The Free Thinker

Seven weeks. Forty-nine days. One thousand one hundred seventy-six hours...since I’ve had sex.

Oh sure, I’ve gone this long before. But I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long without trying. The more observant, homosexual and Canadian among you may notice that Montreal Pride was seven weeks ago.

Let’s just say that I did something...out of character. Something a lot of gay men do. But it wasn’t me.

I haven’t dwelled on the event itself, but it made me feel like such a nasty, carnal beast that I resolved to make myself feel human again. It worked.

But something unexpected happened. Going chaste seems to have *gasp* made me happier. See the thing is, sex can be great. But most of the time it’s awkward, or rushed, or sloppy, or just plain awful.

But I kept coming back for more. Because I went out, I took too much G, and suddenly getting laid seemed like a mission. But the truth is hunting down sex is fucking stressful. And with that stress out my mind I have the emotional energy to actually enjoy my life. There’s also some satisfaction that comes from knowing I’m in control of my hormones.

Not to worry gay world, I am far from done with intercourse. But it would seem that, for the time being, I’m done with random intercourse. If somebody really wows me I’ll go for it. But the bar has certainly been raised.

I look back on the people I’ve been with, and even the people I’ve wanted to date, and I wonder what the hell I was doing wasting time with those losers.

Screwed over once again by hopeless romanticism. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to head off to the gym. When the time comes to re-break my man-hymen I want to be ready.

Image courtesy of tim_d.

A lot of my friends have been sucked into the Facebook black hole. Quite frankly, I find it merely okay. It's nice for screwing around for 10 minutes, but that's about it. Of course today it's been more interesting than normal. My Facebook inbox had a nice little note from some dude I don't know, who presumably messaged everyone in the Gay Toronto group I joined for no reason in particular. Take a look at this thing:

HOTEL PARTY REMINDER
OVER 100 FUCKIN HOT DUDES


Hey…we are having another party!!!! …this one will be at a downtown hotel….we are just finalizing the hotel and will let everyone know the hotel and location tomorrow……over 100 fuckin crazy hot horny guys…guys gone wild!!!!… The last house party was awesome, with over 40 amazing hot horny guys…this one over 100 guys…if you’re up for a fucking hot anything goes night this is IT…. We will see you at This Friday Night’s Party at 11:00 P.M.!!!!

GUYS…. BE REAL! BE 19 to 40, BE DECENT SHAPE (height/weight proportionate), BE COOL, BE FUN, BE OPEN MINDED & BE READY to bust loose & have fun...

Cool Fun hot crazy horny guys…gay, bi dudes hanging out, chilling, beers, drinks…420….and doing anything guys want to do….its up to you!

Always a good idea to bring anything you may want to drink. Have a few beers here for guys who didn’t pick anything up….

A great way to meet some real cool fun guys…get into some real hot man on man……THE HOTEL LOCATION WILL BE RIGHT IN THE DOWNTOWN CORE

We will send the hotel info, address, directions and all the details..........upon check-in on Friday around noon we will send out the actual room number or call our cell contact number for a recording with the room number….

See you on Friday for an unforgettable fucking awesome night!!!

Yeah I'm afraid I'll have to send my regrets. Blind dates are bad enough, but blind hotel orgies? Sounds like a scheme for a bunch of old overweight creeps to lure a few fit, naive youngins over, get them smashed, and pass 'em around. The relative unattractiveness of the host underscores the danger in attending such a sordid affair.

I'm extremely curious about the identity of the kind gent who's financing the hotel room though. And extremely sorry for the poor cleaning lady that will have to clean up after this thing.

This is why I reserve orgies for trusted acquaintances only.

* Just kidding, I really am more of a one-on-one guy. The ride may run frequently, but there's only seating for one.

Grinding is very accurately named. In fact, it's a lot like the picture on the right. Take something benign looking and put it through the grind, and the result is something nasty looking that nobody needs to see.

Now some of you might remember that it was scarcely a year ago that I scandalously took a trick I met at Stereo (who is now a close friend, incidentally) and essentially dry fucked him on the back stage. However, today I'm a more mature clubber and I'm here to tell you that it ain't right.

Now that I can actually dance worth a crap I'd much rather dance with a guy. And, truth be told, if he's got some good moves I'm going to be much more attracted to him anyways. If he grabs my waist and tries to pull me toward him he'd better be smoking, because that's two strikes right there.

Sometimes I can tolerate it. Grinding at Fly is just a fact of life. And at Pride, well, it's all about boys. But keep grinding out of my beloved Comfort Zone. It's a dancer's club people! It's not a pickup club. We don't need to see groping on the dance floor, let alone a five-person grind sandwich like I saw this past weekend.

I'm not even saying you can't have your fun at the Zone. Hell, there are seats and dark corners everywhere. I've been known to partake myself. Have at it.

But the Zone is a mixed club and you're giving our people a bad name when you act tactlessly. Why not show off some of our stereotypically impressive dance moves instead?

Image courtesy of Secretly Ironic.

Gossip is a standard part of any community. Inevitably as people get to know one another they start passing on rumors about each other. The Comfort Zone gay subculture is one such community, with the hardcore comprising perhaps 100 people. I guess sooner or later people were bound to start talking about me.

I'm sort of used to being in the background. I guess I've never really thought of myself as gossip-worthy, save during the big outing of 2001. Well dear readers, I've hit the gossip scene with a bang. I was chatting to someone last night when the bomb dropped.

"I heard that you're doing porn now."

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!? This is worse still because it came from one of the few people in Toronto whose opinion I actually care about. Let me go on the record now to state that Adam has not done porn. Boys who work full-time and do porn do not have empty bank accounts. In fact, if things were THAT dire I'd probably start selling drugs before I'd do porn. But don't worry, it won't come to that. It's sort of a which-limb-would-you-lose type of situation. Neither option is particularly appealing.

So where the hell does a rumor like this come from? I'll admit that with my hair now at visible-scalp level shortness I do have a generic, if popular look. Perhaps a case of mistaken identity? Or is someone deliberately trying to sabotage me?

The worst part is, it makes me look back at people I saw a lot of potential with whose attitudes suddenly changed and wonder if maybe they heard it too. This is the kind of rumor you just can't quash. I can't very well go around asking everyone if they heard my false porn rumor and really truly honestly it's not true and please tell everyone because it's just really embarrassing...can I? It'll just make things worse.

So essentially, I'm getting all the negative stigma of doing porn with none of the benefit$. Gay Toronto 69, Adam 5.

So dear Jeff asked me how the weekend went, and I figured I might as well just throw together a post.

It was really freaking fun. It wasn't particularly busy, but by Fly standards th DJ was quite good. I danced my ass off, and brought a boy home. It was my first drug sex in a while. That's unfortunate because drug sex is amazing, but fortunate because it makes me want to die the next day.

If you've never had sex on E, you really owe it to yourself to give it a shot. A back massage on E is better than sober sex, so you can imagine what the sex is like. Just don't plan on doing anything, feeling anything, eating anything, caring about anything or talking to anyone the next day.

Did you ever see that episode of Star Trek: TNG where Data keeps dreaming about the crew with straws in their brains? That's sorta how I feel right now. Like someone is sucking my brain out through a straw.

It also doesn't help that my work is a nice oven of unbearable humidity and stagnant air today. It's one of those lovely 70s era buildings has no circulation and is probably growing mold like Vancouverites grow pot.

Regardless, the weekend served its therapeutic purpose, for the most part. Of course it's hard to feel attractive when you keep visualizing yourself vomiting, but I'm closer than I was on Saturday.

Taking next weekend off would be advisable, but I've got a friend coming from out of town. Then the weekend after is Easter and a friend's birthday. In other words, I've got another couple of rough Mondays ahead of me.

What a depressing thought. Now where did I leave that extra pill?

Image courtesy of Star Trek episode guides

Oh man I loooove making up new words. So let's say you're a gay man who's sleeping around a lot. Like, a lot. You're not using protection, and of course you're in Toronto so that's pretty much begging for HIV. What are you?

You're a suiskank.

Genius! Now I'll just sit back and wait for the honorary degrees to start rolling in.

We already know that children can't hear the word scrotum, but did you know teenagers can't utter the word vagina?

That's right, three otherwise well-behaved high school students were suspended for reciting a few lines from The Vagina Monologues at a school event. For shame!

The school administration argues that it was an event open to the public, and there could've been children there. Oh my god, children might hear the word vagina! You know I've known the word vagina for a really long time, way back before I really knew what it entailed. Since I didn't even learn where it was until age 20, there were 14 or so years that I knew the word but couldn't find it on a...map.

And yet somehow, with this shameful word in my vocabulary, I managed avoid turning into a serial killer, rapist or pedophile.

I'm just shocked that this kind of puritanism still exists in our society. I mean, you can make a logical argument for why children shouldn't be exposed to sexuality. I'd say we usually go overboard, but the argument is there. But maintaining that the very name of their body parts shant be uttered is downright ridiculous.

Maybe the principal is sexually frustrated or something. Buy him a blow up doll and let's move on with our lives.

PS While writing this post I found the best list of vagina euphemisms ever!

I'd have to say "vice" is among my favourite words. Not only is it the name of a very entertaining magazine, it's the name of the only non-drug-oriented gay bar in Toronto where the music is tolerable and the clientele isn't repulsive. But most of all, vice is a state of mind. A way of looking at the world and saying "fuck you societal norms, I'm going to have a good time!"

Today I'm proud to say that I'm completely vice-ridden. It's very liberating. Embracing vice means not only engaging in taboo behavior, but it means refusing to feel guilty or hide it.

For example, the weekend before last I had to drag a friend who'd gone overboard at the club back to my place. He couldn't even stay awake. Thank god there were three of us to carry his ass up to my apartment. Someone in the elevator was like "It's 7 PM!" To which I replied "Yeah but he's been going since last night. He's just had too much GHB."

Cue shocked faces. The rest of the elevator ride was pretty quiet. Neighbours meet reality. Reality, meet neighbours. There goes my nomination for the tenant association.

So, obviously, my usual vice is drugs and partying. However, I'm starting to notice an interesting trend. Whenever I take a break, I revert back to a much older vice of mine: promiscuity.

***TMI ALERT! FAMILY MEMBERS MAY NOT WANT TO READ BEYOND THIS POINT***

This first became apparent back in January, during my first big break since I moved here. I hadn't gotten laid since the move in September. I'd had some encounters, but no full-on intercourse. Then I took some time off of partying and I ended up laying three guys in a week. Yeah. Way to make up for lost time, Adam!

Not to be outdone by January Adam, I managed to line up two guys last weekend. Thank god Mr. Sunday was a bottom, because I was still sore from Mr. Saturday.

Just like I refuse to be ashamed of my partying, I will not be ashamed of my promiscuity. It's very Toronto to go around pretending to be chaste while you lay the whole city, or to just be an all-around cock-tease. Not this guy. I go for the prize, I don't play games, and once I've "won" I don't keep it under wraps.

I'm planning on taking two more weekends off of partying, so who knows what the next 17 days will hold. Then it'll be time for another vice-swap and you can all look forward to reading about more of my weekly club disasters.

Judge me if you want. I'm too busy having fun to care.

Image courtesy of ! SamuraiGhost.

From the Puritanism-is-alive-and-well file, we have news that librarians are freaking out over this year's Newbery medal winner. Why? Because it has the word "scrotum."

I'll wait a few seconds so you can recover from this ghastly noun........

Ready? Okay. Anyways, isn't it about time we got over this societal obsession with teaching children "cute" names for their naughty bits, rather than the actual word? Is it honestly going to damage a child to call it a penis, rather than a ding-dong, peter, or whatever?

But of course this is just the beginning of the repression that continues when we're taught that sex is a very serious matter that leads to strong emotional connections, and that promiscuity is something we should be ashamed of. Now it's not quite as bad as "abstinence only" programs south of the border, but there's still a lot of cultural taboo against casual sex, even though a lot of us (and the vast majority of we fags) practice it at some point in our lives.

This is a sitatuion that makes the Toronto gay community particularly annoying, because all the sluts try to pretend they're chaste. You ain't fooling anyone paco.

So I guess what I'm saying is, start teaching kids to call it a penis, scrotum, clit, vagina etc. and future Toronto homosexuals will be able to sleep around with ever-so-slightly-less hassle. If global warming doesn't kill everyone off by then.

Image courtesy of Storeyland.

This just in: people love talking about sex. I'd say I spend around forty-five times more time talking about sex than I spend having sex. Yes, I'm including oral.

So in the spirit of keeping it up (teehee), take a look at these 21 things you didn't know about sex.

Now, to copy the list, add a little flair, and call it a day.

According to the Kinsey Institute, the biggest erect penis on record measures 13 inches. The smallest tops off at 1 3/4 inches.

I am terrified to report that I've fooled around with someone close to that lower bound. If you can call that fooling around. Really, I felt like a pedophile and he was my age. Should I call Guinness?

The most common fantasy is oral sex.

This is a pretty sad state of affairs, isn't it? Is it really that hard to get one of these in 2007?

8% of us have regular anal sex.

I'm guessing 7.9% of those surveyed were gay men. The other 0.1% were women saving the good stuff for marriage.

60% of men and 54% of women have had a 1-night stand.

40% of men were lying.

Women buy 4 out of every 10 condoms sold.

Because their partner insists on buying the extra-large magnum condoms to impress the cashier.

In 1609, a doctor named Wecker found a corpse in Bologna with two penises. Since then, there have been eighty documented cases of men similarly endowed.

I spent four seconds thinking about whether I'd want this, then vomited all over myself.

Men say the average erect penis is 10″. Women say it’s 4″.

Maybe if you took care of yourself it'd get up to full size, sweetheart.

A female orgasm is a powerful painkiller (because of the release of endorphins), so headaches are in fact a bad excuse not to have sex.

On the other hand, back hair remains a powerful deterrent.

56% of men have had sex at work.

Quite frankly I don't see the appeal. Unless you're a stripper or something.

Among the Mangaians of Polynesia, 18-year-old couples make love an average of three times a night, every night, until their thirties, when the weekly average drops to a mere 14.

Sounds like somebody's been putting Viagra in the water supply.

1 in 3 of us have had an extramarital affair.

Never getting married. Seriously.

62% think there is nothing wrong with affairs.

Including me. I'm my father's son.

The maximum speed at which erotic sensations travel from skin to brain has been clocked at 156 miles per hour.

I want to read the grant application for this gem.

A honeymooning couple are suing Holiday Inn for ten thousand dollars, claiming their sex life is now dysfunction because an employee mistakenly walked in on them on their wedding night.

...And caught them dressed as furries. Seriously though, if your sex life was that fragile something was bound to fuck it up sooner or later.

At least 500 Americans die each year from asphyxia in an attempt to lessen oxygen flow to the brain in order to induce a more powerful orgasm.

Suddenly the fact that I have 90% of my sex high seems less perverse.

England’s King Edward VII, a man of considerable heft, had a special table built so that he could comfortably engage in sexual intercourse.

With the way the obesity epidemic is going these are going to be en vogue very soon.

29% of us are virgins when we marry.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA...yeah. Did they conduct this survey in Utah or something?

The average sexual experience lasts about 39 minutes.

"We wanted to go longer, but some asshole kept banging on the stall door!"

58% like dirty talk during sex.

Yup, count me in.

22% rent porno flicks at least once.

People still pay for porn!?

Given today’s average frequency of sexual intercourse, it would take the typical American couple more than four years to try every one of the 529 positions described in the Kama Sutra.

Honestly I still don't have a thorough understanding of how vaginal penetration works...And I hope I never do.

As if you needed another reason to avoid Georgia, the U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals has upheld a Georgia law banning the sale of sex toys.

Seriously, what year is it in Georgia?

I mean even if you think it's gross. Even if you think it's reprehensible. Even if you think it's unbelievably wrong it's still a freaking waste of time to pass, enforce and uphold laws like this. Honestly, of all the societal problems we're battling right now, I'd have to say sexual depravity is pretty low on the list. Now I can't claim to understand the unique challenges facing this backwater bigothole. But I can tell you that getting between women and their vibrators ain't gonna solve 'em.

So now you're going to pay Georgia. I will not visit your state. I will not watch sports featuring your teams. I will not speak kindly about your southern hospitality. And worst of all, I will not travel via your beloved airport hub. Of course I've never done any of those things anyways, but thanks for keeping me on course.

First man to mail the governor a butt plug gets a hand job from me.

Oh yeah, you knew this was going to come up today. So today marks the anniversary of the day Hallmark (and, I presume, the flower industry) pulled off a bit of marketing genius and turned February 14 into yet another consumer orgy. Without lube.

Anyways, this is the first Valentine's Day I've been single since 2002. In fact, the 2002 one is the only one that really counts. Before that I was in the closet. And when you're in the closet, every day is like being single on Valentine's Day. Actually it's like every day your dog dies, you get fired from your job and then you get mugged on your way home. And on top of that it happens to be February 14 and you're single.

But I digress.

I'm actually not too broken up (teehee) about the whole deal. I mean, sure, it'd be nice to have someone. I love doing all that romantic crap. My first real Valentine's Day fell on a Friday, and I wired up Tavy's stereo to wake us up to "Friday I'm in Love." Those were the days.

But hey, nothing to complain about really. When I'm looking at my fourth consecutive single Valentine's Day I'll bitch. For now, I'm actually moderately comfortable being single.

It's sort of like being a consultant. Sure, I won't rack up as many hours as a staff member would. But I'm always visiting new "clients" and every "project" is unique. I get to do all the interesting work and leave all the boring stuff for the next guy.

And best of all, I get to charge an arm and a leg. Okay that part was a joke.

Image courtesy of everettt.com.

I'm sure you're all wondering why I've suddenly disappeared off the face of the blogosphere. Well, turns out that when I hooked up this weekend I got more than just laid. I haven't been this sick in quite a long time. Seems like a high price to pay for sex.

So I missed work today. Really, I should've called in Tuesday and Wednesday too, but for some reason I felt so damn guilty even though I was actually sick. It's not because I'm particularly honest. Hell, at the bank I never used sick days when I was sick. If I was already miserable I might as well be at work, right? Why waste a sick day on being sick?

The thing is, my boss wouldn't care if I called in sick. She's so laid back that for some reason I don't want to take advantage of that. Even when I'm sick as a dog. It's kind of perverse really. I mean even if I weren't sick, we know everybody uses sick days as a sort of personal day, right? It's an unspoken agreement. Sometimes we just need a rest. Hell, I don't qualify for vacation until November people.

By the way, walk-in clinics suck. I really enjoyed my 3.5 minutes with the doctor. Way to earn your $200, ass-wipe. Makes me miss the smarmy British doctor from my hometown. At least he'd make a little small-talk first.

But in a way this is sort of a blessing. When you're sick, all your other problems seem smaller, less important, and entirely surmountable. Health is something you don't really appreciate until it's gone, and once it's back everything else is just gravy.

On the other hand, this happened literally seven days before my drug plan kicks in. You win this round, god!

One more sign of the apocalypse:

Sleep medicine experts have successfully treated a rare case of a woman having sex with strangers while sleepwalking.

The behaviour had disrupted the lives of the woman and her partner. At night while asleep, the middle-aged sleepwalker - who lives in Australia and cannot be identified for reasons of confidentiality - left her house and had sexual intercourse with strangers. The behaviour continued for several months and the woman had no memory of her nocturnal activities.

Circumstantial evidence, such as condoms found scattered around the house, alerted the couple to the problem. On one occasion, her partner awoke to find her missing, went searching for her and found her engaged in the sex act.

There are a few VERY IMPORTANT questions that come to mind:

• Who were the guys she was sleeping with?
• How did she seduce them in her sleep?
• Perhaps most importantly, did they know she was asleep?

Quite frankly the journalist's job is to anticipate the kind of questions that the reader is going to ask, and I'm very disappointed that the writer failed to include these tawdry details. I know that people who are sleepwalking can appear to be conscious and even carry on a conversation, but they don't talk about this at all. I'd really like to know more about what the hell was going on.

On a brighter note, it is encouraging that even while sleepwalking she was smart enough to use a condom! You know your safe sex campaign is successful when people practice it even when they're unconscious.

Anyways, if I had to do something in my sleep I'd take sex over eating or murdering any day. Still, it sort of takes the Coyote Ugly thing to a whole new level, doesn't it?

Just now I was walking down Jarvis, and minding my own business, when a prostitute asked me if I was "looking for some company." To be fair, I was wandering the streets at 2 AM, but do I really look like a guy that needs to pay for sex...with a woman?!

We liberal-minded folk know the War on Drugs has been something of a farce; an expensive mistake that hasn't curbed drug use at all. However, I don't expect to hear those sorts of opinions from former undercover cops. Try to ignore it's from FOX news for a minute and take a look at this. As these officers attest, the war on drugs has a lot of negative side effects (no pun intended). It destroys lives when otherwise functional people are sent to jail for possession. And it increases the power of organized crime.

Now people are speaking out about it here in Canada. The message is the same: enforcement is a waste of money and education, research and treatment programs should be a higher priority. Of course, we already have a drug education program: DARE. I went through something called VIP when I was in grade five, but I'm sure it's mostly the same thing: a lengthy tirade about the evils of peer pressure followed by a long list of "don'ts". But we know don'ts are a bad idea, because some of our lovely neighbours to the south teach this wonderful concept called abstinence only in sex ed classes. It doesn't work.

When you think about it, that thing we all snickered about when we were twelve was actually pretty important, wasn't it? I don't know about you, but I don't even consider anything but safe sex. I think sex education had a big part in helping me make the right choices.

Sex and drugs are two very similar things from a teenager's perspective. Both of them involve a lot of peer pressure and both carry a lot of misconceptions. But most importantly, teens are going to both of them whether you want them to or not. Deal with it.

So instead of coming out with a big lecture and a bunch of scare tactics, how about teaching kids about drugs instead of just describing them as scary and awful? No, we don't need classes on how to roll a joint. The message should be the same as with sex ed: we know some of you are going to do it. If you choose to, here's how you can keep from hurting yourself. Stuff like how to recognize the signs of addiction, what to do in the event of an overdose, who to call if things get out of control, and what drugs you should absolutely, positively avoid because they're extremely addictive.

Let's face it, if we don't teach this to them at school they're going to be exposed to it sooner or later. Kids know that every person who does drugs doesn't end up like some messy junky. Let's stop lying to them and give them the information they need to make the right decisions. After all, education is supposed to be about the truth, right?