. When all my other brother’s dropped out of school, I applied to a Masters program and got in. And I will continue to move forward regardless.

My stories aren’t too sophisticated (trust me, I know). Nor are they grammatically perfect (that is a creative choice). But they are honest (I promise). And that’s why I want to write and make a living out of it. I want to share my story and help at least one person get through the day. Or to make them laugh. Or cry. Or make them not feel alone.

And with that announcement, I would like some help from you.

I know this may alienate the people who read my blog, but I would appreciate any leads that can help in me becoming a freelance writer or at least a place where I can make a living sharing my stories.

Here is a list of some stories that show off my writing skills. I hope you all enjoy them! 🙂

Life: A Message To My Future Daughter

The Night My Life Changed: An Introduction

The Brother Who Left My Life

The First Sexual Encounter Of My Life

I know it’s a long shot, but it’s an attempt. Hopefully someone out there can hear me. Thank you.

Sincerely,

EDDY

If you like what you see, feel free to make a donation to my Paypal. Any amount would be appreciated. Thank you and have a wonderful day.

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My Life: Please Don’t Judge My Weirdness

I made it to Post #25 ya’ll!

Instead of writing something new, I thought of going back to the past. When I first started this blog and writing random posts. These posts were more simple and short. Kind of like me. They were before I had an audience who seemed to care about my life. Before I started writing more meaningful and longer posts. Not that there is anything wrong with that (Seinfeld reference). But I think it is fun to look back and read all of my randomness. So here are a few of my favorite posts that just didn’t garner much views. I hope you give them a try. And please, don’t judge my weirdness! 😛

My Life Through Daft Punk: All Time Views: 22

I guess people just don’t like the French. Haha. Just kidding of course. This post was inspired when I was going through a rough breakdown in the summer of 2013 and the only thing that seemed to help was listening to a song titled, “Fresh” by Daft Punk. The post describes the images that go through my head when I hear that song. I will admit that the writing is a bit choppy, but I was just starting to write! Geeze, I said not to judge. Anyways, if you like Daft Punk and pictures of the beach, you will definitely like this post.

https://eddybcruz.wordpress.com/2013/07/31/my-life-through-daft-punk/

My Life In Story: All Time Views: 46

Okay now, I’m quite proud of this post right here. Not because I spent a month putting pieces of my interests together, but because the finished story feels perfect to me. I think this was when I decided that writing could be…like you know…fun! I hope you can spot all the references.

Music: Daft Punk, LCD Soundsystem, No Doubt. Deadmu5, Les Miserables. Macklemore & Ryan Lewis Books: The Catcher In The Rye, The Virgin Suicides, The Perks Of Being A Wallflower, Fun Home. T.V. Shows: Arrested Development, HIMYM Movies: The Dark Knight, The Matrix, Up. Places: San Francisco, Orange County, LA.

https://eddybcruz.wordpress.com/2013/08/01/my-life-in-story/

My Life Through My Thoughts: All Time Views: 44

This post gives you some insight into what I thought about when I was younger. The post reads more like a diary entry, but I like the fact that it also let’s you know what I was thinking about before I had a breakdown. It’s short and honest.

https://eddybcruz.wordpress.com/2013/07/22/my-life-through-my-thoughts/

BONUS: The First Relationship Of My Life: All Time Views: 62

Okay, I have no idea why this post didn’t get many views. This was the start of when I started to write long and meaningful stories. And to be honest, this was a deeper reveal into my personal life. This post tells the story of when I was young and in love (as cheesy as it sounds). If you ever wanted to know about my relationships, then this will definitely give you a glimpse.

https://eddybcruz.wordpress.com/2013/07/27/the-first-relationship-of-my-life/

Anyways, I hope you give these posts a try and enjoy reading them as much as I loved writing them. Until next time my fellow bloggers. Let’s see what Post #50 brings.

If you like what you see, feel free to make a donation to my Paypal. Any amount would be appreciated. Thank you and have a wonderful day.

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Life: Getting Myself Tested For HIV

I want you to know that I hate clinics. And pills.

A couple weeks ago, a person I had previously hooked up with contacted me to say he was HIV positive. I stood there quietly as I reread his text. I was shocked and didn’t know how to feel. I asked him when he found out and if I should be worried. He told me he had been positive for 6 months, but that he was undetectable now. He kept on insisting that we should sex again and to forget about using condoms. I stopped listening. He continued going on about how condoms burn him, make him break out, and how much he loved bareback sex. I just hung up. But I didn’t mean to be rude. He chose to engage in high risk behaviors and became HIV positive. I chose not to have sex with him again.

I walked into the clinic early in the morning the next day. I gave the receptionist my personal information and told her that I had been to this particular clinic before. She smiled and told me to wait in the lobby until I was called. I took a seat and saw a couple holding hands in front of me. They were watching T.V. and occasionally the guy would burst out laughing. I smiled. They were a cute couple. On the left of me was a girl who looked no more than 20 years old. She stared at the T.V., but never laughed. Not even during the funny parts. I continued watching T.V. until the nurse called my name.

I walked into the other room and knew the procedure. I took everything out of my pockets and got weighed. I had lost four pounds. The nurse gave me a small container to pee in and told me go inside the bathroom. I took a pee, left the container inside, washed my hands, and stared at myself in the mirror. I stood there for a few minutes. Then I began to cry. I don’t know why. After, I washed my face, walked to another room, and waited for the doctor.

She was petite and had a friendly smile. She asked the usual questions: Are you on any type of medication? Are you experiencing any type of symptoms? How many sex partners have you had since your last check up? I told her that I was not on any type of medication and I didn’t know what were symptoms of HIV. She started explaining a few symptoms and I just nodded. I really just wanted to leave. She then asked how many sex partners I had in the last year and suddenly I became sad. I told her I didn’t know. It was a pretty rough year for me. She told me to make an estimate, so I did. I had never lied to a doctor before. She made a note, walked toward the door, and said the nurse would be there shortly to take my blood.

I waited quietly for the nurse. She walked inside and told me to extend my right arm so she could take my blood. I did as I was told and looked the other way. I didn’t want to see her or the needle. I had always been afraid of seeing blood. As, I sat there staring at the wall, I thought about the first time I got tested and how scary the experience had been. I thought about the time I found out I had gonorrhea and the embarrassment I felt telling my partners. I thought about how much I hated taking the pill to get rid of it. I thought about how I could recall the number of sex partners a few years earlier and how I now couldn’t. I then felt a sharp pain on my arm. I never was used to the needle. The nurse told me it would be over soon. I said okay and continued looking at the wall. Time had never moved more slowly in my life.

Once done, the nurse gave me condoms and told me to check out in the front. I walked to the receptionist and she said that the clinic would call if the results showed anything positive. I thanked her and quickly walked to my car. I sat there and looked at the bandage that the nurse put on my arm and touched it lightly. The pain was gone. There was nothing I could do now, but wait to get my results. And for a small moment, everything seemed alright. I started the car, hid the bag of condoms in the glove compartment, and drove home.

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Continue reading “Life: Getting Myself Tested For HIV”

My Short Poem About Life

I don’t think anybody really knew me. But then again, I hardly think anyone really cared. This is a poem of my short  life. And by the time you read this. It will probably be too late. But I really did try. Here is my poem:

“They thought he was a joke. So they laughed.

They thought he never replied. So they left.

Maybe it was all for the best.

He lived another day. No matter how hard he resisted.

He lost everything. Even happiness left.

He should have hugged it one last time.

No one knew why he never returned.”

Hard to believe. But perhaps my life was meant to be short.

“No flowers, no funeral, no nothing.”

 

UPDATE: I would first like to thank all of you for the supportive comments. I did not expect much of anything when I published this post. I truly apologize for making people worry about my life. That was not my intention. I really didn’t think anyone cared. I was just feeling pretty lousy with life. I do want to say, that what I published yesterday was how I felt at some point in my life, so I don’t want to dismiss those feelings of sadness, isolation, and rejection. Funny, after I published my post, my best friend sent me a message. She doesn’t know about my blog, but she finally wanted to talk with me. And that was enough for me to keep going. I decided to change the format and the post out of convenience for everyone. Once again, thank you for being there for me. I really do appreciate the support and lovely comments. Thank you.

– Eddy

If you like what you see, feel free to make a donation to my Paypal. Any amount would be appreciated. Thank you and have a wonderful day.

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