Sunday Morning Questions: Yo' Mama Edition

I don't write much about my mother in my journal. It's mostly because she passed away a good decade and a half ago, so she's not a physical presence in my life any longer.

But spiritually, and emotionally, she's with me every day.

My mother was a good woman, an advanced woman for her time. She was a trend-setter and a go-getter. (I wasn't intending to rhyme, but apparently I'm a poet, and just don't know it.) She blazed trails, was never afraid to be political, and was never, ever afraid to state her opinions, even when she knew there'd be many voices in opposition. If I inherited even a weak, milky latte version of that from her strong espresso of a personality, she did her job right.

There are times I wish I could hear her voice just one more time, though, or just tell her what's been going on in the last decades, though.

And that's why, whenever Mother's Day rolls around and acquaintances of mine start bitching and moaning about the obligation of it all, and how tiresome it is, I want to slap them. Bitches, at least you've got a mother to be bored with. Go out and do something for her, once a damned year!

So that's my advice to all of you today. If you've still got a mother, do something nice for her. Because they aren't around forever.

And if you don't have a mother—or if you have a crappy mother, or an abusive mother, or a mother from whom you're estranged (and I know it happens . . . we aren't all as fortunate as I), do something nice for the motherly woman in your life who's kind to you from time to time. Tell a mother you admire what a good job she's doing with her kids. Fuck a MILF. It's a flexible holiday.

But let people know, while they're still around, what they mean to you.

Okay, let's get to some questions from formspring.me.


Are you a "country boy" or "city boy?" Do you like to camp out under the stars, or hang out in the city?

I don't see why there has to be an 'or' in there. Yes, yes indeed I am, to both those questions.

My mom was a country girl who grew up barefoot in the mountains of Georgia. My dad came from a family of East Coast city slickers. Although they compromised and settled in a minor city with a small-town feel, I'd spend summers in the country and weekends in the big city. They both have their distinct and pleasurable energies.

So now I live in a quiet area that while not exactly rural, is pretty close to being the picturesque countryside, and New York City is only twenty miles down the road. It's a good place for a guy like me.



How do you feel about women reading and ccommenting on you blog?

I've had women ready and commenting on my blog since day one. I don't write a boys-only blog, nor do I think that women have cooties. Anyone who enjoys my entries and behaves themselves in my blog comments is more than welcome.



Have you met any of the guys you had sex with when you were younger (pre-18/pre-16) after becoming an adult? Are there of them you would like to meet with, maybe even hook up with again?

I moved out of my hometown after I went to college and graduate school, and never really came back for any extended period of time; that alone pretty much guaranteed that I never ran into old tricks from my youth.

The one exception would have been a colleague and very good friend of my dad's, whom I blew many times in his car when I'd see him cruising the park, during my teen years. I was always worried, when I'd see him socially, that he would either say something to make me feel awkward, or make a pass at me about which I would have been embarrassed.

However, he was just as anxious to keep his reputation as a Southern unmarried gentleman intact, especially with my parents (though I think they'd pretty much figured out his sexuality years before), so never once did he ever make any allusion to my oral skills, or to those evenings in the park.

There are some men I'd like to meet again, just to relive the past and to see if they remember things the way I do. My old mentor, Earl, would be one of those.



What are your opinions on stealthing?

Stealthing, for those unfamiliar with the term, is what it's called when a man makes every appearance of putting on a rubber in order to fuck, only to pull it off and complete the act in the raw when his partner is unawares, or unable to do anything about it.

I understand that it's a dark and taboo fantasy for a few men, and I've got no beef with men who privately fantasize about the act. If in real life, however, the only way one can get what one wants is to lie and misrepresent one's intentions, something is seriously wrong.

There are plenty of men out there who are looking for a raw dick in their hole. Plenty. Stealthing the unwilling in the face of that is aggressively sociopathic, and I find those who brag about doing so—and especially who blame their victims for letting it happen—to be uniformly sorry individuals.