Being Hinksch

I remember this vividly, as if it happened yesterday. And if you know me well, you know what a big deal this is: my memory sucks. But I guess this made a mark on me. And it's not even a long story, either. It happened around 15-20 years ago, when I had just come out of the closet and started to explore my life as an early 20's gay man. I had friend, who for the purpose of telling the story, I will call G. G had a friend called W. One day, W told G that he, W, was into me, and his dream would be to kiss me and to have sex with me. My friend G then answered something along the lines of: you know this is the easiest dream to achieve, right? Bernardo is super easy. He'll sleep with anyone. It was true, and it is still true to this day. But I think that the thing about it that made a mark on me is what it meant to me, and what it still means to me today. I imagine many people would be mortified to have someone talk about them like this, they would consider it something to be ash...

It happened again. Someone came to Brighton, again, and I never knew about it until they had already been gone. Which, on its own, is not really an issue. I don't expect that every person from my social media who comes to Brighton will write me. The issue is that, this person, like others before, said many times that they would love to come to Brighton to see me. Or some variation of that: "next time I am in Brighton I will definitely let you know" is another classic. But then they come and go, and they never let me know. And it's not only Brighton. London is just an hour from here, and I made it clear to people that it would be easy for me to get to London if they were there. They seem excited about it. And then, surprise surprise: I find out they are or were in London and I never heard a word about it. This is not the first time - hence what I meant by it happened again. And, once again, I am feeling sad and unappreciated because of it. I tried pretending it didn...

I met them both around the same time but at different places, despite the fact they know each other. One had a moustache, the other had a beard. I believe moustache was the person who made me start paying attention to moustaches: he was incredibly handsome and sexy, and I was instantly into him. Beard, on the other hand, was handsome enough to catch my attention, but at the time I just thought he was a good looking bear and I don't feel like I wanted anything else. Then things started to change the more I got to know them better. Moustache was a bit of an ass to me when we first met, and pretty much any time I saw him afterwards. To the point where I would be surprised when he was not rude to me. No, he wasn't nice, he just was not rude - and that was enough to make me surprised.  Beard, on the other hand, was always super nice and lovely, every single time we saw each other. He was interested in me as a person, interested in my life and my friends. He was nice to me in person,...

The other day I looked at myself in the mirror, while I was changing to go to the supermarket, and I thought to myself: oh, I feel sexy today. I know, that might sound normal, given the kind of stuff I post online. But this is not something that happens constantly. I have moments of self confidence and I have moments of self consciousness. I like to think they are roughly 50/50. On this particular occasion, self confidence won. Then, on my way to the supermarket, I got to talk to two friends I am very into, but they are not into me. And I was very clearly reminded by the universe that they are not into me. Almost as if the universe was trying to slap me in the face, punishing me for feeling good about myself. A metaphorical voice whispered in my ear something like "this is what you deserve for your vanity. I am here to remind you that you are not good enough". It make me feel sad. Not that some people are not attracted to me, this is something that I have learned to live with...

Here I am, staring at my book on display at online stores, and I can still barely believe it is real. I think it hasn't hit me yet. But, slowly, I am realising that I wrote and published a book. And please forgive me for this moment of self indulgence, but what a fucking amazing achievement! I write since forever. It is my way of dealing with and organising my thoughts and feelings. I had several blogs since I became an adult, some of them public, some of them secret. I put things in writing to make sense of them, and sometimes to vent all my emotions in order to stop me from hurting someone in real life. And then one day I started writing fiction as well. The first stories were not related to my life, and that took me some places. Then I decided to write things that actually happened to me, which I thought were funny and would make people laugh. I put those stories in a blog and told my friends to read them, and they loved them. From there it came the idea of putting it in a book....

This is the about me text I have on my scruff profile... Long text, please bear with 🐻 I have a dry/sassy/sarcastic sense of humour, but I like to think I'm a nice guy. My core values are to be kind, helpful and grateful. If you defend any form of hate, prejudice or if you call yourself anti-woke, don't even bother writing me. And if I need to ask for a face pic, we are already off to a bad start 🤷 I am officially a top, but I'm very liberal with my bum. I am also very visual, so I'm always happy to receive videos and pictures - and to share mine. Just keep in mind that I'm interested in more than body parts - both for a chat and in person. I am excessively into cuddles and exploring all senses, and I truly believe there's much much more than just genitals and penetration 😏 Besides, sex for me is a plus, not the main goal. Sometimes I like some NSA fun, but most of the time I am looking for something more. The best way to describe me would be a demisexual who...