I’m near the end of a twelve-days-in-a-row with business university and work. I get up every morning before the sun rises, and get back home every evening after the sun has set. Imagine this: this is life?

The apartment I shared with bromance has been sold, we are still arguing about things to be shared or split and so on for ever and ever. He is such a jerk to be honest. I got my first F on a course, which only means I will have to take the test again at some point this semester, a true inconvenience as the mid-terms usually are hell as it is without extra tests.. I’ve been working too much, sleeping to little. Working too much, studying to little.

And. I can’t say I’m a fan of the President-elect. I’ve written a short story about it. And I’ve been writing on a short story about bromance. Too good not to. To honest, not to, too true not to tell it like it was.

I’m gonna miss summer.

The semester at the University started this week. 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.

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.

I’m in such a weird place right now. Bromance and I ended things quite badly. Which is awful – since we work together we have to keep appearances professional and correct. Also we both have an internship at the same company and will write two different papers on it, together. I mean, I’m literally heartbroken, and then we have to stay nice to each other (which is a good thing honestly), but then again.. He buys me dinner, he wants me to spend the night, he stays close, he gets physical and I’m devastated he doesn’t want more. But also it’s good. It’s honest. I’m not going to leave my man, and bromance will never get out of the closet. An affair, or more, would be too hard for us to handle. Just the fact that people started asking about us made him freak out. Hell it even makes ME freak out when people ask about us. I’m chasing something I can’t get and I know it.

Then again. We work really well together, on a professional level. That could be enough. It’s just that feeling of “how can it be wrong when it feels so right”. On a private level I’m not sure that I can get over the fact that when we started getting really close and intimate he freaked out and said it’s wrong to be gay. Talk about a knife in the back. In the heart. I most likely will never trust this man again. But then he puts his hand on my thigh and I forget everything. Puts slices of orange in my mouth, ask me if it’s sweet, and when i reply “yes” he wants the slice back from my mouth. It’s a weird place. When I spend the night he makes me wear his underwear: which would be fine if we were 13 years of age, but as adults? Why the hell does he want my dick print in his underwear? Is this the man I’m starting a company with?

On the bright side my man and I are in a really good place right now.

I did this (get-to-know-me, one truth for each like) on Twitter: got some likes. If you like it some more, I’ll add more confessions…

  1. My entire well being is hung up on others.
  2. I have had sex on stage.
  3. Out of all that I’ve had sex with only 2,75% are women, but I still have the right to call my self bisexual.
  4. They say that the first million is the hardest (starting from nothing). They are mistaken. I found the third to be the hardest.
  5. Eight years and six months ago I was on social well fare, and literally had nothing at all.
  6. I’ve never had sex on a train. But I’ve have had sex with colleagues.
  7. I’m completely wild with the colour yellow.
  8. I have a social security number in three countries.
  9. This year (2015), I’ve had sex with the total amount of two people.
  10. I’ve never tried massage. I got a gift card once for a massage but never dared to go. I’m afraid of someone touching me like that. For real.
  11. There are things I wouldn’t even tell my best friend.
  12. I’m meticulous enough to clean with a toothbrush and cotton wads, just to make sure that the tiniest nooks get clean too.
  13. I have two finished novels in a drawer. So to speak. And several unfinished ones.
  14. On my best exhibition I sold over 50% of the paintings. On the weakest one I only sold one item.
  15. This year (2015) like last year, I make more money on my origami than on my literary work.
  16. I don’t have a driving license, never even drove anything.
  17. My cock is probably smaller than your expectations on it.
  18. Have low confidence. Bad self esteem. I listen more to all the negative stuff you say than the good things.
  19. There are crushes that still, after ten years, are texting me about getting it on again, so probably I AM that good, or my cock is THAT BIG. For ever texting. Forever.
  20. I have four different credit cards. In four different banks.
  21. Just once I’ve voted for the same party in municipality, region and government. Just once. The feminist party that was. I usually vote for one party on each level.
  22. I’m not a morning person. But I can fake it.
  23. I say I love to tan naked. Number of times I’ve been to the nude beach 2015: zero. Number of times to the beach at all to tan: perhaps 7. Number of times to go swimming: probably 7 too.
  24. I’ve written more books than my own.
  25. I eat too little.
  26. I’m so afraid to fail. But how long will one last when working 50%, studying double courses at school (200%), I barely have time to my self? (But I want this so bad!)
  27. I’ve rectified number 6 now LOL
  28. I think it’s ok to paint your old fish bone patterned wooden floor.
  29. My mind is filled with all the things I never said.
  30. I’m a fluent speaker in four languages: Swedish, Dutch, Danish and English. Also know my way around a few more: German, Norwegian, French, Italian, Spanish. But I don’t know a single word in my mothers family’s native languages [meänkiele & romani].

This year is the worst. I wanted to work at a certain place during summer, didn’t get to do that. So I worked where I’ve always worked – which is good money so no complaints more that that it would have been nice to work somewhere that has to with my new education to do.

My boyfriend and I are still in a shitty place. My bromance is having a heterosexual heart and I have fallen in love. I’m tired of commuting from home, to university, to work, to university, between two homes with two men that don’t bother to be nice to me any longer. Because I’m down. Who the fuck will hire me? I’m old. I’m not bright. I’m nothing.

And my mother passed away. Suddenly. I talked to her on the phone the day before and was all like “Sure I’ll pop around for a coffee tomorrow, talk later” and then she died in her sleep. Which is a good way to go actually: no hospital scenery (I hate those), no pain, no nothing. Just peaceful. (Ok, here both men actually pulled themselves together and were very nice and caring).

And now. I just want to sell everything and move. Do nothing. Figure out who me be so to speak. Also I need comfort sex. And sun. Winter is coming.

Business University is like this. I meet a never ending stream of companies, and all I think is “I see what you did there”.. How will I ever work in this industry? On the down side: it’s all bullshit, and I couldn’t care less about your management control systems, return on this and that since you don’t really care about the employees nor the environment. On the up side: I can change all that. It’s basically up to me to save the world LOL.

Probably I’ll never have to. No one will employ me. Who wants to hire a fool with his cock all over the internet? Please tell me I’m wrong.

Also down: fighting with boyfriend. Also up: things going well with bromance.

It was a cold summer. A short summer. Didn’t go to the beach even once this year. Didn’t tan, didn’t swim. Sure, I had that one week off, but mostly I had to work every day. And now: back at the university. Still confused over what I want to do with my life. Still confused over bromance and boyfriend.

My self esteem is low. My confidence is gone. I hate my looks. I’m not satisfied with anything. I just want to buy a ticket out of here, go somewhere. Alone. Restore myself. Reboot my life. Redo life. Start over. Short stories available on Amazon’s Kindle shortly. That’s the up side.

People looking at you, holding up your nude pics. Shaking their heads. That. Is. What life feels like. Where ever you go, there’s some one ready to say “oh hey your dick is everywhere on the internet”. And so what if it is? It doesn’t mean I get laid more, it doesn’t mean I sleep around. It doesn’t even sell more of my books or my art.

It’s just my sexuality. To show. To those that wish to see. Others can just ignore it’s out there. To those that say something I just go “oh yeah, YOU LIKED it?” or “Ah, to big to stay inside of my pants you know…”.

Things with bromance escalated quickly. We’ve moved in together. Hence boyfriend number one is not as happy as before, but he’s decided to stay. Business university is still hard as fuck.

People tell me this is my mid life crisis, but I’m not certain. I know what I want to do, I know who I want to do. Not so much of a crisis there. Yet. I’m just waiting for the zombie apocalypse to start. Any day now. Any day. Two lovers, two apartments, money, feeling ok about life. This can’t be good. It’s just too good. I want it all: please let me have it.

I need to get my hands on this book.

I mean. I have a super solution going in my life. I have one boyfriend and living in a flat we own in Malmö. And I have a bromance and living together with him too, in a flat we own. In another town.

They both like me. They perhaps even both LOVE me. Still I feel insecure. Unsafe. Unwanted. Unloved. Perhaps I wrote this book. I can get boys to like me, but how do I make them stay and love me, sex me up night and day? How the hell do I do that?

Ages ago someone told me one gets wiser with age. One gets more insight and is less confused. Still waiting for that to happen.

I think I might still be confusing love and sex. (Also see post 87). Or perhaps is it that I just don’t know what I want any more. Do I even want more?

Attending and following and most of all: learning at the Business University is more difficult than I expected. It’s hard. It’s remote from where I live. The commuting is killing me. So. A lot of hard work but I’m managing. Spent some nights at the bromance dorm room. The results from the midterm exams are all ok or above “just good”.

Overall confused since I wonder, what is love, what is sex, what is life all about. I’m more physically close to my bromance than my boyfriend. It’s nothing sexual, but it is indeed emotional. I’m flirting with the ladies, with the boys, with the girls, with colleagues, with fellow students, and this stupid test says I’m a fluid heterosexual..

I seriously have a bromance going at University. It’s serious shit and I’m afraid. At the same time as I’m afraid to even touch him he touches me all the time, everywhere. And all I want is for him to fuck my brains out. Use and own my ass, passionate and deep, seeding me.

I never want those things so I must be really infatuated. I never fall in love but apparently I’ve fallen hard.

I’ve had a serial of incidents at university already. I had quite forgotten how straight young men act in group. And.. let’s just say.. How they want to fuck your brains out when left alone with you. One of them is very grabby feely touchy, hands on in class. Another is really dropping his jaws whenever he realizes how big my cock is. Literary the first day he must have recognized me from online, almost fell backwards stumbling on things when realizing he recognized me from somewhere, and that amazing look in his eyes when realizing from where. I love it. It was very sweet.

But it’s also hard. Studying is hard. And when people start to google you and find your cock all over the interwebz, can be hard too.

 

Photography like this saved my life. True story. Some of us actually feel better when feeling loved for a simple thing like getting attention and love from you guys and gurls for our photos on tumblr and other communities.

I really love that others love to show cock, and love that others are wanting to see mine. The other day I got a message on Facebook from a dude that found me when he googled Big Swedish Cock. That blew my mind. Made me so happy. Just amazing. Love you all. Please read my story on my tumblr if you want. That makes me happy too. And please inbox me :D

 

I’m back at the university, studying. I’m serious about it, but I’ve also had some time to think about my fellow class mates sizes. It’s a bit shallow I know, but size is a major turn on for me.

Unfortunately there are no men’s rooms at the university, all the restrooms are unisex, and that means no urinals and no where to see or show off the goods. But looking at bulges is fun too. And I’ve caught a few people staring at my crotch which is also nice ^^

I hela mitt liv har jag kämpat mot/med min självbild. Det är inte manligt att vara så smal som jag varit (mest varit faktiskt), slank, femme. Det är bara inte manligt över huvud taget. En ska vara muskulös, kraftig, ha bra hårkvalitet (LOL vilka män har egentligen det?). En ska vara en massa saker bara för att ens bli accepterad som man av andra män.

Till och med små ord gör ont. Kanske mest ont av allt faktiskt. Snällhetskommentarer som “du är så smal, du är en S va, du är så DU, varken pojkig eller tjejig” alltså herrejävlarsskit vad de där orden tar sig in under min hud och skadar mig på djupet. Jag vill bara bli tilltalad som ALLA NI ANDRA, som alla ni andra män.

Men jag kommer aldrig få den perfekta manliga kropp som vi matas med i media, i teve, i reklam eller som går på catwalken i Milano.

Jag vill slippa ha ett liv där allt hela tiden är en kamp mot min spegelbild. Jag vill verkligen slippa kämpa med spegelbilden, men det är så svårt. Alla bara “skärp dig” men hur lätt är det?

Det enda jag vet är att jag inte kan låta spegelbilden vinna.

 

The other day, I woke up so horny, and had a huge erection, silly huge.

Then I got online, and a handsome stranger seemed nice, but when I stated that I needed a good pounding this morning he said “such a waste of huge cock”.

Men! Why do they keep on stating such stupid things? Totally put me in a bad mood.

 

All my life I’ve struggled with my self image. It’s not manly to be thin like I am (mostly was perhaps), slender, femme. It’s not manly at all. You need to be muscular, strong built, have good hair (LOL like how many men are bald?). You need to be a lot of things just to be accepted by other men as a male.

Even small words hurt. Assumed nice remarks like “you’re so thin, you’re a size S right, you are so YOU, not masc or femme” OMG the words that penetrate me and has hurt me so deep.

So I will never have the perfect male body that we see in media, on television shows, in advertising or walking down the catwalk.

I don’t want my life to be a constant struggle with the reflection in my mirror. I don’t  want that, but it’s so hard. People go all “man up” and I don’t even know how the fuck to do that?!

All I know is I can’t let the mirror image win.

All my life I’ve struggled with my self image. It’s not manly to be thin like I am (mostly was perhaps), slender, femme. It’s not manly at all. You need to be muscular, strong built, have good hair (LOL like how many men are bald?). You need to be a lot of things just to be accepted by other men as a male.

Even small words hurt. Assumed nice remarks like “you’re so thin, you’re a size S right, you are so YOU, not masc or femme” OMG the words that penetrate me and has hurt me so deep. I just wanted to be LIKE YOU ALL, like all you other men.

So I will never have the perfect male body that we see in media, on television shows, in advertising or walking down the catwalk.

I don’t want my life to be a constant struggle with the reflection in my mirror. I don’t  want that, but it’s so hard. People go all “man up” and I don’t even know how the fuck to do that?!

All I know is I can’t let the mirror image win.

 

It WILL be summer again. It just has to be. At the moment it’s spring, which is nice. Sadly Sweden is just too cold for nudity in winter/early spring/late fall, so summer can never arrive too early (or leave too late).

Actually it hardly was any winter this year, according to the meteorologists winter arrived here in Malmö in the end of January after a long and mild autumn, and then spring started in the beginning of February, and has also been long and tempered.

Still would be very nice to hang out naked with these men. I guess that’s me on the left side trying to hide a boner.

Det är sällan någon större debatt om den manliga kroppen på samma sätt som om kvinnans kropp.

Ändå finns allt där, skammen, förväntningarna, det enda en vill är att se bra ut naken.

Det är klarlagt på många områden att kapitalismen tjänar på att kvinnokroppen hela tiden ses som ett projekt som måste investeras i. Det tycker jag gäller även för den manliga kroppen. Allt som talar om att manskroppen skulle vara slapp, dallrig, för svag, för hårig, för ohårig, för otränad, ha för ful penis, det är sånt som ses ned på. Precis på samma sätt som det alltså ses ned på kvinnans kropp. Hår i en kvinnoarmhåla? Usch fy. En man med skrumpen pillefjong? Nej tack. Det vill kapitalismen inte ha. Är du man ska du vara stark som en krigare, och får gärna se ut som Spartacus, du får fortfarande vara hårigare än en kvinna, men helst inte för hårig.

Den mänskliga kroppen, är alltså ett objekt som vi hela tiden måste investera i. Nu tänker ni, men björnar är ju håriga och gosiga, och ja, kanske det, men en del av dem trimmar håret precis som alla oss andra – de tränar och står i, för det måste en ju – vi har fallit för tron om att vi hela tiden ska gå och bära shape-up-kalsonger, dricka lite mindre på grund av onödiga kalorier, som använder hårfärg, manikyr, pedikyr, som på allvar tror att en del plagg ger en slimmande effekt pga dess mönster. Kan vi inte shoppa oss snyggare? Lägga oss lite, bara lite, under kniven, för att nå självbilden av hur en ska/bör se ut på riktigt? Vem tjänar på det? Din kropp eller kapitalet? Även mäns kroppar drivs till konsumtionshets.

Ju fler kvinnor som bryter sig fria, desto fler män faller. Hur ska kapitalismen annars fortsätta tjäna pengar på våra kroppar? Ser du inte ut som Zlatan eller Beckham? Det räcker inte längre att du har pengar och makt för att få fotomodeller att flockas kring din dyra bil. Ju fler kvinnor som förstår att vi indoktrineras i att tänka så här och bryter mot det, desto hårdare arbetar företagen för att även männen ska indoktrineras i att tro att en måste investera i sina kroppar. För desto mer vi investerar i våra kroppar, desto mer stödjer vi också kapitalismen och klart vi måste stödja företagen, tänk bara på våra pensionspengar som ju är på börsen!

Valfriheten finns inte längre, eftersom att normerna och strukturerna består av ett självbevarande system som är utformat för att sälja och konsumera allt som kan säljas och konsumeras, dvs oss. Snart har vi män det som kvinnorna: den manliga kroppen är äcklig och behöver konstant förändras medan mannen själv lider i det tysta med konstant kronisk smärta, fysisk såväl mental. Din kuk är förresten inte stor nog. Den behöver nog en operation.

There’s rarely any debate on the male body in the same way as on the female body. Yet it’s all there, the shame, the expectations, the only thing you want is to look good naked.

It’s clear that in many areas, capitalism makes it earnings from the female body being an object that you constantly need to invest in. I think this goes for the male body too. Everything that concerns the male body as weak, out of shape, too hairy, not enough hairy, too fat, having an ugly penis – all that is frowned upon. Just like so much concerning the female body is frowned upon. Hairy female armpit? Goodness me, unheard of. A man with a shrunken ugly dick? No thanks, capitalism is not interested. If you’re a male you must be strong as a warrior, it’s good if your looks are those of Spartacus, you may be hairier than a woman, but please, not too much hair.

The human body, it’s an object that we are learned to always invest in. Now you’re thinking of those lovely bears and bear cubs that you just want to hug. And yes. Maybe so, but some of them trim their body hair not to look bad, and they exercise just like the rest of us. We must believe that those crotch-lifting undies are doing wonders, must drink less since alcohol is empty calories, eat less, work out harder, color our hair, get manicures, pedicures, and we seriously believe that a certain pattern on a piece of fashion can have a slimming effect/look. Can’t we just shop our selves more beautiful? Get under the knife, just a little, just so that we can reach the desired self image? Who makes money on this? Your body or capitalism? Even men’s bodies are now driven to shopaholic behavior.

The more women that break free, the more men fall. How else would capitalism keep earning money on our bodies? You don’t look like Beckham or Ibrahimovic? It’s no longer enough that you have money and power to get the bikini models to hang around your expensive car. The more women that understand that we are indoctrinated into thinking like this and oppose them selfs to it, the harder the companies work to get men indoctrinated to believe that they have to invest in their bodies. Because the more we invest in our ugly bodies, the more we are supporting capitalism as a system. And of course we have to support it, even our retirement fundings are on the stock market these days. 

There’s no longer a free choice, since the norm and structure of it all is self preserving and is designed to sell and consume everything that can be sold and consumed, that means us. Soon men will have it like the women always have had it, the male body is disgusting and ugly and in constant need of change, while the man himself is suffering both mentally and bodily from these ideas. Besides that, your cock isn’t big enough. It probably need some kind of surgery.

 

 

When I really want something and things aren’t exactly going my way, I do this. I’m very used to always getting what I want. Men are weak for well dressed well mannered, well hung men.

The downside of this is that I don’t get all the things I need to get done, done. I feel like I should have been out with my next short story bundle already, new ebooks – new covers and extra material – new art work, and so on. The upside of it is that I have gotten my cock out a lot, and I have met a lot of hot men.

I need to get to work, but I’m busy getting blown, so you could say I’m busy doing nothing at all, and if there were money in it I’d be rich.

 

So far I’ve been comfortable with my nudity. Both at home, by the sea, at the beach, in the sauna, at the gym, where ever, and in my art.

So far it has been hell trying to get the new art published. The response is always fair and good, most seem to like the ideas, the execution and the artwork in it self. Is collages a hard thing to promote? Are the replies nice and friendly, and untrue?

On the other hand. I’ve been offered to strip in front of the camera for two magazines so far. I might do that instead. It’s easier?

Jag försöker!

Ibland är det svårt att vara en man: lätt hamnar en i nån macho skit som jag inte gillar, eller något sexistiskt skit som jag inte heller kan ta. Hålla på att trakassera män och kvinnor? Vad fan är det med det? VARFÖR ska män hålla på så där (annat än att va rövhattar?).

Ibland är det lätt. Att tillåta alla sorters maskulinitet och att lära känna sin inre kvinnlighet, stå emot och stå upp emot de mer dumma männen som går runt och säger seismiska saker om tjejer eller män eller queers eller transsexuella eller asexuella.

Ibland är det svårt. Att se ett par läckra byxor och pröva dem på, bara för att se att en ser löjeväckande ut i dem, när försäljaren frågar “är allt det där du” och ler åt din bula. Eller när du faktiskt tror att en större storlek gör dig till mer av en man.

Ibland är det lätt. Som när nån snubbe säger till dig att han vill knulla din lilla söta röv bakifrån, och eftersom du inte är sugen så säger du till honom att du har en större kuk och därför är det inte mer än rätt att du knullar honom även om du eventuellt riskerar att förstöra hans röv på grund av din storlek. 

Att va en man är en miljon saker. Och fler. Var inte en rövhatt.

Ibland är jag hård, kåt, visar upp kuken online.

Ibland är jag lätt, naken och stolt.

Ibland, JAG ÄR EN MAN.

 

 

For years I confused sex and love. I thought that the more sex you had, the more you were loved. I thought that I would be loved more, if I just had endless sex. But it doesn’t really work like that.

I never felt like that about my books or my art. If you don’t like it, that’s not the same as not liking me.

For years I didn’t love my self. Sex helped a bit. People liking my art, my texts, my cock, it did help. It still does help. Sometimes. Not every time I’m feeling down. But sometimes.

Anyways, husbands to be; I don’t know how to love you.