APRIL AND AUTOPILOT

Verbose pieces that could be one big tweet

This is letter 4, April 2026, from Willian Lansten and my reply. Willian is a young friend, an actor, and a QUEER cis male, who lives in Brazil. It is published here with his permission. He writes for Substack in Portuguese, and it has been translated into English.

Willian, now 30 years old, inadvertently became a friend, maybe 5+ years ago, after he found me on Google while researching a play he was writing about gay relationships a333nd love. He “fell in love” with Gregory (RIP) and me after finding my writing online! He claims to have read everything I have written. He lives in Brazil. We have been communicating periodically since.

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From Willian:

I know myself—I said the feeling from last month wouldn’t carry over. I feel like this start of the year, more than any other, has been a roller coaster; a third of the year has already passed, and so much has happened: good things, bad things, intense, surprising.

But strangely, sometimes I get the impression that I’ve been so still that I’m doing nothing, that my life is just passing by. All the ecstasy and euphoria I mentioned last month, which was extremely hectic because of the move, this month were down. It wasn’t one of my best months; I was sick, overly irritated, worried, and, as I said, a roller coaster.

I also understand that the moment when I sit down to pour out this series of monthly “verbose” texts which I challenged myself to write — that exact moment really sets the tone. My perspective can change depending on the kind of day I’ve had and how I’m analyzing the past month: am I rushed? calm?

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Right now, for example, it’s late at night after a very stressful day—that shapes what I write. But despite the stressful day, this text comes after days in which I had one of the best sexual experiences of my life last Sunday. But I don’t want to start the text with that—I’ll get to it later. For now, this is about April and all thirty days of it, and how they were… adult. Extremely adult. In a boring and exhausting way: adult.

Full of responsibilities, obligations, commitments, bills, demands I didn’t want but had to meet; work I wasn’t in the mood for but had to accept; smiles and handshakes in things I don’t believe in; lowering my head and staying silent in situations that don’t align with my values or what I want for myself; leaving the house early, coming back late; not having time to do laundry; not feeling like cleaning the house; putting off doing dishes for days; sleeping with the mess around me.

And in the middle of all this, my escape and relief: sex. A lot of sex. Some casual contacts are almost becoming regulars; various encounters late at night or during lunch breaks—not always out of desire, actually often out of loneliness, the need for company, or boredom. Which is contradictory, because I’m not someone who can maintain a casual sexual friend.

I get bored easily if I don’t fall in love. I can never have sex more than four or five times without either getting bored or falling for the person. I don’t like, nor am I interested in, maintaining a “fuck buddy.” I’ve always had these two extremes; I’m not built for long-term casualness or sustained sexual arrangements.

I simply lose interest, avoid romance, and return to my youthful, Cancerian essence. If I don’t fall in love or want more, I lose the magic—I see the reality, and sex becomes just sex; I lose desire. And I face the sadness of why I’m sleeping with any attractive, smooth-talking, straightforward guy who’s available.

This month was quite lonely; I think I’ve already mentioned entering a high tide of loneliness. A lot of unpleasant things happened, so I think I’ll keep talking about sex for now—can I? I’ll let myself play Carrie Bradshaw and talk about the various experiences of the month; maybe it’ll cheer me up a bit.

There were quite a few sexual encounters, but the experiences mattered more than the number. I didn’t wake up next to anyone or spend afternoons in someone else’s bed like other times; every time I had sex it was quick—minutes or hours—and then I went home. All sex was just sex.

It was like that with a somewhat famous guy I thought was fake; with a married man in his car during work hours; with a “straight” guy curious for a first time who didn’t kiss; with a cop; some actors; oddly, a boy ten years younger; and, incredibly, someone more than twenty years older.

There was also someone I know committed his first act of cheating; someone I somewhat regretted; someone I was rude to and ghosted (maybe after this text I’ll message him); encounters in bathrooms (bars, hotels, restaurants); and someone I’d wanted for a long time and with whom I confused things. I don’t know why, but I always seek intensity to feel alive. I don’t know how to live without being intense.

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But about this last guy—the famous but possibly fake one I mentioned earlier, was one of the best sexual experiences I’ve had—I still don’t know if he’ll be important enough to deserve a long piece on Medium. It’s too recent; I don’t know if I’ll immortalize it. So I’ll talk about him here. Maybe in a few weeks I’ll want to organize it, manifest it, declare myself in a grand chronicle of idealization and fantasy; I’ve already drafted long paragraphs for him and lost two nights of sleep thinking about it.

He’s still very present in my body, in marks and desire, and strongly as fantasy in my head. There was no romance; it was just sex; neither I—nor, even less, him—wanted or imagined more, and that was fine… but sometimes things don’t go the way we imagine.

And, my God, WHAT A MAN… Like, one of the hottest, most exciting, most forbidden experiences I’ve ever had. I won’t go into details here, because it was very specific, in a very inappropriate time and place; I’m even a bit embarrassed to expose it, but it’s something I’ll never forget. Thinking about it, maybe there is a bit of romance and fantasy in it—that’s why I’m somewhat shaken, actually quite shaken.

The fact that he wasn’t just some app hookup or quick Instagram flirt makes everything different. In fact, it couldn’t be otherwise. He’s someone I’d admired for a long time and wanted to know better ever since I saw an interview years ago and then watched him in a theater production. In short, life recently put him in my life, and he is exactly my type; so much so that the first chance he gave me attention, I already had him in my mouth.

At the very first opportunity. Anyway, I get chills and excited just remembering it, because it was extremely explicit and pornographic—so much so that people around us were either uncomfortable, like some of our friends, or turned on, like several men who watched and even joined in a triple kiss.

It was certainly offensive to anyone who’s never seen two men treating each other like animals, with hunger and heat. A purely obscene act — the kind of thing you only do with someone who turns you on intensely and you don’t want to waste time. That’s what it was.

Both of us were at the peak of desire and urgency. A mix of teasing, squeezing, spit, embraces, glances, and bites. It’s very good to give yourself to someone—but to give yourself completely, without caring where you are or who’s watching.

As I said: WHAT A MAN. I don’t know what will happen next; he didn’t reply to my last message (hmm… karma? what goes around comes around), acts like it was just another day, and doesn’t show much interest in repeating it — which is dangerous, because if I fall for him, it could be harmful and a problem. I hope it was just fantasy and adrenaline, while at the same time hoping it wasn’t just a one-time satisfaction, because I want—actually need—more and more.

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Putting the sex aside, this month I felt like I was on autopilot many times; too tired, too lazy, too idle, following schedules, ticking off checklists, doing things just to do them—even acting. There were jobs and stages where I could have dedicated myself, but I did the basics, the minimum.

Reflecting on all this, I feel a bit ashamed and want to hide my diploma. How disrespectful I was to my career this month; I failed on stage, dishonored all the struggle it took to move to São Paulo. I hope I don’t do that again—live life, or worse, my career and commitment, on autopilot as if it were nothing.

Today, nothing is more serious to me than my career. It’s the reason I leave everything behind, the reason I do everything, the reason I give up every other dream. Even giving up therapy—because, in my list of priorities, paying a therapist simply hasn’t been fitting financially with the cost of living alone in the capital. We’ll see how I feel about that decision in the coming months. Choices.

Well, I ended this text better than I started. I think I’ll reread last month’s text and do a bit more stalking on Instagram and social media of the guy I’m a little infatuated with. See you next month.

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My reply to Willian:

First, let me say I look forward to and enjoy your monthly sharing of your life’s activities, experiences, thoughts, joys, and sorrows. Besides communicating with me, I hope they help you process yourself and give you some insight into just how good you are, how bad you are, and just how human you are being. By sharing them here on Substack, our conversations can help other QUEERS know that they are not alone in what they are going through, good & bad!

Again, as I mentioned last time, being young and gay, to me as a man in my 20s and 30s, was all about ups and downs, trying to figure out who I was and my personal “meaning of life”, searching for and wondering about relationships, and enjoying what I call my “whoring days”.

There is no instruction manual dealing with these issues, gay/straight/life lessons/sex lessons, and that makes it very difficult. Also, with the negative attitude that society still has towards homosexuality, you and I, and we Queers grow up doubting ourselves, questioning our worth, feeling like we do not deserve to be happy and successful, and that we should not expect “happily ever after” relationships.

We are always “scanning” the room when we walk in to see if we are in danger, how we should behave, what to expect, what is expected of us, and how to protect ourselves from verbal or non-verbal attacks, physical or mental.

With all this said, first, don’t think that you are a bad person, nor a special person, because you are having lots of sex. In my humble opinion, and probably that of most experts in the field of sexuality, aging, and the QUEER Community, youth is the time set aside for sex while you still have the physical and mental stamina to carry it off.

Many gay men feel guilty about sex and their sexuality. To me, our type of sex is normal; the rest of the world is repressed and missing out! You may quote me on that.

YES, practice SAFE sex. YES, do not put oneself in danger of being physically taken advantage of (like drugged, raped, robbed, beaten up, taken advantage of, put in danger of contracting sexually transmitted diseases, etc.). But also, YES, expect ups and downs, highs and lows, successes and failures … all part of the natural process of “growing up”.

In LIFE itself, similar things are true: ups and downs, highs and lows, successes and failures … all part of the natural process of “growing up”. Sometimes you will manage these things well and be pleased with yourself; other times, you will not manage them as well as you would have liked. Sometimes you will make a vow to do things differently, and you will succeed at making these changes, and sometimes you will not.

This includes, but is not limited to, managing your day-to-day life, making good decisions about how you want to live your life, treating others respectfully,and being financially responsible.

Finally, I believe that another important lesson in “growing up” is learning that one does not have to do their best all of the time, only when it matters, only when it makes a real difference. Sometimes, it is OK to just do the minimum to get by.

We all must learn to love ourselves as we grow up. To accept our strengths, and to accept our weaknesses, to change when we can, to accept our limitations. Some days we jump out of bed, grateful to be alive, looking forward to that the day will bring. Some days we would just rather avoid the day but force ourselves to get up anyway and get through what the day brings. And some days, we just turn off the alarm, call in sick, turn over, and go back to sleep. All are OK choices.

Willian, I wish I could hug you close and tell you everything will end up for the best. I wish I could make growing up less painful for you. But fortunately or unfortunately, you have to do that on your own. Hopefully, knowing that others care for you will make you happy to listen to your complaints, lift you up when you fail, and celebrate you when you succeed will help.

I believe things WILL end up for the best; a minor problem is that we do not always know how that will express itself. All we can do is have faith that it will end up for the best and that when times are tough, we have faith that we will get to the other side.

Enough, coaching? Take care, looking forward to May’s post, still thinking of your lewd and licentious sexual activities and sighing with jealousy and fond memories of my own.

A Six Pack of Michaels at ages: 5, 20, 25, 30, 70, 20/70 Combinaton