A Cumshot of Sadness

The thirties are a bracing time for any homosexual guy. Most everybody else you know, at least the straight ones, are already married and are starting their own families. These days, they are usually giving you death by vomiting with each hourly update of their babies' uncute antics. You then consider losing your Facebook account.

I am bitter. Your kids are hella pretty. For real. Having said that, let's move along.

They look happy, though, and they feel happy, and you know it. You can see it in how their smiles match that familiar twinkle in their eyes. You imagined you had that twinkle before, but after two sharply disappointing relationships, you realize now that you are just faking it all this time. Everybody else is getting married, and you are still praying. But then, surviving all that deception toughened you up a lot, so you are a little less inclined to give a shit. You are now praying less.

I am bitter. I love you, and thank you for kissing me twice on the forehead while I'm getting that arm tattoo. I will continue loving you in spite of whatever. Having said that, let's move along.








I mean it, homo. You are a gay guy in your thirties. Move along. You should know better than to dwell... there is a reason why it's a cumshot's measure of sadness.