homo superior blogs

- Ovi’s back in Prague, staying with me. He’s assured me that I don’t have to feel lonely because he’s around. He said this after I confessed how hard it was to sleep alone after 3 months, more or less, sleeping with Marek, an almost perpetually horny boy who had slowly become a real cuddle puppy.

3 years ago, when I first met Ovi, he and I slept together quite a bit and Ovi himself was quite the cuddle puppy. I didn’t appreciate it then, but I’m still a bit shy about asking him if he wants to sleep with me now. Knowing him I’m sure he’d say yes. I really need it right now.

- Bryan, of Homersexual blog fame, is on his way to Prague from Budapest and will be staying with me for at least a week. I’m quite excited to see him – and the war wound in his side. I wonder what sort of trouble he and I can get up to. I really need some decent blogging material.

- I still don’t have heat in two rooms. Still keeping warm, partially, through the gas oven. As someone said recently,”Don’t light any matches in here!” Two appointments were made to get the heat on and for both I was stood up. Crazy. I hate landlords. Especially the kind who stand there with their hands out for the rent when the basics in the flat have not been delivered. The same the world over. Oh, and the Internet is down. You can find out all about my current problems with the flat here. BB saved me the time of having to write it up.

- Arssi came to my window and asked to speak to me last night. A couple days before he’d cornered BB’s bf Lazo and asked him if he, Arssi, brought Marek to my flat – presumably for punishment – could Arssi and I become friends again. In both instances, the response was: Fuck off!

There are many things I could forgive. If Marek had punched me, or had a hissy fit and thrown dishes, or threw the TV out the window or left for 3 days without a word, I could have forgiven him. Drama and passion I can understand. Violence even. But he violated trust. How could I ever let him back in, especially with a very expensive computer which represents most of my hopes for the future. Not without locks on everything. Not without locks on my feelings.

That doesn’t mean that I don’t miss him, that I’m not miserably lonely without him around, that I don’t end up fantasizing about his fucking me whenever I try to masturbate, or think about sucking him – god, the time he sat back on his ankles, put his hands behind his head and let me lick him all over; what a huge load he shot that time – or remember sharing his cum with him in a kiss, or sticking an index finger up his ass and desperately begging to rim him. Something he never let me do. (Yep, I lied about that to a couple people.)

(It also doesn’t mean I don’t feel a sick glee when I watch the snow falling outside or feel the temperature drop and wonder where those two stupid stupid boys are sleeping. Assholes.)

No, it doesn’t mean any of that. Just means we will probably never be together again. Never say never but never seems a very sensible word right now.

Anyone who’s had much contact with Czech station and/or rent boys knows that they have no shame. Can’t afford to, really.

Both Marek and Arssi were back at the station yesterday. Both in the Kavarna but separately. In the late morning I made an attempt to talk to Marek, who was in full thug-boy mode, but he was not responsive. He didn’t know anything about the phone – but, of course, he expressed no surprise that it was missing – said he didn’t know where Arssi was and that, further, he didn’t want to speak to me. That clinched it. I told Ovi to go get the cops and waited next to Marek at his table in the Fantova Kavarna. If he had given just a little hint that he wanted to communicate like a human being and not like a stereotype then that would have been an opening, a way forward. However, his attitude, which honestly I fully expected, just rekindled the anger I’d felt the night before, and which had been dissipated by writing the post yesterday.

Ovi went off and Marek tried his best to seem unconcerned. One of his “friends” at his table asked me what he had done and I told him. Then he, and the rest of them, got up and left the table. Not because they were expressing disapproval of Marek’s actions but because they didn’t want to have anything to do with the police. Marek stayed put but kept shooting sideways glances towards the stairs where the police would be coming. One of his older friends encouraged him to get the hell out of there and he eventually did, running for the back doors that led out onto the train platforms.

I didn’t try to stop him. I don’t want to hurt him and I didn’t want to get into a physical confrontation where my anger might get the best of me. Truthfully, I was relieved and had been hoping he’d make a break for it anyway. Involving the general useless Czech cops is distasteful in itself. (Indeed, Ovi could not get the station cops to come up at all; he had to go outside looking for city cops.) Yet I was goaded by Marek’s indifference.

Arssi was a slightly different story. Breederboy’s boyfriend Lazo was furious the instant he heard what had happened. Of course, he had been warning me for weeks that Marek was “not correct” for me and he had never liked Arssi. Lazo had dragged me around all over Prague looking for the two of them and would not be dissuaded even when I told him my energy and anger had run out. So we sat in the Kavarna waiting to see if they would show up.

Arssi eventually did, coming up the stairs but going back down again as soon as he saw me – not exactly the behavior of a non-guilty person nor his normal behavior, which is to come up and ask me for money. As soon as Lazo saw him, he and Ovi – who had joined us by this time – took off down the stairs after him. There was a small confrontation. Ovi and Lazo brought him up to the Kavarna to talk to me. He was extremely agitated, wild-haired and bug-eyed from pervitin use and defensive as hell. He insisted he didn’t take the phone – again he wasn’t surprised that it was gone – and that he didn’t know where Marek was or if he had taken the phone. I asked him why he’d left via the window if he hadn’t taken it. He really had no answer for that but told two different versions of the same story. We eventually let him go. He insisted that he had to go take care of his Czech client. Interesting that he’d suddenly had a renewed interest in making his own money again. Ovi and Lazo both looked at me expectantly and asked me if they wanted me to take care of him. That is, beat the shit out of him. Others may be squeamish about such things but if someone wants to volunteer to put Arssi in the hospital on my behalf – preferably breaking a few fingers – I have no moral qualms whatsoever about it.

The issue is not money or phones; it’s loyalty. Arssi twisted that logic himself, trying to tell me that there was no way he would steal from me, a friend of his for over two years and who had helped him almost every day since, even when I was homeless myself. In other words, my friendship and care for him was evidence in and of itself that he would never steal from me. That’s the sort of fucked-up value system that’s in place here. So, putting a message across, in their own language, so to speak, to any other station trash who might think about stealing from me or anyone else I know sounds like a very good idea. In the old days, early and mid-90s, if a rent boy stole from a client the other boys got together and kicked his ass, for professional reasons. Nowadays, when the country is actually richer, there seems to be even less honor among the thieves and whores.

Regardless, I told Ovi and Lazo to calm down, that mostly I didn’t want to see them get in trouble. Arssi will get his eventually. But he has permanently lost any claim on my loyalty and kindness, just as George did when he stole my camera. There will be no help from me for Arssi forever.

As for Marek, who knows? Everyone who knows me and knows how I feel about him thinks I will forgive him and take him back. That’s my hunch, too. I still think he’s a good kid, an interesting kid with an attractive heart. Although the consensus among my friends seems to be that Marek is the big criminal here, I contend that I’m the only one who knows him intimately, knows everything that went on between us, and therefore I’m the most qualified to judge him, even taking into account my huge infatuation. I maintain that he stole from me for philosophical reasons, if you will, not for money, not for a fucking phone. He was wrong, both to do it, and in his implied condemnation of me, but he’s not stupid and he’s not simple.

And I don’t think it’s over either.