David

I was twenty-one so it was 1998. I remember meeting a friend of a friend, but I'm not certain why I needed to meet him. Best friend at the time had started a new job and she really liked her co-workers, I remember that. So, I went with her to one of her co-worker's house to pick something up, or drop something off. He came out to meet us and they talked about whatever and I was introduced and he had dimples and a cleft chin. This was David.

This was maybe a year or two after I'd come to terms with my sexuality. This was when I was at my awkward best.

I remember talking about him non-stop. He was just so pretty. It was the first boy I'd met who'd made want to know more about him, to maybe kiss him. Maybe. When he gave me his phone number it was a pretty special day, let me just tell you. I remember using up the break in between classes to call him up and talk on the payphone in the student union. I remember he liked the Disney villain Malificient and thought Bruce Willis was hot. All it ever came to, as always, was my immaturity and a PULP FICTION viewing at his house, where his parents looked at me like an escaped felon, and a group date to see Grease. He held my hand the entire time.

I wrote about him a lot at the time. I used to write a lot then. And I wrote about how I wanted him and how he made me feel and how beautiful I thought he was. I remember all of it. I still have that notebook. I just remember him smiling at me atop that hill where his house was in San Pedro.

(Unfortunately, my memories of this boy are tied to the fact that my two brothers read everything I wrote about him and told my parents and then, well, everything turned out the way it did. This created a huge rift between my family and me that lingers to this day. That day, when talking with my father, was the worse moment of my young life. It was the last time he ever struck me.)

But every once in a while, I tell someone this story, all the details I remember, and it makes me happy because I remember this unassuming boy whom I adored to no end, and it was the first instance I felt I was normal. If you're straight or gay, you wouldn't understand.

It always makes me happy to think about him.

Earlier today, while online on my phone, talking with strangers on a hook-up site, a man sent me a message and we started talking for a bit and he was nice and playful and cute. He's attractive. And he reminded me of someone I used to work with. But that wasn't right. It lingered with me for the entire afternoon when I realized who this stranger online reminded me of David. The stranger's smile wasn't familiar but it wasn't a strange one either. A couple hours ago, as I'm making my way from Orange County, it hit me: was this David? Something clicked into place. While this man and I were flirting online in the way guys do online (read: being explicit), I needed to log off but I thought, fuck it, and gave him my number. On the freeway, I kept checking my phone for a text or call. I realized he never told me his name, and he didn't give me his number. Playing coy, my plans was that the next move would be his...

...BUT NOW I WANT TO KNOW IF IT'S DAVID!!

Isn't that crazy?

What if it is?

Most likely, it isn't. And like with certain strangers on the internet, I will probably never hear from him again. I latched on to a weird set of circumstances that have made my heart go all a-flutter, and when I never hear from this man, I will forget about him in the way we do sometimes. A stranger on the internet called me hot and I'm having fond memories about him already.

But that's okay.

I will still remember David. Not because he was the love of my life. But he was one of the very first.

Horny Werewolf

Okay, in the last three weeks something's sort of been bothering me because, well, I'm not very smart and I'm a socially awkward person.

Two summers ago, the boy and I broke up and when on the phone that night, he asked me if I had any other dating prospects. I said I didn't, I asked who does that, and afterward, I remember thinking how one has a cache of would-be boyfriends/girlfriends/partners ready and just check them off a list. I'm being facetious, sure, but when the best friend and I talked about it, she too had the same reaction.

One of the reasons why I don't date is, well, all the work in becoming to invested in a person. Call me lazy or whatever, but it's rare I come across someone I want to get to know more intimately. So when the boy said this to me then, I thought he was rather insane (what happened after, that summer, and last year cement it.).

For a number of weeks if not months, a man's been telling me he's more than interested in dating me. Full disclosure: this man is a friend of the ex's (when we were together, the boy would say his friend had a thing for me and I would brush it off and would say that his friend's friend (who's also *his* ex!) was the one who I thought had a thing for me). Anyway, after him being - I don't know what to call it, persistent? - we went out. And from the time we made plans to go out to the day itself, I thought, "Okay, I'm going into this with an open mind because, really, I've never had a man as to take me out before and it feels a little nice, and who knows what'll happen!" The date went like it did. After another week or so, I came home and discovered this man had updated his Facebook relationship status to "in a relationship".

This is what I think happened: this man, the friend of the ex's, is obviously dating or in the process of dating a number of people (at least two?), and after the disastrous events with me, things must've been going well with whoever it is he's now coupled with. Of course, because we're living in the 21st Century, I'm pretty certain I know who it is!

Late last week, the ex's friend's ex invited me out. Now, I'm not sure if I'm jumping the gun in assuming he was asking me out as in a date or not, but this is what's in my head, you see, due to recent and not-so-recent experience. Anyway, I had to turn him down because of my terrible work schedule, so nothing's come of that.

What I've come up with is that, whether I'm right or wrong, what was going on is me being in a weird sort of gay dating musical chairs kind of thing. Really, guys, were we all just waiting to be able to ask the same guy out? Is this how dating works? Have a list of potential dating ideas and just go through them like a proverbial shopping list? I am assuming a great deal here, and I am flattered to a degree (my inner slut is disappointed in no sex coming from any of this, only one round of drunken make outs and groping), but this seems really really weird. Again, when talked over with the best friend, she had the same reaction I did.

Granted, I'm not necessarily Mr. Sharp In Social Situations, but if what I'm imagining is true, it speaks volumes of this particular micro-culture, Los Angeles Gay Men. And it isn't good, in my opinion. If I am right, then...uh...it reeks of desperation to couple more than friendship or companionship. I wonder how often this happens and I'm blissfully unaware of any of it. I couldn't imagine being in a group of friends and knowing me and my friends had all dated the same person, or to the be that person. And, frankly, the idea of having several men lined up to date, whether one at a time or not, just seems so shallow and a little sad and rather ridiculous.

Two more things: when the boy and I broke up last year, I said something to him about how he wouldn't be my favorite person for a while and he said he thought we'd have sex and go to some theater thing afterward and I said I might not date as much as he but I was still hurt and his response was, "Are you calling me a slut?" And, when I went over to the ex's friend's house to watch a movie, I said to him I've never become friends with exes nor with people I've sex with because, well, I just don't and he said he's become friends with a number of people with whom he's fucked.

This is the most ridiculous blog post this year, I'm certain.

Partner

We were talking earlier in what ifs and wouldn't it be nices, in that sort of way, and I asked if when people decide to get married or live together, if one of the things they consider is what their partner, whether wife or husband or boyfriend or girlfriend or whatever, brings to that union in terms of something practical. Our ridiculous example was, of course, work and money. As in, if I didn't feel like working for, say, a week, would my partner say to me, "Of course! Take time off and I'll get paid. Don't worry about it." Is that part of it, or were we just talking crazy?

Last Sunday

I wish you hadn't stopped to say hello and have meaningless conversation for a few minutes while he got your food to go. I wish you hadn't tapped me on the shoulder to make it a point to say how weird it was that we just ran into each other. I wish you hadn't seen me and I could've avoided having to force a handshake from whoever the fuck that was. I wish you and I hadn't had the same idea tonight. I wish you hadn't moved to hug me because you did and I did. I wish you hadn't said anything about the things I used to get excited about for you.

I wish I hadn't seen you tonight.

Of course I miss you, dummy. But I wish I hadn't seen you tonight.

Post-Breakup Breakup

Last year during summer, after our first break up, he stopped talking to me. He sent me what I thought was a terribly irrational text and that was that. Just a scant minutes afterward, in West Hollywood, where I was staying for the day, he sent me another saying he'd seen me in the street but didn't want to say hello. He wished me luck or some such. Then, angry, I wrote this.

It would be months later that we finally spoke again. And he apologized for that day, for having this expectation of me, after we were broken up, that I would still do boyfriend-like things. Which, after several conversations with my best friend, I figured was the issue. Whatever. We were good after that.

Now, after the second break up, he and I have not spoken in about a month. I'm not entirely certain why that is, frankly. At this point, like before, I don't really care. Like before, we're broken up, we have about a good week of electronic communication, made plans to see each other and did, and now, after, nothing. Last thing was I sent him a text about how weird it was we hadn't spoken in a couple of days. Now, here I am. I don't even know why I sent him that. Not because I didn't want to talk to him (I did). Then, a week later, this.

Sometimes I wonder why folk bother on dating if, even when things go south, this is where it leads you after a break up. Don't fucking understand.

And I'm thinking about it because Jodi and I were walking through Naples last night and we were talking about dating and friendships and I'm thinking, suddenly perhaps, 'well, what the fuck happened or didn't happen?' Which is very unfortunate for me, of course. I mean, he's a great person to know. But what can I do? I'm not the type to run after the runaway train I must be on. Must be on, not want to be on.

And silly me for telling him that I was going to be irrational for a few days after the breakup.

Idea For A Story

I'm not going into detail because I've done that enough over the last three weeks or so. Besides, what is it they say about the devil and details? What if there's no devil, however? Anyway.

It's a little late and I'm trying very hard to finish off a story that I want to send to the person who inspired it. It didn't help me very much she also said she would like me to share it once it's complete. But every time I start, discard lots of it, and start again, I seem to get a little muddled. My tiny brain keeps falling into, not automatic pilot, but cruising speed: when it comes to stories, I know what I'm good at and that's what I fall back on. Before I gave myself this exercise, I thought it would all come into place. I always think that about stories when I sit down and jot down my initial idea. Because every idea deserves to be fleshed out, there will always be a story, because every thought begs to be recorded. Of course, this isn't the case. I have files all over my desktop and my external storage with loads of snippets of things that at one point were the most important thing to me. Story wise, I mean. I never sit down and think what I want to say with it, what's its purpose, what will it mean. Because sometimes a pop song isn't just a pop song...but not everything needs more depth than a good story.

Maybe that's all I want, a good story. A pop song. Something bright and shiny that will make me want to get up and dance naked the way I've been for the last couple of hours.

So, here I am reading in the middle of the night, headset set to loud, smoking cigarettes, sitting naked at my desk, writing little bits here and there, refreshing tumblr, and wondering what it could've meant, all those stories - no, ideas - I have saved and filed away on my computers. And my fall back answer is not all of them would've been much to spent the time on. But all it could've mattered is one of them would've been something amazing. One of them would be great. Just one.

Cute Monster

I would totally let him eat me.

We Laugh

What's been happening isn't anything that's too surprising...for me.

And what's been happening is also one of the most beautiful adventures of my thirty-three years.

My lack of a life plan never included anything like what Corey brings to my life. And that IS surprising. What isn't is that I click so well with him. That he gets me and if he doesn't he tries to (people just don't try anymore, do they?). And he's funny and insanely smart and beautiful and such a nerd and such a lovely human. I say a lot how lucky I am to have him in my life, and I know I am. It isn't often if ever that anyone out in the world who isn't family, with one exception, astonishes me as much as he does. This is no hyperbole.

So, this man in the photo with me (which he took), the one I'm laughing with (were we laughing at the idea of taking pictures? waking up in the hotel after little sleep and lots of nakedness?), is he the one I've been waiting for only I didn't know it? I don't know...

...but I definitely want to find out.

Boy

There really is something about a boy in jeans.

I'm lying naked on his bed and he comes out of his bathroom, a towel around his shoulders and I see the way his muscles are relaxed and he walks over to his dresser and picks out a pair of briefs and walks over to his closet and puts them on and in that very oh-my-! way they fit him - hugging him in every right way - I can't help but look as he picks out a pair of blue jeans and he leans over to put one leg through and then the other, the sinew of his back bends and flexes in near-apocalyptic ways, and he rights himself and buttons them and he throws his towel at me because I've been watching him with such awe, I must look like I've a few too many chromosomes.

It's the way he holds my hand as we walk down the street.

It's certainly the way when I open my eyes and meet his gaze and see that smile as he lies beneath or on top of me. I wonder what he's thinking. Because I'm thinking I'm this fortunate that this is who I get to share this rightnowthisverysecond moment with. Makes me think of things like fairy tales being true and genuine. Maybe is the lack of space between our skins that seals what's wonderful about this moment, feeling him writhe all along my body, the way his flesh gives way to mine and the way his sweat makes him taste.

The way when we're sitting in the dark of a movie theater, watching some story that's already derivative of something from ten years back, and maybe we're both leaning into the armrest between us just so that our arms are touching and I move to cross my leg ankle to knee, his thigh mere millimeters away, and he slides a hand over my leg and clasps mine and we continue watching the movie and i rest my head on his shoulder and everything is alright with the world.

It's not surrender when he wins.

And when I see him for the first time on any given sun-flooded day, he smiles and says hi and puts his arms around me and I've mine around his waist and I can feel him everywhere and he kisses me the way it supposed to be and I smell the way he smells and there's no music playing but that's okay.

Metal

Sitting in my car as I type this:

Last night we're on the phone and I'm on the verge of tears and maybe she doesn't notice but she's telling me exactly what I need to hear and I know it all to be true because I believe these things about myself and what my value is but probably because I'm a pretty prideful person I don't want to make time for more truth and seeing as how one bad day has turned into two I really ought to own these little tidal waves of emotion and allow myself to feel hurt and sad and cry my eyes raw but as I said to her this doesn't happen to me because I don't make it a habit of developing anything with other people because usually [they're] not worth my effort and she says how perhaps this is different and I know it is but that doesn't mean much to me right now.

I think it's so stupid of me to feel bad. These things happen so infrequently. Call it what you will, I'm made of metal and I can't have anymore of it. And it creeps in from the edges of my days. I feel so foolish.

Maybe one good long cry and that will be that. Maybe that's what I'll do tonight.


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