Tales Of An Oversharer.

fartingmom: I Was An Eagle - Laura Marling I will not be a...

Fri, 26 Apr 2013 09:26:42 +0200

I Was An Eagle - Laura Marling

I will not be a victim of romance
I will not be a victim of circumstance
Chance or circumstance or romance or any man
Who can get his dirty little hands on me, oh no

On Loneliness And Alcohol

Mon, 22 Oct 2012 05:19:23 +0200

It was a lonely saturday night. It had been almost two months since I left my little hometown in Belgium and moved to Toronto. The reasons for my move were complicated, or so I pretended, but basically came down to me wanting to get away from everything and everyone. To exile myself and learn how to stand on my own two feet.

After two months of dates with all the wrong people and drinks with all the wrong men, I still hadn’t made any real friends. When you’re gay there are a few easy go-to options to get to know other gay people. Unfortunately, those options are usually about sex and sex only. Finding someone to build a real friendship with proved harder than I had anticipated. Or guys wanted to date me, but lost interest after a week. Or all they wanted was a good look in my pants. Building a long-lasting platonic friendship didn’t seem to be in the cards. So after a while I just gave up.

Which is why I ended up alone, drunk in the kitchen of my new apartment on a saturday night. I had been closed off from the world for a few days, anxious for some social interaction. In my drunk haze I decided to do something about it. I wasn’t going to let these imaginary social chains hold me down. I was drunk enough. I could go to the bar a few blocks down and meet some people. This was my life and I was going to make something of it, goddamnit.

I put on my coat and headed over to the bar. Breathing in the cold night air (it was already past midnight) made me feel even more drunk than I already was. Still I felt nervous. Still I felt alone.
Immediately upon entering I made my way to the bar and ordered a beer. Everybody looks less lonely with a drink in their hands. Or so I thought.

It wasn’t long before someone started talking to me. She told me her name but I couldn’t hear it because of the loud music. It didn’t matter. At least I could pretend I had someone to talk to. Even if it was an anonymous 30-year-old drunk girl. I wasn’t alone anymore. I had a friend. If only for a night.

She signaled her friends to go outside with her to smoke. Not wanting to be left behind, I followed them out on the patio.
It was clear I was a hanger-on. A stranger that would become a story once the night was over and they were all recovering from their hangovers. “Who was THAT guy anyway ?!”, one of her friends would say.
“I have no idea.” my new for-one-night-only BFF would say as she gave her friend a quizzical look. “He just started talking to me. I was so drunk I don’t even remember what he looked like.”

Seeing all these awful scenarios played out in my head amplified my feelings of loneliness so I took a big gulp of my beer.
Things were getting blurry now. I introduced myself over and over again. Even when I wasn’t expected to. Alcohol had turned my assertiveness into social aggressiveness. “I’m from Belgium.”, I shouted over and over again. “Oh Belgium”, one girl replied, “That’s my favorite city in Germany.”
I smiled and nodded. Too lazy to correct her. Too happy to just have someone talk to me. Even if that person was dumb and ignorant.

At this point my already usually loud voice was shouting across the patio. I saw people look but I ignored them. This was my moment. I was talking to people. I was having a social life. Fuck all of them. So I ordered myself another beer. I lit up a few cigarettes and let them all drop to the ground. My coordination was fucked up. And so were my social inhibitions. I wasn’t making a good impression. At all.

My drunk BFF had already stormed off with some other girl. They were leaning against the wall as they were touching each other’s boobs and laughing. I was left to fend for myself. My eyes frantically scanned around the patio. I was standing at a table of people I didn’t know and who didn’t seem to want to know me. (“Does he look like Ethan Hawke or what?!”, my drunk BFF (who was actually friends with them) had screamed at them while I shook my head in disagreement. They had all looked away, trying to avoid any form of contact with me, whatsoever.)

There I was, standing at a table full of people not wanting to know me. Loneliness was hitting me hard in the face right now and there was nothing that alcohol could do for me anymore.
So I left. I hadn’t accomplished anything tonight, except getting totally wasted and acquiring a sense of shame about my own social behavior. I saw myself desperately drunk, trying to get attention, trying to feel less lonely and cringed. I imagined other people looking on in disgust, maybe even with pity. This was not the person I wanted to be, nor the person I wanted to become. I vowed to never make the mistake of going to a bar drunk and alone ever again.

On my way home, a drunk British girl stopped me. “Could you walk me home a few blocks ? I’m all alone.”
I smiled and asked her where she was from.
“I’m from London. I just moved here a few months ago. Toronto is so different.”, she slurred while almost tripping over her feet. “Like at home in London, people will be friendly to anyone. Even a random stranger on the street will walk me home if they see that I’m too drunk. But here… I was dancing and all of a sudden all my friends were gone.”
“Yeah, Canadians are weird socially.”, I sighed, wondering if those friends were her actual friends and not some strangers she had started a meaningless conversation with at the bar. Maybe she was just like me. Lonely. I held out my arm as she quickly grabbed it. “Thank you, I’m glad you’re going the same way as me.”, she smiled. There we were. Walking home through the quiet streets, arms interlocked. Two drunk lonely foreigners in Toronto.

Why I'll Never Be Blown Away

Fri, 28 Sep 2012 00:15:00 +0200

This is the moment. It’s FI-NAL-LY happening. You ended up in bed with the boy you’ve been lusting after since forever. You’re making out, the clothes are coming off. This feels very good. He hovers over you and smiles. This is the smile that made you notice him. This is the smile that got you here, naked in bed ready to seal the deal. He kisses your lips, your neck, your chest. Slowly he starts working his way down your body. Oh no. Self-consciousness starts to slowly take over your body, overriding this feeling of ecstasy. Where do you look ? Up ? Down ? You settle on closing your eyes, trying to relinquish control. Trying to pretend you’ll enjoy what’s somebody’s about to do to you. The first few minutes you’re fine. “Try to enjoy it, try to enjoy it, try to enjoy it, let go, let go, let go.”
You can’t. You feel nothing. Somebody might as well lay his finger on your dick, as they wait for something to happen. But nothing ever does, except for the slow disappearance of your erection.

“I don’t like blow jobs.”
It’s a confession that when uttered in public always leads to silence. Go on, try it! It could become your new party trick!
After an awkward pause the silence is usually broken by someone who dismisses this heartfelt claim of fellatic disconnect.
“Well, you obviously haven’t met anyone whose good at them then.”
And so time and time again, my personal feelings on the matter of fellatio are swept under the rug.

We are raised to believe it’s impossible for a guy to not enjoy a good blowjob. It’s the holy grail of sex for guys. Or it’s supposed to be anyway.
Even in porn there’s always a long stretched out period marked for the part where the male or female (or she-male) bows down on his/her knees to please his/her fella.
It’s one of the most mainstream forms of phallus worshipping in modern society. Even cumshots in porn are often focused on covering someone’s face in cum. Marking your territory and possessions with cum is not a hobby, it’s a lifestyle.
When you refuse to fulfill this dominant male role people refuse to accept it. Taking it as a sign you’re maybe just not man enough. (Puhleaze, give me a break.)

Not enjoying getting blown doesn’t just lead to a soft cock. It also lead to upset and hurt lovers.
“Am I not doing it right ? What did I do wrong ?! Do you still love me ?!!”
Yes, it takes only the most strong and secure men to date me, because from the moment we get to oral sex they lose all self-esteem.
Thinking about it, not enjoying a blowjob is probably the number one thing I’ve apologised for in my lifetime. (Maybe that just means I need to become more apologetic in my everyday life, who knows ?!)

Things haven’t always been like this though.
When I was a young teen and still a total virgin, I thought a blowjob was THE ultimate pleasure in the world of sex. Boy, did that turn out to be a disappointment. At least I discovered the gay joys of giving blow jobs. I am SUCH a generous person I just can’t bear to sit back and let someone else do all the work. It is not in my nature and it’s probably a testament to my good upbringing. At least I’ll always have that.

So as I am writing this, I’m hoping to break a taboo. I’m hoping to change the world, one blowjob at a time. So ladies and gentlemen, when you don’t enjoy giving blow jobs that much, fear not! For there are guys! Wonderful, AMAZING guys like me who are not even into them.
May we find each other and celebrate our taboo-less union filled with climatic joy and other forms of sexual pleasure.

I am waiting for you.

My Very First Letterman Interview

Wed, 26 Sep 2012 23:19:00 +0200

Letterman : Our first guest on the show tonight is a writer, reality star and entrepreneur. A musical about his life called Pieces Of Me premieres next week on Broadway. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome for the very first time on this show : Lance Bergen.

I walk out, wearing a black Armani suit and Tom Ford glasses. While I walk over to Dave I nod to the audience and give them the sly smile I’m known for. I shake David’s hands and softly tell him it’s an honor to be here. The loud cheering of the audience drowns out my voice. We sit down as the audience calms down. One lone ‘WOOH!’ is heard before it’s completely silent in the studio.

Letterman : How are you doing ?

Me : Great, thanks. You ?

Letterman : I’m good. So, where you from originally ? Someplace European, right ?

Me : That’s Right. Belgium, born and bred.

Someone cheers. I turn to the audience.

Me : Anybody here from Belgium ?

Silence.

Me : Yeah, that’s what I thought. Nobody’s EVER from Belgium.

Letterman chuckles, as does the audience.

Letterman : So Belgium, that’s far away.

Me : Tell me about it.

The audience laughs again.

Letterman : So you moved to New York, is it ? When did that happen ?

Me : Well…I first moved to Canada.

Letterman : Canada ?!

The audience laughs.

Letterman : Why would you go THERE ?! There’s nothing in Canada.

Me : Except health care.

The audience is silent. The drummer slams his drum. I awkwardly turn to the band.

Me : Thank you.

The audience laughs.

Paul : We thought we’d help you out a little.

Me : At least someone gets me.

Letterman : What ?!

The audience laughs. I turn to Dave and look at him skeptically.

Me : Do you get me ?

Letterman : Sure.

He laughs.

Letterman : Anyway, so you moved to Canada.

Me : YES! And then I moved to New York and now I divide my time between New York and L.A. … And well, Belgium.

I laugh nervously. The rest of the studio is quiet.

Letterman : And what is it that you do exactly ?! You’re a writer if I’m not mistaken.

Me : Well, I guess you could say that. I’d like to think of myself as an entrepreneur.

Letterman : What is it that you entrepreneur in ?

I chuckle.

Me : I don’t know. Life.

Letterman : Life ?!

The audience laughs. I bury my face in my hands.

Me : Oh God. This is going all wrong.

The audience laughs even harder.

Me : Anyway. I’ve written several essays, had my own TV show, recorded a single….stuff like that.

Letterman : So you’re a bit like Paris Hilton ?

Me : Oh Dave. How very 2003 of you.

The audience laughs.

Letterman : Or one of those Kardashian sisters ? Maybe that’s more up to date.

Me : Oh yeah, the Kardashian girls. Sure, I love them.

Letterman : Am I correct in stating you’re friends with them ?

I shake my shoulders.

Me : Eh. We go out sometimes. I wouldn’t call them my friends necessarily.

I raise my eyebrows and throw Letterman a knowing look. The audience laughs. Letterman throws me a ‘This guy!’ look.

Letterman : And now you’ve made a musical about your life. Tell me a little bit how that came to be. I imagine it’s not like you went up to some Broadway producer and asked him to make a musical about yourself.

Me : Actually, that’s exactly how it happened.

The audience laughs.

Letterman : And what’s it about then ? I assume a piece of you is in there somewhere.

The audience chuckles.

Me : Yeah, of course. I mean, Dave – Can I call you Dave ?!

Letterman : Well…I….

The audience laughs.

Me : That’s okay right ?!

Letterman : You can call me whatever you want. Personally, I prefer Mr. Letterman.

The audience laughs even harder. I put my hands on Dave’s hands.

Me : I’ll just call you, Dave.

I wink at him. The audience almost dies laughing. I give them a moment to laugh. Dave looks uncomfortable. Finally, I let go off his hands.

Me : Anyway, the musical is about me.

I throw my hands up.

Me : OBVIOUSLY. The show is a journey from my childhood, growing up in Belgium, all the way to this couch.

I put my finger down on the desk. Letterman looks at my finger.

Letterman : Am I in it ?

Me : You want to be ?

Letterman : Not necessarily.

The audience laughs.

Me : So yeah. That’s it. Ryan Murphy wrote the script and Ashlee Simpson did the music. There’s A LOT of talented people involved.

Letterman : That sounds wonderful.

His voice sounds sarcastic. The audience laughs.

Me : It is. It really is.

Letterman : Anything else you would like the audience to know ?

Me : World peace.

I make the V-sign with my fingers and give the audience a flash of my famous smile.

Letterman : Well, it was great having you. Pieces Of Me opens next week on Broadway. Be sure not to miss it. Hope to see you again. Ladies and gentlemen : Lance Bergen.

The audience erupts in cheers. I take off my imaginary hat and wave to the cameras. As they cut to commercial I lean over to Dave and thank him for the opportunity. He ignores me, turns to his assistant and shouts something about needing a drink.

Did I mention I wrote something for The Huffington Post about a week ago ?

Sun, 16 Sep 2012 04:29:40 +0200

Did I mention I wrote something for The Huffington Post about a week ago ?

We need to talk about Bernard.

Wed, 23 May 2012 23:01:00 +0200

I went out for dinner with my family. Our party consisted of me, my parents, my sister and her boyfriend.

Halfway through dinner I decided that we weren’t focusing enough on me so I asked my mother : “How come I am such a spoiled brat and my sister isn’t at all ?”

I had come to this conclusion while watching episodes of Girls and realising that my behavior when around my family (and in general) had some strong similarities with the way Lena Dunham’s character Hannah handles herself in her natural habitat.

My mom told me in a brutally honest way that I was manipulative and got what I wanted by manipulating everyone around me, including my friends. I was shocked, appalled but mostly unsettled by this fair assessment.

Then my sister took it a bridge too far by claiming I had told her “in confidence” that I saw a lot of resemblances between me and Kevin from the Tilda Swinton - vehicle We Need To Talk About Kevin.

I told her she had the wrong movie in mind and I had truthfully spoken those words, but in relation to the movie J’ai Tué Ma Mère which proposes a whole other kind brat out of hell creature.

For the next 5 minutes we engaged in a Yes-No battle about me being Kevin. At the end of the evening we both left the dinner table annoyed.

Not only am I offended by the notion that I’m a sociopath/psychopath/whateverpath, I also don’t think it’s fair to expect me to go on a shooting rampage at some high school. I mean….I finished all levels of education (including university) without an incident of agression so I think it’s safe to say that I won’t be shooting up any high school kids anytime soon.

I also like to point out that I’m afraid of guns and have never ordered anything of the internet so the chances of me being a raging killer are close to none. (By the way, I’m also offended by the notion that I would hate Tilda Swinton.)

So don’t be alarmed when you run into my sister and she tells you “Bernard is such a Kevin.” for I can assure that I’m not.

I’m more of a Tilda Swinton anyway. Lonely, misunderstood and a victim of the world around me.

WHERE’S MY HAPPY ENDING ?! Only Tilda knows.

This is the best thing I’ve seen all week.

Tue, 24 Apr 2012 23:09:13 +0200

This is the best thing I’ve seen all week.

R.I.P. Bionic : The Masterpiece That Never Was

Wed, 04 Apr 2012 22:34:00 +0200

It’s been almost 2 years since Christina Aguilera’s Bionic was released. Coincidentally, it’s also been almost 2 years since Christina Aguilera’s career and personal life took a turn for the worse. Luckily she bounced back quickly by getting her ass on The Voice as a judge. Still, Bionic is considered as a weak and bad part of her career that’s better left in the dark, never mentioned again. Now that she’s about to make her musical comeback and pretend Bionic never happened, I am here to salute Bionic before it becomes the obscure and forgotten part of her career.

Everybody probably knows the history of this album, and if you don’t, here’s a quick reminder. In 2005 Christina got married, had a baby and took an indefinite career break. Then, inspired by the miracle of birth and life she decided she needed to make a new record. An album she described as futuristic, forward, out there. Slowly but surely names of collaborators started to get dropped. Ladytron, Sia, M.I.A.,…Every name added to the roaster made me more and more excited for this record.

“HOLY COW!”, I said to myself. “This record will give her some actual artistic credibility. OH. MY. GOD.”

Then there was a long big silence. Rumors started to spread that the album was in trouble. While Christina was happy with the record, the label executives weren’t and had called up random hit producers to give her some songs to launch the album with. Months passed by and the release date of the record got pushed forward and forward. (“It’s not because the label hates my record. I’m doing a movie with Cher, y’all!”, Christina proclaimed enthusiastically.) Then all of a sudden the first single emerged and, to be honest, it was fucking dreadful.

Not Myself Tonight was a bland, dated and ridiculous mess, accompanied by the sleaziest music video known to mankind. (And I don’t mean that in a good way!) Immediately my hope and faith in the project dropped. Luckily, It surged again when the tracklist got released and I saw the names that got me excited in the first place. (M.I.A.! Ladytron! Peaches!) Of course they were all among the tracks by shitty hit producers, but at least there was SOME hope!

When the record FINALLY came out, it was hard to fall in love with it. Critics slammed it, the public didn’t buy it. Basically, no one was interested. I knew there was greatness though, I could hear the greatness, buried deep down, somewhere in the messy tracklist. So I did what every sensible music lover would do. I started puzzling and created my own tracklist, mostly made up out of tracks that were intended for the original vision of the project. After a lot of trials and tribulations I was able to create a perfect and AMAZING album. Here’s the rundown!

1. Bionic

We start things off with the perfect stuttering title track (and statement) presenting what the album is all about. “I am the future, put it on you like a hurricane”, commands Christina’s low, almost unrecognizable voice. The message is clear : Are you ready for a ride through unknown galaxies, because we’re about to go on a journey!

2. Glam

Out of the stuttering depths of Bionic, Glam comes on. Guided by a low-key finger-snapping beat, Christina creates a modern take on Madonna’s Vogue. Some of the lines may sound clichéd (“Fashion is a lifestyle”) but the subdued production makes up for that. (Also the way she goes up and down with her voice without overdoing it. It’s a new Christina. A Christina I love.)

3. Elastic Love

When Elastic Love starts, things get a little bit crazy. Borrowing the ‘I Don’t Care’ - pose from M.I.A. (who wrote the track) she sings over a stuttered (see, there’s a pattern!) beat in an arts-an-crafts take on confused young love. If at this point in the album you’re not convinced Christina is indeed delivering the electronic pop album from the future as she promised, you, my friend, need new ears.

4. Birds Of Prey

Birds Of Prey first tones make it sound like the frantic production of Elastic Love has broken the speakers. Soon, the faux-static is mixed with Christina chanting away like she’s the call of prayer in some small village somewhere in the Middle East. There’s a danger to the track and although it never really explodes, the imminent sense of subdued fear is present.‘“They watch and they feed. They take what they need. They bite as you bleed. The birds of prey.”, she chants isolated on a lonely electronic beat.

5. Little Dreamer

From darkness into the light. (Remember that the original title of the album was Light & Dark ?!) Little Dreamer has Christina soaring through the sky, free as a bird, free from life and death. Is she singing a song to someone who died ? Or is she singing from the perspective when she’s death and her son is left alone ? Whatever the case may be, the classic Christina vocals lift up the light production to new heights. She soothes the listener with the words and you can tell that she really means them. I’m dreaming away! Thank you so much, Christina.

6. Monday Morning

Keeping the light vibe going, Monday Morning laments Christina’s trouble with a disgruntled neighbor when she just wants to party on, even when it’s already morning. Some may cross this song out as a She-Wolf wannabe, but fact is that she sounds believable in this chilled out jam. Besides, complaining neighbors can be SO annoying, right!?

7. My Girls (Feat. Peaches)

From the chilled-out part we segue into the high-energy feminist section with My Girls, a feminist anthem kicking things off. It may be one of the lesser tracks on the album but it’s cheered up by Peaches who starts rapping about how she likes her gurllzzz. Work it Peaches!

8. Woohoo (Feat. Nicki Minaj)

Woohoo is one of the “more commercial” tracks the label asked for but it has an infectious beat that even makes me, a gay dude, sing along about eating the cake of some lady.

9. Bobblehead

Things are rounded out by Bobblehead, which is one of those irritating but good songs. Coincidentally, it’s also a song about annoying dumb girls. I must say that Christina is really good at impersonating one, unless she just is one of course. But since she made a brilliant album (but fucked up the tracklist) I am going to assume she has lots of braincells. Work them, X-Tina!

10. Lift Me Up

Linda Perry’s classic ballad Lift Me Up opens the slower section. It may be done before but Christina’s belts make this song into the creature that it is. (And her belts usually have the opposite effect, so a congratulations is in place.)

11. Stronger Than Ever

Then we end up with the ballads Sia contributed to the album. Stronger Than Ever, a slower and updated take on Fighter has Christina singing about a past relationship where she was (sorta) emotionally abused. “You punish me for trying to be all that you wanted, what more can I do ?!”, she asks the listener, with a desperation-filled voice.

12. I Am

The beautiful and subtle I Am closes the album. Christina lists the things she is. (Which includes naked, a lioness and oversensitive.) And so ends the record on the note of sole a violin or cello, WHATEVER.

There you have it, the perfect commercial but left-field record she should have released. If Bionic has taught us anything in life, it’s to never stop believing in your original vision for someone else and don’t let the resistance get you down. In this case, her not putting up a fight with the label clearly backfired and resulted into a career-crash. Now that’s she’s recovered and will probably go the safe commercial route to reinstate her music career to what it was, it’s time for us to bid adieu to Bionic.

You were the record, I thought no female pop star would ever release. You were Christina’s Ray Of Light. You were an inspiration for other artists. (MDNA says hello!) So Farewell, my little dreamer, Farewell. You’ll be missed.

Hobbit Love

Tue, 03 Apr 2012 23:57:00 +0200

I was 15 and had just come out. While my (girl)friends all reacted quite well, the rest of the people in school didn’t. To make things worse I didn’t know any gay people. Sure, I had a lesbian aunt. But what I really needed were young gay men to learn how to navigate myself in the gay realm I had thrown myself into. Loneliness and isolation ate away at me, so I did what every sensible person would do. I turned to the internet.

This period was also situated around the time the Lord of The Rings - mania took place, so naturally my attention turned to that whole territory, more specifically to the actors themselves. And there it was, the one rumor that made me feel less lonely. Elijah Wood and Dominic Monaghan were supposedly dating. This total fabrication brought on by a few blind items written by Ted Casablanca, and early incarnation of Perez Hilton who (still) runs an online gossip column for E! Online, soon caught my attention.

And thus I went on a journey, an unhealthy obsession, with a pairing that made me feel less lonely. I started collecting pictures of their visible chemistry I found online and saved them to a folder I aptly called ElijahDom.

There was this picture :

And of course there was also this picture :

Which according to the gossipy people on the internet (mostly centered on the datalounge.com message boards) proved that they were actually hooking up. Look, they came out of a party holding hands! They are DEFINITELY fucking! This picture was also accompanied by an eyewitness account that recalled how Elijah freaked out and tried to snatch away the camera from the photographer once he found out his secret relationship had been captured on film.

I lived for these stories, I kept them alive in my head. For one year of my life, they were all I thought about all day long. They were the only gay role models I could trust. A shining example of two cute people hooking up. They were my future, they were my all. Of course I had to believe in them.

In class I would daydream, hoping they would suddenly show up to take me away. This daydream would usually follow the story that they had found out about my love for their coupling, which prompted them to surprise me and take me with them to L.A. where we would hang out and party and although they would try to hide their love from me, I would be able to see it. I would be able to feel it. In my desperation I even send Oprah a letter, requesting her to make my wildest dream come true. (It was the Wildest Dreams - season. I was young and under the impression I made a shot against all the poor and underprivileged families Oprah gave homes too.)

As my desperation stretched further I started to divide my folder with pictures into other separate folders. There was a folder with all the videos of their public interviews or guest stints on shows like SNL. There were separate folders for Elijah and Dom. A folder for them together. A folder with pictures of them with other cast members. I was obsessed.

When I came home from another day of loneliness and isolation in school, I would immediately turn on the computer and start watching pictures and videos of them together. Even if my day had been super shitty, they’d never failed to cheer me up. When going to bed I would open the special XXX - folder where I had collected an array of sexy fan fiction describing Elijah and Dom getting down and dirty. Every night, I would print out a few of them and take them with me to bed. Reading them usually let to masturbating and to falling asleep afterwards, dreaming of what could be.

In school I tried to convince the few friends I had that they were a real actual couple, as if it was a validation of my own homosexuality. If THEY were gay and living a gay romance, it would be OK for me too, right ?! Of course my friends would laugh at me and skeptically shake their heads. Every bit of resistance they showed to my belief of their romance, felt like a piece of resistance and non-acceptance towards my own homosexuality.

I reached the final stages of my obsession when I went to the hairdresser with a picture of Dominic asking the hairdresser to cut my hair the exact same way. I wanted to be him. I wanted to live out a happy gay romance. I didn’t want to feel lonely anymore. But I couldn’t. (Which was one of the downsides of growing up in a small town. And not only that, I was also way too insecure to actually pursue anyone real at that time.)

A year after I came out, as I started to settle in my own skin and accept myself for who I was, my obsession with the Dom & Elijah romance started to fade away into the background. I started to search for young gay men. Men I could actually hang out with. Men who I could actually fall in love with and start a relationship with. When I finally got my first kiss with a boy at the age of 17, their fauxmance was permanently deleted out of my life.

I had grown up. I didn’t need a fictional romance to accept myself anymore. I was able to take me for who I was without their help. In that kiss I had found validation that I’d find love one day. An amazing all-consuming and overwhelmingly romantic love. I would be okay. Still, I hoped and prayed my first great love would be as amazing as I had pictured theirs to be.

It’s been six years, I’m still waiting.

A Eulogy For Camille Grammer

Thu, 29 Mar 2012 22:46:00 +0200

The first time I met Camille I was at a stranger’s apartment somewhere in the East Village. It was a cold November evening. I had come to New York, on the run from my life in Belgium, and I had ended up in the living room of a stranger I met online. He had invited me to come and watch an episode of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills with two of his friends. I knew the show, from little blurbs here and there on various blogs, but I’d never actually seen it. Disinterested, by what seemed to be a boring and predictable franchise. Regardless, I was happy to take the plunge and discover what this show was all about.

There she was. Her beauty rendered me speechless. I can still remember those fierce eyes, burning with fire, as she confronted Taylor Armstrong about the abuse-claims she had made about her own husband, Russell Armstrong. As Camille stood up to leave, she grabbed her bag and stuck out her finger in Taylor’s face.

“YOU (!) need to be honest ‘cuz that’s not cool!”

And with one swift turn, elegant like the dancer she is, she turned around and stormed out of Lisa Vanderbilt’s tea party.

After that, I knew I had to start watching this show, if only for the flawless reality creature that was Camille. Back home, in Belgium, I immediately immersed myself into the show. I’ll admit, watching Camille fight her way through season one wasn’t always easy. She started out, not as the warm glamazon I had seen in New York, but as a cold ice queen trying to stay alive in the social circle Bravo (and Kelsey Grammer) had forced upon her. She was the girl you love to hate. The one who likes to make self-righteous catty remarks or steal your husband when they think you’re not looking. She was more villain, than Goddess.

I can vividly recall the way she attacked Kyle, riled on by two-faced professional liar Taylor Armstrong.

“You said : Why would anyone be interested in you without Kelsey there?!”, she shouted over the dinner table as the other ladies looked on with annoyed looks on their faces.

And with that line began the unraveling of our ice queen. Her insecurities all balled up in one sentence, repeated over the course of several episodes. Then, in front of the cameras her marriage started to fall apart. The very few occasions we saw her interact with Kelsey, who was in New York doing a rendition of Le Cage Aux Folles, seemed strained, troubled. When we got to the end of the season her unraveling was complete. As she escorted Kelsey to the Tony’s, all smiles, she (and as did we we) knew the truth. Kelsey had filed for divorce. Her marriage was over. Our queen, our ice cold queen reduced to a sad puddle of water. And just as a full-on breakdown was near, the cameras cut away and the season was over. (Just as these reality shows tend to do.)

After finishing season one I wasn’t so sure about my love for Camille anymore. Did that fierce glamazon creature I had seen at the tea party really exist, or had she just been a mirage ? An early judgement, brought on by my own projections. Maybe I had just externalized my desire to be a fierce queen, taking no bullshit and calling people on the reality they were trying to conceal away from the world ? Maybe I had been wrong to proclaim her my example of living a decent life ? I felt conflicted.

Regardless, I started watching season two, hoping to see a glimpse of the goddess I thought I had seen. When the ladies took a trip to Camille’s ski-castle at Beaver Creek, I saw proof the spark hadn’t been a projection of my mind. Here was this woman, a broken woman, who had lost everything (except of course, a few houses and her children) but who had found the fighting spirit within. And not in the self-destructive way she had fought with the other ladies. She had become playful, funny, and instead of handing out rude remarks she held her own, steering clear of the drama.

Throughout the season her spirit just got stronger and stronger. The - sometimes overdone - remarks on Kelsey Grammer’s literal shortcomings seemed to slowly disappear and instead she took actions to make sure he didn’t cast a shadow on her life anymore. When there was drama, like with Taylor, she made sure to throw it all in the open and demand people to be real, just like she had been slapped in the face with one truth bomb after another in season one. She partied it up, (allegedly) made out with Brandi Glanville and ended the season with a hunky lover. Queen Camille had risen out of the depths of divorce and had rebranded herself as a strong, independent woman who held her own.

Now that she has decided to leave the show, this is how we’ll remember her. A regal goddess, smiling down from her throne, living the good and pure life she always wanted. She gave us a tale we’ll never forget. A tale we’ll tell generations to come. A tale of finally finding your voice and not being afraid of using it. (Suck it, Taylor!)

So off you go, Saint Camille. Off you go, escorted by that hunky beau to live your happily ever after. And when you introduce yourself to people, don’t you worry. You are more than good enough without Kelsey.

Norah Jones new album will be so good. Heartbreaking, but...

Fri, 23 Mar 2012 23:58:02 +0100

Norah Jones new album will be so good.

Heartbreaking, but good.

Thank god she dumped the faux-jazz.

HARMONY KORINE + SELENA GOMEZ + VANESSA HUDGENS + HEATHER MORRIS...

Fri, 23 Mar 2012 21:35:53 +0100

HARMONY KORINE + SELENA GOMEZ + VANESSA HUDGENS + HEATHER MORRIS + ASHLEY BENSON = MOST ANTICIPATED MOVIE OF 2013

to : Rufus Wainwright from : Bernard subject :...

Fri, 23 Mar 2012 21:17:00 +0100

to : Rufus Wainwright

from : Bernard

subject : Bitter Tears (Odd Year Remix)

message : WHEN WILL YOU FINALLY RECORD A FULL-ON DANCE RECORD ?

I NEED IT.

yours truly,

xoxo

It was a wednesdayafternoon when Jason, a 30-year old mediterranean guy, started talking to me on Grindr. His profilepicture was a close-up of his bearded mouth, his descriptive info revealed he was looking for someone to suck him off. He refused to give me a proper facepicture and remained vague about his whereabouts. When I prodded him on the mistery surrounding his identity, he confessed he had a girlfriend. Immediately interested, I started to ask him questions. This is the conversation we had.

Wed, 15 Feb 2012 20:35:22 +0100

Me : Are you looking for a guy to suck you off because your girlfriend doesn’t like doing it ? Or is it something else ?

Him : She does it, sometimes. Not as much as I would like. It’s just different.

Me : Different how ?

Him : With guys it’s more hedonistic, more to the point. Just for sex, for pleasure. Girls need to feel comfortable and safe.

Me : Do you consider yourself gay or bisexual...or straight ?

Him : I think I’m bisexual. I love having sex with guys but I wouldn’t want to have a relationship with one.

Me : Why not ?

Him : I don’t feel an emotional connection.

Me : Do you think you’ll be happy to always have a guy on the side throughout your life ?

Him : Well, I've only just started to explore this side so I can't answer that question.

Me : How has it been so far ?

Him : Very hedonistic.

Me : What made you start to explore in the first place ?

Him : I don’t know, I felt attracted to guys.

Me : How many guys have you been with so far ?

Him : Like 3 or 4.

Me : And you just let them suck you off or you’ve done more ?

Him : I fucked one.

Me : How did that differ from fucking a girl ?

Him : It’s the same I would say, it’s just the act that’s different.

Me : What about it ?

Him : You feel more powerful with a guy and that makes me more horny.

Me : When you hook up with guys, do you make out or is it more a suck-my-dick-and-get-out situation ?

Him : It depends, but in general I find it includes making out.

Me : Have you ever sucked a dick yourself ?

Him : I have done it...it’s nice especially when I am very horny...it was good, but I prefer being sucked.

Me : Is there something you haven’t done with a guy, you really would like to do ?

Him : Eating ass...I haven’t done that.

Me : I love it.

Him : Eating or being eaten ?

Me : Both, definitely. It feels so fucking good.

Him : I was in San Francisco a few months ago and I had sex with a cute bisexual guy who LOVED to eat ass. I really liked it a lot.

Me : Would you ever consider being fucked ?

Him : No way josé. I mean, I really don’t find anal estimulation pleasurable. I have tried with my fingers, but no.

Me : Different strokes for different folks. Do you cuddle after hooking up with a guy or is that a bridge too far ?

Him : Cuddling is ok, especially if you're cute. ;-)

Me : Thanks, I guess.

Him : What about you ? You only like cock ?

Me : Yeah, I’m a good ol’ cocksucker.

Him : No anal for you ?

Me : I like being fucked if I’m in the mood. I’m very tight so I always need a moment or two to get into it.

Him : Hmmm, hot. How long have you had feelings for guys ?

Me : I started to feel attracted to guys around puberty and fully realised I was gay by the time I was 15.

Him : And no attraction to girls at all ?

Me : I tried to have girlfriends, made out, grabbed some boobs but decided it wasn’t for me.

Him : And when was your first encounter with a guy ?

Me : Well, I started experimenting with guys when I was 12. Just some mutual sucking and jerking off. Then I first made out with a guy at 17. When I was 18 I lost my virginity with a guy.

Him : I lost mine at 15!

Me : With a girl ?

Him : Yeah, it was...dull.

Me : How so ?

Him : It wasn’t memorable or anything. She had a hard time, it was painful.

Me : Was she losing her virginity at the same time or is your dick just that big ?

Him : She was also a virgin. I’m 17cm (6.9inch). That’s normal I think.

Me : It’s a very nice size.

Him : Was it painful, your first anal experience ?

Me : It was actually alright because he ate my ass first so I was all warmed up. And I wanted it really bad. That tends to happen when I'm really horny.

Him : A relaxed and wet crack. That's how it should be!

Me : Ha, yes. Are you a loud sexual person ?

Him : I moan, yeah. And if I’m in the mood, I like to be a bit dominant. You ?

Me : Depends on my mood and if I’m enjoying it.

Him : That sounds fair.

Me : Do you mostly watch straight porn or gay porn ?

Him : 60/40.

Me : What about your girlfriend. Do you have sex often ?

Him : 2 to 3 times a week.

Me : That’s a nice frequency.

Him : Mostly in the morning, when I have morning wood.

Me : And you’ve never discussed the attraction you feel to men with her ?

Him : Never. But I might tell her some day, I don’t know.

Me : Would you propose a threesome ?

Him : I just think...I love sex in general..I mean..if I can get more sex and fullfil my fantasies with a girl then I wouldn’t be doing these things on Grindr. If she’s ok with a threesome I would love it. I've had one before with two girls.

Me : How was that ?

Him : Awesome. One of the girls was really anal.

Me : Do you consider sleeping with guys cheating ?

Him : Ofcourse it’s cheating. I don’t feel good about it. It’s a bit of a dilemma.

Me : Explain.

Him : You feel bad because it’s cheating but...you feel it...you enjoy it...I am just too horny. I think you have to take full advantage of these stages in your life...otherwise you’ll regret it when you are old, ugly and impotent.

Me : Have you cheated with girls on her before switching to guys ?

Him : Nope, not with girls. I had a fuckbuddy before her. She was one of the best fucks ever. Crazy for cock, loved to suck and swallow. Nothing makes me hornier than being swallowed. Its just pure awesomeness. She didn’t want to do anal, but man, she was so good at sucking and riding my cock that I forgot about it.

Me : Are you mostly passive in bed ? Do you let guys, girls ride you ?

Him : No, I do both. Missonary is good. I like to look at the face but doggy goes so deep, yum.

Me : What kind of guys have you been with so far ? What do you prefer ?

Him : Younger than me, Average/Slim, masculine look...I don’t like effeminate guys. I like both hairy and smooth. You ?

Me : I like a little bit older. Average/slim/maybe sometimes even a little bit chubby. I prefer hairy. Some stubble or beard can be nice too.

Him : I’m average, hairy and have a 3-day beard! :)

Me : That sounds right up my street!

Him : Anytime! You’ve made me horny.

Me : Were all the guys you had sex with cute ?

Him : Most of them. I prefer to do this thing when I am really into a guy. If not, it’s better to masturbate.

Me : When you go out to have sex, what do you tell your girlfriend ?

Him : I normally don’t do it here. It’s when I’m abroad mostly.

Me : In a hotel ?

Him : Yeah...I’m hard by the way.

Me : Ha. You’re welcome.

Him : You want to meet up ?

Me : Like now ?

Him : Yeah...

Me : Sure. Where ?

Him : Nevermind. My girlfriend just came home. Talk to you later. Bye.

"Most people realize that AIDS came from the homosexual community — it was one guy screwing a..."

Mon, 30 Jan 2012 18:21:00 +0100

““Most people realize that AIDS came from the homosexual community — it was one guy screwing a monkey, if I recall correctly, and then having sex with men. It was an airline pilot, if I recall.””

- Senator Stacey Campfield

If my disastrous Friday night had been an episode of The Real Housewives Of Beverly Hills, this is what it might have been like

Mon, 30 Jan 2012 15:46:00 +0100

PART 1

(A huge ballroom filled with hundreds of people in 20’s clothing.)

Lisa : Men in tuxedos, women in cocktaildresses, pearls in their hair, I mean everybody’s dressed to the nines….In walks Bernard…

(I, in a tutu and furcoat, walk up to Lisa.)

Me : Hey girl.

Lisa : For god’s sake, what are you wearing ?!

(We airkiss.)

Me : I know. I couldn’t find anything 20’s themed, but then I found this tutu and fur coat buried deep down, somewhere in my closet and I thought to myself : I’ll just go as Carrie Bradshaw!

Lisa : Oh my god.

Lisa : How deep was that buried ?!

Me : You don’t think Taylor will mind, will she ?

Lisa : I hope for your sake she won’t.

(She laughs and pets my coat.)

Lisa : What’s this anyway ?

Me : Real fox fur, 25.000 dollars. I inherited it from my grandmother. She was royalty.

(I smile.)

Lisa : 25.000 dollars ? Royalty ?! I don’t even think it was real fur.

COMING UP

(Kim’s rolling around in a room filled with cardboard boxes while Ken looks on.)

Ken : Kim, come on. We’re going to be late.

Kim : I’m trying to make it. To Taylor’s party. But I still have a lot of moving to do. Normally. I’d already be done..I’m a virgo, I’m always prepared. But I was supposed to move on…..Monday but then my phone stopped working on Tuesday and by then it was already Wednesday…..this is unlike me. I’m always on time.

FLASH

(Kyle presses a phone against her ear.)

Kyle : Kiiii-iiim ?!

Kim : What ?! Who’s this ?!

Kyle : Kim, where are you ?!

*Kim grimaces, throws her hands up and shakes shoulders.*

PART 2

Taylor : My 20’s party is in full-swing. I’m happy people actually showed up. Everything’s going well. Everybody’s having a good time.

*Pause*

Taylor : Then I see Bernard….

(I walk up to Taylor. Taylor looks at me with a grimace. I hug and kiss her, smile and open the fur coat to reveal my tutu.)

Me : You like ?

Taylor : Really, Bernard ?! I thought the invitation - specifically - said it was a 20’s themed party.

Taylor : Why are you not in a tuxedo ? I thought I said on the invitation….

Me : Yeah, I know…I couldn’t find anything 20’s so I just threw this on. I’m Carrie Bradshaw.

(I throw my arms up)

Me : The tutu, the fur coat, get it?!

(Taylor looks at me with big eyes.)

Taylor : Yeah, I see.

(I laugh.)

Me : I thought it was funny.

Taylor : I HATE (!) Carrie Bradshaw.

COMING UP

Kyle : Taylor has told us so much about her new gym. It’s about time we had a look for ourselves.

(Me, Kyle and Camille walk up to Taylor.)

Kyle : Taylor. Can we go up and check out your gym ?

(Taylor laughs.)

Taylor : Sure…except for Carrie Brashaw. She’s not allowed.

(Kyle frowns.)

Kyle : Bernard can’t go up with us ?

(Taylor looks deadly serious.)

Kyle : Is she serious ? Is she joking ? I can never tell with this girl.

PART 3

(I walk up to Taylor. She’s talking to some people, fake smiling and shaking her head.)

Me : Something doesn’t feel right about Taylor tonight. She seems off. I don’t know if it’s me or just the stress from the party, but I think it’s about time we talked about it.

(I put my hand on Taylor’s shoulder.)

Me : Taylor, can I talk you to you for a sec ?

Taylor : Sure.

(We walk to the edge of the room.)

Me : Is there maybe something wrong ? Like…did I offend you or something ?

(Taylor pouts her ducklips, angles her head sideways.)

Taylor : Well….

Taylor : Here I am, minding my own business, enjoying my party…in spite of Bernard’s costume and all of a sudden he decides we should talk about it.

*Taylor rolls her eyes.*

Taylor : I just feel like, maybe you could have put more effort in your outfit.

(She pouts at me and bats her eyelashes.)

Me : Honestly, Taylor, I just wanted to be fun and I thought you would be able to laugh with it.

Taylor : I think I might have laughed with it….if it had been funny.

(Taylor lets out a short nervous cackle.)

Me : At this point I’m done with her bullshit. Here, I am, making an effort to show up at her party and she’s just….it’s so childish…

*I sigh*

Me : Absolutely ridiculous.

Me : Ok. If that’s your opinion, fine.

Taylor : Yeah….it kind of is.

(Silence. We both don’t know where to look, awkwardly staring around.)

Me : I’m honestly just being funny, trying to spruce up your…boring party.

(Taylor stares at me, her mouth half-open. Then she puts up her finger and points it at my chest.)

Taylor : You disgust me.

(She spits the words out. I look perplexed.)

NEXT TIME

(I run out of Taylor’s house. She follows me, crying. Adrienne and Lisa grab Taylor, who tries to throw herself at me.)

Lisa : Taylor, calm the bloody hell down, will you ?!

(Taylor screams.)

Taylor : You don’t know what he’s done to me!

(Adrienne puts her hand on Taylor’s mouth, trying to shush her up.)

Me : Right now, I’m just really disgusted with Taylor’s behavior. I honestly don’t know if we’ll recover from this.

FLASH

(I’m sitting on a sun-soaked terrace, across from Taylor. There are untouched plates of salad between us.)

Taylor : The reason I invited you here is because I think we need to talk.

(She pouts and shakes her head.)

Me : Then talk.

(Taylor looks at me with big shocked eyes.)

FADE OUT.

Me : To learn more about the housewives, go to Bravotv.com

I Trusted A Stranger With My Naked Body

Sat, 28 Jan 2012 02:07:00 +0100

Gay culture has a long history of men secretly meeting up anonymously, to fuck around. Since the birth of the internet, hooking up with random strangers has gotten even easier. Actually it’s become a way for many young gay men to explore their sexuality. Still, I never really saw the appeal. Maybe it’s because I am a prude. Taking off my clothes in front of strangers is one of the most uncomfortable things EVER for me. I feel at my most vulnerable naked. Judged.

This is why I make it my duty to only sleep with people I know I can trust my naked body to. And so all the people I have slept with in my young gay life, have been friends or lovers. Naturally, this self-imposed selection results in me not getting laid that much. In fact, it had been 9 months since a guy had seen me naked. This drought, combined with post-graduate unemployedness and a general lack of direction had made my life feeling stale. At stand still.

In an effort to lessen this feeling I decided to take more chances and stop doubting myself all the time. I’d just jump in the damn pool instead of putting my toe in and running away, scared of the cold water. I decided to live a little.

It was a fridaynight, 3 AM. I had gone out with friends and now I was in my apartment, feeling drunk and lonely. In an effort to make myself feel better, I turned on Grindr. Looking at hot guys in the neighbourhood ALWAYS made me feel better. (Talking to them had the opposite effect, ‘cuz then I got confronted by the reality that all they wanted was sex.)

There he was. Spanish, a beard and broad shoulders. His picture was doing all sorts of crazy things to my body. Reminding myself of my newfound jump-in-the-pool approach to life I decided to bite the bullet.

“Ola, you’re kinda hot.”

“You too. ;-)”

And so it came to be that I was on my bike at 3.30 in the morning on my way to a stranger’s house.

“I don’t want sex.”, I had told him in an effort not to stray too far from my prude roots.

“It’s fine. I’m drunk too. I just want someone to hold.”

I was estatic. This was a hypothetical match made in heaven!

As I rang his doorbell and he buzzed me in, I shook off the last remains of my fear of rape and murder and walked up the stairs. He was waiting for me in the doorway, looking just as hot as in his picture. No, hotter. I gave him a quick kiss on the lips. An effort to release the inevitable awkward tension. He smiled.

We sat down at the edge of his bed, a comfortable distance between us. To break the biting silence I started yapping away about getting lost on the way over, his adorable cat and the way he had decorated his apartment. Halfway through my word-vomit he stopped me.

“I am Esteban. What’s your name ?”

Oh. My. God. In my nervous attempts at socialising I had forgotten to ask him his name, and even worse, I hadn’t even told him mine.

“I’m so very sorry. My name is Bernard. Nice to meet you.”

I reached out my hand, which he shook firmly. He told me he was a graphic designer, but that he wanted to become an actor. I told him I dreamed of having a succesful career as a writer in New York. He said that was a stupid idea and that I should just travel the world.

This upset me. I hadn’t jumped in the pool, just so a stranger could shoot down my dreams. I told him traveling the world was stupid and that I didn’t get how seeing poor people in Africa would further my career. He laughed and told me I was crazy. I sighed. This cute little fantasy of cuddling the night away with a sexy stranger was quickly dissolving into nothing. I should have known better. Internet hookups aren’t meant for socialising. People’s interior can quickly put you off of their exterior and his interior was making me doubt if I could trust him with my naked body.

I asked him if he wanted me to leave.

“Why ? Do you want to leave ?”

“Jump in the fucking pool, goddamnit.”, I thought to myself.

I shook my head.

“Let’s go to bed then.”

Here came the scary part. I turned my back to him and slowly took off my pants. Looking over my shoulder I saw he still had his shirt on, waiting for me under the covers. I decided I would keep mine on too. As I slid into the bed, into his open arms, I noticed he still had his pants on as well. Immediately I knew where this was heading. He had kept on all his clothes so I could be the one taking them off. I was on the internet-sex-hook-up train and it was too late to get off now. Not that I wanted to anyway. I felt inhibitionless breaking my boundaries without thinking and just giving in to his beard brushing all over my body. (It also helped that he mastered the art of passionate lovemaking like only Spanish men can.)

As we were finishing each other off he glared over my naked body, his mouth half open. It had been ages since I had felt this wanted.

“You’re so hot.”, he whispered with heavy breaths.

This little adventure was doing wonders for my self-esteem. It certainly was working out better for me than being a prude. I made a mental note to hold on to this feeling, even if there wasn’t a Spanish guy laying under me, staring up with open mouth as if I was the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

That night I slept safe in his big arms, my head cuddled up against his hairy chest. As the light crept into his bedroom we went for another round of amazing self-esteem sex, after which I excused myself and made my graceful exit.

Thankfully, I managed to leave before he started talking in full sentences again. In the harsh light of day, the disillusion of the fantasy would have just hit harder than before.

“Thanks for the nice night.”

“You’re welcome. I had fun.”

I quickly kissed him on the lips and left. When I got home I deleted Grindr of my phone, knowing I’d never use it again. I had fun hooking up but I couldn’t help but feel a little bit empty afterwards. This was not how I wanted to spend every fridaynight. At some stranger’s house, who would judge my dreams and then fuck me. There was no harm in not trusting everybody with my naked body. I had checked out the sluttier grass on the other side and could now happily curl up in my safe haven of prudeness.

This would be enough. This WAS enough. I closed my eyes and visualised his face. Looking up at me. Adoring me.

I smiled.

SO. EXCITED.

Wed, 25 Jan 2012 17:30:24 +0100

SO. EXCITED.

I WROTE SOMETHING FOR THE HUFFINGTON POST.

Wed, 11 Jan 2012 22:51:18 +0100

I WROTE SOMETHING FOR THE HUFFINGTON POST.

I wrote about not being able to be promiscuous.

Mon, 08 Aug 2011 14:13:35 +0200

I wrote about not being able to be promiscuous.