How I found the one and shat all over it

All my life, I dreamt of how I’d meet prince charming. I’d drop some books on the street and he’d help me pick them up. I’d be on the bus and he’d take a seat next to me.

But screw those cliches.

I met my prince charming at an orgy.

Didn’t know what to expect when I walked into that room. It was my first time at an orgy so I was nervous as hell. Told the guy who invited me I wouldn’t participate; would just watch and satisfy the voyeur in me.

Saw the people. No one was my type. No one. Except this guy. While people were getting freaky inside, there was one guy who sat on the sofa watching TV in his undies. He looked cute. But I didn’t know how cute he was until later on. I was too intimidated to make a move and went inside to see all the action.

15 minutes later, I started getting in the mood. I took my shirt off and got a hard on at all the sights I was seeing. Took a break and got out of the room. Oh shit! I see Mister Right wearing his clothes and getting ready to leave.

Ummm… no. This hot guy won’t slip away from my fingers. You know how hard it is to find The One at an orgy? Very. I decided: “There’s no way in hell he’s leaving”.

So I head over to him. He was talking to the orgy organizer who was convincing him to stay. “Yeah, man. Don’t leave”, I say, and introduce myself. I put my hands on him and unbutton his shirt. He smiles.

Fuck, this guy’s not cute. He’s hot. He’s the perfect hot boy next door. The epitome of my type. With the perfect smile. And it seemed that he liked me as well… because he didn’t leave. He took his shirt off and stripped back to his underwear.

I grab his hand and usher him to the bathroom. Yes, the bathroom. I’m not gonna fuck prince charming in front of everyone on the bed. This is personal. This is romance. This is our first time.

Now we’re in the bathroom. Both in our underwear. Kissing passionately. Sparks are flying. I couldn’t believe I got that lucky at an orgy. I might just end up with true love Instead of ending up with an STD. I remove his underwear and put his cock in my mouth. Suck on it like you would your lover. His moans… oh, his manly moans. Was like sucking off a straight guy. Total turn on.

My ass was ready. I grab a condom and put it on him. Some lube, and he was inside me.

“Ahhh… fuck”, we both screamed.

We were one. United. He could feel my insides beating and I could sense him throbbing inside me. What better feeling?

As he’s fucking me hard, I smell something fishy. Could it be? No, it can’t be.

I look at him and he has the most horrified look on his face.

“What’s wrong?”, I ask.

“Ummm…”, he mumbled.

I don’t think he had the heart to say it. Or the stomach.

I take his cock out of my ass and look at it.

Shit! (Not the expression. But the actual feces.)

“Oh my God”, I screamed out loud. There was actual shit on his dick.

I came to the orgy unprepared and didn’t clean my ass. What was I thinking? How could I let someone fuck me without emptying my fucking bowels?

Do you know the meaning of the word “mortified”? I was mortified. Ever since that night, I use that word wisely. Because nothing… and I mean nothing… is more mortifying that taking a dump on a beautiful guy (unless he asks for it which is a totally different scenario).

“Sorry, man. I didn’t clean. I’m so sorry”, I was embarrassed.

“It’s okay, it happens”. Sweet words, but the boy was traumatized.

I stand up and touch my ass. It wasn’t just the hole. There was shit on my fucking cheeks. Like, really? Is this really happening? By now, the whole room smelled like a sewer. I take a tissue, clean up a bit, try to salvage the situation.

Now he’s getting ready to leave because his boner’s dead.

He reassures me: “It’s okay”. He cleans himself up.

But I didn’t want him to leave. I was adamant on making this work. This shit won’t slow me down.

I make him sit down, remove the now chocolate-colored condom, and play with his dick. I suck that mother off like there’s no tomorrow, all while trying to act like I don’t smell the shit. He’s trying to focus as well. I mean, there’s shit all over the place. Even a bit on my hands.

The guy’s a trooper. He cums. He actually enjoyed it. I could tell. Either that or he was so in a hurry to get the fuck out that he forcibly released that shit.

He came and he was out of there faster than you can say
“heydon’tleaveyou’retheonesorryIshatalloveryoucanIpleasegetyournumber”.

And he was out of there. And I was left all alone in that bathroom to pick up the pieces. And clean the shit.

I told the orgy organizer what happened and told him to contact him on Whatsapp and give him my number. He never contacted me. A part of me was offended. Another part of me was like “duhh you idiot”.

That night, I learned two things.

– Never have sex without cleaning up

– Love conquers all. But not shit.

Not Like the Porn Movies

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Admit it.

Porn has tremendously helped your sex life .

A lot of the moves you do in bed are taken straight out of a porn movie.

The way you slap his dick on your face while you blow him. The way you scream “yeah… you like that?” while you fuck him. The way you cum on his face like that guy from Sean Cody.

Yes, we have those moments when we’re so thankful for porn stars.

But we forget that they’re not people.

Porn stars are robots. Fucking machines. Actors. They have big tools. They never lose their erection. They take hours to cum. They have clean hairless asses. They’re not us. They’re not real.

What I’m trying to tell you lovely gay boys is that it’s OKAY if there’s a malfunction sometimes.

Everyone loses their hard on. Happens with me and with the guys topping me. Happens more often than you think. It’s horrible, embarrassing, and you feel bad about yourself for days following the incident. But there’s nothing wrong with you. Performance anxiety is very common. Don’t be disappointed in yourself. You’re not a porn star. Porn stars pop Viagra like M&M’s (FYI… baby V is a miracle drug).

And everyone ejaculates prematurely at one point or another. It’s FINE. Congrats, you fit right in. You’re normal.

I swear, we’ve watched too many porn movies. We’re disappointed when the sex isn’t as amazing as the porn movie we watched last night.

Stop having high expectations when it comes to sex.

And remember… porn movies are just like romantic movies. The happy endings they paint are seldom found in real life.

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Traditional

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1) I would never have a threesome.
2) I would never be promiscuous.
3) I would never date someone who’s in a relationship.

Things I used to tell myself all the time. It’s weird, frightening even, how who you think you are changes right in front of you. How you would do stuff you never thought you’d do. How you break the rules you set for yourself.

I’m a very traditional person. At least, I thought I was. I still dream of settling down with a guy, being committed. I still believe in love. I still don’t accept the thought of sharing a lover with others.

I’m still very traditional. But I’m breaking all the rules I set for myself when I came out of the closet 6 years ago:
1) Had a threesome.
2) Slept with 3 guys last week.
3) Didn’t just date. Boned.

What I’ve learned from now on is to stop saying these sentences that start with “I would NEVER…”. Because I probably will. Who knows what tomorrow brings.

Rules change. So do people.

Nothing’s set in stone. Neither are people. Especially not gay people.

Whoever you turn out to be… it’s alright babe. It’s ALL right.

Kareem (part 10 of 10)

Continued from Part 9

kareem 10

Joe holds my hand.

“But Kareem… you have to quit it because I wanna be with you. And I can’t be with you and share you with other men”.

“I don’t know what to do. I wanna stop but I feel like I’m stuck”.

“We’ll figure it out. We’ll find another way for you to make money. There are other ways. You don’t have to live this life. Let me take care of you. No more lying”.

“I’m sorry for all the times I lied. I was just protecting you. I didn’t want you to know”.

“I know… It’s okay. I know everything now”, he says.

“We’ll figure it out, right?”, I ask him.

I really don’t know the answer. I want to believe we can.

He takes my hand. “We’ll figure it out. You have me”.

“I know I do”, I say.

We sit on the sofa with my head on his lap. We don’t talk. We sit silently through the night.

I’m so relieved that he wants to give us another shot. I feel safe, even if just for a night. Tonight, I don’t worry about the bills. About how I’m gonna manage. When I’m with him, I’m free from all that.

We slept on the sofa that night. Took off our shoes and got comfy. With a weird mix of love and doubt in the air. That feeling when you wanna believe something is possible… but you’re not sure how to get there.

Three weeks later, I think I have it all figured out.

I arrive to my apartment with a great smell coming from the kitchen. I walk in there and see Joe lookin so cute in the apron.

“Babyyy. What’re you doing?”, I ask.

“What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m devirginizing your oven! I know you’re stressed out cause of the exams. Just giving you a little treat”.

“Well, it smells great. I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go feed Bisi”.

“Don’t I get a kiss and a hug?”, he asks.

“I just dissected a frog. You sure you want that?”, I reply.

“No”.

“Okay then”. I blow him a kiss.

I go inside, feed Bisi then brush my teeth.

When I come back to the kitchen, I see Joe with a concerned look on his face.

“Babe what’s wrong?”, I ask.

Then I see what he’s holding in his hands. I come close to grab the book.

“Babe, don’t look through that”, I scream.

“All of these men? Four years worth of men”, he says.

He flips through the pages.

“December 1? On my birthday? How could you?”

I don’t know what to say.

“We talked about this. I’m done with all that”, I say.

He keeps flipping through the pages and lands on today’s date.

“Elie 12:30 pm Rawche. Is that where you were today?”.

“Baby, no! I wrote that a long time ago. Joe… it’s all in the past. You can’t be paranoid about this anymore. I’m done with it. I swear”.

I finally get a hold of that book and close it. I hug him as he cries.

“You have to believe me. You made a wonderful lunch. Let’s not ruin it”, I say.

He wipes his tears away.

“Okay”, he says.

I give him a kiss. “Okay”.

I take the book and throw it in the trash.

“There. Done”, I tell him. “I’ll pour us some wine”.

“Okay”, he says.

As I walk inside, I feel bad for making him feel the way he is now. For not trusting me. For always being paranoid. And I don’t blame him for it. I just wish he never thinks of that again. Never thinks of me that way again.

I go to my room to undress and get into something more comfortable.

I open the closet door and hang the jeans I just took off.

As I close the closet, I heard a weird sound. Like something falling. I open the closet and see them lying there.

A couple hundred dollar bills.

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Thank you for reading this story. You’ve been amazing.

Follow me on Twitter or Facebook for new stories in the future.

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Special thanks to my amazing friend for taking the above pic of me. You being a ‘top’ and an ‘ass man’ came in very handy.

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Kareem (part 9 of 10)

Continued from Part 8

kareem 9

She instantly recognizes my voice.

“Kareem… Kareem…”, she turns around and sees me.

I walk towards her and hug her. I missed her smell.

“Happy birthday, mama”.

“Today’s my birthday?”, she asks.

“Yes. Didn’t you know? That’s why it’s such a nice weather outside. Because you hate the rain so much, don’t you?”

“Kifak? I missed you”, she tells me.

“I missed you too. Ana mnee7 mama. Meshta2lik ktir ktir”.

“How’s university? Kif AUB? You’re number one in the class, eh?”.

The nurse laughs. “Typical mother, isn’t she?”, she says.

“Sure is…”, I reply.

“It’s all great mama. Bisi misses you.”

“Bisi…”.

It takes her a second to remember her.

“Bisi…Bisi…habibti. Are you taking care of her?”.

“Yes, mama. Don’t worry about her”, I assure her.

I love how she’s remembering stuff. How she’s lucid.

Then she asks: “How’s your dad?”.

I look at the nurse. We’re both thinking the same thing. We lost her.

“Mama… dad’s gone. He’s been gone for ten years. Remember?”

She looks away… at the window. Confused. Then she remembers what she did when he died. To herself. To us.

“He’s gone. You’re right. I shot myself…but I didn’t die…”.

She looks at me. It all came back to her.

“I’m sorry”, she holds my hand.

“It’s okay. I’m alright”. I wipe the tears off her face and smile at her. “Now let’s eat some cake”.

On my way back home, I think of how my life would have been different.

What if my dad didn’t die when I was so young? What if my mother had coped with his death? What if I wasn’t forced to look after myself since I was a teenager? Would things have been different? But isn’t it such a waste of time wondering “what if”?

I feel empowered after the visit to my mother. People might not like my choices but they’re my choices. I did what I have to do to survive and I have no shame about it. I owe Joe the truth. But if he can’t understand why I am who I am… it’s not on me.

I call him for the 15th time. No reply.

I send him a message. “Please answer your phone. We need to talk. I’ll tell you everything”.

I call after 5 minutes. He picks up.

“Hi…”, I say.

He doesn’t answer.

“Kifak?”.

No answer. But I know he’s listening.

“Can you meet me at my place in an hour?”, I ask him.

I can hear him breathing on the phone.

He hangs up. I take his silence as a sign of confirmation.

I go and get ready for him to come.

I wait for three hours. He’s not showing up. Was I a fool to expect him to come?

Then I hear knocking on the door.

My heart drops… I run to the door and open it.

“Thank you for coming”, I say.

“I’ve been walking around the block for two hours. Trying to decide whether to go up or not”, he says.

“I’m glad you did”.

He enters and sits on the chair. The chair means I’m not off the hook yet.

I grab a chair and sit next to him.

I start off by saying: “There’s a reason why you haven’t met my mom and dad. When my dad died when I was a kid, my mom couldn’t take it. She tried to commit suicide. She didn’t die but in many ways she did”.

Joe leans closer to me.

I continue: “She wasn’t able to take care of me so I lived with my aunt for a couple of years. I was left with nothing. I was all I got. Well, I had Bisi, but she couldn’t exactly pay for med school”.

I point at things around the house. “This… my house… AUB… my bed… what I’m wearing… it was all possible because I do what I do. This is how I survive”.

“But…”, he says. “You lied to me this entire time”.

“I couldn’t let you in. Because if I let you in, I might have to change. And Joe… I can’t change. I’m working hard to be a doctor. That’s my dream”.

“But we can’t be together if you don’t quit this”, he asks.

“I can’t quit it now.”

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Read The Finale here.

Follow me on Twitter or Facebook to get updated on the latest parts.

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Best & Worst Gay Tweets from TwitterWorld

You’re allowed to say anything on Twitter and offend anyone you want. But once in a while, I type in “Beirut gay” or “Arab gay” in the search box on Twitter and come across some ignorant-ass folks. It’s not all bad though… I also see some great Lebanese tweeps who support the gay community.

Let’s start with the good.

There’s @Im_Lebanese with her funny tweet about gay marriage in Lebanon:

I AM LEB

Also saw this old tweet by Lebanese poet and journalist Joumana Haddad (@Joumana333).

 joumana

I agree with Joumana. If 5% of closeted public figures in Lebanon were to come out, my grandmother would have a heart attack on the spot.

And now for the bad. The REALLY bad. Tweets that make you go “I’m too sober for this intolerance”. Never ceases to amaze me how, for so many ignorant people, “gay” is synonymous with “bad”.

Congrats @ThatOneHippy, @boulaVB3, @SafiiMostafa and @Mrs_Fitzz for making it on the worst list! Hope you do better.

adderallcharbel safi

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On another note, why is Arab Idol so hated? Oh cruel cruel world, what has sexy Hassan El Shafei and his mini mohawk done to deserve so much hate?!?!

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