George Rostov

 
“Some never notice me in the Gents toilet. Some never see me, in the far corner, seemingly looking innocently at the dirty floor as I wait for the first golden drops to dribble out. Some never realise what I’m in there for, what I’m there for every day, each morning, patiently waiting for the right opportunity. Some never suspect; but others, mostly married, mostly old, they know. They know there’s a small hole drilled through the wooden partitions dividing the third and fourth cubicles, and that on the walls of the second, the telephone numbers of lonely transvestites and the sordid fantasies of middle-aged husbands are scrawled in biro. They know why the toothless pensioners furtively peer around, seemingly taking forever to dry their hands beneath the meek waft of air from the temperamental drier, it’s stiff circular button covered in a sticker, the design long since rubbed away, leaving only peeling white remains. They know the times of day when the cleaner arrives, her mop barging through the puddles of piss like a sword cutting through flesh, the toilet emptying out as she reloads the smashed-up paper dispensers, her hair greasy, her cheeks plump, swollen like an over-ripe fruit and her eyes vacant, dumb like that of a cow’s led to the slaughterhouse. 
They know what goes on....”
George Rostov’s blog is now online, dribbling with gratuitous references to fisting, faggotry and felching, and positively oozing with lewdness and filth (not to mention to Herpes and Hep C). Feel free to pour scorn and hate upon his immaculately tonsured head, and report him forthwith to the authorities.
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(no subject)

This was something I wrote a few months ago, for someone I cared for/still care for very much.

THIS IS THE CLASSIC "WRONG TIMING" CASE
You are not a bad person and I cannot hate you. You are what I want, but I won't have you if I can't have all of you. It's either we are or we aren't. Nothing in between. You are my friend and I want it to stay that way, no matter what happens. You are in my life and I want you to stay there, but right now you are not at the place where I want you to be. Hovering in a gray area, lines get blurred and I was beginning to lose my grasp on what I can and cannot do and hope and ask for. I don't want you to hurt me and I don't want to hurt you, so for the moment, let's just stick to a place where we know where we stand. Fix whatever you have to get fixed, and I'll find whatever I have to find.

I don't know what the future holds. I'll only know what's supposed to happen when it does happen. I do not have a crystal ball, I do not have all the answers - I only have this life to live and this time around I need to live it for me. Figuratively, my heart is in a safe that you keep in your basement. It's yours if you want it, but you won't be able to open that safe until I let you. And no, I can't let you. Not right now. Because you don't know what you want.

You and me, we are a chapter in my book that I do not want to add a note of finality to. We are a chapter in my book that I do not want to close for good; instead, merely bookmark. When the time is right, I'll go back to our chapter & the story will be allowed to play out, whether it be through the eyes of just friends or through the eyes of lovers, the way it was meant to be played out.

But the chapter had to be closed, in the end, because he wasn't the person I thought (and really wanted to believe) he was. Oh well. Life goes on.