[Breeder] The Weird

[TheBreeder]

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Since Sunday was the one-year anniversary of A Breeder's Journal, I'm taking a couple of days to reflect on some of the things—the good, the weird, and the ugly—I've learned in a year of sex blogging. Today we'll be tackling the weird.

1. People I know read me. I knew when I started posting entries online that the chances were good that the realms of my everyday life and my blogosphere would probably collide and intersect, to some degree. It’s still a little bit unsettling when it happens, however.

Look, if I wanted to remain completely and one-hundred-percent anonymous, I could do a much better job at it. I could use false photos of myself, rather than shots that show my body and half my face. I could claim I lived in Poughkeepsie. I could delete links to sex profiles I maintain on hookup sites (profiles that contain my entire face, sometimes). I could avoid photos and details altogether—there are plenty of blogs that manage that way.

I know that guys in my area, or in the places I might have lived or in which I have extensive acquaintances, might be able to connect the dots and figure out that the blogger who writes this salacious account of his life is the guy they might have seen in the bar, or with whom they hooked up. I know that people with whom I have online relationships, perhaps from other blogs I’ve worked upon, might be reading this project as well as another.

So basically, I’m never surprised when I get a nudge-nudge, wink-wink email from someone with whom I’m acquainted, letting me know that they’re in on my little secret, I do get a momentary sense of dislocation. Then I shrug and get on with my day.

2. I have to realize that my partners sometimes might read me, too. I’d made a decision very early on in my blog that I wouldn’t use it to bad-mouth my sexual partners. Mine was not going to be the kind of blog in which I glorified my own ego by putting down a playmate by talking about how ugly he might have been, or calling him a fatty; life’s just too short for that kind of nonsense.

True, if I have an outstandingly bad encounter, I’ll write about it—but it has to be a really big cock-up before that happens. I’m not going to waste my time, or my readers’ time, on a bad hookup unless it sheds light on some bigger issue.

I learned my lesson fairly early on in my sex blog career, when I wrote up a hotel gang-bang in which I’d participated. After I posted my impressions, the guy who’d thrown the event (our old buddy, FelchingPisser, who’ll be returning with another guest entry later this week) commented on the entry that he was glad I’d come. Apparently he’d been a reader for a while at that point, and invited me without mentioning that fact, curious to see if I’d write it up. Well, the discovery threw me into a panic. How was I supposed to know he read me? I ran back to the entry and scoured it for anything that might have been uncomplimentary, or unfair.

There was nothing, of course, but the event was enough to keep me on alert. I’m not going to whitewash my words when I write my entries. But I’m going to focus on the positive parts of an encounter, for the most part, and not denigrate my partners.

If I do stoop to writing about you in a bad light, well dude, you shouldn’t have called me a nordic alien.

3. Sex blogging is its own weird form of celebrity. A very, very minor celebrity, to be sure. I mean, your municipality’s dog catcher has more genuine celebrity than your average sex blogger. When I see other bloggers trying to cash in on their so-called notoriety, it makes me scratch my head and wonder how seriously they take themselves, and why they cling so desperately to an online bad-boy reputation. I view the whole experience as some kind of giddy lark.

I’ve been featured on enough websites and gotten attention enough to attract fans who regard me with a kind of awe that trust me, I don’t think is justified. Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re actually talking to me! You, of all people! they'll respond when I reply to one of their emails, or answer one of their instant messages. I’ve had guys offer to put me up in their homes when I travel (more of you can do that, by the way . . . I might take you up on it!). I’ve had men pay for my underwear, simply because they want to have a pair of shorts used by the fellow who writes this blog (and has the dick that propels most of its action).

I’ve gotten used to men of all ages sending me videos and photos of themselves, and offering sex so that they can see themselves in the pages of my blog. (I could definitely use more of that, too—but you’d need to be local.) I’ve had a couple of men fly in to meet me, because of my writing.

It’s all fantastic, of course. But weird.

Because every single time it happens, I keep thinking to myself, Me? Really? Why?

Tomorrow: The Ugly!

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