House of Sin

Life finds a way.

2006-08-28T21:36:00.000-04:00

- I've started writing again. Not just the non-fiction but the erotic fiction too. It's been almost a year since I found myself unable to put pen to paper. It's a combination of life pulling me down to the point where I was too unhappy and unmotivated to find the energy to create a story out of letters and words.

I'm only writing very short snippets here and there and my writing needs some technical assistance. Regardless, I love the process of artistic creation. I spent most of my life being a musician, so while I have to switch gears for writing, my inner drive to conceive and produce something from my own mind is electrifying.

I had also let my own insecurities and fears about how I was coming off on the old blog take residence inside The Bastard's skull and run amok. Man, I'm so glad 2005 is behind me.

Fuck, I'm just happy to be writing again.

Following up on that piece of news, I'll be writing fiction here and there for the blog. Whenever the mood strikes me. Which'll probably be often.

- I made a lunch date with ExoticGirl for the end of the week. I will be helping her with her relationship issues. Oh, and SullenGirl is in the throes of relationship woe herself. I visited her for a couple hours today and helped her through some insecurities.

Whenever relationships end, we always look for the worst in ourself to blame. I had to make sure she didn't beat herself up too much. I'm fairly certain her former significant other just wants out and is using whatever excuse he can to make it easy for both of them.

As a fellow man, I know what's he's going through, but I wish relationships were easier, y'know?

So, SullenGirl and ExoticGirl both have me on their radar as Dr. Bastard, Ph.D in Psychology. Plus, I actually have to stick my nose in another relationship this week. More on that later.

Again, the irony of me helping others isn't lost on anyone involved. But what am I supposed to do, wallow in bitterness and angst? Fuck that. Moving on, is The Bastard.

- I am drinking a tall Captain and Coke.

No, really. That's it.

I love my life.

-- The Bastard.

Fiction - Feast

2006-08-28T00:58:00.000-04:00

I love watching you bathe yourself while you shower. Your body glistens under the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling while the shadows crawl over your skin, leaving much to the imagination.

Your inner exhibitionist loves my quiet moans and fervent attention. You take your time, showing only bits and pieces through a flimsy shower curtain. I keep my hands clenched at my side as your fingers runs down your chest.

Oh, that chest.

I see your breasts clothed and unclothed all the time, but I never tire of your flesh. Whether covered by a simple t-shirt on a lazy Sunday afternoon, given ample exposure by a low-cut gown when we take in a night at The Met, or pushed up to my face by that black corset I love so much, I never get enough of your chest. Never.

I'm nota morning person, but I wake up before you so I can feel your abundant flesh press against my bare chest while you sleep. How often have you woken up to my tender lips sucking slowly on your nipples? How many times have you tried to push me away, only to find that your body is eagerly responding to my ministrations?

You don't push me away any more, do you?

All these thoughts cram through my head as your palm cups your breast in the dim light. I imagine, not see, the water droplets falling off your nipple, one-by-one. I stand quickly, and push the shower curtain to the side.

I walk into the shower and feel my black pants turn blacker from the water. I sink to my knees, look up to you and pray.

My mouth opens as you bend over and feed me your lust, your depravity, your chest... my need. My eyes close in rapture as your breast enters my mouth and I feast on you.

-- The Bastard

Isn't it ironic.

2006-08-26T18:14:00.000-04:00

I've always prided myself on being surrounded by good people; I love my friends, they're great people. When I was going through my recent relationshiop woes and I needed a steady hand, heavy shoulder, or a metaphorical light to lead the way, my compadres came through for me.

I love my friends. They're one of the best parts of my life.

So I was caught off-guard last night when I realized that they've been leaning on me for, of all things, relationship advice. I almost laughed at them. I mean, of all people to ask for relationship assistance, I'm the one chosen?

Go figure.

"The Bastard is very easy to talk to," SullenGirl explains to ExoticGirl, as if I'm not standing there in front of them.

"I've picked up on that." ExoticGirl nods in agreement. She looks at me, her eyes drunkenly pleading for help. ExoticGirl is in some relationship trouble. It's about to come to a head and she needs my help.

Later on, we discuss getting together for coffee sometime before school starts up, and she's too busy to see me. We settle on a day next week, but before we part ways she mentions she has a "few bombs" for me.

I almost tell her that I know what the "bombs" are: She's secretly in love with one of my best friends, who is ALSO secretly in love with her and has been for over three years.

But what they want to hear is that it's okay to screw around while she's seeing someone else which, as anyone who's read this blog recently will know, isn't something I'm too keen on right now.

"Take the high road." I said to both of them last night. One day later, I'm wondering if they took my advice.

They are the two most independent people I know, and yet here I am, digging through relationship woes and helping people find their way.

I'm not bothered by helping out people, but I do wonder where it came from. Genetics? Behavior? Necessity?

I guess I don't need to figure it out. I should just be happy that I can do something for the people who got me through this summer.

Soon enough, I'd imagine, I'll be turning to them with questions like, "So how come when I stuck a vibrator up her ass, she got pissed at me even though I used my fingers down there the other night? " or "She won't bring home another girl with her, unless we promise to alternate between men and women, because she really likes being DP'd. Does that make any sense to you?"

Heh.

-- The Bastard.

Comings and Goings

2006-08-20T21:22:00.000-04:00

In the spirit of "what comes around, goes around", I got bitchslapped about 4 weeks ago. I had it coming, I guess. After 4 years of helping the Ex cheat on her boyfriends, I guess it was my turn, right?

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

--

I broke up with The Ex in January.

For over three years she and I had been on-again, off-again ad infinitum. Upon seeing me after an absence, my friends would ask very quickly "How's things with The Ex?"

The Bastard and The Ex are the stuff of legends, y'see. Long-distance relationship? Check. Other people been involved? Check. Long-term relationship? Check. Enough sparks to light a city on fire? Fucking Check.

We'd met years ago at the summer program. The sparks flew and we never were able to keep our hands to ourselves. Our hearts were shared and shattered more times than I can count.

But I broke up with her in January anyways. It wasn't working, I didn't want to move out-of-state, it didn't feel right, yada yada yada. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

I didn't handle the break-up well. I did it by e-mail, and informed her that all further communication would take place via e-mail. I shut her out of my life and shut her down. Unfortunately, we still had to work together during the summer. So I kept it polite, but cool.

May rolled around, and I decided it was time to actually speak on the phone to her. And like always, the sparks flew again. She was seeing somebody else but that didn't stop us, oh no. We still found time to get away, and fuck around. I enabled her to cheat. I've never been proud of that feeling.

So the summer program rolled around and we were going at it again. Mentally, physically and sexually, our relationship was starting to heat up for the thousandth time.

And then I came back from my day off.
And then I got the word that two of the junior staff were fooling around.
And then I called the Ex down to the office to gossip about it.
And then The Ex confessed that it was HER that was fooling around with one of the staff members.
And then I lost my shit, went back to my house, and started drinking at 10:45 in the morning.

Deep down, I had always wondered if I could trust her. I always wondered if she would do to me, what I had helped her do to her other boyfriends. I'd always been "The Other Man". Now, I'd switched places.

And fuck it all, if it didn't hurt.

My friends came through for me, though. I made some calls - along the lines of "fucking help me, how the fuck do I get through the next three weeks??" - and each of them made me laugh, or smile or gave me a small slice of peace-of-mind pie.

The week after my conversation with The Ex was unpleasant, but we had to work together, and we found a way. More specifically, I was polite and cordial to her, but at the same I was also cold as a popsicle. I gave her as much information as she needed to do her job and no more.

It sucked for both of us, but the moment of freedom when she stormed out of the office at the very end still puts a smile on my face.

--

"You have to be a prick to the very end, don't you?" She snapped.

"A prick? No. I've been polite and calm, and non-confrontational. I mean, I've been waiting for this moment for..." I paused, and smiled. "What do you want?"

She stood there, fuming while smoke came out of her ears.

"What do you want from me?" I asked again. And again. And again.

Finally, she responded.

"Nothing!" She snarled.

"That is the best answer you ever could've given me." I laughed.

"Whatever," She cursed, and stormed out.

--

And then it was all over.

I could go into how I screamed at her, asking how she could do this to me after four years.

I could go into the 90 minutes she spent in my room one night, and I got her off not once, not twice, not thrice, but FOUR times.

I could go into how I told the guy she was screwing around with that I held him just as responsible, and informed him that she and him were "fucking killing me". His response? "I know." Asshole.

I could go into how I bought her a rose during the first week when she wasn't feeling well.

I could go into how I still have brief moments where I miss her.

But mostly, I'm just happy to be free of the whole situation. I've given my number out to three or four different women, the outcomes of which have yet to be determined. I've been smiling and happy, even though I'm temporarily unemployed.

At the end of the day, the program was more important this year than ever before. My number one goal was to make sure it ran smoothly, and by fuck it did. A couple people I work with, who knew about the whole situation, were impressed I was able to stay above the nonsense and work through it.

Fuck, I'm impressed with myself too. And that NEVER happens.

I'm done with her and I'm done with the program. And I couldn't be happier about either.

--

So my summer hiatus is done, and I'm back. More stories to come, I promise. Both the non-fiction, and the fiction, methinks.

Oh yes, it's time to write again.

-- The Bastard.

Hide and Seek

2006-06-16T12:59:00.000-04:00

At 3:45 am, my cell phone dinged. Expecting a late-night text from The Ex-, I was surprised to see a drunken reply for help from StudentGirl.

StudentGirl is a former student of mine , who has become a friend. No, not THAT kind of friend; The Bastard doesn't roll that way. Anyways, she's graduated college, and we chat a couple times a year. I know she'd been having problems with her on-again, off-again boyfriend of the last couple years, but I thought they'd worked through some of the hard relationship stuff.

I was wrong.

On the phone, she explained that she was sitting outside her bf's place, slightly drunk, and unsure as to whether to make the fifteen minute drive home. Not being a fan of the DUI, I advised her to go back inside. That's when she informed me that she and her boy had gotten into a wee scuffle.

She has relationship issues. She's afraid of getting hurt, too.

So I spent about thirty minutes getting her to realize that pushing people away isn't the right thing to do, and that you have to fight your own instincts when it comes to these things, and on, and on...

Oh, the IRONY. Here I was, half-conscious, counseling someone ELSE about their committment issues. While I struggle with the same thing every day about the Ex-.

The good news is that at the end of the phone call, I asked her what she was going to do.

She said she was going to call the boy, and see if she could go back inside.

Good girl.

Now, if it was only so easy for the rest of us.

-- The Bastard

Drops of lust

2006-06-13T00:26:00.000-04:00

Something has gone amiss with GH's current girlfriend. She works fifty or sixty hours a week, but usually finds the time to come over late at night. Not so much coming, lately.

(And I mean that both ways.)

For several weeks, my inner voyeur was delighted by GH's relationship. Every night, they'd watch tv, then go to bed. A little while later, I'd be treated to the sound of her moans; GH was "dropping the hammer", as the kids say. More than once I'd be out in the living room with R, when a series of moans would start in the background. I'd look at R, R'd look at me. The mute button would get hit, and we'd lean back and laugh.

Well, I leaned back and laughed.

Moments later, GH would come out looking for a cigarette. Never having smoked, I don't do the post-coitus smoke. I do confess, however, to wanting a cigar, every now and then.

When I was in my room and I heard the two of them fucking with wild abandon, I often pondered whether it would be appropriate to, ah, enjoy the moment. Given that I know GH, and that his girlfriend is thin as a rail (The Bastard likes his women with some curves), it never felt right.

It didn't stop my heart from racing a little faster or my blood from pounding through my veins a bit more than normal. A grin would sweep across my face, as numerous sins were committed less than ten feet away. The surge of lust was powerful, but not enough to overwhelm me. And I enjoyed every minute of her piercing moans, cutting through the house.

For one brief moment, I felt as if I was standing up straight with my arms held upwards to the sky, as drops of lust rained down upon me. Caught in that moment, I was bathed in sin, embracing her imminent orgasm, almost as if it was my own.

-- The Bastard.

Freedom's Release

2006-06-05T01:56:00.000-04:00

Her lips wrapped around my shaft, hesitant but secure. Her blue eyes sang of lustful ideas unforetold. A lack of confidence? Or fear of rejection? Who knows... and as her mouth sank down onto me, I didn'treallycare.

Taut lips and a devilish tongue sent a chill up my spine, pushing my back off the chair. A good blowjob is so hard to find, I mused pantingly, but when it rolls around, one has no choice but to enjoy it, right?

Feminine orbs watched my reaction as fingers stroked; A small moan escaped my lips while my hips surged upwards.

I lay there for minutes, enjoying the sensation. Every once in a while, The Bastard likes not being in control. The Bastard likes not thinking about what He has to do next. And The Bastard likes forgetting about all the anxieties in his life.

Because The Bastard has too much pressure and not enough sex.

Her mouth moved faster, cutting off my soliloquy of stress. I watched in awe as her head plummeted and rose at her leisure. She looked up again, and I let out a half-cackle; she loves doing this to me. It's so nice to see someone enjoying their work.

I felt her mouth tighten and fingers grope the boys, as my tension began to boil. Deep inside, I clamped down, eager to enjoy for just a bit longer. Gasping at the opportunity, I reached into the overfilling recesses of The Bastard's mind, and poured out the anxiety and the worries, converting them into lust; a transference of agony.

Her tongue slithered around my shaft with an ease that can't be put into words. The worry I saw in her eyes was gone now. All she wanted to was to give.

And to receive.

That thought pushed my body forward. I needed the release. Now. Nownownow.

I moaned. "So close.. so close.."

Her fingers and lips increased the tempo. In a marble-covered room, I heard my moans bounce off the walls. The sucking noises coming from her mouth pushed me right up to the edge.

As I watched her head bob down, I caught a view of her curvaceous breasts. They bounced and jumped, naked before me. My mind spun into overdrive, as my hips pushed upwards and I exploded.

And then I saw stars. Each one flashed in front of me and -more importantly- away from me. They flew into the air, taking bits and pieces of my misery with them. Her lips didn't suck the life out of me, they sucked the pain and the sorrow and the bitterness and the anger.

And for a brief, fleeting moment...

I was free.

Floating as my hips jerked, peaceful while my knees cracked, and happily riding ecstasy to it's conclusion, I sank back into bed a lighter man; a man devoid of memories and duties and unhappy conversations forthcoming. A few of the stresses returned, but as I lie here late at night, I thank the lovely young lady who provided me with a brief respite, and a well-needed dose of, well, peace.

Thanks, princess.

-- The Bastard.

Fingers and lust

2006-05-31T22:34:00.000-04:00

Her seat was tilted back, breasts pushing upwards through a tight bra and a tighter tank top. My fingers roamed over her chest as we talked. God, she has great tits.

"Should we get a hotel?" I asked, my eyes meeting hers.

Green and hazel flared with lust as she paused.

"I don't know," She panted.

The car was quiet, except for the hum of the air conditioner. Two teenagers lay out in the sun only thirty feet away. The nearest vehicle was eight or nine parking spots down the path. A birthday party was winding down on the other side of the lawn.

We were alone, except for the rising sexual tension.

"It's different with you." She said, turning her head to look out the window. "It's so much more..."

"Intense?" I finished.

"Yeah." She sighed.

"With you..." She continued, "It's different. I can just, I don't know, give in. It's hot, and I feel safe, and there's all this power, and..."

Her voice trailed off, as my mind fixated on the comment about power. Through all the years of the on-again, off-again, on-again, off-again and now almost-on-again relationship between myself and my ex-girlffriend, the sex and the lust and have been incredible. Clothes have been ruined, sexy outfits have been purchased. New positions have been tried, old positions have been perfected. Fingers and tongues, lips and lips, they've all been used.

It's never been hotter with anyone else. Not for her, nor for me. And along the way, after four years, the tension has only gotten stronger. We've gone months at a time without talking or seeing each other, only to meet again. There's an awkwardness as we meet "again" for the first time. On each occasion, it only takes a few hours for the awkwardness to transform; Clothes are dangerously close to being ripped off, followed by a fucking frenzy that would put porn stars to shame.

Such was my Memorial Day weekend.

On Tuesday afternoon, after two days of almost-foreplay, of quick and forbidden gropes and kisses, our collective libidos were super-charged. If we'd had the money and the time to get a room, we would've done so. But we were both staying with family (and you know how that goes).

So when I heard her talk about power, she inadvertantly cranked the dial from 11 (on a scale from 1 to 10) to 25.

I almost jumped her right there and then.

BDSM is one of my secret passions and when she dropped that comment (without even knowing what BDSM is), I could've thrusted myself inside her so fast, she would've screamed.

And loved every minute of it.

Given we were in her car and there were people around, I was limited in my potential response. But I'm an imaginative bastard, and God knows I love her breasts. Just watching them heave up and down in the heat and lust... ah.

"Take off your panties," I ordered. Power and lust crackled in the air, while an inner debate raged in her mind: caught between need and propriety, want and decorum, she needed to make a decision.

But she didn't HAVE a choice. It was my decision, my choice... mine.

"Take off your panties," I repeated, more firmly.

The staring contest continued; she stood strong for a few seconds, then wavered, then gave in. She lifted her hips, reached under her skirt and pulled off her underwear. I laughed quietly to myself, as my fingers pushed her skirt up to her waist.

"Spread your legs," I ordered. There was no indecision this time. Her legs parted eagerly.

Moving my hand up her thighs, my fingers easily found her, and found her wet. As I massaged her moist pussy, she sighed and closed her eyes.

My finger slide inside her easily, as I felt her insides for the first time in over six months. I pulled my finger upwards, finding her clit, and pressing down against it.

Turning over my shoulder to make sure noone could see us, I kept moving my finger back and forth; inside her wetness, then pressing against her pleasure spot. Her hips pushed against me, as as her eyelids remained shut.

For ten minutes, I fingered her. For ten minutes, I watched around us. For ten minutes, she enjoyed our little reality break.

For ten minutes, we throbbed.

We've always turned each other on, yet due to the distance between us, have rarely had the time to release what gathered inside. For years, we've been careful to not let other people see what we're doing.

I wonder what it would be like for the two of us to be near each other, so we could spend time working through some of our, heh, tension. I wonder how much longer this will go on.

I don't know.

But in the meantime, I'll keep getting her wet, while she keeps getting me hard. That'll have to do for now.

--The Bastard.

Men are Lying Liars.

2006-05-12T23:25:00.000-04:00

No, really. We lie. A trained psychologist will go on and on about why men lie. I'm sure there's good reasons, but at the end of the day, dishonesty comes easily to the male gender.

It makes me laugh, when I listen to guys talk. I mean, do people really believe the shit that comes out of some guys' mouths? That laughter is followed by a melancholic moment, when I realize I'm just as bad as them. From time to time, This Bastard fibs. But the lies I tell to other people are harmless; white lies, really.

Unfortunately, I do more damage lying to myself, than anyone I know. I've spent the last couple days unraveling my former relationship with TheEx, and I've come to the unsurprising conclusion that I internally sabotaged our attempt at "Happily Ever After".

It's long and complicated and not blog-worthy to go into the details. But it had harped on me that there were things about me that she didn't know. Which is sad, because she knows me better than anyone else.

So, I poured a Tall Tall Drink, and told her everything. She was stunned and caught off-guard. I'm good at doing that to people.

But now, after I've spilled my guts, I see the relationship that ended in January from a completely different angle. Underneath my protestations of affection and love, I pushed her away, just like I always do. She even called me out on it.

A couple nights ago, she threw a curveball in my direction:

"Why do you quit so easily?"

I didn't have an easy answer (although I haven't given up trying to figure it out).

Ultimately, I kept things from her and myself; topics and events that, had I shared with her, might've changed the outcome of our relationship.

I'm a lying liar, too. I lied to myself for all the wrong reasons.

But women are all crazy bitches. So, it all evens out.

-- The Bastard

Stupidity is a virus, I guess.

2006-05-10T01:59:00.000-04:00

I'm not the only one with my head up my ass in this city.

--

TheBadMan (not to be confused with BadMan - right state, wrong city) looked like death. His face was pale, he hadn't shaved in days, and the bags under his eyes were a mix of black and red. I don't know how it's possible, but there he was.

"You look like shit," I drawled, cigar twirling between my fingers.

"I feel like shit," His voice grated.

"So go home," I offered free advice.

"Being alone feels shitty, Bastard." He countered.

I puffed for a moment.

"You're waiting for her, aren't you?" I accused.

He didn't flinch. "Yeah."

"You're an idiot."

-

I suppose that I should be grateful that the relationship with TheEx never included abuse, police reports, ex-boyfriends driving their trucks over my lawn at 4 am in the morning, or massive amounts of cocaine.

TheBadMan isn't so lucky. Although Every Single Person He Knows has told him to get away from CrazyGirl, he sticks around for the abuse. He dated her, they broke up. He dated her, they broke up, again. He dated her, she called the cops. Now, they just fuck and argue. Real healthy, that relationship.

He's confessed to me that the sex is fanfuckingtastic. TheBadMan's a good guy, but the 1-2 hours of great fucking isn't worth the 22-23 hours of aggravation. Why is it so hard for people to realize that great sex can be found, if you just look for it? Idiots.

Anyways.

I found myself one step away from making a confession that would've caused three different shitstorms. CrazyGirl hasn't just been fucking TheBadMan.

She's been fucking my roommate, R. I know this, because R has come home her with several times over the last month. My other roommate, GH, hates CrazyGirl. Why? 'Cause she's fucking crazy. She's nutso, a screwball, a loopdeloop of feministic insanity.

She's poison, pure and simple. And I'm in the uncomfortable situation of knowing where CrazyGirl was last weekend (the House of Sin), and having TheBadMan vent to me about the fact that he didn't know where she was.

I try not to judge, and I'm desperately trying not get involved. I want TheBadMan to know, so maybe he finally realizes how bad CrazyGirl is for him; The cost is too high, though. From the beginning, the deal I had with my roommates was "what happens in the HoS, stays here". Yeah, it's the Vegas rule, but it works.

And it needs to stay that way.

So TheBadMan will continue to live a life of mental anguish. R will fuck the hell out of CrazyGirl once a week, and I will watch it all, keeping my mouth shut. I could say something but I fucking hate drama. And this would be Huge Fucking Drama.

TheBadMan's my friend and I won't help him. Now who's the idiot?

Bastard: 1. Conscience: Dying.

-- The Bastard

View from above

2006-05-09T01:10:00.000-04:00

Blooming leaves on trees aplenty left the orange streetlights looking like Christmas lights. From five floors up, I watched the partygoers stumble past the "lights". I leaned against the railing, desperately searching for guidance and wisdom. Alas, none was to be found.

I took some time and pondered whether I had made the right decision regarding TG. It wasn't for lack of trying that I hadn't seen and barely talked to her. Numerous overtures were made and promises were given to me in return. But when push came to shove she repeatedly blew me off. I had had enough. So I kicked her to the curb.

The timing, though... the timing irks me. I think if I hadn't been so frustrated by the conversations I had with The Ex last week, I might've given TG another chance. I had attempted to take my frustrations out on my liver, but only succeeded in feeling like shit; So, why not pretend TG is The Ex, and kick her out of my life?

TG was nothing more than a stand-in. I should feel bad about the way I treated her, but she had it coming. Plus, she had her friend call one of MY friends, and find out if I was seeing anyone else. My patience for THAT type of behavior is incredibly low. High school was over for This Bastard a long time ago.

I looked down the street at the NYC-style club that I've been known to frequent. Even from a block away, I could still recognize the bouncer. I briefly considered going down to see if BrownEyes was around.

I exhaled and passed on the idea. Considering my mental state, I'd probably end up calling her by The Ex's real name, and I think I'd caused enough damage after two nights of steady drinking.

Besides, my liver needed a rest. It was time to go home.

I walked down the stairs, and said goodbye to my friends. I looked up, hoping to find some wisdom that had eluded me up on the fifth floor.

Instead, some drunk college girl tripped on my feet and fell to the ground. Her friends laughed hysterically as I rolled my eyes. Out of nowhere a thought popped into my head:

God, I need to get laid.

For once, my subconscious and I are on the same wavelength.

-- The Bastard

BRICKS!

2006-05-06T03:06:00.000-04:00

It's another late night in the House of Sin. Alcohol, sex and honesty have all been topics of conversation between myself and my roommates. Plus, there's been some changes in the HoS Cast of Characters.

- TG has been bounced. After multiple attempts to meet for a drink, ignored phone calls, and broken promises, she was kicked to the curb, via the worst technological advance of the 21st century: The Text Message. That's right, TG was sent a text message saying "Okay, I tried, that's it. I give up."

I have low expectations, but no amount of pussy will allow This Bastard to be treated like crap. Oh look, someone's been sent to the Bricks. NEXT.

- R is on my shitlist. I try desperately not to be judgemental and to accept people for who they are, but I'm getting really fucking annoyed by his inability to be have an open mind on ANY topic at all.

- I have drank and drunk and drank the last two days. And tomorrow night, I will most likely be doing the same. As a general rule, I don't use alcohol as a crutch or an excuse, but the last couple days have been shit. Therefore, I'm making an exception.

The Bastard has been a drunk fucker, and grabbed several wayward female asses. It has been humorous, and glorious.

- My last post dealt with the ongoing drama that is the relationship between myself and My Ex. We spoke late Thursday night and came to the conclusion that space and distance were a good thing. As a result, we have started to utilize those concepts, because if we don't...

I'm going to fuck the shit out of that girl, no matter who's she dating.

And that would be bad.

Very, Very Bad.

The House of Sin carries on.

And I'm still a Bastard.

- Moi.

iwantitoveriwantitover.. noidontnoidontnoidont.

2006-05-04T00:06:00.000-04:00

I've been a bit twitchy the last few days. My head tilts, and I hear an audible snap in my neck. My fingers are jittering as I type this very blog entry.

It's my ex-girlfriend, y'see.

I know, I know. We've all got ex's, right? We've all got the baggage and the memories of former lovers and mates. We all have those moments where we think what "could've been" or "what was I thinking?" or "holy shit, I had sex with her?" or any of of that. But this one girl... fuck.

The Ex and I have known each other for almost four years. The two of us have accumulated some serious emotional baggage in that time, but more importantly we have chemistry. Big, big chemistry. Like one of those huge fucking chemistry sets you got for Christmas as a kid? We're like ten of them, at least. Maybe more.

From the very beginning of TheBastardAndEx story, it's always been the chemistry. And the laughs. And the knowing looks. And the way we think the same thing at the same time. And the way our friends roll their eyes around us.

In a different time and place, the two of us would be "Together Forever". And all that horseshit.

She comes up here every summer, and the sparks fly. You'd have to be blind not to see it. So, we tried dating, and hooking up, and seeing each other, and all the types of relationships you can imagine. But as time went on, I knew in my heart that it would never work. We want different things from life. Our priorities don't mesh well. There's also an age and maturity gap that won't ever close.

Last January, I finally shut the door on our relationship. I DearJohn'd her in an e-mail. Yeah, I know. It's a shitway to end things. Sue me. I didn't have a choice 'cause every other form of communication had failed me.

I'd pushed, I'd begged, I'd pleaded, I'd yelled, I'd screamed, I'd cried, I'd cried OUT, and I'd manipulated everyone around me... JUST to get her away from me, JUST to end this, this... thing between us.

And now it's starting again. We have to talk to each other, as part of the summer job that we work at. And in the last couple days, the conversation has turned to more personal matters. I slammed the walls down tonight and got off the phone as fast as I could. I very much want this over between us.

And I very much miss her in my life.

--

I had this crazy holyfuck thought while driving today: What if it never ends? What if she gets married to some guy and then we run into each other? What if something happens? What if it happens again? And again? And again? And and and...?

What if she becomes a desperate housewife and I become the 'other guy'? I almost pulled over, my stomach turning and twisting, eyeballs rolling into the back of my head. And do you want to know why? Why I felt like shit? It's unbelievable.

I felt like shit because it wouldn't bother me if I did become the other guy. I wouldn't care, not one goddamn bit. I wouldn't feel an ounce of remorse for her husband and family. Not because they're bad people, but because I'd have what I wanted: Her. Meanwhile, she could have her cake and eat it too; Have the good job, have the close family, whatever. But on the outside, phone number hidden on her cell, there's The Bastard. That's the life we could have, if we so chose.

I'm the guy she can't ever have, and she's the girl I will always let get away.

--

I am the ultimate control-freak, the ultimate Dom. But with The Ex, control sifts through my fingers like sand. I grab and reach, but come up short every time. No matter what I tell myself, I wake up in the morning with her naked Italian body next to me, every fucking time. My stomach churns, and my heart swells. And then... and then...

And then I eat her out until she explodes on my face.

As far as I'm concerned, my relationshipwhatever with The Ex will FINALLY be over, when I never have to see her again. When temptation no longer rears it's ugly head, when her spectacular breasts are no longer in sight, when her gorgeous laugh is nowhere to be heard, maybe then I'll find peace.

Maybe then it'll finally be over.

--

Up until today, I thought my attempts to find women who understood the concept of "non-exclusive, not serious" was just The Bastard trying something different.

I was wrong. I'm using other women as a wall, so The Ex doesn't get back in. I'm using other women, so when The Ex comes back this summer, I can sneak away for a couple hours and relieve any sexual tension that comes of my time with The Ex. I'm using other women, to get The Ex jealous. I'm using other women to get The Ex out of my head.

I'm using other women.

I really am a Bastard.

Guilt Trips R Us

2006-05-01T15:05:00.000-04:00

Saturday 9:30 pm - The madness begins.

"Bastarddddd!!", GH screams at the top of his lungs. He grins and then informs me, "You're going out tonight."

Actually, I went out Friday night and got bombed, but thanks for the offer.

"No thanks," I reply cheerfully. "I'm still recovering from last night."

TRANSLATION: Even though I'd stopped drinking around 3am, I was still drunk until 1pm on Saturday.

PROGNOSIS: The Bastard is on his way to embracing his Irish-Scottish heritage as an alcoholic.

REMEDY: I'm giving my liver a night (or three) off.

"No, really," GH said seriously. "MrBitter's coming over, and We. Are. Going. Out!"

"Yeah, dude," R agreed, popping open a beer.

Hmm. This isn't going to go well.

Saturday 9:45 pm - Their numbers grow.

MrBitter arrives.

"You coming out with us?" MrBitter asks.

"No, I have to get up early and-"

"I'll make sure you get up," GH promises.

I'm sure he will, but, um...

"No, thanks," I reply cheerfully.

Saturday 10:00 pm - The guilt trip begins.

"So, let me get this straight," MrBitter attacks. "You and I never go out together, and now-"

Hold on a second there.

"Waitwaitwait..." I laugh. "What about your birthday?"

"That was different."

"How so? 'Cause you don't remember that I went out?"

"I have a memory like a fox. I can remember anything." MrBitter proclaims.

"So, why couldn't you remember that-?"

"I have to be sober to remember." He laughs.

It's pathetic but true.

Saturday 10:15 pm - The team-up begins.

"Seriously, dude," R comments, "Just come out for a couple drinks."

Yeah, except I spent serious cash on scotch last night, and The Bastard is feeling the pinch.

"I spent a little too much money last night," I confess. "So, I really need to-"

"I'll buy the first drink," GH swears.

"I'll get the second," MrBitter proclaims.

Oh, shit.

"AND I'll buy the third!" GH yells triumphantly.

OH, SHIT. Deep breaths, deep breaths. There's a way out of this.

"I have to work in the morning." I grin weakly.

"I know you have to work in the morning, I make your schedule," MrBitter reminds me.

Fuck. They're really not letting go of this.

Saturday 10:30 pm - Offers are made.

VampBoy joins the pile-on.

"I'll work for you in the morning, just the first couple hours if you want," He offers to me. The smirk on his face and hint of greed in his eyes makes me uneasy.

Oh, THERE'S a great idea. Not only do I get to sleep in, but I'll get to give up some of my hard-earned cash. Plus everyone from work will beat the shit out of me, 'cause they can't stand working with VampBoy.

Pass.

"No, thanks. I don't feel like going out." I pick up my book, and attempt to keep reading.

Saturday 10:45 pm - They're still not letting go of this.

"What you're too good for us?" R asks.

No, I just don't want to go out. Thanks for more guilt, fucker.

"There's going to be lots of women out." GH points out.

Hmm. That's a good point.

"You don't have to stay out too late." MrBitter informs me. "Just have a couple, then come home."

In this town, noone ever has 'just a couple'.

VampBoy starts to fall asleep at the table.

Saturday 11:00 pm - I stay strong.

"Dude's the Berlin Wall," GH announces. "He ain't going anywhere."

Oh, thank fucking god. Is it over? Tell me this is over. I could've been watching bad porn.

"I don't know," MrBitter thinks out loud, "Maybe if we hadn't brought it up so much, The Bastard would be like 'oh, hey, I think I'll go out with you'."

That's a possibility, but you screwed the pooch, didn't you? HAHAHA.

Fuckers.

Saturday 11:15 pm - Last chance.

"You're a pussy!" GH hollars.

Wonderful. So we've moved from guilt trips to insults.

"Yeah. Seriously, dude." R agrees.

Uh huh. Isn't it almost time for you guys to leave?

"It's almost time for us to leave," MrBitter reminds GH.

Thankyewthankyewthankyewthankyewthankyew.

Saturday 11:30 pm - Waiting for the fat lady to sing.

"We're leaving now, " GH says pointedly.

Glad to hear it.

"Yeah, Bastard. We're going." R makes an attempt at subtlety.

One can only hope. Say goodbye now, boys.

"Put some shoes on and come with us." MrBitter takes one final shot at recruiting me.

For what seems like the millionth time, I smile and respond.

"No thanks guys."

"PUSSY!" They hollar.

Walk down the stairs. Go out the door.

"We're leaving now."

STAIRS. DOOR.

"BASTARDDDDD!!" They hollar from outside the house.

Saturday 11:45 pm - Peace on Earth, Goodwill towards Me.

They're gone. The House of Sin is now the House of Quiet. They're downtown, working through a beer, and cursing me out. Boo hoo, says The Bastard.

As for me, I stayed in and rearranged my room.

Sometimes, The Bastard just wants a quiet night at home.

That's exactly what I got.

-- The Bastard.

Zzz...

2006-04-28T01:35:00.000-04:00

It's a late night here in the House of Sin. R is out with one of his girltoys, and GH is passed out in his bedroom. Thursdays are usually party nights in the HoS, though tonight was different. OneEye wasn't available, R had plans, and I was drunk by 9:30. It's difficult to motivate yourself to go spend money to get drunk, when you have the ability to get intoxicated for free.

I thought about flyin' solo downtown, but I'm horrendous at striking up conversations (as previous posts will attest). So, going out by myself wasn't an option. I had left a message for TG, but surprise surprise... she didn't call back. I honestly don't know why I bother with that girl. All she does is frustrate me.

By the time I considered giving HD a call, it was way too late to be subtle about such things. Although This Bastard is six foot four, he does try to be subtle.

I suppose it's for the best, really. I didn't spend any money, and I was still able to get a good buzz on. GH tried to get me to go out, because I "need to get some play". Oh, the boy is brilliant on THAT point. I am planning on going out tomorrow and Saturday, so here's hoping I meet a pretty girl.

Or three.

It comes down to my need to create more options besides the unreliable TG and the needy HD. I know it's not polite to call women "options" but I'm not exactly in the right frame-of-mind for being polite, and all that.

(Plus, I'm a greedy and selfish bastard.)

Anyways. I'm off to view some horrid soft-core porn on Cinemax, and pass out into orgasmic oblivion.

G'night.

-- The Bastard.

SinWatch I: Gluttony & Pride

2006-04-27T00:00:00.000-04:00

Gluttony

Jay and Silent Bob were introduced as characters in Kevin Smith's first film, Clerks. In the twelve years since Clerks hit the big screen, Jay (played by Smith's close friend, Jay Mewes) and Silent Bob (played by Smith himself) have played a part in almost every Kevin Smith film.

The two entertainers are close friends in real life. As such, Jay's antics are often fodder for Smith's college tours. Smith answers questions, tells stories of Hollywood, and find ways to embarass his friends. At a recent event, Smith shared a story about Jay and Jay's drug addictions. The story was ultimately misquoted in the print media. Frustrated, Kevin Smith chose to detail the entire history of his friendship with Mewes, and the history of Mewes' battle with drug addiction in his blog, My Boring Ass Life:

"I figured why not put the whole tale of Jason’s battle with drug addiction into print here, where folks can get a better idea of who Jason truly is and maybe why he fell victim to heroin abuse in the first place. I’m thinking it’s gonna be at least a four-parter, and I’m hoping to wrap it up by April 6th, the day Mewes celebrates his “Sober Birthday”, when Jay will mark his third straight year of living completely drug and alcohol free."

The "tale" became 9 entries long, and describes a multi-year period of gluttony, excess, friendship, love and redemption. Go here and read.

Jay Mewes found redemption. The second sinner in this entry is not so lucky.

Or as smart.

--

Pride

I'm not a huge fan of the current President. Polls and popular opinion seem to show that a majority of the country agrees with me. Nice of you to join me, people.

Since stupidity isn't one of the Seven Deadly Sins, I thought I'd take a moment to highlight an article that puts Lord Dubya's accomplishments into perspective.

Rolling Stone magazine published an article with the, um, open-minded title of "The Worst President Ever". The article ponders where George W. Bush ranks among his colleagues:

"From time to time, after hours, I kick back with my colleagues at Princeton to argue idly about which president really was the worst of them all. For years, these perennial debates have largely focused on the same handful of chief executives whom national polls of historians, from across the ideological and political spectrum, routinely cite as the bottom of the presidential barrel.James Buchanan... Andrew Johnson... Warren G. Harding... Herbert Hoover.... Richard Nixon..."

"...Now, though, George W. Bush is in serious contention for the title of worst ever. In early 2004, an informal survey of 415 historians conducted by the nonpartisan History News Network found that eighty-one percent considered the Bush administration a "failure."

For anyone who's made a half-hearted attempt to follow the trials and tribulation of the Bush Administration, there aren't many surprises in the article. Seeing Dubya's achievements and failures put into historical perspective, though, provided a sense of self-assurance.

I'm NOT wrong. He IS an idiot.

Now, Rolling Stone magazine has never been a literary apologist for the Republican Party, and the author of the article admits that most historians are liberals. Take that into mind when you read the article.

Which, again, is here.

-- The Bastard.

I'm such an idiot.

2006-04-23T21:02:00.000-04:00

And now, the Stunning Conclusion of last weekend's birthday drunkathon!

--

I left HD's abode, feeling quite a bit horny, and not-at-all guilty (Take that, conscience!). It was my birthday, and I had treated myself to a little play. Like all men, though, I was greedy and selfish. I wanted more.

I picked up a cigar, went home, and mixed a tall, Tall, TALL drink, and pondered my evening. After a little deliberation, and a little prodding by my roomie, GH, I came to two conclusions:
A: It was my birthday, and I needed to go out and get drunk, dammit and B: I wanted to find someone else to fool around with.

Enter TG. She's fun, she's flirty, and we have good chemisty. What we don't have, however, are compatible schedules. Also, she's unreliable, and parties far too much for this Bastard. Because I am trying to hold onto what positive, sensitive fragments of my personality still exist (or I'm a selfish, horny fucker), I have held onto hope that TG and I would be able to find time to hang out together.

Armed with the knowledge that TG would come find me (she knew I was probably going out), and a healthy amount of alcohol coursing through my system, I headed downtown with GH, GH's girl, R, and One-eye.

It didn't take too long for The Bastard to get well and truly sloshed at one of the truly wondrous bars in the downtown area. When TG showed up to say hi, I was pleased, and smiley. The smile disappeared when she left several minutes later. She was "going to finish drinking with her friends", and "would meet up with me [The Bastard] at a later point."

Hmm. TG's promises are not always well-kept. Indeed, fifteen minutes later I looked outside the bar, only to see her walking up the street, with her friends. Away from the bar. Away from, um... MOI.

Okay, I can be patient. She'll show up, 'cause that's what she said she'd do. Never mind that she gets drunk and forgets to call/show up/let me know where she is... eh. Low expectations just got lower.

So The Bastard and His Amazing Friends(tm) headed to a local dancerie that would fit in just perfectly, in the NYC Club Scene(tm). This Bastard, for several reasons, doesn't dance. Unless Said Bastard is drunk. And hoo boy, I was wrecked. So, I danced.

As my body shifted under the annoying strobe lights, I oogled the beauties around me. Oh, there were many women of all shapes and sizes. I was a kid in a candy store.

Well, not really.

Situated around the dance floor were several floor-to-ceiling poles of the stripper variety. Several females found their way around these poles in such an intimate fashion as to almost make me blush. Almost. But there was this one girl...

She had dark-brown hair. A pair of too-serious, but not too-mysterious brown eyes. And a very well-shaped rack. I was intrigued. Her fingers wrapped around the pole with confidence, as she turned my way, and looked right at me. Boom. Contact. So, given my lustful intentions for the evening, I did what every man does when he sees a pretty girl.

I took my cell-phone out of my pocket, and checked the time. I know, I know, I chickened out. But hey, BrownEyes wasn't going anywhere. She was by herself, and looking for someone to dance with. I could easily be that guy.

We made quick contact a few more times, but each time, the cell-phone came out. I admit, I was hoping to hear from TG, that she was going to track me down, but inside, I knew better. TG was gone, again.

Brown Eyes, though, was right there. All I had to do was take a deep breath, walk up to her and buy her a drink/dance with her/use my sense of humor... anything. When the chemistry's there, you take the chance, no matter what. And the way she was looking at me, there were sparks all over the place.

The cross-looks crescendoed, until I was up on the dance floor, and she was down by the bar. Our eyes locked for one second... two... three...four(?)...five(the hell?) and then... I checked my cell-phone one more time.

Yes, because that's important. Sigh.

I'm an idiot.

--

At the beginning of this three-part epic, I talked about my First True Love, and how the after-effect of my parents' mocking has been a complete and utter lack of confidence, when it comes to making that first move with women. Yes, I know I'm not the only one to get insecure around members of the opposite sex, but shit...

I'm old enough to know better.

--

I never talked to her. I don't know her name. I don't know if she gave everyone that look she gave me... fuck. No, she didn't. That look was for me.

I do know that she could be a local college student, a townie, or ever from out-of-town. And I know that I blew it. I ended up leaving, alone, going back to the House of Sin, to recuperate.

But I haven't forgotten BrownEyes, oh no. I went out a week later, hitting all the clubs, looking for her. No luck, but I won't give up. And next time I think I have a chance with a woman, I'm going to forget about the insecurities, and all that. I'm just going to go talk to her.

... I'm such an idiot.

--

That was my birthday weekend. I spent Easter regretting my idiocy, and sobering up. I watched one of my favorite movies, and bonded with GH. We get along pretty well.

BrownEyes, though, is still in the back of mind.

I won't make that mistake again.

-- The Bastard.

Why now..?

2006-04-21T01:08:00.000-04:00

... because blogging while intoxicated is fun for me, and for you!

(AKA Oh, True Love (you fickle bitch) part le deux)

Where was I, anyways? Ah yes. Last Saturday.

I worked, I came home, and did, um... well, not a fucking thing until around 8pm. That's when I realized that it was my birthday, goddamnit. What to do, what to do, what to do...

Ah, yes. I know what (who) to do! HD.

HD and I have experienced what those "in the know" call sexual tension for the last three or four years. I run into her about once a month, and we have one of those "I know we could fuck like bunnies, YOU know we could fuck like bunnies, but it's best we DON'T fuck like bunnies"... moments.

I know better. She knows better.

Back in January, I had the pleasant experience of DearJohn'g the EX. Well, It was pleasant for me. A day or two after that wonderful moment, I stopped at HD's house. I was horny, she was horny (we're always horny), and we fooled around. She moans often (I like 'em loud) and she was very satisfied. I showed up at her house a week later, repeat, rinse, wash. But on that occasion, after getting absolutely drenched, I was the unfortunate victim of her attempt to cajole me into a relationship.

That's where the STOP sign went up. The woman was relentless, and crafty, I'll give her that. She begged, whined, cried, guilted and rode me, in an attempt to get me to say just one word:

"Us."

HAHAHA... ahhh..

Nice. Try.

I should make it clear (if I haven't already, (and my apologies dear reader if I haven't!) ) This Bastard is very much Not Interested In Relationships. Or Committment. Or any word coming close to those two terms.

I like being single. And I'm rebounding left and right. And that's the way I want it. Anything else is drama, or work. And This Bastard wants none of that.

... Where was I. Ah, yes. Saturday.

Being that it was my birthday weekend, and that I'm working on my confidence (see previous post), I decided to make a house-call. I had run into HD the week before, and made out with her for about 5 minutes. It was fun.

The Bastard likes the fun. Oh yes.

So, I called, saying I was "in the area" (lie) and that I had a "poker game later" (big lie), and that I "wanted to talk" (HAHAHA... oh, how I make me laugh). I showed up, chatted with her, and "apologized" for "taking advantage of her" the previous week.

In the back of my head, there was only one thing This Bastard was looking for. See here(NSFW!), for those lacking in subtlety.

So we fooled around, again. And it was fun, again. It was my birthday weekend, damnit. I should be allowed to have fun.

Please note, the above statement was an unconscious response to The Bastard's conscience, who (contrary to popular belief ) does exist, and does occasionally rear its' ugly head, no matter how much it gets beat down. Bad, Bad Bastard.

I have no conscience. Lies, all of it.

Aaaaaaanyways. Towards the end of our little encounter, she wrapped her arms around me, and... um... cuddled. Uhhh. I shudder at the thought. But, she's fun to fool around with. I'll probably call and offer to "apologize" again. Heh.

BAD BASTARD.

I'm not listening.

--

And then I went home.

That was the beginning of last Saturday night. Unfortunately, it was also the climax.

(con't)

-- The Bastard
music: Asshole, Denis Leary, No Cure For Cancer.

Oh, True Love (You fickle bitch)

2006-04-18T22:54:00.000-04:00

Saturday night was spent in celebration of that Most Holy Day. The day in which we thank God for the Birth of Someone Important.

That person would be moi, of course. 'Twas my day of birth this weekend (That's right, I'm Aries. You gotta problem wit dat?) and I witnessed that most holy of rituals: A Brief Foray into Binge Drinking. God, do I love the Captain Morgan.

The night itself had it's ups and downs, but I smoked a cigar, danced like a fiend, met some pretty ladies, and had a good time. There's a story in there, of course, but that post is a day or two away. In order to understand they why's and how's of last weekend, I need to delve into my past. Back to my First True Love.

We all remember our First True Love. The way our heart first skipped a beat when we saw him/her, the way we dreamed of a long-life, full of happiness and joy, the way we wanted to grab out, and not let go... Ah. My FTL had long blond hair, the prettiest of eyes, the best of brains, and a laugh that captured my heart from the moment I met her, way back when... in pre-school.

I was 5.

--

I moved twice within the first 8 years of my life. My family stayed in the same general area, but switched towns twice. The first move was when I was only 2 or 3. I don't recall why, but I'm fairly certain it had to do with the birth of my brother, M2. Not enough space in our small house, I thnk. The second move to AlmostRichMansLand was because the birth of my third brother, M3. Not enough space, agan.

(Only years of counseling will determine for sure, but I've long believed that the second move to ARML helped destroy the marriage of my parents, and consequently, my relationship with my immediate family.)

For 5 years, my family lived in bliss in a small little community in downstate NY. (Side-note: It's generally accepted by those individuals who live in Long Island or NYC believe everything north of The City is considered "upstate", while those of us who actually live above NYC, view everything south of the Rochester/Syracuse/Albany line as "downstate." I'm in the latter category.) I have fond memories of Christmas, and a nice backyard, and parents getting along, and that sort-of thing.

Life was good. As a matter of fact, it was quite simply the happiest time of my life.

When I hit pre-school, I fell in love. Little CD was a cutie, although I confess I don't remember too much about her. I remember where she lived, I remember flirting with her, and I remember spending 3 or 4 years trying to chase her around the playground, in a madcap race to kiss her.

I don't think I ever caught her. Looking back, I think I was afraid to. (Hmm. Funny how things haven't changed that much. I'll revisit that statement soon. Anyways.)

I can only imagine what my parents thought, when they first found out. Look at our little boy, trying to chase that darling little blonde-haired girl around the playground! How Sweet! How Cute! How Funny!...

Actually, I know that's what they thought about the situation. How do I know? Oh, just because everyone they knew seemed to find out. And I mean Fucking. Everyone. Family, friends, neighbors, EVERYONE. I've got 50-60 extended family members that I used to see on a regular basis, and it was pure hell. My parents (mom, especially) didn't quite understand the concept of discretion.

Okay, so I was six, but how is it noone notice how much it bugged me? I might've been "in love", but I remember being obviously uncomfortable around people when it was brought up. What, noone knows how to pay attenton to that kinda thing? Christ, I'm bitter.

Anyways.

Everyone thought it was hilarious, but when you're six, and getting picked on, because you met a cute girl, well, it's not so funny then. Like, it could possibly, maybe, scar you for a long time, maybe? Well, that's pretty much what happened.

Over the years since, I've had more missed opportunities with women, than I can or want to recall. Time and time again, I've had a "sure thing" (in one form or another) staring me in the face. On each of those occasions, I'd subconsciously flush, maybe remembering my mother telling her friends about my "little crush" at some dinner she hosted for her friends. I'm old enough to know better (and to know a "sure thing" when I see it) but that memory is tattoed on my soul, and I can't seem to make peace with this particular insecurity, and move on. I wish I could blame it on a general lack of confidence, but I tried to chase a girl around the playground in kindergarten, for fuck's sake. Does that SOUND like a lack of confidence?

(bitterbitterbitter)

I brought it up to my mother once, and she brushed it off. I mentioned the little girl's name, and she laughed at me. She thought it was funny, but in the years since, I don't think it ever occurred to her (or my father) that they never knew who I was dating, or when. Ever. Out of all the girls I've ever had a relationship with, they've met or heard about 3. And that's out of 15-20.

I don't which is worse: my self-confidence when it comes to women (and yes, some of you may find that hi-LAR-ious) or my lack of faith and trust when it comes to my parents. (Hi, Mom!)

I'll add that thought to the list of "Things To Talk About When I Can Afford Counseling".

--

In the years since I moved away from Little CD, I've always wondered what happened to her, and some of my other classmates from that era of my life. I've always dreamed of tracking them down, and writing a book about it, but I never found the hook for such a story. Besides me, who would care?

After we moved to AlmostRichMansLand, I lost touch with My First True Love, only seeing her once or twice years later. I heard from my mother, a few years ago, that her father passed away, but I didn't feel comfortable contacting her to pass on my regards.

I'm still kicking myself for that.

--

So, the secret origin of This Horny Bastard is now revealed. From the beginning, I chased the women, but because of that incident, I've lost the confidence to make the first move...

...which leads into the story of last weekend quite nicely.

(con't)

-- The Bastard
music: Just Be, Kirsty Hawkshaw, Nip/Tuck.

The peeps

2006-04-16T00:09:00.000-04:00

The House of Sin is quite the comfortable establishment. Two floors, with several bedrooms, bathrooms, and communal living area upstairs. Downstairs, is The Party Area, plus an unfinished basement.

GH has taken very good care of the HoS, and my brief statement doesn't do it justice. We had a well-bosomed lady stop by over the weekend who called it a "frat house", but "cleaner". I don't think that does it justice, either, but it'll do.

Given my need for privacy, I enjoy having the House to myself, which doesn't happen too often. But late at night, when it's just me wandering around, sipping on a cool beverage (hmmm.. Captain), I'm reminded of my fourth year in college, when I lived with a couple friends. Strange that I think of those times, when I have the house to myself. Odd contradiction. I was good friends with those boys, way back when. Now, I'm still getting to know R and GH. Different times.

As promised, here's a description of some of the characters you'll be reading about.

--

THE ROOMMATES

R - The most, um, "social" of the three residents of the House of Sin, R is a the ultimate post-collegiate party boy. He works during the week, and parties like an 80's hair metal god on the weekends. Well, he finds time for that during the week, too. He is, at his best, a good man. Unfortunately, he's not at his best very often. At his worst, he's stubborn, bordering on obstinate, and too often finds himself lured by unnatural temptations. If it wasn't for the positive influence of GH, R would have found himself in some serious shit by now.

He's always two steps away from disaster, but too high to notice.

GH - The very definition of even-keeled, GH has his shit together, and is coming off a 5-10 year party scene. He's slowly coming to grips with the end of his 20's, and while he likes to have a good time, the days where the House of Sin had people crashing on the couch every night are long gone. He keeps R in line, but doesn't interfere in his life. He walks the fine line between friend and enabler, sometimes veering in the wrong direction.

I'm curious to see where GH ends up in 5 years.

(I wrote the first draft of this post weeks ago, and now can't remember why I'm calling him GH. Huh.)

The Bastard - Yes, that would be me. On occasion, I wonder if the self-applied moniker really fits. Then I remember how I planned on dumping TG, but only after I screwed her. I am like most other men: Selfish, greedy and readily self-destructive. I have a heart, it's true. But there are times I forget it's there, and go on a 3-month binge of despair and pain. My friends are safe from the shit I spew, but my family and any women I'm dating usually get the crap kicked out of them. It's easier for me to take it out on them, sad to say.

I'm a good person, fighting dual influences on different levels. And when I close my eyes, I so very, very often wish I was not just somewhere else, but someone else. There's been less of that lately, thankfully. A sign my life really IS getting better?

--

THE WOMEN (some of them)

TG - A very nice, very horny, and very confused young lady I've been (barely) spending time with. She's working through some of her own baggage and is probably too young for me. I'm a little fearful of breaking her heart. Not because I'll feel bad, but because we travel in the same group of friends.

I don't think we'll be walking off into the sunset like Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly. Our time together won't end well, but it never does with me. Should anyone be surprised?

The EX - We've all got an ex-boyfriend or ex-girlfriend who's left their mark on our lives, correct? Well, this girl has certainly left a mark or three. She gets a post of her own, at some point down the road. Suffice to say, she's one of the only three women I've ever loved. And she has a superb rack.

HD - Oh, HD.
You're too old for me.
That doesn't stop us from making out,
but I think I'm taking of advantage of thee.
(And your feelings for me.)

--

There's a few others who may or may not get added to the Official HoS Cast List: the 'other roommate' who has made an appearance only once since I moved in, Irish Fucker, and GH's new girl, whom I adore. I'm sure there will be others, and I'll make sure to keep you fine readers updated.

--

I'm still working on fixing up my room. I hope to have it completed by the end of the month, although the art prints I've chosen from www.art.com won't be ordered until the end of this week. Still have boxes of books to sort and shelve, but I'm positively giddy at unboxing some books which I haven't seen in 5+ years. This Bastard loves The Books, y'see.

Life is good, here in the House of Sin. Almost lost myself in a pair of soulful brown eyes on Saturday night, but more about that later.

That girl had a nice rack, too.

Hm.

-- The Bastard.

Smoke 'em if ya got 'em.

2006-04-15T15:10:00.000-04:00

I'm watching the shadows grow over the backyard, while smoking a cigar, drinking a tall, tall drink, and typing on my wireless laptop. Yep, life is good again.

My name's The Bastard and I live in the House of Sin.

--

'Twas around the beginning of March that I realized I missed writing. My last foray into blogging had been fun, but draining. I found that I had boxed myself in, by writing only fiction, and keeping my personal life off-limits. I mean, my personal life is a fucking disaster. Why share? Then again, my personal life is a fucking disaster, so why not?

In the half year since I shut down UKB, I've made some changes in my life. Some good and some great. Generally, life is better. But the one change I've made that still has me scratching my head in a "holy shit, I hope I didn't fuck this one up" kinda-way is my entrance into the House of Sin.

See, I received an interesting offer from a couple guys I know; they needed a roommate. I've lived on my own for years, but the idea appealed to me. I've been a bit of a hermit, and in this area, living by yourself can be financially draining. Quite frankly, I've been broke as a result. So, I decided it was time for a change. I moved into this house, The House of Sin.

I've been living here in the HoS for two weeks, and it's been surprisingly peaceful. I've slept better, felt healthier, and been more relaxed than in a long, Long time. At least a year.

I confess I was concerned that moving into this swanky abode was a mistake. I am a complicated man, living what should not be a complicated life. I'm intensely private (ooh, and blogging about it! Irony-hounds, BEWARE!) to the point of occasional paranoia. This need for privacy goes hand-in-hand with my need to control anyone, everyone and ev-ery-THING around me. If it were simple enough for me to take over the world, a la Big Brother, you would all be bowing to me, as we speak.

My ego aside, I'm desperately searching for some peace-of-mind. For numerous reasons, I've been lacking in personal happiness and fulfillment over the last few years. After a particularly wretched year (thanks, 2005!), I decided that I wanted a better life, and that I wanted to be a "better man" (Thanks, Jack!) This change is part of that internal pact.

--

The House of Sin is currently occupied by several gentleman of an energetic and social nature. By "energetic", I refer to rampant screwing of anonymous women, and by "social", I refer to recreational substance use.

Me, I like the screwing. Oh yes, This Bastard very much enjoys the screwing. But the substance use, I confess, I'm not a fan. But sacrifices need to be made. I have to focus on the long term: Debts to pay, a life to put back into order, and all that. I have to look at this as an opportunity to make positive change. (It's funny, I almost feel like Hurley from last week's episode.)

The substance use has been both less, and more than I originally assumed. I find myself starting to catch a glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes in this town, and amongst some of my friends. What I've heard and seen has only made me sad. But it's their life, not mine. I'll just keep my distance and work on fixing myself.

--

So why blog now? Well, I blogged for about a year, dabbling in the erotic fiction genre. Towards the end, I found myself writing stories for the wrong reasons. So, I stopped cold turkey. Following the end of my previous endeavour, the metaphorical winter of discontent struck. I didn't write a damn thing for six months, nothing, nada.

For those six months, I lacked the energy to entertain the beast that is my imagination. Was it burn-out? Was it the ebb and flow of blogging? I honestly don't know.

Late one night in early March, my new residential situation and my lack-of-writing situation collided; Why not write again? Why not take the chance to be dirty once more, but to describe what it's like for this kinky bastard to be surrounded by so much sin, that for once I'm the straight man?

The idea appealed to me. This is an opportunity of the creative kind. The revolving door on this Sinful House will give me the inspiration needed to get "back on the wagon". The faces, the names, the characters...

And oh yes. The sex. The wondrous, wondrous sex.

So, yeah. I'm back. Smirk and all.

This time, don't expect much in the way of fiction. It's all true, this time around. Names and details have been modified to protect the rarely-innocent, etc, etc. Along the way, I'll be using my time here In This Very House (and On This Very Blog) to detail the life and lives of those who dwell in the HoS, and maybe even answer some questions that have been torturing my psyche.

I might even, y'know, open up. Share my feelings, and all that.

That's something I need to work on.

--

There are 7 Deadly Sins. In This House (and On This Blog), the most popular of sins will be documented in all it's (very full, and occasionally ugly) glory. That Sin, of course is Lust.

I'll be your host, The Bastard. I have no idea how long I'm going to last here. I have no idea how I'm going to get my life back in order, while surrounded by all the temptations that will be offered. I do know that it'll be entertaining, if nothing else.

When all is said and done, will my biggest mistake be moving into the House of Sin, or writing about it? Either way, this is all a bad idea. And that thought, well, it makes me laugh.

Ah, well. Let the madness begin.

--

NEXT TIME, ON THE HOUSE OF SIN:

Meet the cast! Who lives here? Who doesn't? What's the deal with the "other" roommate? How long until I "christen" my bedroom? Who stops by, just because they can? How much alcohol CAN one person drink, and still go to work at 7 am the next day? How thin are the walls, anyways? And am I really a bastard, or is it all play? Stay tuned, sinful readers, as we get into the nitty gritty.

-The Bastard.