I’d just moved into my new accommodation after a last minute extended trip here in Berlin. It was the first time I’d been alone in a while so I sat down and opened Grindr. We all know those kind of nights. I got chatting to a few guys but overall nothing really took my fancy and I was starting to think the evening was going to be a waste. Until this one guy started messaging me. No name, no bio, just cute dark haired boy with dark eyes, pretty, boy next door type. We started chatting and he started throwing out some ideas of what he was looking for. I’m pretty open minded and was excited to hear something different for once in the sea of monotony that is the grindr conversation arena. Firstly he said he was into public fun, that turned me on but also scared me being in a foreign country and not knowing my boundaries etc. He then moved on to role play. I’ve always flirted with the idea of role play but it always makes me a bit nervous, like preparing for an audition or stage performance. He mentioned a script, which I wasn’t keen on. He was a top, and besides being pretty versatile, I was feeling kinda submissive that evening so I went along with what he wanted. He then came up with a semi-stripper role play fantasy, he was master, and he had instructions. No speech was allowed, only hand gestures, and he was completely in control. The exhibitionist in me was rock solid, and so we started developing a plan. He wanted to be the only one to gain pleasure out of the encounter, and i was simply his play thing (obviously this wouldn’t be the case because the whole thing turned me on like gas to a flame), he would cum when he wanted to, and it would be on me. He would then instruct me to leave, covered in his cum, collect my clothes and go. The instructions which would be gesticulated by hand, I had to learn by heart. They were as follows;
1. Take off one piece of clothing.
2. Stretch my body, dance/yoga stretches etc.
3. Touch & pleasure myself.
4. Dance to the music.
5. Close my eyes for 20 seconds.
6. Smell wherever he points to on his body.
7. Taste wherever he points to on his body.
8. Lay down & get prepared for cumshot.
Hand flat: Slow down.
Fist: Show ass.
Thumbs up: Get hard.
Thumbs down: Get soft.
Hands together: Time to leave
I got an uber to his at around midnight. He gave me instructions to his apartment, told me the door would be open and music would be playing ready for the show. I was nervous I would forget the instructions, I hadn’t had long to learn them and they were really fresh in my mind. I kept muddling a few of them in my head. I got to his floor, I was a little out of breath, through nerves and the amount of stairs I had to climb. His door was open and so I went inside. I took my coat & shoes off, and stepped inside his lounge. He was fully dressed sat in a chair touching himself through his shorts. I stood in front of him. He didn’t move for a little bit then he gestured number 4. I felt awkward but that was all part of the act. I danced for him a bit. He gestured number 2. I’d forgotten which one it was so i stood there for a bit trying to recall. I remembered. I started stretching. I bent over and stretched my arms above my head. Each gesture seemed to last forever. He was taking his time taking it all in. He gestured number 1 and I took my hoody off. I did it slowly incase he’d ask me to slow down. After that he gestured for me to dance & stretch again. He gestured number 1 and I took my top off. I danced again. He pulled his dick out and gestured number 5 so I had to close my eyes. It was frustrating but it made me so horny. I opened my eyes. Number 7. He pointed to his armpit. I walked forward and as he leaned toward me, I licked his armpit. Up and down. It was musky, manly. The smell turned me on. He told me to stretch again. Number 1. I took my bottoms off. Number 3. Finally I could play with myself a bit. I was so turned on. I rubbed my dick through my underwear whilst looking him doing the same. The tension was crazy. Fist. I turned around and showed him my ass. Number 2. I stretched over forward and so my ass was spread into his face. I stood back up around and he put thumbs down. I was hard in my underwear and he didn’t want me to be. I stood and looked away from him, concentrating wholeheartedly on trying to go soft. It was so difficult, but it went down a little bit. Number 1. I took off my socks. Number 1. I took off my underwear. I was now completely naked. Number 2. I stretched in front of him, head over my legs. He was jerking off now. He’d taken his dick out of his shorts and was fully jerking. I was rock hard. Number 3. I started jerking off in front of him. He was staring at my dick while sliding his own hand over his. Thumbs down, and so I faced the back and tried to concentrate on going soft again. This time it was more tricky, but I focused and turned back around when my dick had gone down a bit. Number 7. He stood up pulled down his shorts and spread his ass, he pointed to his hole. I leaned forward, on my hands and knees and started to rim him. It was even muskier than the armpits, I felt really like his slave at this point. I slid my tongue in and out of his ass as he groaned. I secretly played with myself while he didn’t notice. He turned around and sat back down. Fist. I turned around on all fours and showed him my ass. He was jerking off much harder now. His dick was dark with a really pink head. Big. Number 2. I bent over and stretched in front of him. He was jerking off frantically and pulling faces like he was edging himself. Number 6. He pointed to his dick. I leant forward and smelled his dick. It turned me on. It was a tease to be so close and not put it in my mouth, and he made me linger there for a good while. It didn’t smell too much, more like saliva because he’d spat on it a little. Number 7. I slid his dick in my mouth, it felt soft and smooth. It slid down my throat so easily, and i could tell he was getting close. I sucked his dick and played with the head in my mouth, my tongue doing circles around it while he moaned. He pulled away after a little bit. Fist. I showed him my ass. He jerked off, and moaned while looking at me on all fours from behind. Number 8. My heart raced. He stood up and I flipped on my back on the floor. He stood over me, over my chest and jerked off hard. I saw saliva coming out of his mouth and he spat it into my face & mouth. I was laid on my back with my mouth open, and he started cumming. He shot all over me, my face, chest, mouth, hair, a lot of cum. It seemed to never end. He kept squeezing his dick to drip every last drop on me. Flicking it onto me, off his fingers. I laid on the floor. He put his hands together. I got up to my feet and walked to find my clothes. I picked them up and walked into his hallway. I could feel the cum still dripping off my beard. I got dressed, smearing most of the cum off my face down my body when I put the tshirt over my head. I left his apartment and shut the door behind me. I slid my shoes on in the hall and walked down the residential stairwell without the lights off. I was too horny. After 2 flights of stairs, I looked for CCTV and couldn’t see anything. It was dark so I pulled my dick out and jerked really hard. It only took about 10 strokes and I came in the hallway up the wall. About 12 shots of cum, I literally exploded. I couldn’t wait til I got home and I figured the cum would dry and no one would notice. I left his building and called an uber. I could smell his ass on my beard and his cum in my moustache. My mind was blown. I’ve had a lot of sexual experiences but this had to be one of the hottest. I figured I could keep it in my head, or I could write it all down, if it’s anywhere nearly as hot to read as it was to participate, then it’s worth sharing. I’ll remember those instructions for a good while, and I’ll definitely interpret gesticulating numbers differently in the future. Next time someone asks me if I have a favourite number, I’ll probably say 8.
I feel a rare sense of relief when I am on the brink of being sacked from a job. I have a serious dislike for authority, and mixed into a cocktail with my anger for mistreatment, injustice, and generally bad organisation or unnecessary wasting of my time, and I’m like a Catherine Wheel at a firework night party. I used to be a total firecracker when I was younger, the kind of child that would stare at you with insolence written across his face, with a hint of disobedience, sarcasm, and nonchalance. The kind of face that would send even the calmest person into a state of irritation. Recently I’ve noticed my anger increasing, similar to how it did when I was a teenager. When my anger rises, and very small things seem to push me over the edge, I tend to know theres a deeper problem somewhere, usually identifying it is a little harder. I spent the last few weeks complaining, and shouting, falling out with family & friends, being generally aggressive and rude to people, and being sick with the flu on top of that, was just an equation for disaster.
After a few drinks one evening, I sat down and spoke to a friend of mine. She played therapist for a few hours, and we came to the conclusion, that I need therapy. This isn’t news to me, I’ve been saying I need therapy from around the age of 16, it’s just something I’ve not taken really seriously until now. We were talking about my online vs real life persona, and how the lines are becoming blurred, very Black Mirror esque. I’ve known this for a long time, but I’m so glued to my phone at all times, that it’s hard to focus on what real life is to me. I recently deleted all of my dating apps and it was a small step in moving slightly away from virtual living. I feel refreshed, and almost socially, and sexually, rejuvenated. Everything that I do online I run myself. I built my website myself, and run everything, from all the admin, features, and accounts, and obviously the content. It’s a heavy workload, and I’ve been working 24/7 for 2 years and haven’t really noticed until now. My attention to Instagram and my website is essentially on tap. I have to be attached to my phone for all hours of the day and night, and it’s exhausting. Often you just plough through it without actually understanding how it’s affecting your mental health, while little by little it’s chipping way at your psyche. I’m constantly posting, and delivering content, and have been doing so for about 5 years and I have a body of work on my Instagram that goes mostly unrecognised. Everyday I’m thinking about what content I’m going to shoot, should I take my camera here, and there, and is my body good enough, do I need to go to the gym, should I be eating better. It’s a never-ending self assessment of the physical state, and it leads one to seeing oneself as a commodity rather than a person. I’ve come to the point of looking at myself as a product. I am a person that does something that people look at, and I’m completely disconnected from that. I remind myself that this is all part of the experiment that I started years ago, but I find myself lost within it. I’m not distinguishing between the two. Who is ‘justsammorris’ and who is Sam?
My friend said I need to disappear somewhere. I need to come offline and go and live in the middle of nowhere for a while and reboot, and I agree. I don’t think I will do that just yet, but for now I’m taking a definite break from IG. I will continue to update my website, but at arms reach.
I know that in the future I will remove everything of myself from the internet, change my name, and it’ll be as if I never existed, but until that day, I’ll muster on through as this crazy ringleader, puppeteering the circus that is my alter-life. After all, the show must go on.
I got back to my hotel room after a really long day of rehearsals. I felt totally drained and mentally exhausted after a day of nonsensical tomfoolery you find on a rehearsal set for a commercial involving large groups of dancers. It all felt so pointless and wasteful, of money, talent, and time. I’d set my heart on ordering room service because I couldn’t face going back out for food, but alas I got back to my room and learned that this hotel didn’t offer room service. Awesome. I put my coat and shoes back on and returned into the cold to go find some dinner. I walked through Manchester City centre, which was a lot colder than London, and somewhat unfamiliar. A few streets away from my hotel I walked past a regular looking homeless guy who was sat on the pavement of a bridge, staring into space. I often feel extreme empathy for those who find themselves on the streets, but as many do, I walk past, often as a loss of what to say or do. I walked past this guy, but felt a sadness pouring from his heart. It was like an unspeakable energy I was drawn to. I kept walking to get some food, and I said to myself, if he is still there when I walk back, I’m going to talk to him, I’m going to talk to him. I’m socially uncomfortable anyway, so I find it difficult to spark up conversation with any sort of stranger. I picked up some food and walked back the way I came. As I approached the bridge I could see him. He looked up at me from afar, and our eyes locked. It felt like my heart skipped a beat. I walked closer toward him, and as I did he started clambering up to his feet. He looked up and I said ‘Are you ok?’ He smiled and said ‘yeah I’m ok.’ I asked, ‘are you sure?’ ‘Yeah, my legs are just going numb in the cold ya know? I’ve been sat here for hours.’ I felt a wave of emotions rush over me. ‘Do you have somewhere to go? Like a hostel or something?’ I asked him. He was standing up now, and I could see his face properly. He had warm eyes, and an innocence about him. ‘Nah, the hostels are £16.50 a night.’ he said. ‘Are there no free shelters or something you can go to? Its so cold.’ ‘No. It has to be specifically minus 4º for us to be allowed free shelter, and even when it was snowing over Christmas they still said that we weren’t allowed.’ I took my wallet and handed him £20. ‘Take this and get yourself a hostel for tonight, I can’t have you sitting out in the cold like this.’ He was overwhelmed with gratitude, the kind of gratitude I’m unfamiliar seeing in my day to day life. ‘Are you sure? Thank you so much. You don’t know how much this means to me. I was sitting here for hours praying someone like you would come along, and I was just about to leave. I can’t believe it, thank you so much.’ He showed me the loose change cup that’d he’d had down all day. His hand was shivering ‘look, all day, and I made 30p. The other guys say I have to ask people, but I can’t face it. They told me to go to a busier area too but I’ve just been sat here because it’s more hidden. I thought eventually someone might come along to me, sent from god or something, and then you arrived. I can’t believe it.’ He then introduced himself to me. His name was Liam. He asked for a hug so I hugged him. He thanked me again and again. ‘How did you end up on the streets?’ I asked. ‘Its been a lot of different things all piling up to be honest’ he said, ‘I couldn’t pay my rent anymore, or look after my son properly. My brother died of a drug overdose, and then my other brother couldn’t cope with his death so committed suicide. I used to have drug problems years ago, but not anymore. I’m totally clean, I don’t even drink.’ I knew he was telling the truth. This man was honest and clear. He was vulnerable but he knew it. ‘How old are you?’ ’33.’ He said. My best friend is the same age, and that small relatable fact just pummelled me straight through the heart. ‘I’m bottom of the food chain mate. A 33 year old man on the streets. You get no help whatsoever’ he said. I knew I needed to help him but I wasn’t sure how. I asked him if he had a phone, it felt like a stupid question, but he did. He had £10 credit on it, and I asked for his number and told him to take mine. He said it was the first time he’d used it or even taken a number. I wanted to know that he had somebody he could call on. Besides everything that someone who is homeless goes through, loneliness can sometimes be the worst. ‘I’m not based in Manchester, but I want to help you. I don’t really know how to, but if you have my number and I have yours, maybe we can start giving it a go. How long have you been on the streets?’ ‘3 months now. I’ve spoken to some guys out here that’ve been out here for 20 years. I don’t want that to be me.’ ‘Its not going to be you.’ I said firmly. ‘I’m a trained chef, and an artist. People have called me a world class artist. I sit here looking at the zombies walking past me like I don’t exist, and I think to myself, what the fuck am I doing?’ He said. ‘Of course, and people just walk straight past and ignore you because it’s the easier option, when becoming homeless could happen to anyone at anytime.’ I said. ‘It really can. I’ve been through so much, and I’ve had addiction problems in my past, but I’m clean now, and I’ve just ended up here because I couldn’t cope.’ We chatted a little more, and I told him to text me whenever. He thanked me again for giving him the hostel money, we hugged and we said goodbye. As he walked off I felt like I was waving a loved one off to war. I’d given him enough to stay warm tonight, but what about tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that? I cried walking back to my hotel. The food that I’d bough had gone cold, but I’d totally lost my appetite. I text him as soon as I got back saying that it was nice to meet him, and that I’d like to help him if I could. I also offered to buy him breakfast in the morning before I caught my train back. He replied quite quickly saying that he hadn’t ‘had a good brekey for months’ and that he’d text me in a bit. I honestly felt at that moment that I’d made a true connection with someone. I’d made a new friend, and in some ways, the instinct that told me not to walk past him was a sign from above. Whether spiritual or not, I felt like in that moment, something about his energy told me to stop. I’m not quite sure how I might help, or if I even can, but I learned a little something about humility today. I broke down the wall between us and those we walk past on the street, and I made a real human connection, and a new friend.
I wrote a contributing piece for Gay Times, you can read by clicking below.
Some days I think I’m a revolutionary. Some days I think I’m a failure. Some days I think I’m a genius, and some days I think I’m a dunce. Some days I yearn for the stage, while some days I hide in my bed. Some days I wish for stardom, and some days I wish for simplicity. Some days I consider myself a front runner, and some days I consider myself a waster. Some days I am proud of those I love, some days I am jealous. Some days I pour with joy and ease, and some days I leak fear and hate. Some days I don’t need to explain myself, some days I answer every unanswered question. Some days I laugh at my missteps, some days I cry. Some days I feel as free as bird, some days I feel I clipped my wings. Some days I think I’m perfect as I am, some days I think there’s so much to change. Some days I love my body, and some days I am sickened by what I see. Some days I want more, some days I want to ruin what I have. Some days I’m my own number one fan, some days I send myself death threats. Some days I’m Sam Morris, and some days I’m Sam Morris.
photo by @anailogico
As I looked down at his face straining to squeeze all of my cock into his mouth, I knew it was over.
I’d been seeing my ex on and off again for a while. We’d be going for dinner and hanging out, and it’d been really sweet, same as usual, tactile and loving. Same conversations, same amnesia of the issues we'd faced before.
We hadn’t had sex for over two years, so the ultimate test for our relationship surviving a reprise was to see if the sex was still alive, but unfortunately it was served up as something a little less than breathing. We always used to have the most amazing, passionate sex. He’s pretty hung and he would fuck me really deep & good. We chemically connected and our scents intertwined to create a cacophony of senses. Our sex was wild. We would roll around for hours covered in oil, fucking over and over again. It was mind blowing, and so regardless of our others issues, I could always count on bedroom time to save the day.
However, the reprise was not what it used to be. Our connection was off. Our kissing was disjointed, and every time I looked into his face while he was fucking me I saw the crying mess on FaceTime that repeatedly broke my heart. As he sucked my dick I looked at his face and felt weird. My dick went from hard to totally soft in about 10 seconds, while in his mouth, and it felt out like a noodle onto a plate. It was not cute, at all. I urged him to just fuck me, as he still had his hard on, and it would let me escape the mortification of what just happened. We fucked, it was alright, the bed was creaking like crazy which just added to the awkwardness of the moment, and instead of being in a romantic sequel, I found myself in a situation comedy.
The following morning we had coffee together, and then he left. With a kiss on the lips, and a close of the door, I’d found peace in knowing that it was over. After 3 years of non stop drama, extreme thoughts of sadness and love, heartache and pure passion, it was finally over. I was ready and able to finally walk away from something that had changed my life forever. I had been given the signs that I needed. I finally understood what closure meant, and how when it is delivered to you, you can’t even question it, it’s just apparent, it’s there, and it’s visible. I was free, finally. It was just me again.
The boy was too beautiful, I couldn’t possibly approach him. Statuesque like an Adonis. The height of Michelangelo’s David. The face of a GQ model. He appeared alone, just dancing with his girl friend. There was an innocent fear in his eyes, at least that’s what I interpreted it as. Someone who didn’t want to be approached, while also seemingly lonely. I wondered if the ugliest guy in the bar had the a lot in common with the most beautiful. They were both unapproachable for being out of somebody’s league. I never knew where I fit in, I was probably somewhere in the middle, but the hierarchies of image in the gay community has always fascinated me, so I’ve always pitched below and above. Sometimes I will fuck the guy who is seemingly less attractive than me, and sometimes I will fuck the guy who is more so. I feel socially inept when I walk past this boy. His flowing hair and chiselled face intimidated me, probably like most people in the club. I imagined what I’d say to him. I thought about approaching him, telling him how beautiful I thought he was, asking how his night was going, but I couldn’t. The fear of inadequacy and rejection stopped me. He was out of my league. The league I’d built for myself was inadequate. I felt like a small, average looking man, with awkward growing facial hair, oddly shaped features, sporting a bad hair day. I listened to the negative opinion of myself inside my head and I left the bar. I walked out of the club and felt sad. I wondered if he’d be ignored all night for the same reason I ignored him, simply because of his beauty, or maybe I was being naive to the confidence of other gay men.
If any one of us goes to the club alone, doesn’t meet anyone new, and goes home alone, nothing separates us. If you’re not approached because of your image, in a good or bad light, it’s all the same.
On apps we’re all brave, but in the club we’re all cowards. On an app, you’re a dick with a face attached, in a club you’re a face, with nothing attached.
Should we speak to the guy who catches our eye, no matter how much we judge him on face value? How long should the eye contact linger before you know he’s worth speaking to? At what point do we stop waiting for someone else to make the first move?
I think it’s time we all made the decision to be braver. To step up to the guy we fancy and say, ‘hi, how are you, you look really nice tonight’ and see what happens. I really doubt it would end badly. We’re all waiting for that guy we like to come over and reassure our self esteem with a simple ‘hello’, but we’re all too scared to be that guy. Until we participate ourselves, we’ll never see a change. I guess, now, I just need to tell myself that a few times.
I was up all night again with painful stomach cramps. They seem to let off in the early hours of the morning to give me some sleep time, thankfully. However I’ve woken up feeling very foggy and low. General depressed feelings of uncertainties, anxiety about my place in the world, and my future. Often I can control these feelings to a suppressed level, but when I feel low, it gives them the power to fight me and come out on top. I have a heavy depressed feeling resting on my forehead pushing my eyebrows down into a frown. I have a coffee, it helps disperse the feeling of unease a little. I go on Instagram and see others doing well, and looking happy. It makes me feel worse. I go to Twitter and see current politics and terror attacks, and it makes me feel worse. Everything can be a trigger when you suffer with these mental spurts of ill health. I struggle to escape it until it’s lifted. Sometimes you can just feel it lift, giving you a small relief. Other times it’s a slow ride out of it, like the tired feeling your feet get after walking on sand for a long time. I know that what I’m doing is for the greater good, and I know that I will look back and be proud of what I did, but in this freeze-frame it’s hard to see it like that. I need to push myself, be pro-active, and work harder. I know that if I didn’t have so many issues with self esteem, confidence, anxiety, and depression, then I would’ve been more successful a long time ago, but such is life. We are all dealt our cards and we have to play the game. I have a lot to be grateful for, and I try to list them to myself. It helps. Just writing this small memoir over my breakfast of super buttery crumpets and a banana is therapy in itself. It lifts the darkness a small amount, but anxiety is like being in a small room with a mosquito, it may not always be buzzing, or biting you, sometimes you can’t even see it, but you know it’s there, hiding somewhere, and it’s going to get you when you least expect it.
Bullying is not ok. Whether it’s online, or offline. Playground, or in the workplace. Bullying can be aggressive or passive aggressive. It can be subtle or it can be a punch in the face. The sort I encountered as a child was a mixture of the two, I was jibed at, pushed and shoved, called names, and bitched about. I’ve always been fairly hot headed so it didn’t bother to an extreme extent. The sort of bullying thats transcended into my adult life has ventured into the online arena, usually by and from what I would consider my peers. I always fairly subtle, like a subtweet, a like or a favourite of a targeted tweet or post. It subtle but it’s directed at you, whether they wanted you to see it or not, it was directed at you via means of a cloudy communication, and it was probably hate that they wanted to get off their chest in a moment of jealousy and mania. I’ve had this sort of treatment from large LGBT figures, to just your random gay guy. I’ve had people feel the need to just tear me down of an afternoon. Sometimes I think I’m an easy target because I’m so open online. I’m the easiest for someone to unload their own bullshit onto. I take my clothes off so it’s easy to brandish me a whore. I’m opinionated with a brain, so it’s easy to brandish me as a controversial fire starter. But luckily I can see through all of this. It hurts when someone you respect online decides to randomly line you up in front of the firing squad, but equally, it immediately makes me lose all the respect that I did have for them.
The only thing I choose to do now, as an adult, is call people out on it. For the sake of the child that was too scared to say anything, and for the sake of all the people who follow me who may also be too scared to say something to their bullies.
Usually they will somehow make you seem like you’re the one with the problem, or you’re trying to start trouble, or that you’re weird. Well, if it’s weird to call out your bullies for their bad behaviour, then stay weird.
Bullying is never ok, no matter what package it comes in or how disguised it is. Let’s all be a little nicer. Spread joy, spread love. Elevate other LGBT people, and you in turn will be elevated yourself.
It’s very easy to tear someone down, but it’s not so easy to stand up for others, and yourself.
writing my thoughts straight from my head in london town