Bloodthirsty Gay Hero (and Gay Medieval Sex)

I have been reading "The Steel Remains" every night before bedtime. It is another sword and sorcery fantasy with the requisite swashbuckling heroes and heroines that I love so much. It is written with the grit and realism of Joe Abercrombie and George R Martin albeit the storyline is slightly watered down to an entertaining but less epic concoction. I love, however, that one of the heroes is gay. This fact lends itself to the socio-political nuances in a world where dragons and reptilian men existed and slavery is an economic driver. A lot of the reviews would praise the book but thought that all the graphic homosexual gratuity was unecessary in pushing the story. It did push the envelope, for sure.

I don't mind at all! Talk about a protagonist you can relate to. He wields a powerful sword, trained in open palm combat, snide, cocky, ruthless and troubled. He of course likes cock:

"IF THE DAMP AIR WAS CHILLY, HE DIDN’T NOTICE AS HIS CLOTHES CAME off, as the dwenda’s heated kisses bit their way down his neck and over his exposed chest, as impatient hands tugged down his breeches over boot tops, tore undergarments down to match, as the dwenda knelt and plunged the head of Ringil’s cock into his mouth.

He gasped and flexed at the sudden heat of it, and then as the friction of teeth and tongue set in, he grabbed at the dwenda’s shoulders, sank his fingers into its hair and twisted. A long moan forced its way up out of him, counterpointed by the small grunting noises the dwenda made as it pumped its lips up and down. A cool hand weighed his balls in their sack, and then one long finger split off from the grip and angled up into the whorl of his anus. From somewhere, the dwenda had conjured the slick wetness of spit or something like it onto the fingertip and Ringil felt himself opened and gently impaled with a sly controlling competence that made his heart turn over."

All the gay sex in the story was probably unecessarily plentiful and graphic. This is why I want to express a big thanks to the author for the lovely bonus. The book is well-written and exciting--I recommend it to all gay men who still like some blood, adventure and swashbuckling goodness.

Shoe Porn

I occasionally check out Esquire's shoe porn section here. I don't jack off to it but sometimes I get orgasm-like sensations. If it's really amazing, my crotch just might tingle.


It's only been two days since I last wrote that I'm only limiting myself to one shoe purchase per quarter. Then I did the math (which is something I'm not entirely good at), and found that it is four (4) pairs a year. It dawned on me that my feet will starve. And I will probably regret that last statement because there's a million starving people and I'm sorry for being insensitive.

I bought a pair of shoes today and I almost bought two. The limit is 4 for the year. And it's not even half of January yet. This goal is getting less realistic each day (but there is still hope). I was walking through the Adidas Originals store at Trinoma this afternoon when these crocodile leather sneakers hollered at me:

Some innocent reptile went to heaven for these.

I just had to. It will give me a year of good luck. Yes. I think it will. After all, it is the year of the dragon and the crocodile is its closest living relative. Just ask my neighbor's 2 year-old kid --earlier today I was told that he saw my wooden crocodile paperweight and called it a dragon.

Later this evening before grabbing tickets to Sherlock Holmes, I saw these calfskin Cole Haan brogue chukkas with concealed Nike Air technology. It feels like wearing sneakers. They're at 60% off and with only 1 pair left which happens to be in my size--complete with the extra half inch.

If I wasn't running late for the movie I might have bought it. I asked the staff to give me a 24-hour reservation so I can sleep on it. In a few hours, I will find out if I'll be rocking them to the office soon. That's if the force is strong enough. Tik tok. Tik tok.


My brother told me recently that he was able to find some limited edition Kobe Nike Zooms at the Cebu outlet store and he almost lost his mind. He's the sportier (straight) sibling but just as shoe-crazy. Seriously, he won't mind that his shirt is faded and the kili-kili is butas if he's wearing his 8k sneakers with it.

The Rapture of My Overgrown Clitoris

It has been a while since I got something written down for my little blog. I don't know if anyone would get to read this anymore but I owe it to myself to have paragraphs for posterity--like a photo album of words that I could flip through, just like that new Facebook timeline but with blog entries. I blame my new phone--it has a nice camera so I took myself to just taking photos instead of writing. Or it's just laziness.


Which brings me to my first entry for 2012, the first of many until the world ends in 11 months. There's nothing wrong with believing the impending rapture and doing a little carping of the diem. There's a lot of opportunities to seize everyday but one thing that gets overlooked is the opportunity to change, so I'm blogging a couple of things that I would like to improve. I'm writing it down hoping that it doesn't just stay as a flickering reminder in my flaky consciousness. So that with some arcane power of the universe it will manifest. Or serve as a contract with myself.

This year, I will try my best to limit my shoe buying to a maximum of one pair every 3 months. It's a genetic weakness. My mom has heaps of wedges and stilettos, my brother is willing to shell out a premium for some rare Jordans that he would only wear a couple of times, and I have stopped counting when I got to thirty pairs. My sidekick's argument against shoe hoarding is that I only got two feet. My argument is that there's 365 days a year. Nobody's going to win that debate. Now I wanna tell myself that where I'm going is more important than the shoe I'm walking in. Unless it's walking towards the shoe store and there my goes my modicum of resolve. It is fucking going to be a challenge.

I will try my best not to be late for work. I really don't know what's wrong with me. Technically, my shift starts at 1030AM so I get to work at 11. When my shift used to start at 930AM, I would arrive at 10. It doesn't make sense but changing is a bitch. My brain needs a little rewiring.

I need to stop jacking off to lesbian porn. I'm kidding; it is gross.

One thing I won't be changing about myself is my penis. I like the way it is right now. I got mad respect for my sisters who get theirs chopped off. I will never be able to live without mine. I just think of junior as an overgrown clitoris that I can pee with. I don't want to be separated from my clitoris.

And I'll try to blog some more. I like how it loosens the little knots in my brain like a mental massage. I've almost forgotten the quiet enjoyment of not only being alone with your thoughts but also having a personal dialogue that can sometimes be surprisingly enlightening.