I took a stroll down to the river this evening, at the shady little park off the beaten path where men go cruising for blowjobs. The view there isn’t great, but no one’s coming for the scenery.
On the way in, I checked out the stickers and plates in the gravel lot. I could see I was in the presence of several God-fearing, gun-toting men from the suburbs. Those are the hardy, virtuous men that America was built on: the kind that hate fags, but love a good cock in their mouth.
I took a seat on a little knob in the bushes. A limp condom hung from a limb above me, and the pages of a crumpled porn mag were scattered on the ground, still wet with some guy’s jizz.
I watched all the men sitting in their cars and trucks, several of them leaned back and smoking weed, poppers no doubt stashed in their glove compartments.
One of these guys hasn’t been here as much since he made a homemade glory hole in his garage. While his wife is running the kids around to soccer and gymnastics, he invites over some of his married buds and discreetly sucks their shafts in rapid-fire succession. He’s something of an exhibitionist, so he films it with his phone and posts the videos online. His virtual friends love to see all the cum exploding on his face.
“So hot, bro”.
He’s hoping to score some sweet, young ass this evening and film it for fresh material — he’d prefer a tall guy with an athletic build, firm cheeks, not too much hair in his crack. He’s thought about starting an OnlyFans for extra income, but isn’t sure how he’d hide it from his wife.
Another guy is a contractor. He shops at Home Depot. A lot. His wife hasn’t put out in years, and he’s straight as an arrow, but a hole’s a hole, man. Any guy can tell you how skeevy Home Depot restrooms are, but only those in the know can tell you about the secret signals that pass between men at the urinals.
The man in the beat-up sedan is a long-distance trucker. If you’ve ever walked into a rest area around 3 a.m., well, you know what he gets up to. His erections are a little sluggish lately, but cock rings are doing the trick so far. He’s thinking about buying some discount Viagra from an online pharmacy in the Pacific.
The one man puffing on a vape in his compact truck is insecure about his size. The bi and downlow guys are usually OK with his 5-incher, but some of the gays can be real size queens. He shaves his pubes to look bigger, but no one’s fooled by the trick. His manly bush was once his glory, but now his cock just looks like a plucked and boiled chicken.
He mostly gets off by talking to strangers online, using pics of other guys’ dicks that he’s collected in his porn stash. “Hi” he says shyly as he pops up in chat with a stranger’s penis. It often works.
A lot of the guys out here are pretty accepting. Many of them are shackled to dried-up cunts and so hard up that they appreciate a cock of any shape or size, unlike the prissy queens who look you up and down judgmentally before sneering.
Some of these men believe God will punish gays in the fires of hell, but in the meantime, they’ll mete our their own punishment by fucking them in their hot holes.
One of those men got his first girlfriend pregnant — twice — and they quietly aborted both times. Quietly, because he’s always been staunchly opposed to abortion. Just this week, he posted a rant on social media about the millions of babies lost since Roe v. Wade. He got dozens of likes for that one.
“Praise God! Let’s take our country back for Jesus!”
Recently, a friend was staying at his house. He knew his friend had some queer ideas, and he wasn’t too sure about his political affiliation.
Finally, he got up the courage to ask his friend: “Do you believe in a woman’s right to choose?”
“Yes I do”, his friend replied.
“Get out of my house!” he screamed.
His friend knew about his girlfriend’s abortions and called him a hypocrite.
This was the witnessing moment he had been praying for.
What his friend failed to understand, he explained to him, is that God hates abortion, but forgives those who believe in him, even when they get abortions. So, problem solved.
And that, friends, is how you win the world for Christ.
The guy takes his wife and children to church every Sunday, imperfect but sanctified vessel that he is. As the praise band plays, he clutches his wife with one arm while raising the other to the sky. “More power, God”, he cries out, his eyes closed and head tilted back, much like when he’s getting his cock sucked.
Of course, power to him means a strong, Republican-led government — and money. Always money.
When Jesus lay dying on that cross, that’s what he was thinking: “I do this so that in 2,000 years you can drive nice cars and own a custom-built house in a top school district with conservative values. This is how you will know my love for you.”
Besides choking on a thick, veiny dick, the guy also enjoys listening to the news. “What is happening to this country?” he rages absently, as he swipes quietly through Grindr.
He waves away his sexuality and infidelity with the juvenile logic of a Christian: It’s not really sex if it’s in the mouth; the Bible says David loved Jonathan more than women; God gave me needs, etc.
Sometimes his wife feels like something’s “off” in their marriage, but she’s too afraid to address the issue. She doesn’t want to risk losing her 5-bedroom house and the approval of her friends, and besides, the Bible says wives must submit to their husbands.
The guy in the BMW is a well-traveled businessman — he knows all the best spots in the country to cruise. He’s scored a couple times in that hidden restroom in the Union Station basement, and the one in 30th Street Station with that long row of open urinals is ground zero for cock worship. And then there’s nighttime in the Ramble — hoo boy. You just gotta watch out for those park cops.
His husband thinks they’re both monogamous, and when he first started fucking around with other guys he’d take off his wedding ring out of guilt. Then he realized he could get more action with it on, especially since he can pass as straight.
I can’t blame anyone who deals in darkness — we all do it. I’ve spent much of my life on the periphery of shadow, observing the dark proceedings, curiously, often joining in.
The friends made in darkness can be fun — exciting, playful, unpredictable, chaotic. I’ve flirted with the low-level gremlins, adopted some of their cute tricks, and even (unwisely) let them follow me home — never, however, have I allowed them in my inner sanctum.
Others I’ve met in darkness aren’t so kind — gruff, demanding, and crude, they try to force their way in like violent thugs. I don’t even open the door for them.
The problem with dabbling in darkness is that it leaves my soul in disarray — messy, disorderly, and above all, distracted. Darkness can be thrilling, but it throws me off balance, saps my creative energy, numbs my passion, robs my inner fire, and disrupts my life’s work.
I think that’s why most of us embrace darkness — it keeps us distracted from the hard, disciplined, and often boring task of attending to our souls, and more importantly, it prevents us from making active, creative choices.
I believe each of us knows in some deep level of our soul that every choice we make has consequence — every decision contains within it the power to create or destroy — and that scares the shit out of us.
It’s something I think about often right now, as the United States is proving itself to be a nation of infants who delight in the duplicity and chaos of darkness and despise the simplicity and purity of truth.
Americans have zealously and self-righteously built an empire on beliefs concocted in sheer fantasy to hide the truth of our actual natures. Thinking ourselves exceptional and clever, we’ve become convinced that we can hide our deals in darkness — from each other and the universe — and somehow get away with it.
We are an irrational, schizophrenic nation of frauds who claim innocence, and those who scream their virtue the loudest are the most consumed by darkness. We have embraced deception as the natural condition, and if we’re called out on our delusions, we point fingers and blame others like lying toddlers.
Frightened by our own innate power, we have surrendered our souls to demons so we don’t have make one goddamn decision on our own. We love the predatory men who violently fuck us in the ass, and we keep begging them for more. Their deep thrusting destroys our interiors, but it gives us the excuse to play the role of powerless victims.
The infantile reasoning of our souls is this: at the end of our brief journeys, when we’re forced to give account for the choices we’ve made, we can simply say: “I couldn’t do anything. They robbed me of my power.” As if God or the universe can be duped by such pissant foolishness.
To ensure we all remain stuck in darkness, to prevent ourselves and others from making any choice of consequence, we have collectively formed anchors for ourselves, all of them illusory nonsense: wealth, status, comfort, security, acceptance.
Better to remain closeted than to lose numbers on a screen; better to appear straight then risk the approval of people who don’t give a fuck you about you anyway.
We surrender our minds to tribal demons so that we can shut off our brains: the tribe makes our choices for us, we glom onto their power, and we foolishly believe we can escape the consequences of our passivity.
“Why didn’t you feed me when I was hungry? Why didn’t you give me a drink when I was thirsty?”
“Well, the tribe said I shouldn’t, so….”
Our tribes feed us a steady diet of fear, envy and rage through our devices: we walk around staring at them all day, entranced by their spell, our minds consumed with their chaos and bullshit.
We cloak ourselves with our tribal affiliations to conceal our true identities — from ourselves and the world.
“I suck cock but I’m not gay– I’m a Republican.”
“I’m not a queer. I’m a Christian. Thank you, Jesus!”
Don’t think for a second that each of us won’t have to answer for the decisions of our political, religious, and social alliances. Don’t be so stupid as to believe that we won’t be held accountable for handing over our souls and identities to monsters.
The decision to surrender power is still an active choice — one of willful annihilation and destruction. And so we find ourselves in perhaps the darkest moment in earth’s history, as we actively and gleefully destroy ourselves, each other, and our shared home, with the bottle-fed zombies of the United States leading the way.
There’s only one way out of the chaos we’ve created for ourselves: It’s time to grow the fuck up.
We’ve all made friends in darkness, we’ve all brought them home with us. Now it’s time to man up and see them out the door. Each of us has to take responsibility for our choices, acknowledge the role we’ve played in our own destruction, and clean out our internal chambers.
I’m not convinced there are enough people with the balls or the desire to do that — particularly in my own country. Better to be repeatedly fucked in the darkness, they reason, than to grapple with the light of truth.
For that reason, I fully expect to witness the collapse of the United States in my lifetime. Will the entire human race follow? I wouldn’t be surprised.
My outlook for the rest of the world is grim, but for myself, I refuse to fuck around in darkness any longer, and I will not allow my power to be suppressed, controlled or stolen by another. Have fun in the shadows.
As night falls over the river, I walk back over the rickety, old bridge from the park. A beat-up old sedan crawls slowly beside me.
“Do you want your dick sucked?” a voice drawls to me from inside.
I shift my eyes to the right and see an overweight man with thinning, gray hair, his arm resting casually on the door. He looks like someone’s father.
I say nothing, look forward, and keep walking.
The car pulls beside me again.
“I said, do you want your dick sucked?” he repeats slowly, in a sort of sing-song fashion.
Fuck, he’s persistent.
He keeps asking, 2 or 3 more times.
I just keep walking.
