I’m gonna miss summer.

The semester at the University started a few weeks ago. Just two more semesters to go. Bromance is after all going to buy my 50% of the apartment close to the Uni. And in Malmö we decided not to sell. Bromance still softer by the hand of his girlfriend, but also seems tired and annoyed over lots of shit I know nothing about (as I no longer ask him nor talk to him). Boyfriend, I don’t know. Just put bitumen over the arguments, build a new and fancy shoppingmall on top. All good.

I’ve been writing a bit. New short story coming on Amazon soon. And been busy folding origami of course.


Not quite sure how I ended up here, but turns out that neither of the flats are to be sold. Bromance no longer wants to buy me out, at least not at the moment, and boyfriend decided it was all good all of a sudden. And me: I’m easy. Truth be told, bromance is better behaved nowadays, more reasonable, and he’s got a girlfriend. A woman’s touch has softened him. But. Still a jerk and will end up in a book (he desired that too much for it not to happen).

So if anyone needs a book on how to manage two lives, two men, living in two flats, working almost full time, and studying full time, I’m the man to ask to write it. Call me the polyamorous super manager. Oh yeah, please let all lovers be in denial about being gay/bisexual too. I’ll manage that too. ‘Cos I’m easy.

In my next life however, please remind me to just be poly about cheesy doodles and cava (Spanish sparkling wine) – in that carb filled relationship at least I’d be the given power top.


Back at work. Back to normality. Finally able to keep my head straight. Finally in a good state of mind, in heart, soul, thought and cock.

I feel so done with men. But. I love cock. That’s a problem. A huge problem. Actually, the bigger problem, the better.


The world is an awful place. You’re just not safe even in your safe places. Like the Pulse shooting. Fuck homophobia and fuck heterosexual male fragility and fuck the racism that always follow in the discussion afterwards. People die of terrorism everyday, people die from mass shootings every day, people are killed for their sexuality or gender every day. We must mourn and remember, but we must be strong and party on claiming our rights. Human rights and equality are fragile things, and are easily withdrawn come the wrong regime to power. Things we take for given as we have won them ages ago, can easily be revoked or be given less importance.

Bromance be gone. Harder than I thought. He sent some hurtful hateful messages and I blocked him. We still have to talk I guess as we must sell the flat or have one of us buy the other’s share. And husband, well, on is off is on is off is on. We just can’t decide. Plus I had to have a minor surgery in my stomach so I haven’t been able to work or do anything for weeks. But at least I now have less pain than before, which is good. They both behaved rather nicely after the surgery.

So. Perhaps me and my husband and the bromance shouldn’t have fucked it all up. Perhaps we should have.. It’s such a coincidence how every time I make poor choices I end up with bad luck.


These last two weeks I’ve been arguing with everyone. Husband decided he was just fed up with me, and bromance called my feelings a kind of cancer. Lovely. Yes I’m strong willed and can be a pain in the ass, but there’s a heart of gold on the inside. I’m just freaked out over a surgery I have to go through mid-june. Life’s like a dick, if it gets hard: fuck it. I’m done with these two.


Some things go nowhere. Apparently bromance is one of them. We were on again for a few weeks, and off, and on and off again. I’ve been halal in the streets and haram in the sheets.

I’ve been too haram for him. I’ve been perfect. And now it’s off again.

We were off business wise, then on again. And even more on. Then he found a great project to work with, and didn’t ask me – which basically means – if not my friend, he’s my enemy [that’s how I work]. Sadly he couldn’t go on with that project as he didn’t get to work with my money. Sadly, gladly, what ever. I guess he resents me for having demands about my money. I would invest in the blink of an eye if he just said the word, but he won’t.

Fuck it. He doesn’t deserve me.

36. Love Sex Lust Hate

It’s all connected. I have naked photos on gay online communities, it’s simply part of my sex life (I like showing it), and part of who I am (and men seem to like huge things). Yet I really hate it when people steal them and use them.

But. I’ve come to terms with that it happens, It’s pretty much unavoidable. And I don’t think anyone should be ashamed for their sexuality as long as it’s not hurting other people, I know I’m not ashamed. I’m here, I*m queer, get used to seeing my cock (I’m not going to flaunt it all the time).

Though: it’s already out there. So instead of trying to shut other blogs down, or have my pics taken down (like I have done) I decided that I OWN that dusky pink pic of me and can choose to reblog it. Without feeling ashamed. So it’s sex and lust to start with, and a love and hate game in the end.

And in lust we trust.


This reminds me of a weekend some weeks ago when I had to work, and my friends went out partying.

They kept sending me text messages about how I should have been there, that they looked better with their gay friend around, and that they missed my bulging crotch.

I was in a crappy mood so I just answered them that I had my bulge in my uniform pant.

Their reply was brilliant, they sent me a pic of two of them pissing making a cross over the urinal, with the text You really should be here.

Love my bros. I promise to make it up to them.