The Young, Drunk and Gay

The Nederburg Baronne has already taken its toll on us. The butches have been having Carling Black Label and already, the conversation’s bordering on the erotic. Fifty Shades Of Grey stuff. And we just sang Atomic Kitten’s ‘Whole Again’. Yep. Mooikloof Ridge has been invaded

It has been a most amazing week in Suburbia. Countless bottles of wines, boxes upon boxes of cigarettes, hungover breakfasts at restaurants. It’s been text book ‘good life’ stuff. The only thing missing is a good man by my side. I’ve been with couples all this time and it gets really exhausting sometimes being the single friend. But I don’t think it’s all doom and gloom. I might be having an affair. I’m not sure. I mean I haven’t seen him and he hasn’t boned me yet, but it has all the trademarks of a classic affair. The phone calls. The flirtatious BBM messages. The little fights over promises not kept. But the fact remains, I’m a side guy. Heck, he even took his boo out for lunch on Saturday and then made plans to meet me later. Needless to say, me seeing him never happened. Yes. I’m a side guy. And it’s freakin’ annoying. He’s not even my type. The only thing that turns me on about him is the fact that he once told me off outside La Cantina (I’m not proud). Ever since, I’ve been obsessed with him. And he knows this. Part of me thinks he enjoys the fact that some lonely young man is pining after him.

As I light up my one hundredth ciggie of the night, I can’t help but think of how awesome things would’ve been if I had just been a well behaved young man back in the day. Again, my reputation leaves much to be desired. For years, it was always ‘Tshego, the whore’. I didn’t really help matters when I decided to call myself Tshewhore. I really don’t blame men for not wanting to take a chance on me. They must think that well, I’ve been had by the whole of Gauteng (and maybe the North West. Remember that shady RDP house in Brits?)

I don’t get drunk anymore. I haven’t been in weeks. I get high though. I think I might be developing a superiority complex over my supposed intellect. I find myself commenting (ever so philosophically) on things that do not involve me and offering my supposed knowledge on things. The other day, I found myself telling people who Norman Bates is. I don’t think anybody cares. Just earlier tonight, I fought off the urge to tell my friends how the Trojan War supposedly started (for those of you interested, legend has it that Aphrodite, Hera and Athena asked Paris, the prince of Troy, who was the fairest among them. Of course, Aphrodite offered him Helen and she won the golden apple. Somehow, the spiteful goddess Eris was involved and that lead to the war.). I might be slightly annoying when I’m inebriated.

Again, my past catches up to me. I was supposed to go shag my ex yesterday. Get shagged, really. Not shag. Luckily, I didn’t. Then I get a tweet telling me how I allegedly give the best head in Pretoria. According to one of my followers, I have amazing gag reflexes. An ex brought it up a few months ago. Said people had been talking. It’s fucken’ annoying how I always have to be reminded of 17 year old Tshego who thought blowing every guy in the city was awesome and bound to get him recognition. Instead, it brought nothing but infamy and well, unwanted suitors. Not even suitors, just men who wanted me for my supposed prowess in the bedroom (or kitchen, office, backseat of a car or club bathroom).

I’m drunk. I’m happy but painfully lonely. I drove the one guy who loves me away because I was mean to him on Twitter. My friend Nonhlanhla keeps saying that I don’t want to be loved. I think that might be true. But I want to be loved. But like one doesn’t just go around visiting people because one ends up feeling like one is an annoyance. Like, no. And what is with people meeting people on social networks and then expecting to see what they’ve read about the person on said social networks to be true? I’ve been judged completely on what I’ve posted. People assume that I’m this sex crazed power bottom while in fact I’m painfully shy, insecure and probably have body dysmorphic disorder (yes, I think I’m unnaturally obese), I don’t like people much and having to learn another man’s body is draining emotionally and mentally. Especially considering the fact that I’ve dated men who are so beneath me, it’s ridiculous.. Like humanity is prone to bad habits. I’m not exempt from these bad habits. I just try to be less annoying than most.

Still painfully lonely though.

Apparently, the fact that I’m rather outspoken when in a relationship is the reason why I’m going to stay single forever. A booty call said this two weeks ago while we lay in bed before he screwed me senseless. But I don’t get men who would rather have a mindless, boring boyfriend with a good dress sense than having an intelligent hippie type. The sex might be good with the typical bottom who acts dumb to keep a man, but I bet the pillow talk with a guy like me would make up for all the shit (pun totally intended. I should get a douche) that happens during sex. I don’t like sex. It’s time consuming and rather…….. Well…… Dirty. I’ve never had an orgasm from anal penetration. The only time I ‘cum’ is from when I’m wanking. I’ve never even lied about that.

Anyway, everybody’s gone to bed, I’m about to light up another ciggie, take a gigantic swig of this Black Label (I joined the butches. Their girlfriends did too till they passed) and then watch tv. There’s talk of shopping and breakfast later today. Another booze fuelled day coming up!

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