You guys remember my buddy, FelchingPisser. He's the only person I've ever asked to write guest columns for the blog—because I respect him as a writer, in a large and generous way, and also because he's even sleazier than I.
First and foremost, however, he's a fine man.
I didn't meet FelchingPisser through writing my blog—I knew him as a semi-local fellow top, long before I started posting my journal's sex entries publicly. He was, however, the first collision I had between my so-called real life and its online chronicle. After hitting a hotel gang-bang to which he'd invited me, I wrote up an account of it and posted it here, as usual, not knowing that anyone involved in the romp would ever read about it online. (I hardly had any readers in those days. How likely was it?)
Sure enough, one of the comments when the post went live was from FelchingPisser himself, thanking me for coming and saying that everything had gone down pretty much as I recounted it. I remember reading the comment, feeling a flush of embarrassment, hoping that I hadn't said anything out of line, and then feeling pretty damned proud that he'd thought I'd gotten the chronicle of it correct.
Well. Mr. FelchingPisser has been threatening for a while to start his own blog—and I'm happy to say he at last has, at the address of felchingpisser.blogspot.com . I hope those of you who enjoyed his contributions here will hop on over to his new endeavor, follow him, and shower him with the comments he so richly deserves.
As I said, he's a fine man. I admire him greatly, and am thankful for his friendship. His blog is going to be great.
In other new blog news, another good friend of mine, who goes by @rawhung8 on Twitter, has started a dance music/radio blog that looks very promising. Check it out at therawworld.wordpress.com , if dance music is of any interest to you. He's going to be getting some new mixes in very, very soon.
Having talented friends is an inspirational thing, I tell you.
Let's get to some questions from formspring.me.
Maybe this isn't a question so much as an observation, but especially after the week you've had I don't get the guys who work so hard to make it seem as if you're not a real person, i.e. you don't have the encounters you say you have in your blog. I guess I see it as what difference does it make if you're real or not to them, seeing as they're not really likely ever to meet you or anything? (I guess that was a question, and for the record, I am sure you're real.)
Thanks for your faith in me. You're right. It really shouldn't matter so much whether or not I'm real, unless the two of us have made a date. People are moved by fictional creations all the time. They're aroused by them, they're educated by them. They empathize with fictional characters in books, on the movie screen, and on television, and I don't see too many non-crazy people marching up to beloved authors and demanding proof that the things they write about are real.
But the fact is, I am real, and as I've said repeatedly, I don't make up shit for this journal of mine. I just don't.
What I do is to slightly amend very small, inconsequential details to protect my sexual partners—I change the details of tattoos, or professions, or the make of their cars, or their descriptions (if they have some weird characteristic that would identify them right off). That way—I hope—no one who's played around with me will have to fear everyone will be up in their business after they read about it here.
But sorry. I'm a real person. The people who don't think so should wonder how I can be a fictional construct with, as it's been alleged, false photos and a fraudulent life when I've actually met a lot of people who comment on this blog. There's corroborating evidence out there. I mean, to grab from the first part of today's entry, FelchingPisser and I have hung out. There are other people here who comment regularly that I've written about meeting. Hell, I got recognized when I walked into a bar last week by a reader who's a total stranger, and how could that happen if my photos are fraudulent?
Last week I wrote about meeting Z, who cut my hair and rolled around with me in his apartment, and then made out with me in broad daylight on 42nd Street in the middle of a crowd of people—and a couple of people called it 'hoo-hah.' Yet Z himself wrote me and said, That entry was more beautiful than I imagined...made moreso by the fact that it was described exactly as I remembered it. I mean, like I said. I don't make that shit up.
Here's my thing: I don't lead a particularly exotic life. I really don't. What I do have is an outlook on my life that I realize some people don't have, or even don't want: I try to look for the extraordinary in everything I do. It's just the way I view life, so that it doesn't pass me by unexamined, or unappreciated.
But as I said publicly earlier this week, when people think my blog is fiction, what really saddens me most is not the accusation itself. It's that these people can't envision that they could be making their own lives extraordinary as well. As extraordinary as mine. Way more so!
All it takes is seizing the reins of your life and shaping it as you like. It really can be done, people, but it involves understanding where you are now and deciding where you want to go. It's like The Rocky Horror Show says: Don't dream it. Be it.
Which brings us to. . . .
You ought to spend your time chatting with your wife and children instead of with strange men online all of the time. They don't notice? hehe.
It's amusing when a person thinks that smugly invoking his conception of my family automatically establishes a moral superiority on his part. It's also incorrect.
In reality, I manage not only to chat online with friends at times, but to have a sex life that suits me, a career I really love, and I have time to take care of my loved ones at home (which I do pretty admirably and with few complaints, thanks), spend a little time writing every day, reading, indulging in social activities, relaxing, and keeping a number of people happy. I do all those things without neglecting my household.
I live the fuck out of my life. I don't let life grind me down—when it does, I see what's not working and fix it. If taking anonymous potshots at people on the internet is the best you've got going for you—well, that's the life I really pity.
Oh yeah, like you, let me add an insincere bit of internet slang at the end here, so that I can pretend my aggression was a joke: "LOL."
Do you like Madonna?
I like the 'Confessions on a Dance Floor' and 'Ray of Light' and 'Like a Prayer' albums a lot. I could stand never to listen to 'Hard Candy' or 'Bedtime Stories' or 'American Life' ever again, though.
If a place that does piercings was offering free PA's (prince Albert) piercings would you take them up on the offer?
I would be tempted. I like the look. The fear of the pain and (more importantly) the enforced inaction after the piercing, however, would probably keep me from doing anything.
Rob, what's the secret password to the security system of your house?
It's the three numbers of my very first childhood address, and the size of my dick. Add and subtract a few numbers from each digit, then you've got it.
Rob, what photos do you use as the wallpapers for your phone? Your laptop? Your ipad? Did you go stock, family, or pictures of your cats? And if they're pictures of your cats, does one cat lord it over the other cat that he is the one on your iphone?
I think that at last we have delved down to the very last minutiae of my life.
I tend to use a plain background for my phone's operating screen. For the lock screen, I use photos I've taken. Lately I've been using a close-up black-and-white photo I took of a sundial in a graveyard.
Rob, do you think Carly Simon was talking about you when she sang, "Nobody does it better"?
Absolutely. And then again in "You're So Vain," because I do think that song is probably about me.
Did you know there are 63 words in the Scrabble dictionary with "rob" in them? Among them: interrobang, outhrobbed, and probing?
Fascinating. Do you know what an interrobang is?! I do.
u decide to run for office, ur gonna make a difference... do u run for tha house or tha senate...& y do u choose that particular body?.. ("neithr","fuk tha govt" & tha like arent appropriate responses here eithr...)
I have far too many naked photographs of myself on the net, many of them in plain sight right next to my face, ever to run for public office. Until the U.S. public is ready for a 'naked tweets every day!' plank in a political platform, I'll remain a private citizen.