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613526362 · 1 year

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These Things Will Be True

I remember when we were together, I wanted her to be honest with me so badly. When I found lies, it hurt me so deeply.

But why. Why would lies hurt me. She wasn't cheating on me. She wasn't stealing from me.

But I wanted more. I wanted to be respected, to be loved, to be obeyed.

Someone once said, "Every time a child walks in a room, that room should light up."

It should be the same for every time your wife comes home, or every time your son gets back from school.

I remember when I asked her to back the car in the garage and she crashed it. I ran up to her, hugged her, and said it's ok. It's totally my fault. I should have been watching more closely.

What are the limits of kindness. Where must we stop turning the other cheek and realize that someone is taking advantage of us?

In Africa someone told me, "We need a leader who is good. Someone who is a good person, and has a good heart. Then they will do good by our country."

I argued that no, it's not about the person, because all people have weaknesses and are prone to selfishness. Instead, you must put in place a law and a constitution that everyone must abide by - even the leader of the nation. Only then can the actions of the powerful and powerless all lead to the success and betterment of each and every one in society.

But who establishes the law in a marriage? Who establishes who does what, what is fair, what is right?

Go to the church, while your little ones are young, so the pastor can establish a law for you and your family. He will speak the law to you every Sunday, reminding you that women should be honest and faithful and servient, and that men should be true and committed and hard-working.

I look into the past, at all those times I wanted to go. Am I happy I'm still here?

I have learned a lot about people, about the human condition. About what's in our hearts and our minds.

All of it troubling in the deepest sense.

I'm not happy I'm still here. Not at all.

Last night I was thinking about how we have better evidence for the existence of aliens than we do God.

I love God, and I am at His mercy. When I look into the future, I don't suppose that things will ever be easier. I don't suppose that I will find someone who is honest or kind. I don't suppose the things I will learn next about the human heart or the mind of man will lead me to walk through shadows free of fear.

And I don't, above all else, expect my ventures or strategies or plans to succeed. That I have learned well.

We can set sail for a destination, but the waves and the wind will decide our course. We can put a motor in our boat, but the rotor may run aground. Even with the shore in sight, we must be prepared to breath a last gasp as we sink to the endless bottom, as only the whales of the sea decide whether or not we touch ground ever again.

Exercise. Eat. Type emails. Watch your hair fall out. Repeat.

There is a God. I love my dog. I should shower.

I once was young. I once believed in selflessness.

Those things will always be true.

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613526362 · 2 years

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Seven Pounds

I wouldn't say the mind is fragile. But I would say that it is magnetic. It is prone to pushing and pulling certain feelings and ideas.

A lust lost may lead to the desire to pull that emotion back, and that magnetic pull can be damaging or dissatisfying for the mind at best. A traumatic end to a relationship can lead the mind to push back on any possibility of a relationship, leading to an emptiness in life and love.

I meet so many girls who have part of what I want. The attitude but not the looks. The looks but not the caring. If ever I found a woman who had everything I wanted, I would walk up to her like Jesus and say, "Drop everything and follow me."

This was a two-week trip. I got in touch with a few girls I used to know before I came. I saw one at lunch and we agreed to get together the next Thursday. Then she didn't respond to one of my messages. Don't like talking to myself, so I didn't keep messaging.

Then there was another girl. Took her to a really nice restaurant for dinner on a Sunday night. It was a nice dinner and she told me interesting stories about being arrested for her ethnicity while I looked deep into her eyes. She wouldn't come back to my place that night and stood me up for a date the next weekend. I had kind of planned a lot to get ready for the next weekend's date, but she was "tired from work" again and stood me up at the last minute, just like my last trip.

Came with the hopes of having sex with a girl who is not a pros*. Banged four pros*. Growing increasingly worried that I might forget how to have sex with a woman who is not a pros*.

This past week, my dad was messaging me constantly about my step-brother's wife's little sister (not sure what that makes her to me) committing suicide. She was 25. I didn't really know what to say to most of it. I have very practical opinions of suicide. If someone is in extreme pain and can't get out, they have to get help somehow. Last night I had severe food poisoning and I was wishing to die. But it was a temporary state, and I could be healed. Sometimes it's the same with mental illness. Sometimes it's not.

He told me she donated her organs, and it saved a little girl's life.

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613526362 · 2 years

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From Homeless to Poor

I really have only come to my journal in recent years when I seem to have some kind of significant accomplishment.

Today's accomplishment is that I just finished nine months of homelessness. I started out living in North Miami, and I found a nice wealthy area where that didn't feel all too dangerous. Being homeless in a rich area always feels nicer than being homeless in a rougher area.

I found a library that had a car charger, and many nights I would sleep in the back of my car while it was charging. Just next to the Library there was an old abandoned parking lot, and you could drive around the back of the parking lot and behind some trees where no one could see you. That was a good place, and I could do whatever I needed to do back there. The only problem was, I was not alone. There was an older man with a long grey beard living out of his car. We were aware of each other but kept our distance from each other. His car was old and beat up, and he didn't sleep with the air conditioner on like I did. I honestly didn't couldn't understand how he did it. Maybe he didn't know how I managed to live with a dog in my small car. I thought I had it all figured out though, with my three inch foam mattress topper laid out over the flattened rear seats. Head in the trunk caused acid reflux, but feet in the trunk made it harder to sleep in late since the sun hit you on the face earlier.

One night, I saw him carrying a big backpack past me while I was on the charger at the library. I came up with this theory that he was running a meth lab in the woods next to the library, and I even talked to Brad about it. After I followed him one night though, I realized that he actually was not sleeping in his car at night at all. Instead, after the library shut down he would take a tent up to the balcony of the library, pitch a tent for the night, and then wake up early in the morning and leave the balcony before the library people even arrived. It was quite interesting.

In North Miami, I cycled the battery in my car nonstop using the air conditioner so much. Also, the prostitutes were a bit expensive. There was a strip club where the girls were absolutely beautiful, but it cost about $700 to fuck them each time. I worked extremely hard to get into an elite escort agency that only charged 150 per fuck, but at some point I accidentally lost my Google voice login password and I lost my phone on a JetSki. After that, I had no way to access the agency sonce they use your phone number as your identification. Between the hot nights, expensive prostitutes, and the daily increasing mosquito bites, eventually I decided to go.

I drove to Texas for a conference first, and to see some family. After that I had to decide where to go from there, and I just suddenly made the decision to go to California.

California seemed better in almost every way when I arrived. There was never any rain, but the nights were cool enough to sleep in the car without the air conditioning on, as long as you stayed within a mile of the beach. It has some of the same problems with homelessness as Florida, like most places not allowing you to sleep in your car. But it was a bit easier to find places, and I wound up sleeping next to Solana beach every night, with my car lined up next to a bunch of surfers' vans.

I lived beside the beach for months, and I found it difficult to do all my meetings and my work with the driving around so much. But the beach was great, and my dog loved it. I'll never forget the great parks, and how friendly and normal all the people seemed. There weren't as many beautiful girls everywhere like South Florida, but I wasn't dating anyways.

I was only in California for a month or so before I decided to make a trip to Mexico. I knew living down there was cheaper, and a little bit of research showed me that also the women down there were cheaper. After my first trip my interest was piqued. They had a strip club where you could have any of 200 amazingly beautiful girls for $90 plus a $30 room. The first girl I had was a little bit high energy and snorted cocaine in front of me after we finished, but the next three were amazing. Friendly, kind, fun in bed, and absolutely beautiful. I decided to stay there for three weeks in an Airbnb. Actually I tried three Airbnb's. It was then I started looking at apartments, and once I did I quickly made the decision to move.

So here I am, finally giving up homelessness, so I can live in another developing country. I guess you could say I've only ever found the quality of life I'm looking for in places where most people have a much lower quality of life. I'm happy here already, and I think I will continue to be.

On my third trip to the beach here, I saw police officers running down the beach towards me. Then I realized, after they ran past me, that there was some kind of medical emergency. I followed them to find a man lying on the beach. He had tried to kill himself by slitting his right wrist. He was breathing though and I told the police officers that he would probably live. He just needed to go to the hospital. Seems a good amount of people here actually live on the beach. A lot of them are homeless, and drug users. In California it was just me and the surfers living on the beach. Here in Mexico, no one surfs much.

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613526362 · 2 years

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I Wonder What People See When They Look at Me

The main thing I remember about being younger is how much you can feel. I felt emotion in a different way. Everything was more vibrant. I felt desire in a different way. I loved women. Now I feel nothing. Even nature, even the wind on my skin, lead to a spiritual revival. I feel nothing now. And this is good. It is good and that I can become a machine and produce. It's good that I run a stable course now. I fear that someone or something might make me feel again. And then I would be helpless. I fear, that if I could feel something, anything again, I might pursue that feeling as an addiction, as a coal miner are climbing towards the light to gasp for air, I may want to breathe again.

When I was younger, I would think. I would set aside time for reflection, and I would dig deep into my inner self to find direction. I was able to steer my life course through my own thoughts alone. Now, deep thought usually is a waste of time. Maybe I don't know what answers I'm seeking anymore. Maybe there's too much information and too little clarity in my head. Regardless, I know the cause of the loss of thought in my life. It is age. Experience. The shattering of hope, repeatedly, over time. They say that, when you grow older, you grow more jaded. I am not jaded. I am simply impartial.

Still, to this day I pursue my goals with a ferociousness that few others could imagine. I've noted now, having lived with three people - my best friend, my past fiancé, and a recent girlfriend - that I live a life that few understand. For each hour I spend socializing or I spend in entertainment, I must add that hour back towards work after my roommate goes to sleep. It would seem that, at some point in my life, I designed my path such that I work all hours of the day. Most people spend quite a few hours a day on entertainment for relaxation or socializing. For me it used to be oppressive to even walk the dog. Possibly this is why I have built a successful business. Perhaps it will allow me to succeed again. But what I know for sure, is that even if I could feel, and even if I could think, and even if I could find someone who truly love me for who I am and not for what I can offer them in their mind, I still wouldn't know how to live.

The good news is, I no longer spend most of my days thinking about wishing to die. For large swaths of my existence, I felt an intense burning desire to fade away, disappear, and leave this world and the pain that comes with deep, unexpressed love. Now, in a desolate life far from other people, I find a more stable and solemnly justified existence. I no longer feel the ups and downs. I no longer feel that opportunities are missed. I pursue opportunities and privileges, and anything that falters is simply due to a statistical chance. I understand that anything can be bought, and my hard work leads to the ability to buy that anything. Life is simply a register of transactions, some of which bring pleasure, and some of which are just simply necessary.

When my fiancé was lost, lost to the world, and I came out of the smoke, I thought maybe I would give myself a few years to try again. I told myself that I would try to meet someone based on their personality and not their looks. I told myself that, once I did, we would spend years getting to know each other, trying to understand if life was something we wanted to experience together. But I won't make any effort to meet that person. Instead, I try to build organizations and keep my mind forever busy. Easier to conquer the world, than a woman's heart. Easier to utilize the obvious constructs within the human soul - like greed, and fear, responsibility - to build the success of a business, thank to stake my very existence upon the hope that is single other might similarly stake hers. I speak to men who say that we are all brainwashed from the child, brainwashed into believing the right life for us is this picturesque lie that involves a woman catering to our every need and falling asleep with her head on our chest. That lie is gone due to a new culture of independence and personal rights and equal treatment for all identities. I never wanted that culture, nor did I want that woman. But in the end, I failed because I wanted to be loved. I didn't just want someone to share ideas and experiences with. I didn't just want a friend and follower. I wanted someone to love me. To look up to me. To respect me. To tell me that who I am and what I do in life is better. I wanted to be God over another human. But there is only one God.

Redacted.

So many people live in prison. Every day they experience a harsh reality and extreme limitations on their freedom and happiness and peace imposed by some extrinsic factor. some of the most common prisons that people live in are poverty, jobs, romantic relationships, oppressive parents, and most of all, oppressive governments. What is your prison? I don't have a prison anymore. The freedom is better than breathing. I know that someday I will return to prison. Maybe that prison will be cancer. Maybe that prison will be prison. I don't know what prison I will eventually finish my existence inside of. But I know that, while I am free, I will breathe the air, I will walk through fields, and I will try my best, to enjoy a life of freedom and independence that comes from a mixture of blessing and luck.

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613526362 · 3 years

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Leaving Africa

So I guess I’m leaving.

I’m not really sure why.

I guess my main reason is that I’m about due to pay the next six months on the house I live in, and if I’m to leave at any time during the next six months, I might as well leave now.

Although it seems a bit hypocritical, as six months here would only cost me $3,000. While the 6 months I will have to pay to live in X will cost $12,000.

There are some other reasons, too. The government could cut the internet at any time, and then I would lose my business - the thing that gives me everything I have and do.

Losing the internet would cut an easy escape route too.

For many, the fact that their embassy urged them to leave “while commercial flights are still available” would be enough of a reason to leave. But that was almost two weeks ago now, and here I still am.

I don’t think the rebels will make it to the capital this week, or next week. Maybe they never will. I just think people here will hate each other, more and more, kill each other, more and more. Impoverish each other, more, and more, and more.

And that is my largest reason. I wanted to be a part of a success story.

An African success story.

I wanted to build up myself as I participated in the final and definite success of Africa.

And as I watched it all fall apart, I watched me all fall apart.

It happened slowly at times, and quickly at others. I took the ring off the finger of my fiancé - the only person who loved me so dearly.

Even if she was very troubled.

The solution was ironic. I needed to take her away.

I needed her to see that there was more to this world than her local bar, and her group of male friends.

“The function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.”

I used to believe that in the most rudimentary way. I wanted to sacrifice my body, my money, and my happiness to serve a purpose larger than me.

I didn’t realize how tight the feedback loop really is. How impenetrable the cycle. Violence, halts economic development. Low economic development, creates the environment for violence. They interlock their hands and never let go of the people caught in the middle.

I was thinking tonight I would go out and get a room. Maybe I’ll drive around and look for a beautiful woman first. If I find her, she can come back and have me first. Then, I’ll go out. I have a list of bars I always wanted to visit here.

In my mind, at one of the bars I try to talk to a woman I see. She’s the prettiest I’ve ever seen here in person. She has the face of an angel, and the body of a goddess.

In my mind, she gives me her phone number. Maybe she comes back to my room with me.

Either way, she gives me a reason to live.

A reason to stay.

But I feel it setting in already.

I feel the sadness of change creeping in.

I don’t know how many women I slept with while I was here.

But I know none of them saw anything real inside of me.

They all saw resources. A way out. They saw the mirage that I constructed so that I could have them in my arms. I painted a portrait of deceit so that I didn’t have to spend every moment alone, aging and dying in a quiet dark room.

I’ll never forget when I once asked Yellow, “Where do you think we’ll be a year from now?”

Her answer was, “Maybe I’ll be pregnant.”

I reflexively responded with a small but rude laugh. I said, “I was thinking we’d be planning our wedding. Maybe we should do that first.”

The dynamics of control in relationships are too much for me to bear. The idea that someone could be my friend, my lover, my defender - it’s never come close. Maybe I’m to blame in many ways. Maybe I always start things wrong. I always look for the wrong type of person, or approach the right person in the wrong way.

I’m so sorry for all the things I’ve done wrong while trying to do right things. And sometimes I wonder,

Have I done more evil than most?

I just got notice that Discover has sued me in court. Over a $5,000 credit card debt.

I wonder if they’ll get to my bank account, or to the payment provider for my business. I tried thinking last night of a way in which it could end things for me - put me in a financial position where I lost everything and just had to go back to working a job.

I thought about working at a fast food restaurant, and snorkeling when I was free.

I thought about running on the beach with fluffer.

This is the time, when I start to grow old. I’m that age now.

I don’t know if there’s anything else in life or in this world that will bring me peace.

But in place of peace I will continue to seek a respite from loneliness and guilt.

In doing so, I hope I will hurt no more.

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613526362 · 3 years

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Otra Noche Pt. 3

As I got closer to the second strip club, I noted the area looked slightly better. I had seen signs for this club on my way into town a week prior. Such an advertising campaign must have been some indication of quality, I hoped.

About a quarter mile from the destination on the GPS I noticed quite a commotion up ahead. Was that the club?

Indeed, as I got close, I noticed quite the line of cars. It was either Disney land or quite the impressive strip club.

After waiting in a line of cars hundreds of meters long, finally I was approaching the lot. Only as I pulled into the parking area did I see the true scale of the complex. It was huge. Multiple buildings, multiple parking lots, and a huge sign placed out front that read, "Voted #1 Strip Club in the USA."

Ok, let's get this party started.

Noting two huge parking lots completely full of cars, I pulled into an area that seemed less populated, just to be informed that I had accidentally self-parked in the valet lot. The valet guy politely informed me, "It's ok. You can park here. Just shoot me $15 and you're good to go." Not a problem, I said.

The facade of the building was marked by a series of ramps on which people stood in lines. I noted a very different demographic in line for this club. The four patrons who stood in front of me looked like lawyers. Two mid-20's white men in formal jackets and dress shoes, accompanied by two white women in dresses....

"What the hell is this place?" I though to myself.

Standing behind them, moving forward in a crawl, I took it upon myself to read the dress code posted in various places above and beside us. Luckily, I met the dress code in my polo shirt, but barely. This was the first time I'd seen such a strict dress code at a strip club.

Finally arriving at the payment counter after being thoroughly checked for weapons and other paraphernalia, I noted they had a highly professional payment team that carefully checked my ID against my debit card and provided a professional receipt.

And finally, I was in. I actually felt surprised to have finally passed through their multi-tier entry process. It felt about equal to the process of going through an airport.

But suddenly I liked this place way more than the airport. The girls were... gorgeous.

All of them.

Walking from the hall into a main room, I noticed this was more of a complex than a single club. There were multiple halls, restaurants, multiple levels. It took me some time to walk around and see the main areas, but I don't think I ever saw everything. To complicate matters, any stripper who saw my eyes on her body came up to me directly and asked if I wanted a private dance for $25.

I meandered around, quickly realizing that the 40 or so tables placed around the main stage in an onion shape were all occupied. And if I leaned on one of the tables at the edge that was half or unoccupied, I was quickly told by security that the table was occupied or had paying occupants on the way. At the end of the night I would visit the club's website, just to realize the tables ranged from $600 - $1,500 for the night.

Finally I found the edge of a hall divider to lean up against, although I hadn't stayed still for more than 30 seconds before a young woman still in her street clothes walked up. She looked like she was 23.

"Hey, how are you? What's your name?"

"Umm...I'm good. My name is Marshall."

"Where are you from?"

"Umm...I'm from Texas. I've never seen a club like this before. What's that area up there," I asked, as I pointed up to the huge balcony area, from which I could see the outlines of people walking around excitedly, outlined by red lights.

"It's the VIP area. Hey so I'm late to work and haven't even clocked in yet, but I saw you and wanted to talk to you. You wanna have fun with me tonight?"

"Umm...I think I'll have a drink first and walk around some. But find me after I have a drink."

"Ok, cool." And she walked away.

As she walked away to the lockeroom I grabbed a glance at her ass. The truth is, she was a 7/10, and there were plenty of hotter girls around. I knew I had to have a private dance, but I was going for the gold.

About that time I looked over towards the bathroom and saw two strippers walking inside. One was just the girl I was looking for - gorgeous, with huge breasts. I decided I would wait for her to come out of the bathroom and walk over to talk.

But as I waited, I noticed another gorgeous woman walk out of the private dance room. She had long, black hair, looked Hispanic, and had amazing breasts also. I walked towards her, looking right at her. She took the hint.

"Heyyy boy. You want dance?" She had a heavy Spanish accent, and she smiled real big as she spoke. She looked like fun.

"Sure."

She grabbed my hand and led me into a room of smaller rooms. It was rather dark, but the room she led me into had a single light up above so I could see her well. I sat on a couch and she took her top off, but not her thong. She smiled real big and made small talk, before she started to dance slowly, first facing away from me. She moved her ass back and forth in front of me, taunting me.

Her body was beautiful - almost perfect from my vantage point. When she turned around I saw her breasts well - clearly she'd had a breast surgery, but nowadays I think I prefer fake breasts. As she brought her chest closer and put her breasts in my face, I tilted my head back in relief and pleasure. I kept my hands by my side.

She moved back and looked at me a bit surprised.

"First time?" She asked.

"No," I replied. Although then I thought about whether she was asking if it was my first time at a strip club, or first time at the Disney land of strip clubs.

She then brought her breasts back into my face and, supposing that the rules I'd been asked to observe at other strip clubs might not apply here, I grabbed her breasts in both hands. They felt great, and she brought her body up over mine as her hair fell down over my head.

Quickly I realized she was bringing her legs and hips to rest on mine, and then she started grinding.

She was grinding her pussy right on top of my pants. At first, I just noticed it, but then, I really started to feel it. And I felt myself growing harder, and harder, and harder. Not even a half a song had elapsed, and I was rock hard and feeling all sorts of excitement from my heart to my feet.

Then, suddenly she stopped.

What's going on. Don't stop, I though to myself.

She dismounted and looked me straight in the eye, just to say, "Let's fuck. Don't you want to fuck me?"

The response to that question I wasn't able to provide immediately. I had to think about it. Yes, I wanted to fuck. But how much money would she want? Ok, why don't we ask.

I leaned up to her ear and said, "Cuanto?"

Pressing her lips up to my left ear, she replied, "Five hundred and twenty five dollars."

That's a very specific amount, I thought. Ok, let's try negotiating.

"I can do three hundred!"

"Noooo baby. I really can't go any lower. It's $400 for my time and $125 for the room. I can't go lower."

Thinking for a moment, I realized that, well, I just really wanted to fuck.

"Ok," I said.

"And it'll be $25 for this dance," she added.

"No problem mi princesa," I said, as I forked out my wallet and selected a few bills.

After she slipped her tube top back on, she excitedly grabbed me by the hand and led me out of the private dance room, smiling real big. As we walked she turned to me and said, "You pay cash or credit card?"

What the fuck, I thought. I can pay for a [redacted] with a card? What the fuck is this place?

"Card," I said. She took me over to a different payment counter than the one I'd visited earlier. This was clearly the interior payment counter, and I was here to pay for what was to come next.

There were several windows at the counter, and with so many other patrons receiving similar services, it was clear there would be a wait. But the wait would not be without excitement, I quickly realized. To pass the time, and maybe also to keep me interested, she turned around and leaned over, rubbing her ass on my pants.

Damn, this girl is wife material, I thought.

We passed most of the waiting time that way, until finally another highly polished member of the professional payment team arrived at the window. Then, my Latina princess informed her I wanted to issue $400 of stripper bucks to her. I guess that's their terminology for a high-dollar tip.

After going through additional identification checks and signing copies of the receipt, she led me to yet another payment area. Here I was to pay for the room, I was informed. At this table a burly man was working. About the time the man asked me if I'd be paying in cash or card, my stripper turned to me and remarked that she was going to the bathroom.

"Ok, no problem," I said.

Feeling like sex for pay was still a relatively unlikely outcome in such a polished establishment, I turned to the man after she was out of sight and politely asked, "She's coming back, right?"

He must have heard the desperation in my voice and said reassuringly, "Ya she's going to the bathroom."

Sure enough, some moments later, she was back, and I had paid.

She grabbed me by the hand and led me to yet another dimly lit room of rooms - this time in a different area of the club. As I walked past multiple rooms with other occupants, I was able to see strippers fucking guys in all positions. I was surprised they hadn't closed the curtains.

As I sat down on a couch in the back room, I noticed how clean the room looked. Also, it was rather well lit inside, and I couldn't hear anyone from the other rooms. This was rather nice, and comfortable, I thought.

Soon thereafter she opened up her purse, taking out a container of wet wipes, a condom, and a small tube of lube.

Ok, we're definitely going to have sex, I thought.

A bit intimidated, I looked up and said, "Can you dance on me for a minute first," I asked.

"Claro que si," she said in the most gracious tone.

Then we repeated our previous experience, and it felt great. It wasn't long before I had my pants off, exposing my hard cock. As I reached for my condom, she offered up hers.

"No, I have to use mine," I said. Initially she resisted, but then gave in.

As soon as I had it on, she got down on her knees and put her mouth on my latex-wrapped tip. To my surprise, it felt quite good. To her surprise, it tasted quite good. "This is the best I tasted," she said. Feeling the pleasure rise, I just nodded, not taking the time to explain to her that I use unlubricated condoms since the lubricant on the inside causes me to have flare ups of interstitial cystitis.

I motioned for her to get on top of me, and she stood up, turned around, and gradually brought her ass down towards my hips, sliding my dick inside her pussy.

I leaned my head back as she straightened and flexed her knees, moving up and down on my cock.

It wasn't long before I touched her ass, motioning for her to turn around. I bent her over the couch, fucking her from behind. At one point she indicated that I was going too hard, so I slowed. Then, suddenly, she reached around back and put her hand on my cock. Surprised by her flexibility, I was quite unsure of what she was doing, so I just continued to ram my dick inside of her. Then I felt it.

She had put her fingers around the base of my dick in a ring formation, and was slightly squeezing. As I moved my dick in and out of her pussy, her fingers around me made it feel like she was extremely tight. It nearly made me explode.

But before it could, I motioned for her to turn over and had her sit back on the couch in the same position I had started in. Then, I lowered myself to the ground and slowly put myself inside of her. From that vantage point I could see her whole body. Her pretty face. Her long, black hair. The tattoo of Flores just above her pussy. And her perfect, clean, laser-shaved pussy. Not a pimple or freckle to be found.

I started fucking her fast, watching her fake tits bounce up and down. She talked sexy to me, saying yes, fuck me papi.

But then she reached down again and put her fingers around my cock in a ring, starting to squeeze. I couldn't take it anymore, and right before I came, I pulled out.

You're not getting off this easy, I thought in my head. You promised 30 minutes for these $525, and I'm gonna get my time.

She then stood up, and I sat back on the couch. She stood over me again, and started fucking me standing up while I sat. Watching her body move up and down and her hair fly back and forth, I felt her pussy massage me at the perfect speed.

I don't know if I can wait anymore, I thought. But I should. It's only been ten minutes.

I was getting close to coming, so I put my hands on her ass to stop her so I could recover and lose the feeling. But she refused to stop. She went even harder, up and down.

Ok, ok, I thought. Just make me cum now. Go ahead and do it.

As she moved up and down, I leaned back, tilted my head to side, and watched her. I felt the feeling rise from the bottom of my person, up from my feet, through my legs. Then, the electric shock reached my stomach and I exploded inside the condom. I let out a sigh and my body went limp. I felt relaxed, calm, just perfect.

She must have heard me sigh, as she turned around and looked at me. I looked like I was in a sauna I appeared so relaxed and limp.

After a quick inspection of my condom, she grabbed her wipes container and removed two. With my body still limp, stretched out on the black leather couch, she slowly and carefully removed the condom and covered me with the wipe as she did, catching any excess cum that would have otherwise fallen on me. She then used multiple wipes to wipe my penis, and around the base. She wiped my balls next.

Watching this spectacle, I couldn't help but think that the dollar goes a lot further in this city than I expected. This was truly some VIP service.

After she had cleaned me up, she wiped herself with a couple wipes and put her clothes back on. I made small talk in Spanish, asking her about her home, and how she liked the city. She was from Cuba, and had been in the US for a year. She liked it here, but everything was expensive, she said.

We walked out of the fuck area together, hand in hand. As we emerged, I leaned over and put my lips up against her ear.

"Chao," I said.

Then I walked away, headed for the door. On my way there two girls in bikini tops and thongs walked past me, the taller one accidentally bumping into me. I turned around and looked at her as I continued to walk. She gave me a real sexy look, a look I happy returned.

"Fuck you next time babe," I said under my breath as I turned and walked out.

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613526362 · 3 years

Text

Otra Noche Pt. 2

Inside, I found a small but shockingly full room. There was a single stage and a single stripper pole, with two strippers dancing energetically on the stage. The smell of cigarette and weed smoke was so strong it almost knocked me over. Since there was no where to sit, I stood up against the wall.

Looking around, I quickly realized I was the only white person in the room. There were roughly 50 male spectators, maybe 5-10 female spectators, and around 5 strippers walking around the floor or sitting with a client. Neither of the two strippers on stage was particularly attractive, but damn were they dancing with some energy. The larger one seemed to defy gravity when she swung around the pole. After she dismounted, she rapidly fell into the splits, then flipped over, and grabbed her own ass and shook it. Flipping back over again, she spread her legs wide apart and slapped her pussy as she raised it up in the air for all to see. A female spectator at the side of the stage threw dollars all over her in a rain shower.

I hadn't watched the spectacle for long before a stripper magically appeared in front of me. We made very brief small talk about me being the only white person in the room. "There were a bunch of white people here last night," she said. Somehow, I didn't believe her. Thankfully, I couldn't say much more before she said, "Can I dance on you." I knew what she meant was, "Do you want to pay me for a dance?" Regardless, I acquiesced.

As she turned around and danced in front of me (not barely if at all making contact with my body), I heard the DJ interrupt the music to say, "No smoking weed on the floor. No, smoking, weed, on the floor."

A few people looked over at me right after the DJ's unexpected remark. I wondered if they thought I was a cop.

As soon as the song was ending, I asked her how much for a dance. "$10 per song," she said. I gave her two fives. "Do you want another song?," she asked. Considering how sexuality wasn't really an emotion I was experiencing, I politely informed her that I would have a drink first and then find her.

As I walked towards the door, another stripper suddenly appeared in front of me. This one had a lighter complexion and almost looked part Hispanic. Tattoos covered nearly her entire body.

"Where are you going?" she asked, in a sarcastic tone.

"It's my first night out in Miami, and I wanted to see some other clubs," was the best retort I could rapidly formulate.

"Stay here for a while longer. Our club is the best."

"Oh, the girls here are too beautiful for me to handle," I said.

"Realllllly," she said, with max sarcasm in her tone and a scowl coming across her eyebrows.

"Ya, my dick is already so hard I'm afraid I'll do something," I said.

Then, she reached over and immediately grabbed my dick and balls through my pants. However soft they'd been before her grab, they immediately got more flaccid and terrified.

"Yeah," she said, giving me that look of condemnation again.

"I'll come back soon," I said.

As she turned to walk back through the crowd, I heard her mutter, "Uh huh."

Breaking for the door, I was happy to have survived the closest thing to a rap music video I'd ever seen in real life, while simultaneously disappointed that the manner in which my dick was first touched by a woman in Miami was not quite in a friendly and rewarding fashion.

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613526362 · 3 years

Text

Otra Noche Pt. 1

I didn't know what she meant at first. Probably didn't hear her entirely. Indeed, I had ear plugs in both ears. Although I usually tell myself they just cut down the background noise. Then, she said it again -

"I wanna look at that playboy magazine"

"What?" I said. She pointed up in front of us across to the wall. The waiters had seated us in the back corner at a table with a small bench. It was extra seating, just by their computer where they computed tabs for the growing number of drinkers and dancers inside. Even though we were hidden behind a concrete pillar, we had the excellent combination of privacy and view of the bar.

"I'll get it," I said.

"Noooo," her voice drifted as I had already stood and was walking to grab the Playboy book from the bookshelf above the waiters' desk. Nearly knocking down a waiter's coffee cub that had been precariously placed next to the book, I retrieved it, causing most of the other books to fall awkwardly against each other.

As the DJ queued up, "I got the magic stick" by 50 cent, we looked at the cover and found "Playboy Magazine, 1960 - 1964." As I paged through it, Arina put her arm over mine and touched at things she saw interesting.

"Is he still alive," I asked?

"No, he passed. Look how handsome he was. Wow. That's him too."

She seemed to really be in love with Hugh.

With me, it was the usual love-hate that American women always adopt. Technically she just came from Venezuela six years ago. But since she had laser hair removal surgery on her pussy; since she was at the dermatologist this week asking what can make her skin smoother; since she only goes out in Brickell and Edgewater, I consider her as American as the Toyota Tundra.

"Oh, I love this song," she said, as she grabbed my arm and started to swing it back and forth.

An hour ago we were eating octopus and humus at my boutique hotel's restaurant. She'd given me a lot of shit for taking her to my hotel's bar when we first arrived. The bar tenders and restaurant staff tried to convince her it really was the best place in Miami Beach though. On our way out and to the next bar, I asked if she wanted to come with me when I grabbed something from my room. No, she would wait in the lobby.

Now, at the second bar, we were a bit tipsy. We would kiss every ten minutes or so. Dance every five or ten. She liked the 70-year old man at the bar with the bar-sold jacket that read, "This City is The Shit Bro." So I asked our waiter to get us two, one small and one extra small.

As we drank more and more, and danced more and more, and kissed more and more, I started to think maybe she'd come back to my room. It wasn't a goal of mine, and it didn't really matter to me anyways. It would have been nice, but I knew most twenty-somethings were too stupid to realize how sexuality really played into and affected their relationships. Probably within thirty seconds of meeting Arina, I knew she wasn't my next fiancé. But if she fucked me on the second date, she could be my exclusive girlfriend for the indefinite future. Try to use sex as a way to control and mold our relationship, and I fly like a bird. She'd already pushed the limits by implicating me in some sinister plot to grab drinks at MY HOTEL. Of course, as always I was polite and mildly defended myself.

When it was about time to go, she followed up with her promise to steal the metal straw from the Ginger Buck cocktail I'd had. She liked it because it was a mixer and a straw, and stainless steel at that.

I paid the $520 bar bill ($460 plus $60 for tip), and we walked outside holding hands and walking close. We couldn't exactly remember which direction my car was, but instead of paying the meter I always just left my blinkers on, so we found it soon enough.

As I started to drive back to my hotel, she asked if I was sober enough to drive her home, a one-hour drive from Miami Beach.

"I'm definitely going to crash into something over the course of two hours of driving," I replied.

"It's ok, I can take a Lyft," she said.

Back at the hotel, we sat in the lobby on a couch side by side, shoulders overlapping. I offered for her to stay, and she declined. She thumbed through her phone, requesting a Lyft ride. I told her I would sleep on the couch. She declined.

Inside, I was thrilled. Things were about to get interesting. I wasn't about to pay for her Lyft ride if she was so shitty not to sleep in my room though. And I definitely wasn't going to drive two hours. To my surprise, she initially said the Lyft was "too expensive," and I looked over and saw it was $53. I'd already spent about $900 on our two dates since the week started.

Finally, she found a Lyft option that was $34, and she clicked on it. 10 minutes later, the driver arrived. As the car pulled up, I assured her I would try to stay awake until she got home to make sure she was safe, although I was super tired and would sleep as soon as I could. I knew she'd be safe though. They background check all the drivers, I said.

As the white Mazda SUV drove away, she messaged me and said, "I had an amazing time today. I can't wait to spend the night with you soon."

The moment the car turned the corner and was out of sight, I looked down at my watch and walked back into the hotel. It was 12:03 am. I would never see her again.

Back in my hotel room, I quickly grabbed what I needed. Ear plugs, cologne. Time to go.

At the parking garage across the street I ran into a rather effeminate-looking Black guy, about 24, having just parked his car. As I approached my car, I yelled out, "You have any advice for what strip clubs are good?"

"Ya, try club 11," he said.

"Thanks man."

I looked at all the clubs on Google Maps. Club 11 didn't look like the best for what I was looking for. I wasn't about to leave Miami without having some amazing tits in my hands.

20 minutes later I was cruising through the worst neighborhood I'd seen since I arrived to Florida. Dilapidated houses. Homeless men sleeping on the street, on bus stop benches. The recognizable complete absence of businesses that reminded me of Chicago's south side. It was late though, and no one was out. I couldn't tell if it was a Hispanic or Black neighborhood.

The strip club looked smaller than I expected. It didn't even have a parking lot, but rather, was adjacent to a grass field that people were parking in. None of the other 15 cars parked in the field were luxury cars - a rare finding for Miami. Mine was the only one.

A Black man in the parking lot who had just parked his car looked shocked to see me. He pointed to recommend a parking spot beside a big green dumpster. I nodded in appreciation and took the spot.

Black Americans have always treated me with the most unbelievable friendliness and respect. With the exception of the one who pointed the gun at my head and the others who robbed my car, it's always been a wonderful reciprocity and respect and appreciation.

After a quick frisk and paying $20 at the door, I was let inside.

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613526362 · 3 years

Text

"It doesn't matter whose fault it is that something is broken, if it's your responsibility to fix it. It is not your fault if your partner cheated and ruined your marriage, but it is for damn sure your responsibility to figure out how to take that pain and how to overcome that and build a happy life for yourself. Fault and responsibility do not go together. When something is someone's fault, we want them to pay and we want them to fix it. But your heart and your happiness is your responsibility alone."

"I wish people could realize all their dreams and wealth and fame, so they can see it's not where they're going to find their sense of completion."

"Our decisions are based in either love or fear. So many of us choose our path out of fear disguised as practicality. What we really want seems impossibly out of reach and ridiculous to expect, so we never dare to ask the universe for it."

"That peace that we're after lies somewhere beyond personality. Beyond the perception of others. Beyond invention and disguise. Even beyond effort itself. To find real peace you have to let the armor go. Your need for acceptance can make you invisible in this world."

"The people that love you, they know that about you. They let you be you. When you reconvene, you pick back up where you left off. But make no mistake about it - everything in between is lost. I see people take vacations just to take vacations - just to hang out. I never did that. When I retire, I didn't want to have to say, I wish I'd done more."

"For them to constantly look in the mirror and self assess and challenge themselves. If we have a project and you say, Ok I can do that - that's not the project that we want. The projects that say, I don't know how to do that - those are the things we want, because through that curiosity you'll reach a level that you didn't think was possible."

"This obstacle cannot define me. It's not gonna cripple me. It's not gonna be responsible for me stepping away from the game. I'm gonna step away on my own terms."

When I think about what Heaven looks like, I imagine it's like the fields out in front of our house on a sunny day. Off to the side there are lots of children playing futbol. There's clothes hanging up to dry at the edge of the field.

You and Degi are there too, out in the field by the trees. You're so happy it's crazy. You're happy like when we went to Haile Resort with Zach. Or when we sat on the rock and looked up at the clouds and I kissed you for the first time. And Degi has been running around and chasing the ball, so his mouth is open and his tongue is hanging out. He's smiling real big, and he's so happy to be there with you.

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613526362 · 3 years

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I'm lying in bed here, with an extremely sharp fish bone stuck in my esophagus. I spent the day trying to decide whether to go to the hospital or not. I've tried everything to get it out - drinking cooking oil, drinking vinegar, eating huge pieces of bread. Nothing works.

The electricity was off for three days, and almost everything spoiled. My dog and I barely ate anything for days. I remember going out to a hotel to take a shower (can't shower here with no electricity), and spending the night with two college girls in my bed.

The girl I liked told me it was my turn to fuck her friend after I fucked her. I told her that it was ok, I just wanted to snuggle with her for a while.

She smelled so bad I could barely stand it, but still we held each other so close. At first we watched music videos in bed. Then, when she got tired she latched on to me and held me so tight I'll never forget it. She shifted positions from time to time, but she always made sure she was resting her head on me or holding some part of me. I kissed her hair, or rubbed her shoulder, and thought about how much of an angel she was.

She had a tattoo on her chest that said "God's plan."

The electricity was off for three days, and when it came back on, the only thing left was a half spoiled piece of salmon steak. When I'd bought it, it was the only piece of salmon at the store that didn't yet look spoiled.

After Googling how to know when salmon was rotten, I decided to eat it anyways. That's when I swallowed the bone.

I've never had a foreign body stuck in my throat, so I thought it would pass. But it isn't.

The bone could move through my esophagus and puncture vital structures in my neck. Or it could create an abscess. But I have no faith in the Somali hospitals here either. So I didn't go today.

I guess that's why I'm here. To help provide better care. Equipment, training.

Maybe some of the things I'm doing will help someone.

But I've already given up.

I tried dating again, but I can't feel anything for anyone. There was one girl I liked. But I met her best friend before I met her, and her best friend was upset and jealous, so she sabotaged the connection.

I think about killing myself a lot. I wish I didn't have the business in the US and the operation here now. I hate that there are things that control me, that don't allow me to go.

I guess I'll try to ultrasound my neck, but I don't think I'll get a good view.

I don't know who I am, and I never have.

I just wish I could have found someone who knew better than me. Someone who loved me that I could trust.

Now the only thing I enjoy is sleep. I'm so excited to sleep at the end of the day. And I'm so sad to wake up.

It would be so amazing to not wake up.

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613526362 · 3 years

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Fourth of Four

4. I'm so lost. I need to find a place to cry, like right now. Lying next to her last night, she fell asleep fast after we were done. I stared at her in the night, watching her face as she slept. I couldn't see if her eyes were open or closed, but I knew they were closed. I kept looking at her face, wishing it was Yellow. I don't know what makes it harder - realizing more everyday that Yellow was nothing special, or realizing more everyday how special she was to me. Wounds don't heal here. I saw she had little pockmarked scars all over her back. That's a sign of someone who doesn't have good access to a shower. But even with access to a shower, if I get a mosquito bite or scratch, it takes months to heal, and it always leaves a scar. The water is full of bacteria and contaminants. When you shower, you may remove the oil and odor from your skin, but what you expose yourself to is even more dangerous. I don't know if I can bear to be a shadow passing through all these lives. I liked the one last night, but I think I fucked her too hard and fast for her tastes. Most women aren't used to that. Yellow sure caught on fast, and soon enough I couldn't even satisfy her. Things like that make me understand why we're apart, and feel ok with it. Although it's clear I'll never feel ok again. The hole in my heart is palpable everywhere I go. And I knew for the rest of my life I would tear myself apart with the question - the huge question. The ultimate question: Was this my fault? While it was certainly my decision, was it, my fault? Which way will my mind turn over time. Her mind has turned on me - I made it easy for her by taking back the electronics I gave her and her family. And you would think it'd be easy for me, considering she stole my house and all my money. But it's not that easy. I've always created the world I live in, and I know I created this situation. It's an entrapment of all sorts of circumstances. I couldn't lie to her to make it easier for me to take the house back. I couldn't give false hope. But that just fueled her decision to steal everything from me. Some people have told me I was too lenient with her, not controlling enough. I should have been in her phone, I should have told her what she couldn't do. She was taking advantage of me, and she would never have acted that way towards a local man. I want to believe differently, but she even wrote in one of her messages the same. I will always blame myself. For my lost marriage, for my lost family, for my lost children. For my lost future. I will always believe instead that I wasn't loving enough. That I worked too hard - and made her work too hard. That I didn't take her out to the bars and clubs. We developed a work life devoid completely of a casual life. It was my fault. And I know it was. She deserves everything she stole from me. And I deserve the emptiness I feel. All I feel is, emptiness. Some loneliness, but mostly emptiness. So where do I go from here. I guess I'll go to church. It's where I started my life. I feel like I'm at the end now. Because everything my life was going to be - all the dreams that were coming true - are now gone. And I'm at war with the person I've loved more than anything in the world. She didn't give a shit - about the business, about keeping anything clean, about being honest. But she gave a shit about me. Maybe that should have been enough. I can't imagine what it feels like to be rejected by the person you loved and married. But I could see it on her face often. In my mind we weren't married. And we sure as hell weren't ever going to be married if she couldn't get her shit together. And it honestly, truly appeared to me that she never tried. Or tried much. I know the problems start at selection. Who you ask on a first date matters. Who you decide is the one, shatters. I'm 32, and I can barely keep my dick hard. I only like women at least five years younger than me. Soft dick and young women don't mesh well. I wish there was a button to leave this world voluntarily, peacefully, and cleanly and in a way that your family and friends would respect. I told God I wouldn't go to places where I can't do anything to help anymore. Where I have no plan. But maybe that is the plan. To do anything other than sit here and feel empty. Maybe I should go. Try to build a network. Just like when I was 18. At 18, in Africa for the first time. No contacts, no language proficiency. Just an open mind and a bleeding heart. I'm still just a lonely, I'll-prepared, bleeding heart. Nothing has changed, 13 years later.

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