Knock Out

So the nasty hand of time is starting to show its inevitable and slow effect. Yea—my hairline has begun to recede and my skin is not in the same place it used to be. For the most part, these changes have been good.

When I was younger, I apparently was too pretty looking—not manly enough. Time was kind with her first pass on me and the settling of my skin made me masculine and still pretty.

The hair though—that’s not cool. I love my hair. And it has fans. Today is not a good day as I made the realization that from here on out—time will take tolls and not just render gifts.

As I was in the gym, I had an awful thought—I don’t think I ever really peaked. I don’t think I ever had that moment where I realized everything looked as best it could.

I am at school for the summer and shit is as slow as can possibly be. In fact, I’ve heard from folk who have done several summers here that its actually slower than usual—fucken sucks.

Fewer hotties and worst of all as I came to realize earlier today as well—I miss exchanging crushes. I don’t have a crush on anyone and no one has one on me. Treading through campus is now fucken monotonous, devoid of any unexpected eye-flirts and games that bring a little bit of elation with every smile and friendly chit-chat. I've avoided going on-line for anonymous fun for a lot of reasons--although I think I might have no choice.

The combination of the two has not been a good thing for my mood—knowing that I am aging and having no one to affirm so positively.

I have one distinct memory of enjoying nubile beauty. Oscar time last year I decided to go out for the occasion. I hate watching them but apparently my-fag-hag bitches dig it. The place was pretty full and the bartenders were wearing bow-ties just for the occasion. For too long I’ve personally been against dressing like a ho. But that night was among the first that I just decided to have fun with it.

I have dark brown hair and I was tanned at the time. Attempting to capitalize on my color scheme, I wore a skin tight white tee. I looked like a walking set of pecs and shoulders. I hadn’t eaten much that day so my waist was pretty much concave.

I tugged on some cargo pants that while lose and flat-fronted, were tight around my ass and waist. The outfit was finished off with an oversized army belt and brushed steel buckle. I combed my hair so that my bangs did their thing to my eyes and cheeks.

I had never put intentional thought into being a ho. Most of the time, I just dressed as per the occasion. However, the “ho” category didn’t exist for any occasion including going out to clubs or parties. For them, I just aimed at twisting conventional style in an interesting way.

This time, I was going out alone in a city I was visiting and without the intention of actually meeting someone who would infer anything from my attire. I was just plain ass fucken bored, wanted to go out, and everyone was watching the goddam academy awards.

When I walked into the club, I could tell the bouncers were trying to look like they weren’t fixated on me. But it wasn’t until I came in that I realized the effect of the clothes. As I turned in from the entrance ramp, a waiter was also just rounding the bar with a tray of beers. We both quickly ended up facing each other, except he must have lost his balance or something. Although his jaw dropped and his eyes popped on me, he must have forgotten that he had just pivoted and had a tray full of beers. He dropped them, and only until the crashing sound came from the floor did he withdraw his attention from me.

I was sort of freaked out—one because of the look he gave me and two because he dropped everything. I looked down and realized I was going to look like a total softy if I gave a shit about the beers. I was feeling already self conscious as a result of what had happened and I didn’t want to exacerbate the situation by bending over and pretending like I could help clean up.

So I just sort of walked past by him. Everyone around in the area was looking at the waiter and beers and then suddenly everyone started looking at me. Okay—I’ve had this happen before but people usually try and hide it in some way shape or form. This time, they were trying but the club just sort of stopped and most heads looked in my direction. It was like a ripple effect—the beer bottles breaking started it. I would have been freaked out had I not already been desensitized by the glass shattering. So I just sort of half way smiled stared directly in front of me avoiding making eye contact with anyone and walked to the closest and only empty spot on the bar.

I was home free and a hot bartender asked me what I wanted—he wasn’t phased. I ordered and tried to not break eye contact with him as I realized there were still a lot of people at the bar just staring at me.

Suddenly I was happy that the academy awards were on and I just pretended like I cared what was up on the screens and just sipped on my drinks. People eventually stopped staring and paid attention to the awards. I was surprised that not a single person came up or talked to me at all. The bartenders didn’t even make small talk.

Despite my entrance, it felt really weird just leaving having not spoken to anyone. Now I realize just how retarded the whole fucken thing was. I was going to have to start conversation and I had to be willing to at least make eye contact with people even if they were just ogling. These are—as they say—the basics.

I do not want to let age take the best of me before I’ve socially matured enough to capitalize on physicality. I don’t want to go down hill before I’ve even learned to take advantage of it. Since then, school work consumed me as I took on several extra courses and took on a couple independent projects. I haven’t had a fucken chance to even see what the hell gay shit can be like if I had a social IQ of 20. So I made a commitment to not only redouble my efforts workout-wise, but also to make an anti-aging game plan. The whole thing kicks off this coming week. I’m making appointments with a bunch of docs.