“Why is she texting again?”
“You need to take a paternity test.”
“What the F are you talking about? Go Fuck Yourself. That isn’t my kid.”
My heart was beating damn near out of my chest.
I never wanted kids. I had zero desire to be a father. I couldn’t stand being around annoying little kids and I sure as hell did not want to sacrifice any of my own time for a child. I wanted to travel the world and help people. That is all I ever wanted to do with my life. After being molested I got my first vision of a possible future, but I didn’t understand what it was then. Seemingly every time something bad happened to me, I would see a movie in my mind about this fantasy life I was living that looked and felt incredible.
I wanted the life I kept envisioning, but I doubted it would ever happen. Instead, I was working with complex disabilities and sold power wheelchairs and other medical devices. How would I get to travel the world doing that?
Whenever people asked me what I really wanted to do with my life I would always say, “have a talk show, travel the world, and help people.” It was the only thing that brought me joy to think about, other than when we would do ecstasy and go to after-hours parties after leaving South Beach or Club Space.
Don’t get me wrong, going to college in Hawaii was amazing, but nothing beat South Florida to me. I loved Boca Raton and I loved my group of friends there. To say they were characters is an understatement. Just their nicknames alone were something straight out of a movie, but they were real. Those friends were the first people to ever make me feel like I was normal...like I belonged. I guess I was popular in high school, whatever that means, yet I was not really a part of any of the groups. Although I could hang out with almost anyone, I usually isolated my connections down to one person I would mainly hang out with.
Even back then I never felt “normal” unless I was drunk. My first year in college cheerleading was when I did the first substantial amount of mind-altering drugs. It was at a collegiate cheerleading competition in Daytona Beach (Florida). Some of the members of the squad had gone to college in Boca Raton, to cheer for Florida Atlantic University. When they joined our team in Oklahoma City, they told tales of this legendary place in South Florida. Before I ever wound up there, I had heard so many stories about those people with the crazy nicknames, about the fun in the sun, and about this amazing little drug called ecstasy.
By the time we got to the competition I had already prepaid for my drugs and I could not wait to try that mysterious feel-good pill. Because of the Florida-Oklahoma connection, Okies immediately had a network of friends within the Boca crew. Meeting them was like meeting a family you never knew you had. Fast forward to the end of the cheerleading competition...Senor Frogs’ sugary death in a bottle, and my very first hit of ecstasy.
It took approximately 30 minutes for my entire world to change.
I felt joy for the first time that I could remember in my life. I felt like I knew who I really was, I felt alive, I felt love, and I was comfortable, maybe for the first time ever, allowing myself to actually feel anything...everything. This also meant facing the part of me that could never fully come out. For years I had suffered from the night terrors; those images of the times men had forcefully penetrated me, anally or orally. In the past, when I had gotten really drunk, or if I did a little bit of cocaine, I tried to test myself with men, but I always freaked out. I was too scared of someone finding out.
The sexual energy at a college cheerleading camp was insane, and now with ecstasy...I was feeling the exchange of that energy, with both women AND men.
I loved it; I wasn’t scared. The comedown from ecstasy was awful because I never wanted it to end. After that first time whenever I heard “Try this. It will bring your roll back” I was more than willing to experiment and try new things.
That first night, I did several more tabs of ecstasy, ketamine, cocaine, GHB (Gamma Hydroxybutyrate), and weed.
I found my stride. On my recruiting trip to Florida Atlantic University (FAU), I even earned the nickname CHUG.
I loved Boca Raton, however, when the coach told me I should make a videotape to send to Hawaii Pacific (because he accepted a coaching job), I did. They gave me the news over the phone that I received a full scholarship, as I watched a tornado hit my house; it was May 3, 1999. I stayed in Hawaii for only a year before moving to Florida after landing a great job working for a Pharmacy & Surgical Supply company. I worked under the most ferociously amazing woman from New York. Jet black hair, bright blue eyes, and she might as well have been 10 ft tall because she was just on another level.
She scared me because she was not afraid of me. She had the ability to see right through my BS and while she gave me a lot of rope, she rode my ass and I loved her for it. Other than my mother, I had never met another woman I respected more. Although I was on scholarship at FAU, I preferred to work and party, so I rarely ever went to class. I loved my job and I loved that I made good enough money to afford drugs. I went out almost every night and on weekends it was cocaine and/or ecstasy. When high, I was getting more daring exploring my sexuality, cruising online chat rooms, sex classifieds, and swinger websites.
The year I lived in Hawaii, I had discovered a different sort of porn theatre (with booths), while I explored the streets of Waikiki, high on ecstasy. A habit that picked up steam after that famous weekend in Daytona. Those booths had holes in them. Holes that penises or another body part could be put in front of. There were people at those theatres who would freely whip out a part of their body they wanted pleasured. Walking the streets of Waikiki is also where I ended up discovering a strange interest in transexuals, or mahoo’s, as they are called in Hawaii.
Before I knew I was into them, I was dancing with what I thought were hot Asian girls with nice breasts. I did not know I was actually dancing with men. My friends were laughing at me and tried to warn me. I didn’t believe them until I reached between one of their legs and felt a bulge. What I didn’t expect was the arousal I got between my own legs from the experience. I became obsessed with people who looked like beautiful models with nice boobs and just so happen to also have a penis.
My growing desires manifested an occurrence in Honolulu while walking home from the sex store at 4 am. A woman pulled up beside me and asked me to get in. I got into her car, and we parked outside of my apartment, off the Ala Wai Canal. She was insistent on pleasuring me. Initially, she resisted me trying to finger her for a while until she finally gave in only to reveal a giant penis. She was embarrassed but I immediately went down on her right there in the parking lot. When she had finished, I was lost to my new obsession. I had always been a ‘boob guy’ but as I got more comfortable with exploring my sexuality, I became obsessed with penises too. I was not attracted to men but there was something about a penis that ignited something within me...the same way boobs did...and now to find women with both, It became something I hunted for often.
I discovered as I explored with more transexuals in Florida that not all of them are hot. My poor luck in finding ones that looked like beautiful women (with the exception of having a penis) may have slightly loosened the grip of my obsession but it also caused my insatiable lust to be stored away as I imagine Loch Ness Monster chasers must feel when it comes to finding their own rare treasure.
One day I stopped by a random sex store I had found on the side of the road. Sex was always on my mind. Finding different easy ways to get off now became an obsession. I walked into the theatre to see multiple couples, male on male, male on female, circle jerks, and more, all at this little theatre in Lake Worth, Florida. I was sober at the time, and it was a bit overwhelming to see all of that up close so I went to a booth to watch porn and masturbate.
Within two minutes some guy was on his knees with his best effort giving me oral sex. I came within five minutes, and he acted like he had not eaten in months. After he picked himself off the floor, he put $100 dollars in my shirt and said, “Meet me outside.” I met him outside and he invited me to come to his home after he got back from the summer Olympics in Sydney, Australia.
I began seeing him the day he got back. Every time I saw him, he paid me $200 dollars for him to give me oral sex. I started seeing him multiple times a week. I loved the extra cash that allowed me to spoil my girlfriend, but it also helped me buy more drugs. Little by little this man would expand and advance what he did to me sexually. While I was uncomfortable, I loved the money. At my request, he always had bi porn on, so I could see boobs, and feel less gay. Each time after he made me cum, he would want pillow talk. I hated it at first. Eventually, I got more comfortable with it and even began to feel safe...so even further we went.
He became the first man I allowed to anally penetrate me. As time went on, he started having other men come by when I was there too. Now, on a regular basis, I was reenacting the very way I had been molested, and I started to love it.
As I got more comfortable having sex with men, I then became obsessed with doing porn. Being in Florida made it so easy to do. I was picked up by a filmmaker one day in Hawaii and he asked me to audition for one of his movies. That audition consisted of me blowing him, but it didn’t get me a part in any of his films.
Back in Florida, I booked three different porn shoots within a month. I would have kept going too except one day I got an anonymous email with a still photo from my porn shoot. In my paranoia, I immediately quit trying to do porn. When the guy I was seeing found out that I no longer wanted those images of me out there, he paid off the owner of the websites and they took everything down.
I felt so guilty over doing porn I finally told my girlfriend I was bisexual. Her response was awful. I tried to lie and said I only did it for the money. While I think she eventually believed me, our relationship was ruined. I spent a lot of energy trying to convince her I was not bisexual but then my disappearing acts became more difficult when I was trying to see my John. I needed to keep up with this lifestyle. I loved the money and gifts I was getting and quite frankly I enjoyed myself, so I was not going to quit seeing him, even if I got caught.
With each passing week, my hunger for drugs grew and the habit of sneaking off for sex with others consumed most of my time. Work mattered less and less; partying mattered more and more.
“You need to take a paternity test!”
“Yeah, I will take that test just to shut you up. That kid is not mine.”
My mind raced back to my going away party for Hawaii. A drunken night with my closest friends and the woman I was about to have the best sex of my life with. She was a backup singer in my dad's reunion tour band, and I just banged her. The memories of her trying to get me to stay home instead of moving to Hawaii circulated through my brain as I was trying to remember if I used a condom or not.
Who was I kidding? Of course, I did not use a condom. Now I have this woman telling me I have a 3-year-old. Lol, yeah right, she can go F herself.