So it’s a new year, with a new president, and a new Senate. But for me, in many ways it’s the same as the previous year…and the year before that. Much as it was in late 2018, my elderly and handicapped mother and I are facing the genuine threat of eviction. There have been court appointments scheduled once a month for over 2 years now, but they were put on hold for much of 2020 due to Covid-19. That didn’t completely eliminate the threat, but it did put it on a slight backburner. However, now Housing Court has sorted through a variety of laws. More disturbingly, they are sending out letters in the mail with our new date. The last time we got actual mail, it was around August 2020; usually I would just call the court clerk once a month.
Although there are a variety of state and federal “halts” on evictions which has been extended thru March 2021, that is only for non-payment evictions. Landlords can designate a tenant as a “nuisance,” void a lease, and evict them on a whim — and these types of evictions are immune from these laws. And without disposable income to spend on a lawyer, our options are either to proceed without one, or beg some city agency for aid…in which they usually side with the landlord. Kind of like how public defenders typically side with prosecutors in criminal trials for plea bargains. Unfortunately, you can’t plea bargain an eviction. We can’t “settle” for half an eviction. It’s either accept a piddling buyout of $5,000 ($3,500 after taxes) or likely be thrown out by the middle or end of the year after a farce of a trial.
I hate going into this seemingly every month (or every other month) on a blog which was intended to focus on my lack of a love life and my own thoughts, feelings, and opinions on that. But it is hard to concentrate on getting laid when I am fearing being laid…out on the street. And that is all playing out as we near Year 2 of the pandemic that never ends. Vaccine shots are coming, but slower for most of us than anyone imagined. And as much angst as I have as I inch closer to being a real life 40-year-old-virgin, I fear being homeless with my mother more. I fear economic destitution. The irony is as recently as 2017, I was seemingly begging the universe to allow me to figure out how to simply detach myself from my yearning for love so it didn’t matter. In a way, that has happened, only in a crueler way than I imagined. Between worrying about the eviction for over two years, and worrying about a pandemic for almost one, pangs of woe for being lonely have moved from the backseat to the trunk. If I had to trade not being evicted and surviving the pandemic for never ever having sex in my life, I wouldn’t consider that such a bad deal. It certainly is a better deal than the landlord is offering.
Still, despite such romantic woes being a background concern at best, they are still there. I can only consume my time with work, chores, hobbies, and DVD’s for so long. I don’t think I have suffered much socially for this; I rarely saw my friends more than once or twice a year in various events anyway, and at least these days I haven’t been going to seedy cyber cafes or traveling on the subway as much. I was long used to being alone, so this is merely putting it onto overdrive. The only way I could explore anything romantic would be online, but I find concepts like a “virtual date” to just be absurd — and a surefire way to be catfished by someone who swears they’ll love you more if you wire $500 to Saudi Arabia at a Western Union.
One other option is writing. I did attempt to do a more focused, and age appropriate, return of the “Kink Panther” at the alternate website which revolves around the sexual fetish I choose to never reveal where I post under another avatar. For those who need a refresher, a young woman from Europe approached me out of the blue on that website around 2018 and sought to have text based roleplaying sessions regarding the shared fetish. Initially swearing she was at least 18, by the following year she revealed she was, in fact, 16, and contact was severed. There was nothing sexual in our “sessions,” as the content of our fetish is a fairly routine thing in pop fiction, albeit not for the young lady’s lack of tying. I actually kind of liked the sessions; I was just aware of how much younger the other person was (even when I thought she was 18) and sort of approached it more like an English class experiment more than anything too risque. But it was literally the first thing I had ever experienced which vaguely hinted at not only my sexuality, but my fetish which was in any way welcoming and positive, even if it was akin to finding a kid at a bookstore and talking about novels you both like. The pressure was on me to keep things age appropriate despite it all, but I still didn’t hate it until things became known. Unfortunately, no one at the other website has bit, so the odds of me having a second go with someone who is actually an adult is nil.
Without naming names, I do have a new subscriber and commenter on this blog who has their own blog which specializes in, essentially, “erotic fiction.” I see myself as something of a writer; considering I have been paid for my efforts via two websites, and now Patreon, since 2009, I could even technically claim to be a “professional” (or at least “freelance”) writer. Yet while I have written reviews, non-fiction summaries, fan-fiction, and even some comic book base roleplay, I have never written an erotic story. I’ve written characters and played characters that were amorous. I have written some love scenes, or at least attempts at them, which “fade to black” or otherwise do not get too graphic. One key reason is context; the other being ignorance. Part of erotica involves writing about the sexual experience in a way which is elegant without being too pornographic. Or at least being pornographic but skilled at it.
Then again, plenty of undersexed comic book writers have written awkward romantic stories and even tapped into their fetishes, for decades. Doubt me? Skim some of Chris Claremont’s Uncanny X-Men comics from the 1980’s. To say nothing of Dr. William M. Marston’s fetish fueled feminist icon, Wonder Woman. But they’re just the tip of the iceberg. Heck, if you think of how many stories where the geeky dude goes through a rite of passage where he “wins” the love of a hot supermodel babe in various mediums, which is as much of a fantasy as a story about a woman meeting a shirtless pirate on the good ship HUGH JORGAN, there may be more dudes like me than I thought. But even many of them have had sex at least once. In fact, most of them are pretty unhappily married.
I’ve thought about writing some erotic fiction, or at least fiction based around my fetish, for ages now. The main stumbling block has been time. I haven’t the time to write non-fetish fiction which I have wanted to do for years; I either have too few hours in the day or spend too many of them working or stressed out. I finished one fan fiction last year, which was my first in well over a decade, and it took many months of time atop of the short-term advantage of having no weekly content to review for about 2-3 months due to the pandemic. I suppose erotic fiction doesn’t have to be as thought out, or as long. It can even just focus on one scene or sequence. I could just create another avatar and write it on Deviantart, but that, again, takes more time than I usually have. And I have struggled to just write one post a month here for about three years now.
In theory I suppose I could merge them. If I were willing to just admit my fetish here, in what is essentially my own journal (which is available to be publicly read and is read by a hundred or so people a month), I could just post them here. That would keep the content flowing, at least. It isn’t as if I am denying my fetish to myself; I know of it full bore and have since I was maybe 12. It simply is admitting it to any other person or on a site where other people read, even under a fake name. I am building it up to be something pretty dire and I know objectively it isn’t anything that extreme. But knowing something objectively and admitting it openly are two different things. After all, so long as I don’t mention it, I can maintain the stereotype of being an “innocent” older male virgin; one who doesn’t hate women or wants to ravish them at all costs, and can remain a relatable figure. Openly admit a fetish, and worse, start writing erotica about it, and suddenly my “virginity” seems clear and obvious — I am just another pervert on the Internet, a dime a dozen.
Beyond all of the recitations of my past romantic failures (which I got thru by around 2016, barely two years into the blog), and beyond all of my moping about being a virgin and a loser at love, it really is the last bit of unfinished business I have about my sexual being. While I do worry about being “kink shamed,” in all honesty I probably “kink shame” myself worse than any other person would — which is similar to how I am probably harder and meaner about myself than any woman has been, or would be. And although I don’t think my own inner shame revolving around my own fetish is as crippling as my own various insecurities revolving around general confidence and self-worth and over all sexual performance, it certainly doesn’t help matters. It’s just one more thing about myself which I lock in a box and rarely express, along with my virginity and general shyness. And after a while, those boxes can clog my spiritual-basement.
But even though it turned out to be chatting with a minor, was it wrong to actually like being flattered? The age gap made it easier to accept it as a compliment rather than some attempt at wooing or so on. To be complimented on something I am rarely complimented upon by women — my imagination? Now if only I could get that from someone over 21 (or better yet, over 26) and I’d be home free. The literal last time any woman under any circumstance flattered me in a manner which even hinted at something which wasn’t generic, it was a woman trying to compliment my eyes while she was selling cologne on the street. Man, I bet if I’d bought ten bottles, my biceps would have been stunning too!
So if you’ve read this far and hoped I would break down and reveal my fetish, that isn’t happening. But it has renewed a curiosity with writing more about it in some capacity outside of my blog. After all, life is short and one day in the very near future I may be on a flat cot in a homeless shelter wearing everything I still own and thinking back on those good times when I only worried about admitting a kink. Maybe I can or will finally admit it on this blog and let the chips fall where they may. But that day won’t be today.
Thanks for reading, and I hope everyone’s new year is starting better than mine has been!
The New Adventures of Dateless-Man! 