The Gay Meth Story

“Okay guys, I’m in a very shady situation right now and I’m going to ride it out and see where it goes. If you guys don’t hear from me in a couple of days, I’m in Cortez, CO with some dude named Carl.” I typed into a mass text I sent out to a few of my friends and cousins. I was laying on a couch in the living room of a ranch in the backwoods of Colorado attempting to sleep fully dressed and wearing my steel toe boots and my hard knuckle riding gloves while grasping a 12 inch long wrench, ready to strike in case I was attacked in the middle of the night. “How the fuck do I get myself into these situations?” I think to myself.

In order to celebrate my new found freedom and release from the clutches of Uncle Sam, in the summer of 2009, I decided to take a 2 1/2 month motorcycle trip around the United States.

Three weeks into the journey, I was riding through the Navajo Indian Reservation in Arizona after having seen the Grand Canyon earlier that day. The scorching Arizona heat made it feel like I was riding through a giant hair dryer while sitting inside a hot oven. As I began to lose myself in my thoughts, thinking about life and how awesome I am, off in the horizon I saw two huge, distinctly shaped rocks. As I rode up closer to them I knew I had to picture whore it and capture my ugly mug with them. Luckily, a man was hanging out there.

As I pulled up, his dog took an interest in me and came up to me. I started petting him, then the man came up in a friendly matter. I introduced myself and he introduced himself as “Carl” I then asked him to take a picture of me. Afterwards, he eyed the license plate on my motorcycle.

Carl: “Washington? What are you doing all the way done here?”

Raul: “I just got out of the Army and I was stationed in Fort Lewis. I’m taking a motorcycle trip around the US to celebrate.”

Carl: “That sounds pretty neat. Where are you headed tonight?”

Raul: “I’m not sure, I’m trying to make it to Four Corners tomorrow, so I’m going to ride as far as I can and probably camp out somewhere.”

Carl: “I wouldn’t suggest camping out here, there are a lot of snakes and other nasty stuff. You should get a motel.”

A more innocent time.

A more innocent time.

We talked for a couple of minutes, during that time he informed me that the name of the rock formation I was looking at was known as the Elephant Feet. The time to leave came, so I shook his hand, thanked him, and rode off not thinking much else of the event. I rode for an hour as the sun started to set. By that time I was starving and had seen on my map there was a small town called Kayenta on the way. A whole day of riding the heat had caused my jeans to drenched in my ball sweat and I’m sure I smelled like it too. I had camped out the previous night after getting drunk off of my ass and had only taken a baby wipe bath. The idea of camping out for another night in the unforgiving Arizona heat without a shower seemed rather unappealing. The snakes thing didn’t really bug me, but nonetheless, I decided I would try to find a motel after getting some chow.

I got to the lifeless town of Kayenta right as the sun sets. I drive through a strip mall, hoping to find a restaurant that is open. Just as I decide on one, a car pulls up next to me; it was Carl.

Carl: “Hey! Did you find a place to stay yet?”

Raul: ”No, I was going to get to some fucking food first.”

Carl: “Well, I just thought about it… if you would like you can sleep on my sofa. I live about an hour up the road.”

Raul: “Sure, thanks, but let me get some food first.”

My personal philosophy for travel was and is still is to accept a free place to stay whenever I can as a way to save money and also meet people. This wouldn’t be the first time a random person offered me a place to stay, so I did so without giving it much thought. An hour may seem like a pretty far ride, but when you’re surrounded by the nothings of the hot, unforgiving desert, it’s not too much of a compromise.

We got to a small town on the south west corner of Colorado called Cortez. Carl explained to me that he had to go visit his friend first and pick her up. So I followed him to her trailer home and what came out was an old, witch looking woman whose face looked like its seen many wife beatings and possibly works as a bargain priced prostitute.

Carl then informed me that he had to go to another friends house to pick something up. We entered into this house where there were three shady looking rednecks. Carl made small talk and then exchanged money with them and took something. That’s when I became a little paranoid.

Raul: “What are you buying?”

Carl: “Coke, you want some?”

Raul: “No, I’m good.” Thoughts of bailing out of this situation immediately occurred to me. I may be an overindulgent social drinker, but I don’t fuck with that shit.

They complete their black market transaction and then we’re off to Carl’s house. Carl’s house was a surprisingly nice ranch home surrounded by about two or three acres of land. Then we get to the foot steps of the door, which is covered with license plates from various different states. It was quite cool, actually. I then walk into his house and am shocked to see to the most random collection of junk that I have ever witnessed in my life. The wall is plastered with random paintings, trophy bucks, hub caps, pictures, animal bones, chains, tools, and those weird radios from the 80’s that had little black and white TVs on them. Just an overall array of weird shit. It was kind of cool.

Villa de Carl.

Villa de Carl.

I sit down and start making small talk with Carl and his Rita Repulsa like friend. Then he pulls out a strange looking glass pipe which Rita Repulsa and him start smoking out of. Even someone as ignorant about drugs as me could take an educated guess and deduct it was a Meth pipe. Having to always be sure, I asked.

Raul: “What is that?”

Carl: “Meth…” as he pulls it into his lungs and exhales, “Want some?”

Raul: “Uh… no, that’s not my thing.”

Again panic sets in internally. I contemplate an escape route and how to leave this situation. Yet, I justify to myself, that he hasn’t done anything wrong to me directly. He’s been a pretty nice guy and over all not bad, hell, he was nice enough to offer me expensive coke and meth. I bet that’s what Ted Bundy’s victims thought also.

I’m still covered in my own ball sweat from the last couple of days of travel and I ask to use the shower. I also need to take a shit, so being the smart and hygienic guy I am, I shit before I shower. As I drop my little brown kids off at the pool, I notice there is a basket full of magazines and I start thumbing through them. Something peculiar caught my eye, there were randomly cut outs in the pages wherever the current generic, hot, young stud actor would have been. I put it back and finish up. I walk into the shower, turn around and look into the mirror in front of it. Then I see it. Pictures. Pictures of naked men cut out from Homo-Hustler and of male celebrities taped on the mirror. I pause there in disgust.

“God fucking damn it,” I sigh out lightly. I have nothing against gay people, but it happens a lot to me for some incomprehensible reason that I get hit on by them a lot. “Okay, okay… he hasn’t fucking done anything wrong,” I think to myself in a failing attempt to comfort myself as I take my shower.

Something I'm sure you Navy Seamen are used to.

Something I’m sure you Navy Seamen are used to.

As I come out of the shower the movie The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift is playing; yep, he’s totally fucking gay. I’m tired as fuck and want to go to sleep, but withstand it and watch the movie. After the movie, Rita Repulsa and him go upstairs to his bedroom and I lay to sleep on the couch of his living room. Just as I am about to doze to sleep, I get a text message from him.

“Do you want some… attention?” It says.

OH FUCK NO! I think to myself in my panic. “Carl! Carl! I’m good man!” I yell out to him up the stairs.

“Alright,” he responds with a disappointed tone in his voice.

I’m sure this backwoods homo isn’t going to try anything, but in case he does, I begin to prepare. I change back from my shorts into my jeans and repack all my stuff into my saddlebags. I put on my steel toe motorcycle boots, hard knuckle riding gloves, and dig through his random assortment of shit and grab a 12 inch long wrench. Right before I lay back down to sleep, I send out a mass text to my friends letting them know generally where I am in case I go missing. Some immediately respond and I calm their nerves down. While others don’t because they assumed I was probably drunk.

It was a harrowing, restless night with every insignificant noise waking me up into kill homo-rapist with a wrench mode. Luckily and anti-climatically, the great battle to the death for my assholes virginity never occurred and Carl didn’t attempt anything.

The next morning he was working on a construction project on his home by the time I woke up. I thanked him for hospitality, got on my bike, and rode on to my next victory over life and death.

~Raul Felix

Please Sir, may I have another? YES! Read: The Pick-Up Follies: The Gimp

Pussy Cats and the Appreciation of Modern Technology

Across the street from the hostel I was staying at in Zurich, Switzerland is a pussy cat theater. I wondered how this was still a viable business model. Ever since the invention of the internet and a day later, internet porn these archaic dens of masturbation have become extinct in the United States. I didn’t come of age when they were around and only seen them in movies from the 70’s and 80’s. Usually, when the protagonists meets up with a shady character who gives him essential information. So being the Curious George I am and the appreciator of anything related to naked women, I decided I would go in and expand my horizons.

The theater walls were covered with posters of porn flicks with women in poses suggesting the want to get gang banged. I pay for my ticket and the attendant gives me a look suggesting he thinks he is better than me. Well, fuck you, at least it’s not my job to clean semen off the floor. As I am walking to enter the theater, a Swiss geezer passes me by and avoids making contact, probably cause he just jerked off. I take my seat in the mostly empty theater with about four or five old men there looking intently at the screen. I think I see one jerk off underneath his trench coat. Movies don’t always lie.

I take my seat and watch the porn flick. After one minute, I’m already bored and have the urge to leave. This sucks. I stop myself from leaving. Give it a chance, it’s a cultural experience, I justify. I tell myself that I’m going to stay for one hour. The flick is in German and it looks like it was made in the 90’s judging by the clothing the actors were wearing. The chick they’re going to bang is the kind I like, big boobs, big ass, and white with brunette hair. I become annoyed at the fact I have to listen to all the talking and see the “plot” unfold. I wish I could just fast forward and see the bitch naked already.

Two women begin to walk around the movie theater, whispering little things into the mens ears. I sneakily look at them and see what they are up to. One grabs a guy by the hand leads him out the theater. They’re fucking prostitutes. Ah, so that is the real business model. This is a place where men can meet prostitutes. The other one comes and offers her services to me. Yes, I declined assholes. I had a conversation the previous night with a local who told me that area of Zurich is currently going through gentrification. Which explains the unique mix of artsy fartsiness, drug addicts, expensive shops, and hookers at the pussy cat theater.

After thirty minutes, I had enough. I didn’t even feel my dick move in this environment. I couldn’t even enjoy the porn knowing that on the other row there was a 50 year old Swiss man jerking it.

I left the theater with a new found appreciation for my laptop and instant access to internet porn in complete privacy. I appreciated being able to watch whatever I want, skip scenes, and go to my favorite parts. Men actually had to put up with this shit back in the 70’s and 80’s if they wanted to watch a porn flick and jerked off discreetly while a few feet away another man was doing the same. It showed me that life sucked in every previous generation and that being of my generation is the best time to be alive. We got all the technology to get us instant access to porn and we have access to archives of every porn film ever made, even on the iPhone. What a glorious time to be alive.

~Raul Felix

You loved it? Of course you did. Now read: Strip Club Blues

She Wants Me

I operate under the mind set that every single woman wants my cock, they just don’t know it yet. I can be walking by a cute girl sitting at a bus stop and she will briefly glance at me for no more than half a second. “Oh yeah, you want my cock you dirty little slut,” immediately goes running through my mind. Poor little thing is just so shy that she can’t help but look away when she see’s such a fine specimen of manhood. It’s okay, young lady, we weren’t all meant to handle the glory that is I.

Its kind of sad, really, that there is only one Raul Felix and there are only so many women I can love. I am the essences of what every woman dreams about in a man: tall, dark, handsome, muscular, impeccable hair, smart, funny, witty, confident and I fuck like a god. But alas, most of them are not worthy. Sorry ladies, but I keep my standards high when alcohol is not running through my veins. When it is, I’m usually too much of a dick head to care about getting laid.

Now don’t get your adorable little red panties in a bunch. While you can’t have me, there are plenty of other men who will take you. I know, I know, it makes you cry and may bring you to the verge of suicide, but please, consider your friends and family; they’ll miss you and may even love the homely you. Just because you can’t have the best, doesn’t mean you can’t settle for the rest.

It’s actually really tough being as dashing as I am. Women always staring at me, wanting me to rip their off clothes and spread their legs open for me to shove in my poon destroyer. They want me to bite down on their lip, slap their ass, and with laser focus, look at them in the eye as I make any male they have been with before obsolete.

Oh yes, it’s a curse really, for they only know the surface me. They don’t know the depths of my mind and soul. The ambitions and dreams that I have. If they did, it would overwhelm them and make their girlie parts so dripping wet that it would ruin their favorite pair of jeans.

Okay, cute girl at the bus stop, I’ll approach you and make your dreams come true.

“Hey, I’m Raul… what’s your name?” I say coyly.

“I have a boyfriend, sorry,” she responds.

I walk away. Some women just can’t appreciate greatness when it appears before them. Oh well, her loss, poor little thing.

~Raul Felix

Want to read more? Read: Shy Girl

Onward to 2013

2012 was a big year of rebuilding myself on a personal level. I got my finances under control and not just that, they are rocking now and I have created a huge financial safety net for myself using the strategies of Dave Ramsey and Ramit Sethi. I deepened my friendships with the people I’ve met here in Israel and have done a pretty decent job keeping in touch with my best friends in the US. I got to play amateur football (yes, American full contacted football) in the Israeli Football League and have had a blast. I’ve explored most of Israel, I rode around the entire country of Italy on a motorcycle for three weeks, and I have visited Petra and Wadi Rum, Jordan. I’ve read a couple dozen books, drank many beers, and have had many insightful and shallow conversations. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but have learned a bit from them.

In my writing, the biggest step I took was creating this blog back in March. Some writers may take such a creation in a half hearted matter, but it was really tough for me to do so. I had no idea what I was going to write about, and truthfully, I still struggle to come up with subject matters. I’m not the most consistent writer yet, I only update two or three times a month, yet, I feel myself improving. I know I’ll get to the point where I produce quality content weekly, twice a week, or maybe more. It just takes time to develop the sort of consistency. I look at the bright side though, as of this writing, I have 22 posts under my belt. That’s 22 more than I had this time last year. A very huge step indeed. I’m in this for the long-haul, I don’t plan to ever quit writing or updating this site. Maybe I’m not posting ten times a month, but I’m fairly certain I’ll be here, still writing away, ten, fifteen, and twenty years from now.

If 2012 was just the beginning for my writing, then 2013 is going to be a year of vast improvements to it and how I approach it. I generally think New Years resolutions are arbitrary and are only set because buying a new calendar demands you to make radical changes in your life. I see them as nothing more than marketing gimmick used by gyms, pyramid schemes, and car dealerships to sell you into buying their bullshit. But, I couldn’t help thinking deeply about what I want to accomplish in this area of my life in the year 2013.

Accountability is an essential element to success. I’ve made many private goals and have accomplished some, but not all. I think lack of accountability is the main factor. I don’t really put it out there and when I do miss my goal, I sit there in silent disgust, but no real consequences are felt. I will put my three simple goals out there for writing. Once I’ve made it public, it’s something I have to accomplish or risk being labeled a wannabe.

1. Four plus posts a month: It will be mandatory for myself to make at least four posts a month. If I make five a month, great, but none of them will roll over. Each month is a fresh month and the same standard will be kept.  To paraphrase a sales saying, “You’re only as good as your last update.”

2. Begin writing my fictional novel: I have a couple of idea’s rolling through my head of novels I intend to write, but haven’t chosen to stick to a single one of them yet. So, in an effort to move forward, I have chosen one and will stick with it until it’s complete. I’m not saying it’s going to be a masterpiece, but the important thing is that I begin it, that I make steady progress with it, and actually, dare I say, finish it.

3. Guest Posts: I’ve noticed that I’ve discovered other peoples blog through guest posts they’ve made. I’m going to start reaching out to the few bloggers I know and offer to do a guest post. Something that will completely written for their blog. I have some idea of who I am going to reach out to and I hope I can deliver some quality content for them and their readers.

Those are the three simple goals I have for myself in writing for 2013. By putting them out there, I intend to put the pressure on my ass to accomplish them without excuses.

~Raul Felix

Like this? Check out: I’d Pee in Her Butt.