When I Need A Pick Me Up, by my friend Ryan King

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Oddity In The Oddest Places

So you know how I tell you guys about my 'friend' Grim Jester? Who, as I realize, could find these posts about him at any time? Well, I'm discovering my own complicity in our relationship. ie., I'm not that good of a friend. But I'm working on it.

Thing is, when I'm feeling more samesexual, I want to be around him more. I want to get that rough, grizzly, masculine vibe off him. But when I'm feeling more independently hetero, then he and other mancrushworthy dudes become a little grating and jealousy-provoking. The testosterone that I at other times admire, provokes me to manly aggression. I'm ready to bare my canines in response and engage in a snarling woof battle. And the thought of feminine conquests under their manly hands makes me want to pounce on them with a mammoth's jawbone and drag their women off to my cave in conquest.

Once, a long while ago, Grim Jester was getting up out of a chair and he winced and groaned. I asked him what was wrong. With a sly expression of pain mingled with cocky assurance he said, "You know." Which in nanoseconds, I did. He was indicating that he threw his back out during some adventurous sex. Sex that I wasn't having. A pang of jealousy and longing shot through me like electricity and left my heart pounding. To this day I still can't identify it any better than that. Jealousy or longing? Did I want to be him, or did I want to be her? Either way, I wasn't happy. Similarly, way before this, I had the same experience with George (see Labels; George). In brief, I'd made friends with a lovely exotic woman in our workgroup while I was friends with George. George was paying her a lot of attention too, and everyone else in my workgroup told me that George was banging her on the sly. George was married, and I was friends with his wife as well (through him though--not independently). One fine sloppy morning, George decided to expose himself by banging our ladyfriend workmate in the car in the parking lot of the workplace under the surveillance cameras. Among other places that he'd banged her on the sly. It was the talk of the workplace for two shifts before I hit the doorstep the following night. I was devastated. I went out to the loading dock and bawled my fool head off for nearly an hour. I was miserably jealous, as well as betrayed. Did I wish I were her or did I wish I were him? I dunno. I think I just wished someone, anyone, wanted to bang me under a security camera. I don't guess I cared which one. It was never the same with George after that. Even after I actually did live with him for nearly two years (some 15-20 years later) I just fundamentally disliked the man. But that was George.

My relationship with Grim is different. He's younger than me, for one. And two, I met him well after the scorch marks from the George incident had scabbed over. So I tried to be a little more cautious with my attraction to Grim's world. It still hadn't quite worked--I still felt slightly hurt, slightly betrayed, slightly left out when my buddy would hint at hooking up with his cavewoman. I haven't broken down crying again when these pangs of exclusion rip through me, and the more it happens the less powerful the pangs are. My hope is that they will disappear altogether one day. Probably when I'm gettin' mines on the regular.

Well, breaking news now is that Grim's cavewoman is seriously ill. And Grim doesn't seem to know how to handle it. After a prefunctory announcement, he informed us that he was going to cut off communication with us until he got his head together. Now, he KNOWS I'm a therapist. He's teased me about it plenty of times. Scorned me for it, in fact, in true knuckledragging fashion. "Just tell them to get over it," he would scoff. Now he needs some compassion. Some listening-to. And he won't let me do it. He tried to call me one night, but I was in the middle of a session. Soon as I could, I called him back, but he didn't answer. All he said by way of voice message was that he needed a favor from me. SO TELL ME WHAT IT IS, GRIM, YOU JACKASS!

Damn him. I'm terrified for him. He's had this girl since I met him, and way before that. Going on ten years if not more. If he loses her, what's going to happen to him? How will I be able to help? What if he goes psychotic? Could I handle it? I've often thought he has a touch of schizophrenia. He has some really strange ideas about life. Strange ideas that he actually believes. Like living out in the woods like a post-apocalyptic survivor is the answer to life's problems. Like he hates the island of Manhattan because everyone there is rich and beautiful and bastards. Like he'll never vote because it's all corrupt. Like he doesn't eat cute animals. Yes, Grim, I'm talking about you. You're my odd duck, friend. Now get off your high horse and talk to me.

Ah life. What a mess.

So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to leave him a message, telling him I'm coming over. It's going to be this Saturday. It's going to be early. He can see me or not. But I'm coming. And I'm taking him out to breakfast if he'll come.

What else can I do?

4 comments:

Shades of Scorpio said...

Kudos to you for being that strong person for him to lean on...you guys have some history and now you're stepping up where it counts!!!! I really hope she's gonna be ok. I'm never comfortable hearing that people are sick.

....AND....how do you know that no one has ever wanted you??? Maybe there were (are) some shy fly ladies that you never did/don't know are thinking that!!!

As a female, I can attest that I have not told every single person that I've ever eyed up as potential that they were being surveyed for the 'scape.

Alan said...

Well, I left the message. Saturday morning, I'm going over there.

But now Shades, I am a sexy lil' poppa. I didn't say no one ever wanted me. Just at those times when I was being told from the sexually rapacious about their exploits--that's when I was high and dry.

Even so, regardless of the girls who did want me, and prolly some fellas too, I was the one with enough hang-ups to prevent any of it from happening.

These days I think I should hire a nice, high-society call girl to pop my cherry (I do hate that saying. I'm just going for effect here). I should do for myself what Dads used to do for their boys when they came of age (no pun intended).

The Neighbor said...

Well.

I've had my successes in this regard, but I've had way more moments of paralysis when I coulda/shoulda/woulda had some success. I know that exact feeling of high-and-dry - you don't so much want what they've got as you want to turn the envy tables on them. You want them to be jealous for once.

I'd be ready to be rebuffed by Grim - steel yourself for it. Even if he does come out for breakfast, some of us are only wired to spill it when we absolutely can't not. I used to be that way, and then one day I was, actually, in therapy (first time around), and I just started telling the truth, and the next thing I knew . . .

I felt better. Much better. Listened to. Understood. It was the point of piercing for the water balloon - the skin snapped back, and the next thing I knew, I can't NOT be honest with myself. (well, most of the time) It's a good feeling.

I don't support the idea of a call girl, because I don't support the industry. The sociologist in me sees it as a slippery slope - if THIS girl has a price, then THAT girl probably does too, and all of a sudden, we're viewing the most beautiful people in the world as commodities. That's not to say that most sexual relationships aren't, in some way, based on some other reward system than pleasure for pleasure; it's just saying that the money for pleasure approach really bugs me.

Not that I haven't considered it myself in droughty periods,a nd I do concede that there are some women out there who see it as empowerment. And if that's what it takes to pull down the dam and start the flood a flowing. . . have at it. I promise not to judge.

Alan said...

Ned, I fully expect him not even to be home. He hasn't responded to the message I left him yet. And it'd be just like him to let me show up to a Grimless home just to teach me a lesson. It's Grim's Way or No Way. But I think if I didn't try, on the off chance that he wants to give in to his vulnerability and doesn't know how to ask, that I'd feel like I failed him. So I'm going to make myself available. He can abuse me all he wants.

The call girl. Yeah, I'm too chicken-sh!t to go through with that. If I haven't done it all these years, how is shelling out hundreds going to make it happen?

It's just like there's this vacuum that opens up in my gut sometimes and it sucks away all the testosterone. sometimes I think I'm the Mack Daddy of Manhattan, and sometimes--most times, I'm this child, terrified--so unsexy. This hypothetical call girl would have to be like a total dominatrix, sans whips and chains. Because pain? Oh hell no.

But she'll have to have her game face on and crackin'. A Total Pro. She'll have to make me feel like a Bull Gorilla from minute one. She'll have to cater to my confidence and find every single thing I do as an injection of absolute sex power. Not a single hint, cut of the eye, or shrug of the shoulder suggesting that I'm just a job, a pervert client, and/or a ridiculous loser.

Not much to ask, right? Although, of course, that'd be nice to get just from someone who just likes me and wants to be with me.