My Life And The Bloggers In It

To tell you the truth, I never really expected anyone to care about what I wrote on my blog or to get many positive comments. I really didn’t. I wrote because I knew I would have the option to click on my posts, read them, and go back to a period of time in my life. Times where I was happy and times were I was sad. I’ve been doing that lately. I know later in my life I will see certain events differently or completely forget certain memories because memories really do fade away. So I’m glad that you’re here with me because you’re giving me a new reason to share. I write because I want you to know my story and I appreciate you reading my blog. No joke.

A few bloggers have told me that they like my style of writing (that’s the first time I’ve been told I have style). I have also been thanked for sharing stories that are so personal. Honestly, I didn’t know how personal my stories were until I was told they were very personal and I don’t think I will ever change that about my blog. All my posts (except for this one) have taken me days to write because I really do want you to understand how I felt during that moment in my life. A few bloggers have shared similar experiences that remind me that sometimes we go through the same things.

I get happy when I see a notification and see that it’s a comment from a blogger that has something nice to say about my post. Those are the best. So what I want to do is ask you all a question (well a few questions actually).

Which is your favorite post of mine and why? What is it about my blog that you like the most? What would you like to know more about?

As for me, my favorite posts would have to be:

“The first relationship of my life” because I’m still recovering from the emotional effects and it takes me back to a time were I was so naive and in love at 21 years old.

“My life in blog” because it’s my first post and I have a thing about “firsts.” Also, the positive feedback I received from that post gave me the motivation to continue writing more.

And

“The brother who left my life” because I never expected to publish that story on this blog. I was literally scared of exposing that side of myself. You were the first people to hear about that event in my life. Two days later, I told my best friend and I remember crying in the car. It was something special really.

Those are three of my favorite. I hope I hear more from all of you. I’m really curious to know what makes people click on the like button. I really have no clue. I think my posts are too simple to be considered well-written or engaging. They are just simple posts from a simple guy.

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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The Brother Who Left My Life

This is the one of the most honest and sensitive topics I will write about. I hope you read until the end before you judge. It will mean a lot to me. Thank you.

I want to tell you about my older brother. He was the second child in the family and only three years older than myself. I looked up to him as a kid because he took care of me, plain and simple. I remember how he used to come up with these crazy funny jokes that made everybody in the room laugh and he had a laugh that would make us laugh some more. He introduced me to new music, hairstyles, fashion trends, graffiti, cigarettes, youth gangs, and the way drugs worked. He was amazing.

But as much as I hate to think about him as a person with great potential who let drugs take over his life, I know that’s the truth. He started drinking and smoking weed in junior high and soon upgraded to doing heroin and cocaine while in high school. During his senior year, the drugs took over and he started to act paranoid. He stayed up during most nights, checked the windows, and insisted people were coming to harm the family. In his head, he was only trying protecting us just like he did when I was younger. But as a teen, I didn’t want any protection.

One night I was frustrated with the way he was behaving that I started yelling at him to act normal and stop pretending to be mentally ill (I will never assume someone is faking ever again). I don’t know how it happened, but I remember that suddenly my brother was on top of me and he started choking me. I couldn’t move. All I could do was stare at his face. He looked so  terrified. From there one, I just remember how cold his hands felt around my neck. That was the first and last time he ever laid his hands on me. My oldest brother came rushing downstairs, pulled my brother off, threw him to the ground, started hitting him, and told him to never hit me again. He kept his word.

After that incident, I convinced myself to never talk to my brother again. I gave him the silent treatment which did a lot more damage than I had ever anticipated. I ignored his jokes and pretended he wasn’t my brother. I would leave the room when he wanted to talk. He would beg for me to listen, but I looked the other way. Ignoring him was the easy part, but noticing the real problem was the hardest.

He soon starting behaving more psychotic. He stayed in the room for hours and laughed hysterically when he was by himself. He refused to eat and lost a lot of weight in a short period of time. He refused to take showers or clean himself after going to the bathroom. He would make stories up and believed there were people who wanted to harm the family. He was suffering, but I didn’t care. I always thought he was pretending. My cousins suggested that I talk to him because that is what he really wanted. I’m not sure if talking to him would have prevented or prolonged his condition. I really don’t know.

He soon got arrested for being in a gang neighborhood that his probation terms prohibited him from entering. That was his third strike, so he got deported back to Mexico. He remained there while I graduated high school, received my AA degree, and moved to San Francisco. He called home on his birthdays, December 31st, and my family would take turns talking to him on the phone. They would wish him a happy birthday and say that they loved and missed him. I would get skipped whenever it would be my turn; my family knew that I didn’t want to talk to him. I now wished that I had.

You see, my brother was living in a place where there continues to be many kidnappings and murders, and my family lost contact with him almost a year ago. My mom prays that he will one day show up and we will be a family again. She has hope. I don’t now how. I can’t imagine the pain of not knowing if your son is dead or alive. I hope I never do. I visited my mom a few months ago, walked in her room, and saw a small shrine of my older brother with a photo of him that was taken before he lost weight. I couldn’t help, but get sad.

During that trip, I kept on thinking about how he didn’t see me graduate high school or wish me good luck before moving to San Francisco. I kept on thinking about how he missed out on my life. But then again I wasn’t there when he needed my help or when he got deported. I wasn’t there to wish him a happy birthday. I wasn’t there to tell him that everything would be okay and that we will soon be together. I wasn’t there to hug him when he needed it.

Then I think think of all the things he won’t get to see. He won’t get to see me when I get married. He won’t be there to wish me good luck when I get my first professional job. He won’t be here when I adopt a child. He won’t be here to protect me anymore or to tell me that everything will be okay and that we will be together soon; that makes me cry.

I often wonder if he ever thought of me during those nights in Mexico. I was a bad person to him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he stopped caring. Truth is, I really miss my older brother. He was a good person that just needed help. I can’t take back what I did (or didn’t do). It’s too late for that now. All I can do is hope that he’s in a good place right now, and to tell you that I love him.

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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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My Life In Private

I’m a private person. I don’t mean the type of private where you keep to yourself and never let anyone know what you’re doing. I’m talking about the private where you don’t share your feelings, secrets, concerns, or let people in your life (the real life you live).

I can tell you about the time I went clubbing for the first time, got really drunk, made-out with a stranger in the cab, almost got roofied, had a panic attack, and arrived home around 5 in the morning. But it’s hard to tell you that I felt sad for being away from my family that I decided to drink in order to cope, but ended up drinking a bit too much. I’ts hard to tell you that I was scared of not fitting into the gay scene that I didn’t object when a guy came to me and kissed me. It’s especially hard to tell you how disappointed I felt at myself for letting all the bad things happen that I had to step outside to be alone, but I felt so overwhelmed and had my first panic attack. That’s too personal to tell.

I don’t mean to tell people the half-truth. I really don’t. I just don’t want people to judge the real me. If I tell you all about what goes on in my head or how I view the world, you’ll probably laugh. At times, I even laugh at myself for thinking the way I do. I once thought people in this world would not purposely want to harm me (emotionally or physically), but I was wrong. People lie and people have hurt me. I freak out and break down whenever that happens. I cry sometimes. I remember crying at night when I was alone in my room in San Francisco. I was crying so hard and loud that I had a hard time breathing, and I remember feeling exhausted after and fell asleep like a baby. I nearly freaked myself out. You’re probably right in assuming that I’m rambling, but I’m letting you in my head; the random part and the private part.

I hardly tell my family as much as I’m telling you today. They’re really private people. I can’t blame them. If you knew how much drama the family has gone through, you would want to keep private too. I tell my family that I’m going out with friends. I don’t tell them that I’m going to a gay club to drink, that my friends are gay, or that I’ll possibly hook up and sleep over at my “friends'” house. I don’t tell them how miserable I feel sometimes. I don’t tell them how unsure I am of my future or the random thoughts I have while I’m home. I don’t know why. I guess i’m just a really private person.

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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The First Relationship Of My Life

I never thought I would tell you personal stories of myself, but today I feel different. I feel a bit unhappy. I want to tell you about my summer before I moved to San Francisco. It was a summer of exploring, and man did I explore (literally and metaphorically). I was still in the closet, just turned 21, and pretty nervous about moving away from my family. I had never traveled outside of Orange County because I never had much of an excuse to venture out. I did all my traveling in my head and I was okay with that.

I was originally going to move out with three friends, but in the end all three couldn’t go and I was left to move out by myself; I got scared. I didn’t want to tell my family because I never told them that I was planning to move away. I felt lonely, but a different kind of loneliness. I was talking less to my family and friends, and more to a guy. My family never knew about him, and I doubt they ever will. I find that sad. He meant a lot to me. To tell you the truth, he still does.

I met him that summer on an online dating site. We met and hooked up that night. As much as I would like to change our first date to be on a beach under the stars hearing the waves, I know that I can’t. That doesn’t make me like him any less. I think he liked me as well because we would text all day and talk all night. We would talk about what we liked and what we wanted out of our futures. I was surprised that I could relate to all the cliche summer fling stories I heard about, and I was happy. I will never forget that summer. I was living in a movie and I didn’t want my summer to end. I was naive and in love. He was seven years older than I was, but he made me smile, a happy smile, a real smile.

Before knowing him, my only interaction with the gay community in Orange County came from sneaking out at night with men I had previously chatted with online. I was a random hook up to older gay men, a mediocre at best a lousy one at worst. I was new and would get nervous before every encounter, but soon those dark alley ways, dimly lit parks, and car seats were beginning to feel too familiar.

My ex-boyfriend changed my view of the gay world. For once, I was being taken on dates to restaurants and hanging out in public places. Being gay felt normal and something that I didn’t have to hide. I loved every moment spent with him and soon I started to love him. I didn’t want to leave Orange County; I thought he was my reason to stay and soon asked him out. Till this day I don’t know how I got enough courage to ask him if he would be my boyfriend, but I will never regret my decision.

We continued talking. I told him my fears and how scared I was of moving away (I forgot to tell him how much I feared losing him). He reassured me that San Francisco was the right move and that I should go. That made me feel good, and perhaps I used him or perhaps he used me. I still don’t know. He was there to drop me off at the train station and it felt like a scene from a movie.

And that’s how my summer ended, full of promise and hope. Soon after I would learn the full story of my first boyfriend, and the drama that followed changed me completely. That’s a different story though and for a different post. I would like to end this post telling you how I loved that train ride to San Francisco. I was excited to move away and be independent. I wanted to explore the gay scene in San Francisco and learn more about myself. I remember looking out the window and thinking that this was the best decision I ever made.

A picture of the waves I took during a random drive to the Santa Monica Pier with me ex-friend.

My Life In Blog

Hello. You may be wondering what type of blog this will be or who I am. To be honest, I’m trying to figure out the same thing. I will start by saying that my name is Eddy and I currently graduated from San Francisco State University.

I don’t know what type of blog this will be, but in time you will know my secrets, my struggles, how I arrived at this point, and where I will go from here. It’s pretty interesting stuff to be honest. I would have never expected to be telling you about myself, but there were always times were I wanted to document my life and this is the perfect opportunity. My life in blog.

A bit about myself: I am from Orange County; I like the beach, sunny weather, going to the bars, and taking hour long walks to different locations. I consider myself average in most aspects of life and I learned that this should be something to be proud of being. Not all people are average, so I am happy that I am. Many people describe me as a shy individual, and I can’t disagree with them. To be honest, I am surprised that I managed to make friends in the first place. I have a small vocabulary, so expect to see many repeated words. I ramble on about insignificant stories that happen to me throughout the day and many people find this boring. I tend to over-analyze situations that should not be analyzed. I contradict myself far too often. I am socially awkward, but pretty social with friends.

Now that you know a bit about myself, I hope you do not judge too harshly. This is a blog about my life and everybody in it should remain anonymous except for myself. I forgot to mention that I am gay. Yeah, that changes things up a bit and makes things a lot more interesting doesn’t it? I come from a Mexican family that doesn’t think neither good nor bad of gay identifying individuals. I “came out” to my parents November 2012 and I received mixed reactions (seems like I am doing a movie review I know). My  brothers had a better reaction. They support me 100 percent although we do not talk about gay issues or my relationships. I find it kind of funny how I am still hiding a part of me even though they said that they were fine with me being gay. I think they just do not know how to react, so they chose to say that they were okay. I do not judge them; I am trying to figure myself and I should not expect them to know everything about me. My family is pretty private. We do not talk about family issues to strangers, and I am sure they will get upset if they ever saw this blog. I have written too much to stop.

There. You now have some information about my life. Please try not to be too judgmental.

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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