As a gay men, I want to acknowledge what a special week this has been...
The Supreme Court has struck down the defense of marriage act. They have declared that they cannot rule on Prop 8, so it has been invalidated.
Cheers to endurance and progress in Gay Culture!
This recent news got me to thinking on the subject of love, itself.
I realize I touched on this in "Fear of the Fall". But, I feel guided to write a little deeper on the topic of allowing ourselves to love wholeheartedly...even after our hearts have been broken.
I am associated with so many gay men who are walking around with these huge emotional walls up. Guarding themselves, like armor.
For what? Is it really necessary to block ourselves from the prospect of loving again, just because we have already experienced trauma from past relationships?
Cheated on, taken advantage of, used, betrayed, abandoned...All primary excuses I have heard from my peers as to why they choose to NEVER open their hearts to love again.
I get that all of those instances are equally painful. I am in no way trying to invalidate your past pain. I would be a hypocrite to do so.
I have been the cause of much hurt, and I have been hurt by many men.
But, I see every instance from past relationships...both the bad and good...as ground work for my current "sex ideal".
Now, don't get the term "sex ideal" all twisted into something Naughty. (We can do that in a future blog entry.)
A "sex ideal" is not just about sex.
It is a check list to ask yourself:
1) Who do I aspire to be in a loving relationship?
2)Who is the man I deserve to be with in a loving relationship?
It's simple. It's concise. And, it's practical. I don't want to create a "sex ideal" that I can't live up to. And, I certainly don't want to create a "sex ideal" that a potential partner will never be able to live up to, either.
A few of the most important things for me in my "sex ideal" are:
Not speaking out of anger
And committing to bringing Harmony to the relationship
I want to both give and receive those things in my relationship with a partner.
Because we are all striving for different things to make us feel fulfilled, content, and loved in this world...our 'sex ideals' tend to vary.
I believe that our 'sex ideals' inevitably make for a very short lived, tumultuous affair; or a long lasting, loving relationship.
So, the questions I challenge you with are:
What are your primary "sex ideals"?
Can you let go of the pain from past relationships, so that your memories are not displaced negatively into current relationships?
After the the dust settles from a past heartbreak..
Can you get back up, dust yourself off, open up your heart, and learn to love again?
I first saw Arpad Miklos in a Kristen Bjorn video many years ago. I remember I was smitten from that very first moment I saw his moving image on my TV. This giant of a man, with quads the size of my torso. That gorgeous, hairy chest, and that face. So very masculine, but with the softest, kindest eyes.
Many years passed. And, as I worked my way up in the Gay Porn Industry, I always held fast to the fantasy that Arpad and I would one day have the opportunity to work with one another.
Finally, in 2005, Red Devil Entertainment approached me about releasing a compilation DVD...My "Greatest Hits" compilation, so to speak. You know you have achieved some sort of notoriety in the Industry when you get a DVD featuring nothing but a compiled selection of scenes featuring you.
Well, Jett Blakk, the former CEO and owner of Red Devil Entertainment has always been one step ahead of the rest of the the videographers and story creators in this Industry. He realized that there were a TON of 'Best Of..." compilations released all the time by all the studios, so to make mine stand out and give it better selling power, he arranged for a Bonus scene to be filmed that would be featured exclusively on my "Best of..." compilation. And, to my delight, he told me I could literally shoot with ANY model I wanted, so long as they weren't signed in an exclusive contract with another studio.
Jett asked me if I needed a day or two to think about whom I wanted to film the bonus scene with. HELL NO!
"I want to shoot with Arpad!", I told him. We were in LA. Arpad was living in NYC. Jett contacted him, sent him my pics, and Arpad agreed to do the scene. He was flown out to shoot with me in LA. I was so nervous. So excited. It really was my porn fantasy come true. The scene was amazing. But, It was also the first time I got to spend time and hang out with this gentle giant.
He spoke with the softest voice and I could intuitively see that he had a sensitive heart.
Throughout the years, Arpad and I would email one another.
He usually was in San Diego every Summer for Pride. He would always email me and let me know which parties he was gonna be at, and of course I was always there so I'd get to see him, hang out with him for a bit, and drive whomever my current boyfriend was, completely insane, seeing me so giddy around Arpad, like a puppy.
The torches that I hold for men that I am attracted to or with whom I am fascinated with are very seldom long lived. My torch for him was sparked when I first saw his moving image, and burned bright when I finally did get to meet him and realized what a sweet, sensitive, man he was as well.
The news came to me out of nowhere. I was at the bank, sitting at a table filling out a deposit slip when I received a text that Arpad had died. I was shocked. Of course I got a hold of Michael Lucas immediately, hoping it was simply a sick rumor that some moron had spread on Twitter. But, it was confirmed. I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. I immediately went back to my apartment and just spent some time thinking about him. about his life, about what a big heart he had. I said a Prayer to the Powers That Be that his soul made a easy transition to wherever it is that our energy travels to when he leave the physical world.
I do not know or wish to speculate as to what drove this amazing performer and very sweet man to the taking of his own life. I have been hounded by Press and people who have been digging for information revolving around the passing of Arpad Miklos. Why?? Those facts are personal and private. His loved ones and family should only be privy to that information.
All that matters is that there was once a gentle of a giant with a beautiful heart that walked this earth. And though he is no longer with us, his memory lives on.
Wherever you are, beautiful one, I will always carry your memory in my mind's eye.
In loving memory of one of Arpad Miklos...1967-2013
I wrote this fantasy blog about Arpad nearly 5 years ago. You can archive it on this site. It was titled,
"I Believe In Angels"....Written on November 30th, 2008.
And now, more than ever, I know that Arpad is free, happy, and One with the Angels.
DREAMS ~ I BELIEVE IN ANGELS
I was awoken from sleep to the sound of rustling outside my door. Footfall. I distinctly heard someone whispering my name. I couldn't imagine who it could be. More curious then frightened, I edged forward towards the door and quietly unlocked the latch. As I slowly opened the door and looked outside I was blinded by an incredible sight. A tall figure surrounded by a bright light with his back turned to me. He was so tall and defined and shrouded by light that I simply stood there-awestruck. He turned around and slowly came towards me. There was dark hair on his face, so much like the dark hair that grew all over his gorgeous chest. He stood tall over me and wrapped his muscular arms around me. We moved backwards towards my bed as he simply seemed to engulf me. I was lost. His tongue was inside my mouth, probing me. It seemed to be the only form of communication that he knew. His hands were all over my body. He pushed me down on my bed and turned my over on my stomach, mounting me. I felt his saliva, slick around my ass as he lubricated me, then proceeded to penetrate me-deep.
I was crying out, wailing in ecstasy as he pounded my ass slowly,deliberately. The friction of the bed against my cock was insatiable as he continued pounding my ass. Guttural moans were emanating from me as he pushed his weight on top of me. The room began to quake as I felt the heat rising deep inside me. The combination of his dickinside my ass and the friction of the bed was bringing me to orgasm. I arched my back and gyrated my hips in unison with his as I shot my load all over the bed. He climaxed, shooting his load all over my ass cheeks. He yanked my hair and cried out as he did so. I was spent. Dizzy. Exhilarated.
I rolled over and looked around the room. No one in sight. All that was left of him was his sweat and cum all over my body.
I heard the sound of wings flapping and I rose from the bed and looked out into the moonlit sky. I thought I saw the shadow of his body against the clouds but convinced myself it was nothing more than a figment of my imagination.
If ever there was the perfect vision with a set of wings to mount me, I think this is what he would look like...
After 12 days of Hell. 12 days of impending doom. And 12 days of pain in the hospital, I was finally going to be released. The implants were out. The infections were both being treated with the powerful IV meds that were being pushed into the tube that was now strewn inside the artery of my right upper arm, coiling itself into the center of my chest.
"You have a very small blood clot in your right leg", the GP at the hospital told me on the day of my discharge. He said it so matter of factly. Like, I had a zit he just noticed.
I was gobsmacked. A clot?!?
"What are we going to do about it?", I asked. I was slightly panicked.But, I was so fucking exhausted from all that my body and spirit had endured already. I could barely even wrap my mind around what this next development was going to entail.
"Oh, for a clot this small, in such a superficial area, you just need to use a warm compress on the area every day, and 300mg of aspirin daily until it breaks up", he responded.
"That doesn't seem very aggressive." I responded.
"Well, that is the protocol we use for something this slight." he responded.
That was it. You would think we were dealing with something as simple as acne. I didn't question it. But now...That conversation resounds in my mind over and over again. I didn't question it because he was the medical deity and I was the patient.
Boys...Huge Gift for me and hopefully something for you to take from this story. These doctors are not the demigods they present themselves to be, with their worldly medical knowledge. They are mortal men, who make mistakes. If you feel something is not right with your body that a medical pro is, "Sure of"...Take it to another medical pro or a specialist.
Because a medical demigod's simple mistake could cost you your life. It almost did mine.
So, there I was..my last day at the hospital...About to be released. A tube with two plugs sticking out of my right arm, taped securely and bound with gauze for the next 2 weeks inside of me.And I was crying again.
Sadly, I wasn't even crying because of the clot. I was really crying because through all of this..Through all that I had been through from the day of my surgery. Through the infections. Through the removal of my implants. Through the misery and pain...My mother had been there. My sponsor had been there. 2 of my ex boyfriends had been there. Several close friends had been there..But, my boyfriend, Tony. My partner of almost 2 years..had not.
He had visited me 3 of the 12 days I was in the hospital. His reason. He detested hospitals. When I was propped upside down, overnight, the day after my surgery. The day Dr. Shmootz thought I might have a compartmental syndrome, he wasn't there. He was too tired after work and 'not feeling well'.
The man I had come to trust and love and desperately needed to hold my hand through all of this was absent. I didn't understand. He always had a reason or an excuse as to why he wasn't going to be there for me. If I argued it, he would threaten me that this was going to cause a fight between us. I was baffled. I was hurt. And I felt abandoned by the love of my life.
My mother sure wasn't. She never really cared for Tony, but this had sealed the deal. She seethed....
"This was elective surgery gone wrong and he can't show up?? What happens if, when you are older and I'm gone, God forbid, you should get something like cancer??? You are going to endure this alone? Because your partner doesn't like a fucking hospital?!"
My motther is a traditional Sicilian woman. There are no 3 strikes in her world. She forgives relentlessly. But, the code of conduct in our lineage is loyalty to your loved ones. And if you sever that code you are dead to her. I knew there was no coming back from this with her and he, and it broke my heart.
The two people I loved most were now at odds. But, I had so many other things to address after I was discharged from the hospital,
Back to my mother's to rest. My apartment was located on a rooftop terrace and there was absolutely no way I could make it up and down the stairwell every day for all my appointments.
Physical therapy 3 times a week. It was Hell. Mostly because for the first 14 days after my discharge from the hospital, I had to wake up every morning and my mother would drive me to the head of Infectious Disease building to receive IV treatments to continue killing the strep and staph infections in my left leg. An IV attached to a bag full of clear liquid was attached to one of the plugs that was taped to my arm while they drew blood from the other plug. The antibiotics made me very sick. Weak. Dizzy.
And, of course...I had to go see Dr. Shmootz once a week so he could look at my legs.
This douche never ceased to amaze me. Every time I came in after the implants were removed he ALWAYS made it a point to reassure me that I could still have the implants put back in after the infections were gone. I wouldn't even dignify his insanity with a response.
I was still walking with a walker. That sucked, in itself. Maybe it sounds trifle to you, but the way people would look at me with such pity in their eyes seeing this big guy using a walker...Like, "Oh that poor guy. What happened to him?" It was humiliating.
I tried to get out of my mother's house. If only to try and walk around the block with the walker. Problem is I was starting to suffer post traumatic stress from everything that had happened in the last several months.
I began having panic attacks every other day.I tried to use a walker and go to the grocery store with my mother. It had been well over two months of virtual isolation from the world. Even being in a small crowd of people all in one place immediately triggered the attacks. Same symptoms as before. I became short of breath. I couldn't swallow. My heart rate would go crazy. It really felt like a respiratory issue Sometimes the attacks would last for an hour at a time.
I was eventually prescribed Klonopin. A highly addictive, disassociative drug used to treat people with panic attacks. My sponsor told me that people in the Program of Alcoholics Anonymous might find this controversial. Because Klonopin is in the Benzo family.
I would like for any member of AA or NA to endure what I endured and then experience the exact symptoms that I experienced during these panic attacks. I really don't give a fuck what anyone thinks of me, especially in gay AA/NA San Diego. I have come to learn in over 4 years that this specific group of men can be some of the most toxic, relentlessly evil, gossipy human beings I have ever come across. Anonymity is a joke amongst them as they revel in taking peoples stories and problems out of meetings and make them their topics of social conversation. I am still, to this day taking my Klonopin as prescribed. It has kept me from having panic attacks for over a year. So fuck you and your Big Book if you got a problem with it!