"how things are"

Came back a few minutes ago from My Con Buddy's invite to run out and meet him for a bite to eat. He's the guy I drove down to NC with, and went with him to join a gym, and we've done a classic movie, and attended a podcast recording event, and who I told everything in my history to except me being gay. ("Con" as in "comic convention", not as in "he's served time in prison"). He's (one of) the handsome budd(ies) I have that I hope somehow are as gay as me and are hiding it like I am, and are waiting for me to say the right thing before they'll take me in their arms.

Last week we went out to see a concert. He had an extra ticket because he wanted to invite this girl at work and she became unavailable. So, yeah, he's still hetereo. No indie flick, "best-friend comes out and reveals his true love for the hero" ending to this story. But pre-show, while we were eating bagels in the window of a Williamsburg deli (and yes, I can't lie--it was as cool as it sounds) who walks by on the street except none other than My First Man Date.

Mind you, I haven't spoken to him since he reached out to me in my silence. But there he went on by. Far as I know, he could have been going home--I never knew his actual address, although I do remember his neighborhood, and I didn't mark it as being near Williamsburg. But yeah, there he went. And there I sat with my straight friend, My Con Buddy, who I haven't been able to tell that I'm gay to. And I waited for the panic attack to set in. And oddly, it didn't.

And I thought, not for the first time, that if there's a God, He's writing my life like we write cable drama. Because WHAT?! REALLY?! And my next thought was, what if My First Man Date saw me sitting there with my handsome friend? Well, of course he'd think I was on another date. And he'd want to be introduced, if for no other reason than to verify that I was doing well and getting on with my dating life after it not working out with him (because honestly, My First Man Date is THAT nice--albeit also being a little horndog). And what would I then say to My Con Buddy, seeing an "obvious" gay man greet me warmly and possibly take for granted that I'm on another date with a dude? Well, I'd have to come out, wouldn't I? And what if I did? Would I lose My Con Buddy? And if I did, shouldn't I Cee-Lo Green his ass to the curb?

Hey, if it was that easy, I'd be out of the closet.

One thing My Con Buddy hasn't done point blank is ask me about my taste in women. Of course, I'VE done the asking of his taste, for my own curiosity sake. He either already highly supects I'm for the dudes and doesn't want it confirmed, or he doesn't really care and would prefer not to know anyway. I can't think of a third alternative. Either way, I don't feel like it's a good idea to reveal as I've done with some of my married geek buddies. I figure, I suppose, that since they're married, they could feel less threatened by me (although I know in my heart of hearts that I wanted them to confess their lust for me despite their statusi). The married ones accept me. I dunno if the single ones hunting ladies would accept me the same way. ESPECIALLY if they might be a little gay themselves but want it even less than I do.

So all this is to say that the "how things are" of my life are not so good. I'm still repressed and afraid. I'm still frustrated and ashamed (evidently). And although I'm doing fun things, thanks to My Con Buddy, I'm lonely. (And I miss Ned).

Wish I had better news, but this misery is comfortable and it seems to be the destination of my choice. Even when I considered calling My First Man Date to tell him I saw him in Williamsburg, I opted out of that too. I just want it all to go away. But it doesn't. So I do.

Before I Run Out The Door ...

...heh. NYC Marathon was today. So my title is funny. But not what I meant.

I'm going to Brooklyn to the convention that totally snuck up on me this year. I've been sick like dog for the past two days, and I cancelled all of yesterday's appointments, and this mornings'. And I had this afternoon's cancel on me, so I was suddenly freed up.

Freed up to go to this Brooklyn convention.

Which just happens to be the place I saw THIS GUY (pictured).
Which is right now the absolute only reason I'm going back to this place.

So I wanted to say that yes, if I find this guy today, I'm going to talk to him and see what's what.

And if he's gay, and available, and likes me, then I am ready to tear the door off my closet and get on with My Life As A Gay Man.

Otherwise, it'll be business as usual, which I will be blogging about undoubtedly. Just not as much.

Wish me luck.

Byeee..!



Hiiiiyeee....!

Well, romantically, it was a bust. I haven't seen the Dream Hunk since the last Brooklyn Convention, despite all the conventions I've been to between then and now. He's gone. Practically forever, as far as I need to be concerned. It was already a big chance that someone as gorgeous as him would be 1) single 2)available 3)gay and 4)attracted to me. I interpreted those looks he kept giving me as a 'come hither' glance, but whatever. Even if he wanted me then, I wasn't really ready. A year later I think I am, but I'm probably not really. I mean, I'm like a teenage girl holding out for Brad Pitt to leave Angelina. Foolish. Picky and foolish. (For the record, Brad Pitt is not my type. Too much lip-meat.)

Anyway.

Still nothing.

Wait, a little something ... my First Man Date reached out to me again a few days ago and I didn't respond. Prolly because I want this all to go away and I do want to retreat into my shell. Which is what he suspects. And you see, the 'want to' is very powerful. Like every one of my female dates/girlfriends have done, I need one of these gorgeous hunky men to approach me. And for that to happen, I have to be where they are. Which means a gay bar, which I've learned exists within walking distance. Or a gay society club. Or ... whatever. This is just ridiculous. Stupid stupid stupid.

Whatever.

Monosexual

So I can blog again now that I haven't caused NYC's 2nd gay-related suicide leap. I know. That's not funny. But hey. I'm not laughing at, but with. I'm just as gay as they are and I feel the same type of isolation and fear as they do. All those "It Gets Better" messages apply to me even though I'm 46-plus-two-weeks old. What keeps me from suicide is a fear of the unknown and a suspicion that yeah--it will get better.

I mean hey, it got better for My First Man Date, anyways. After our last date he was able to find a guy who he likes a lot, and who likes him a lot. He even said that he waited until their fourth date to get busy, and he learned that from me! So folks, see? Instead of driving him to the point of suicide by depriving him of my gorgeous self, I helped him into a relationship that he's happier with than he would have been with me. My Hero Friend's advice was spot on.

Isn't that great?

Yup. That's great.

Great.

So.

I'm currently blogging between doing wash and the supervision that my Part-Time Gig demands of me (they want me to write someone up) and I ran into Hunky Married HeteroDad Neighbor in the laundry as I usually do when I do the wash. A head taller than me, wide shoulders, smiling eyes, always having one of his two kids in tow, friendly and responsive with them, thus far has been in various states of undress--just a real day-off casual working man's Ward Cleaver.

And I think to myself, "How did I get here?"

It seems like it's not that I'm gay--it's like I'm a woman. I don't want a gay man...I want a man.

Problem is, I'm not blessed with the estrogen that makes women soft, receptive, accepting, and supportive (well, wait--I can do supportive real well actually). But I'm stuck on stupid. I don't want just any man, be he pudgy, skinny or whatever. I want a bruiser. I want a roughneck. Gruff and rumbly. I only want one type of man. A physical type. And these are the times when I can easily just really hate myself.

Still, I'm not diving off of any bridge and letting my body be tweeted about by my
Inwood neighbors as it washes ashore. I want more for myself and my life--it just feels like I'm not able to get any of it.

It's like I'm not a homosexual--I'm a monosexual.

PostScript;
I was alerted to this article. I need to be this guy. Couldn't I still please have a wife?

The Next Conversation

Grizz suggested the tone of the next conversation that I should have with My First Man Date in the last comments section. So I started this new post to say that I did actually have that conversation with him and found that he didn't want to rush me and understood perfectly that I needed time. At least, he said that. It didn't change the fact that he has had sex with a lot of men, and I'm not sure even he knows why. He says it hasn't all been satisfying. Well, he actually said most of it has not been satisfying and this was why he wasn't in a relationship currently. Yet, he still has sex.

So on the one hand, he wants me because I represent a chance at something he's never had -- which is not just virginity (I hope) -- but someone honest and open. And too, he said that I really turn him on.

Which has always sent me running from all my relationships. But I don't want to get into that.

As Grizz has also said, Look. At. Me. Doing this! Really dating again! Two dates now and the dude wants more. MUCH more!

However, the REAL next conversation happened last night, on the phone, with my Hero Friend. My Hero Friend should be a therapist. My Hero Friend said some things last night to me that really drove some points home.

1) One act does not have to define me. *I* get to define me.
2) I erroneously think that having one experience in this new dating world indicates that I'm ALWAYS going to have this same experience; ie, if I'm not turned on by him, I'll never be turned on by anyone.

Long time readers, doesn't that sound familiar? Have I not made those points in the past? Oh how soon I forget.

But today, after a little while, I remembered this guy;


Now you talk about being attracted to a man. Talk about no hesitation on my part. If THIS dude wanted me to kiss him ... omg OMG. I would snog his ever lovin' brains out.

There was something about this guy, besides that brawny powerful body of his. One, he was shy. He made eye contact with me, arched an eyebrow, grinned, but could never say 'Hey.' (Of course, neither could I). So there was a gentle masculinity about him. But that body. Oh that body. I am so gay for this guy.

And many, many others like this guy.

I'm saying all this, not to skeeve out you straight guys, but to re-affirm one fact that I overlooked.

I AM ATTRACTED TO A CERTAIN TYPE.

Duh?!

I can't change that. I could knock boots with anyone if I want to (and if THEY want to), but I'm just autistic, closeted, shame-based, repressed, stubborn, or fill-in-the-appropriate-adjective enough to never have done it with someone I wasn't attracted to.

So why am I going to start now? My First Man Date isn't my type. That will hurt him. But it will hurt him more if I go into a relationship that he really wants and I don't (Another kudoes to My Hero Friend). Especially when I'm so good at leaving relationships that I don't want to be in.

Take another look;

That's who I want. Or his twin bro.

Lets have it folks. What do you think? Am I copping out and running away behind a screen of words or does this make some small amount of sense?

2.5 Hours To Go Until The Next Date

Because I postponed last night to tonight. Work had to be done. But yeah, even though I expressed what I expressed, I'm going out with him again because he is such a nice guy. And because he DOESN'T deserve to be dumped because of how he speaks. And because he might make an incredible friend.

But I still don't feel how I felt last week. It was the opportunity, the adventure, the kind words, the newness of it all. Always heady stuff, that First Blush. And I think I know what my female date from Match.com--lo these many years ago now--what she must have felt. I just didn't do it for her. And my new friend just doesn't do it for me. I think that's the safest way to put it.

This whole week has been busy with work, but there has been no ... how do I put it ... no passion in it. Nothing to rev me up. The whole idea of sex has made me slightly queasy, in fact.

Hmmm. Reading this back to myself, I think I know what's going on here. Life Students, can you see it for yourselves? I'm going to leave a big gap in the narrative to give you guys time to guess before I say it.























Trauma.

Faced with the actually possibility of sex, now with a dude instead of a chick -- I'm getting the same reaction. Distance setting in. Separation. What do we call it in the business? Disassociation. I couldn't even think of the word until the third try.

Shiiiiiiit. I'm still fucking victimized by the molestation. (edit; changed it from "my molestation" to "the molestation". But I'm paying attention dammit to what I'm doing. I saw that.) 45-minus-innocence years later. Damn. I want to even say that I WANT to overcome this, but I'm so fucking disassociated from it that I don't feel like I even want to try. Only when the opportunity comes around am I perfectly happy doing nothing. Which, clearly is not "perfectly happy" -- but in all truth "rather terrifiedly running away from". But when there's no opportunity and I'm lonely -- oh then it's all "Poor me" and "Oh my lonely heart" and "When will I ever find a love of my own".

It's bullshit. I don't want anyone. I want to be alone. I want to be safe. I don't want to be touched. idontwanttobetouchedidontwanttobetouchedidontwanttobetouchedidontwanttobetouchedidontwanttobetouchedidontwanttobetouchedidontwanttobetouchedidontwanttobetouchedidontwanttobetouchedidontwanttobetouchedidontwanttobetouched

shit

I'm losing my fucking marbles here. No I'm not. I'm not losing them. I'm finding them. I'm finding what's really going on.

Shit. I need some real help.

I need some real help or I'm going to fucking die like this.

Fuck.

2 hours to go until the next date. Oh that poor guy.

Freedom FAIL

So last night I reunited with my old D&D group. Since I had been stepping over to Grim's place a few times I felt ready to make a whole re-entry, being that Grim was the one I had the problem with to begin with but now I had conquered that.

(To recap for those playing at home; Grim both pissed me off and I have a mad crush on him at the same time. I left the group because of both reasons. During my travels one day, I saw him driving and forgot all the anger and only missed him. Called him up and have since been to his house three times. Told him I was gay, and he accepted it with no fanfare nor calamitous disaster.)

So yesterday, on the day I chose to return to the group, Grim took the stairs out of the Hosting Girl's pool. This is a yearly ritual in which Grim takes off his shirt. This year I got a look. Several looks, to be honest.

Grim is so fine. omg is he so, so fine. He is the closest real-life equivalent to Jason Statham I have ever had the fortune of being friends with.

What's funny is, Hero Cop was also there and he's looking good too. He's maintained his weight loss and is as full of affection and enthusiasm as a puppy. He's eating right, working out, and is dying for appreciation. Which I give in copious amounts. So without a moment's hesitation, at the slightest encouragement, Hero Cop yanked his shirt off too (nowhere near the pool, I might add) to show me and the rest of us his progress. Clearly this was something the others hadn't allowed him to do during my absence. Well ... Hero Cop's stomach was flat. He is a full 30 lbs lighter and about 3 inches shorter than I am. BUT. There was no shape. No tone to him. He looked like a compressed man. Like remember those bodywraps people used to get? He looked freshly unwrapped. Things were held in, but I saw no muscle tone, except in his arms. Triceps, to be precise. I love my lil dude, but he's no Grim.

Anyway, I say all this as a preamble to what, exactly? That I didn't tell them all about my being teh gay. I just ... I couldn't. The same fear and pressure in my belly remained there through the night. Every time I considered it. Grim was able to comport himself as though he didn't know or care what I was, and that made it easier for me to do what I've always done. Pretend like I didn't know or care either.

And the moral of this story is, I'm aware that this is the way I'd rather live my life. This is my default position. This is what I've been doing for 4 decades and despite all my big talk, or maybe in the light of my kissless date with a kind and cute gay man, I know how safe it feels in this closet of mine and I know I want to stay in it.

I mean, I do know that. For the last couple of weeks, I've been wanting to change that but for the last couple of days, with increasing intensity, I have not wanted to. Very not.

Today it feels like Freedom FAIL. So much so that I want to cancel my date for Tuesday and pretend none of this ever happened.

And that's what's going on.

Obsessively Analytical. Still

The Date occurs in 2.5 hours. I'm inclined to buy something new, then head out. I should buy him a little gift too, huh? I'm nervous. I've pictured this going some-odd thousand different ways. I woke up early thinking about it. Songs come on the radio and I think about it.

While I'm not inclined to go all the way tonight, I do think that this is the beginning of the end of my hidden position. Dating a fella. I might as well kiss him. I might as well sleep with him. I might as well tell the world I'm gay.

I'm finding my boundaries. I don't HAVE to tell everything to everyone, do I. It's not a question. It remains a fact. A lot of people don't want to know about my life outside of the words that I pepper Twitter with. A lot of them have their own notions. A lot of them will think what they want. And a lot of them is not my concern.

My concern is me. I don't have to kiss him. I don't have to sleep with him. I have to be true to me and take my time with this. I'm not in a race. Another year of deliberation won't kill me after 45-minus-innocence years.

I just want this guy to be well. I wish him no harm at all. I am already as grateful to him as I am to all of you for coming into my bubble of shame and fear and helping me out of it.

Okay. I'll be back to fill out the rest. For those of you reading this late in the game, no suspense for you!

Oh, and if I never blog again, I ran afoul of life. Avenge me, Eliel. But it really couldn't have gone down any other way. And trust me, I was so unsure about this whole life of mine--on some level I'd be glad the struggle is over. So if this is my last night on Earth, I'm going gently into it. If I'm going to my murder, I'm not going to resist, beg, cry, or carry on at all. I'm resigned to it. Let's roll.

_______


Not dead.

Well, he's a HANDSOME little thing! He's like a miniature Tom Selleck, blond version! He's athletic, but not cut like deisel. And let me say this, he's softer than me. More gay, if that holds any meaning. Now, I know I've come to this life lusting after the straight dudes. I love guys who are guys. But my date looks like a guy-guy, even though he sounds a little gay.

God, this is so effed-up.

This date of mine was so sweet, and understanding, and patient (in otherwords, we were close enough to kiss several times, for several lengths of times, but I just couldn't yet. And I told him that. And he understood. Tonight anyway.) He's been gay for just shy of 40 years (oh, and by the way--dude is NOTHING like a 50-year old. NOTHING. He easily looks to be in his thirties.) and he's conmfortable with it. So enviably comfortable -- although he's tried women. Done women. But he knows what he likes.

He likes me.

Hugging him told my body that I'm gay. I'm waiting for the rest to follow. I'm waiting to kiss him and see what THAT does. I wanted to hug him for longer, but he most definitely wanted to kiss. I just didn't.

It's like the kiss would be the thrust of the ski poles that will tilt me over the precipice and plunge me into the ride down Mt Everest, and I've never been good with heights.

We'll go out again next week. I asked him if he would, please, even though I'm not kissing him yet, and he said yes. He really seemed to like me. He said a lot of nice things. He said I was genuine.

I'm going to hold his hand next time.

I think we'll kiss next time.

And Yeah, So. That Happened.

First phone conversation happened.
And now I have a date.
A real date.
A DATE date.
Wow.
Here we go ...

Sh*t Just Got Real

Actually real.

My nibble at FindFred turned into an interested tug.

To begin, his pictures were cleared by the Admins.

They were nice. Blond, curly-headed moustached guy with blonde eyebrows, and a smile that looks like he's up to something. He's thinnish, but has some shape to him. He takes pics of himself in the gym, at the beach, out on vacation. He's just hit his fifties but doesn't look a day over 45. His bare chest is fuzzy with coppery hair. No tattoos. And he's my height.

So I responded to his "Where in Manhattan do you live?" with a

"Why, have you seen me around? ;-)"

to which he has responded;

"No, but I'd like to."

Now. This means a few things.

1) He knows I'm a black dude.

2) He's attracted to me.

3) He wants to do stuff with me.

4) He will accept my interest in him.

And I'm sitting here thinking how much I want to do this. How my heart is speeded up right now thinking about how this could go down. I look again at his pictures and I'm thinking he looks better and better. Rugged-like. Right now, he looks like the best thing in the world.

He looks like hope. Like, yeah, he's someone who could like me the way I want to be liked. And he's someone I could like the way I've always wanted to.

I think of all the boyfriends of my girlfriends, and how I'd look at them and get this little heartspeed thing going. Wishing that I could see a little more of them--and then going to Gym and getting that wish fulfilled in the lockerroom, only to know that they'd beat the living shit out of me they knew how I felt. I think of how much I hated wanting what I wanted, and how locked-in I was. I remember how I'd quickly run away from it and try doing life the expected, "normal" way. Yeah. Ran all the way to church and hid under Jesus' skirt.

But 30 years later, here I still am. I traded the hem of Jesus' garment for the internet. I hide behind my side of the screen. I watch and I do not do.

And now I'm standing on the precipice of something real. Maybe. Something to change the way I live the rest of my life. Now I am entering into a flirtation with a man who actually knows I'm flirting, and is flirting back.

Stop.

I've never done this before. I've flirted with straight guys. I've been entertained by those who most likely think I'm playing bantery games with their masculinity. But I've never done this with someone ready to take it somewhere.
And I am really thrilled right now.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Yeah.

So.

Wow.

Okay.

Okay.

I'm going to talk to him. I'm going to find out more about him, I hope. I may just meet him. I might just kiss him. Perhaps I'll [censored] him. Or maybe I'll get to hug him.

You know what?

I would like to hug him.

Hug him for just being there and talking to me. For calling me handsome, and meaning it the way I want someone to mean it. The way I've always wanted a man to mean it.

Yeah, for right now. That's what I want. That would be just amazing.

Long Stretch

4 weeks later I got one nibble at FindFred. From a guy with no picture. Frustrating. He did say I was handsome, but he wants to know where in Manhattan I live. As IF, buddy. Can you take me out to dinner, verbally, first? I've had some others look at my profile, but I don't feel the impulse to leap.

It's all so strange. And defining. And humbling. Because I find that I'm a shallow prick. Yes, now's the time to realize that my snooty perceptions of love have been a lie I told myself. Because clearly to me, looks matter. When it came to women, I guess I was more open because it wasn't the promise or lure of sex drawing me in. I wanted to be friends, always. I wanted to laugh and talk and share. I wanted what most other girls want from their girlfriends. But I didn't want what a "man" wants.

Now, I do. This "man" wants to close the circuit between what he sees and what he feels. As most men do. What I don't know is how that works across the spectrum with straight men. Obviously there are the superstar gorgeous creatures in the media. Straight guys get to look but not touch. So when they go into the obtainable, are they "settling"? Or are they more mature than I've gotten the chance to be, and they realize beauty is where you find it? They love the skinny, the full-figured, the short, the tall, the slightly-off proportioned. They love without the trappings of Hollywood and the lie of beauty.

So why can't I? Why does it have to be muscles? Why do I have to learn these things so late in my life? I'm almost freakin' 50 years old.

And the inverse of that question is, why can't I have muscles? It's what 'trips my trigger' as a happy man once said to me. Why am I going to take on the stigma of being gay if I don't get to enjoy it on some level? Instead of an unfulfilling sexual relationship, I'd rather do nothing -- like I've been doing for 46 years, minus pre-sexual awakening.

Damn. What a sad freakin' life I've had. In this area--and that other area about having parents. But hey. I'm not the only one. And I do good things elsewhere. I'm not a TOTAL waste of protoplasm.

Maybe the FindFred guy will put up pics and be Jason Statham. And maybe I'll wake up tomorrow morning and be straight. Haha.

The One I Haven't Blogged About

So there's this gay comic fan and podcaster who I've gone out with a few times, just me and him. And it isn't Former Pastor, although he and this guy were friends way before I slipped into the cypher. They may even have History. I once saw a frustrated knowing glance that Former Pastor shared with a gay third-party about the guy in question. But Former Pastor moved back home down south. He ain't here no more.

Now. Let's call the guy in question "Eligible." Because, you know actually, he is. And each time we've met up for a movie, there's been ... You know. A Thing. Attraction. Or not an attraction actually, but more like our radars pinging off one another. It's like we're sizing each other up. No pun intended.

He's the kind of gay that I can see myself being. Folks know but it's just understood, not bandied about. Eligible's conversation is about Eco-friendly conservationism and comic books and civic awareness and his interests and stuff. No massive declarations or drawing of lines in the sand. The only reason to believe he's gay is because his co-host throws out a joke about it every once in a while and he'll great-humoredly catch the lob. In fact, his contribution actually dignifies his co-host's ham-handed attempts at the "gee isn't it fun to make fun of teh gay?"-humor. Think 'The Odd Couple' except Felix is gay and Oscar is a bartender who loves comics and fame.

So knowing Eligible was this bachelor, gay, subtle guy, I fired my retroes and allowed my craft to dip into his planetary orbit. When I went to my first social party (whereupon I denied my sexuality, posted pictures here at the blog, and tried living a life that I'm not destined for), it was Eligible's cool-ass Harlem pad w/a backyard hosting the party. And when the Geeks of New York would gather for events, I would hope he'd show up--glad and gravitating himward when he did.

And because he has shared many a kee-kee with me as we'd huddle in our theatre seats, I think he digs me too. It's like we're both waiting for the right signal from each other.

Except I have one thing (okay, LOTS of things) holding me back. He doesn't look like this;


Except he kind of does have that round head with receding hairline that I like. And he's a slim guy, but he said he's not packin' a sixpack under those urban casual clothes of his. (Yes I HAVE asked. I toldja ... the radar be pingin'!)

So. Here's the thing. To try a relationship with him would mean two very major MAJOR things.

1) Houston we have liftoff. Dude is a public geek figure. I arrive somewhere on his arm, or he on mine, and it's DONE. No turning back. Alan. Is. Teh. GAY. And ERRRRRRRBODY gunna know it.

2) He might never have that sexy-sexy that I crave. If I'm going to DO this, I want it to be GOOD. I want it "all." And if there's an abundance of anything, it's muscly gay men. Don't believe me, just walk along 23rd St in Chelsea for a few avenues. How that happened, I don't know, but Chelsea has become Teh Beefy Gay District. WOOF!

I got distracted.

Anyway, I want one of those. Eligible is eligible, pleasant, intelligent, successful generous, erudite, and a geek. He has a lot of qualities I like. But he doesn't stoke the fire. I find that with him, I'm just curious. I would share a kiss with him, if only to see what it's like to kiss an actual guy.

So yeah. That happened. If anything comes of it (the puns refuse to stop) I'll be sure to blog it.

I Talk A Good Game

But when it comes to rubber y road, I'm crap.

So I keep getting emails from frickin "FINDFRED" which happens because I went over there and started a profile. But stopped. Because. I'm crap.

But today I thought, no. Let me look around. BUT!! In order to look around, I had to frickin' finish the profile. So okay. Bastards.

So I started. I'm in fact in the middle of it now.

And SHIT! This effing thing is going all out!! It's asking nice questions like you would find on Match.Com, and then it asks stuff like what sex position I like, what is my ... size, what size do I WANT, what's my favorite bodypart, what's my BEST bodypart ... and I'm like HOLY CRAP. This thing is talking to me like I'm gay!!

And the voice in my head answered back "Well isn't that what you've been telling everybody?"

And I'm like "NO! I haven't been telling EVERYBODY...!!"

And the voice says, "Well either shit or get the fuck off the pot Nancy-Boy."

And then I literally want to break down in tears. Because FUCK YOU that's why!!! This is fucking fuck fuck HARD!! MOTHERFUCCCCCKKKERRR.

Dammit. I hate this. I'm lonely and scared and this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I feel like I can never EVER share this. Nobody wants to know this shit. What's MY size? What do I like???

How the hell do you answer something like that?

I hate this.

I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life.

It's not fair.

FUCK. YOU. KEVIN. You perverted criminal son of a bitch. I would kill you right now if I could. I would kill you.

I Am, In Fact, Now NOT Buried And Hidden In A Basement

I told Grim and survived. It took a few hours of playing on the Wii (amazing gadget that) before we went out for pizza and I went in with discussion about relationships and what he was doing with his. Friendly reciprocation kicked in, and when he started giving me advice on how to make all my Match.com dates successful from now on, I knew that was my moment.

With heart staggering, I told him that 'I don't think I'm attracted enough to girls.' I said 'I'm probably not even straight.' I said in fact, the opposite was true and that I thought 'guys are quite nifty.'

Good ol' hetereosexual that he is (to my dismay) he doubted my self-ideas for a little while and fished around for a saving grace to retain my membership for the Home Team. But I told him what I experienced in high school; how I escaped The Great Adolescent Sex-Race by immersing myself into religion yet I would systematically still have crushes on most of my friend-girl's guy-dates.

'Yes,' he declared. 'Then you are gay.'

'Yes,' I agreed. 'I am gay.'

We volleyed more words around for the next hour, but mainly from me. What I was facing at 45, how I did and did not want to live the rest of my life, and how I didn't know what to do with this self-info. "Do I just tell everybody?"

And he said "You know it won't matter to us, right?"

By us he was referring to him and the rest of them who I dumped in fear that it, of course, would matter and very much so.

And that's what I keep missing. I keep missing the fact that if people are my friends ... really my friends ... me being gay is not going to matter. I don't trade porn with my friends. They don't slip me pics or details of their bedroom lives. My sexuality is not something that affects my friendships.

And so far, I'm 100% successful in coming out of the closet and still being accepting by the friends who I do love. I may even have enough support to help me if I DO discover some of my acquaintences shall no longer truck with me upon discovering my orientation. To which by that time I will most likely roundly return a hearty "FUCK YOU, THEN" in response instead of being the recipient of a shattered world.

In other words, I'm seeing the dawn break through the gap of my slowly opening closet door.

It's kind of nice. I just don't know HOW nice yet.

We'll see.

Oh, and just another peek at why I like and want Grim to stay my friend; one of the responses he made to me, while I was vomiting my truth out in an adraline rush was, "You'd better change your Match.com profile then."

Doing This

Today I'm getting with Grim, with no one around but me and him. And I'm telling him.

Worst Case Scenario; he bludgeons me to death and hides my body in his basement. From his point of view, he'll have done it as an act of mercy because he is so diametrically opposed to homosexuality and feels it's a birth defect like mental retardation that can never be cured.

Best Case Scenario; He admits he's gay too, one quite like me in fact--closeted and attracted only to the roughest butchest of the lot. Then he snogs my brains out and tears my clothes off.

I suspect this will land somewhere in the middle. He'll hear it, respect it, but then the friendship will go cold and stale with him realizing he just doesn't have enough in common with me anymore, and he's not ready to be close to someone who has such a radically different lifestyle (potentially).

In other news, I went out for face-to-face meeting-type socialization with some comicbook-liking folks in my neighborhood! The ones who I introduced myself to as "liking guys, a lot" at the neighborhood messageboard. So if any of them cared or have good memories, they were meeting me already as a person who said he's most likely a gay dude. Vague enough?

So they either thought, as I was sitting there, "this guy's gay, right?" or they were thinking nothing of the sort because they didn't remember my little epilogue. Nice and ambiguous, the way I like it.

But that's not going to happen today with Grim. Because as afraid as I am of this mess, I'm stuck as stuck can be and I need to move. I don't wait for anything else in my life--I get impatient and depressed when I can't make stuff happen that I need, so what is more important than a prime human relationship? How much longer am I going to deny myself this basic human tenet? Who was meant to be alone on planet Earth? Who was born with no sex drive, no ability to be attracted to another person?

Well, not this kid. Grim might not be The One For Me, but he's a little too skinny anymore, anyway. There are some fine. ass. men. out there in this city, and I want one.

If I'm ever going to be an active participant in the search for Mine, then I'm going to have to be gay 24-7, because somewhere in those hours and days, somewhere outside of this closet--that's where he is.

Didn't Know How Mad I Was Until I Finished This Post

So about three weeks ago, maybe going on four, I saw Grim Jester driving in his car while I was out with a client. Details of that can be found here.

Well, I still haven't told him yet. He called last week to say we could get together some time when his girlfriend was not around, and that might be this weekend. Meanwhile, I visited our friend-in-common this weekend (the guy I met through Grim and would give rides to our venues because he's just on the other side of the Harlem River from me) because I wanted to use his unlimited metro card and save myself some trainfare. He's another that I could've told my gayness to, but again I just lapsed into the same hetero-patterns that I always do when I sense that I'm with a hetero friend. I chicken out. All the worse case scenarios come crashing down. (re: they'll ridicule me, they'll tease me, they'll scorn me, they'll call me a liar, they'll get angry with me, they'll suspect that I want them, they'll go silent, go uncomfortable, see me as different, as less, as worse, as deviant, as damaged. That everything will change. Everything.)

So I can honestly say that I ditched Grim Jester and the others as a pre-emptive strike. Because I want to tell them my truth, just so I can stop pretending that we have this girl-hunt activity in common anymore, and I can stop that particular type of personal isolation and despair. But if I've already ditched THEM, and the worst case scaenario happens, well--fine. Jokes on you. I left your asses a long time ago anyway.

Yet when I saw ol Grim driving that day, I didn't feel any of the frustration, anger, or fear. I felt lonely. I wanted our friendship back. I wanted someone who lets me call them. Someone who would be willing to take me out when I'm feeling low.

And it makes me want to get rid of the homo-ness again. It's just so ridiculous. Why does this have to be real? Why can't I just have a girl like everybody else? (haha)

Finding a girl would just be so much more ... better for me than going with my stupid homo urges. Sorry, I don't know what else to call them. It's just that they seem to be keeping me from what I want most in life--I want to be happy and accepted. And I DO want kid(s). And I NEED a second income, thanks to the way the country values psychology. I need to be in a family wherein one of us can cover all of us with benefits from their job. And I want to be able to have tete-a-tetes with neighbors without carrying around my homo-baggage. Without having to challenge pre-conceived notions, march in parades, educate children and became a fucking two-man mission-statement instead just being a fucking average guy who gets to have sex with the person who turns him on, like every fucking body else in the LITERALLY fucking world.

Clearly that's too much to ask of the universe. I have to be gay. LUCKY FUCKING ME. And THANKS A FUCKING LOT.

See title.

I Could Use Some Advice

So Dr. Something-Or-Other has still not responded, and perhaps I need to stop expecting he will. But the bloke with the hot body, who I wrote to the Doc about, I've found in the Doc's Facebook pages. Hot Body is as closed off there as he is at the "porn" site where I first found him (porn in quotes because while many others are showing off everything, Hot Body is only showing off his ... well ... hot body.)

Clearly what I've done is the act of cyberstalking. Is that bad?

I want to see this man walk and hear him talk. I want more than these tantalizing pics.

So here's the advice I need, should I FB message this guy? And if so, what could I possibly say?

I'm obsessed again. That much is clear. Would it be best if I get myself over this?

Coming Out

Well, I threw it down. A Neighbor in my neighborhood opened up a message board for alla us up in the hood, (that person wasn't Manhattan's Peak, but through her I learned of it) and in introducing myself I ended saying "And I like guys. A lot."

These neighbors of mine might follow me on twitter some day, you know, where all of everybody else does? So one day one of them just might follow up something gay about me and it just might get out. And yes, I'm as scared about that as I was about having a Facebook page. Because I don't want to "come out." I just want the world to allow me to do me without judging me or condemning me. And I want to be able to put it out there in the public that I'd like a nice guy to date. I'm not trying to "come out", I'm just trying to live.

In other news, Erica and Grizz, I haven't heard back from Dr. Something-or-Other. Maybe he didn't like me pushing up on his buddy. Because I'm telling you, between the two of them, it certainly would be his biddy I want. (Honestly, they were "buddies" not boyfriends. There's a place in the profile to say if you're single and they both were, whereas they could have made each the other's Partner and shared a profile. So I wasn't crossing any boundaries. Promise.)

Another Message In A Bottle

Because Match.Com isn't direct enough.

So yeah, I like to look at the nice men at a site called "something-or-othermuscle" Most of that name I made up, but not the muscle part. Because that's the part I like, of course. That muscle.

So it's a social networking site that features most prominently the pictures of how buff and wonderful the participants are, and they get to leave "I Likes" for one another, and they give out other details like their cities, their height, their weight, and all sorts of other details. And yes, THOSE details too. In fact more than half of those profiles and pics are pornographic. The lads love to show off their naughty bits.

With that kind of frank openness, I feel like I know what I'm dealing with. And too, I feel like I know what I want. I want to live as unashamed of my body and my sexuality as they seem to do. (Also they might just be exhibitionist freaks with damage in the restraint centers of their brains).

But I happened upon a connected pair of profiles, one amazing looking man who has a zipcode near me but no e-mail to use, and his "buddy" who has a very open profile link to a Facebook page where he reveals his professional side AND his orientation. HIS FB profile has a link and an e-mail address. And to backtrack a few steps, neither of their "something-or-othermuscle" profiles show pornography. Nothing more pornographic than you'd see in a underwear catalog, anyway.

And so, I went in. I'm hooked. Again. And to the professional one, I wrote the following e-mail (and I will censor the names, lest a google search opens me up to them before we ever meet. Not that I have anything to be ashamed of HERE. And actually, it would save time to let them see it...but in due time).

So here, read this;

"I don't know if I should call you, XXX, XXXXXXX, or Dr. XXXXXX, but whichever you prefer--hello!

"My name's Alan. I'm a 45 yr old black male New Yorker and I browse the (something-or-othermuscle) profiles pretty regularly. I've reached out to a few fellow New Yorkers there with no success so far. Given your Facebook link, I'm hoping that you might be open to a little communication from a guy who is seeking clarity on life and "the pursuit of happiness" whatever that means.

"I am currently a therapist in midtown Manhattan, (definitely not living as well as that might sound), and have also realized within the last four years that I'm gay. Being late to the life means, of course, that 95% of my friends are "straight" (jury's out on a few) and I don't know where I fit in with them anymore. I suppose it might go a little better if I were just to come out to everyone I know and let me friends accept or reject me accordingly, but all the repression and shame that I've been taught from my teen years makes that the hardest task ahead of me.

"So I'm writing to you for a few reasons. At the very least I'm looking for a pen pal who could offer some encouragement through opinion or shared experiences. At best, I could gain a new friend or a whole group of peers to help me into this new identity so I can get along with the rest of my life, and possibly do some good as a result. Now, of course, the guys on (something-or-othermuscle) are my types of guys. Prime example is the guy, XXXXXXX XXXX, whom you're buddied with and who doesn't seem to take e-mails. I definitely know I'm gay when I see his body. But finding you through his profile seems also like a win because you might be more willing to respond than have others. So I guess I was drawn to send you this e-mail on all kinds of levels. I suppose, whatever else could come from contact like this is yet to be seen. It's certainly new territory for me.

"So, yeah. I guess that's pretty much it. I have more online info about who I am and what I do that I can share if you want to know whether I'm a spambot, or want to know what I look like, or whatever. I figure that's only fair, right? Oh! Also I work out at NYSC too, usually in spots around midtown, mostly at 73rd near CPW because afterward it's a nice walk across the Park to work when I'm done. Or vice versa.

"Right. So. Here I go sending out my message in a bottle.

"Hope to hear from you. Thanks.

"-Alan"

What do you think about that, Dear Readers? Biggest Mistake Ever or About Damn Time?

Two Weeks and about 7 Hours Ago...

I saw Grim Jester on the road while I was out with my client. I texted him to say "I just saw you" but I had the wrong number. I sent an email to my old group to repeat "I saw you" but again, as if I'd dialed the wrong number again, there was no response.

That was two weeks ago.

In the last 14 days, I've been a therapist for other people. A woefully underpaid one, so much in fact that I shall be late to pay July's rent. And will be a thousand and change behind in my car payments by the end of the year. And My license will be suspended for non-payment of the ticket I can't afford to pay since I had to get my car out of the tow pound 4 weeks ago.

Yeah, ol' Me is in that place again. However, the insurance company is actually the reason why this time--not bad judgment on my part. They keep making mistakes during my pay-out and I keep having to return the checks. I need them to cut the shit, and cut me a check on Monday. But even so, I won't get that insurance money until July 15th after the center has held onto it and gotten their interest's worth.

So this has been my frame of mind for the last 4 weeks. My money woes returned a sense of the stupid dumbness of my life. Yet I sit in the big chair, encouraging others to see the brighter sides of THEIR lives. I teach OTHER people how to make the best of communication and relationships. I got crazy mad "maximize your life" skills--for someone else.

And two weeks ago, when I saw Grim Jester, I saw an opportunity to regain a little control back out of this crazy life. So I called the house number that I still had until I reached him. And I arranged to go over to his house to see him today. And I sat up in the room with him and his new girlfriend and mended fences. Mind you, Jester's way of mending fences is to proceed like nothing's happened, which worked for him. I only stayed for a few minutes because his girlfriend looked sleepy, possibly post-coitally, and I wanted to have more of a "talk" than this virtual stranger's presence would allow.

But he walked me out to my doomed car, and he seemed glad that I had come, and I sensed that whatever I was holding against him, I had let go.

But the control I wanted back in my life was not fully restored today. For what I intended to tell him was that I was gay, and have been all this time, and the reason I left the group is because I couldn't stand being around him and only letting him piss me off instead of meeting my need. I intended to tell him that all his anti-gay remarks had made me feel embarrassed and ashamed of what I was, and that while I was struggling to accept this about myself, I needed a lot less of him and his hairy muscles, and his locker-room fratboy group of geeks teasing gay people (and thus, ostensibly, ME). And I meant to tell him that I still haven't figured everything out yet, but if I was going to get anywhere closer to who I am, I was going to have to come out to a few more people until I did it completely.

Because why am I a therapist helping other people make the most out of their relationships with people and lovers, yet not do anything like that for myself? How much older am I going to get watching people all around me continue to have their fantastic and magical relationships, while I resign myself to an inhuman experience of isolation and fear?

I cry foul on all that. I'm lonely. I want a dude. I just have to accept that.

(Untitled)

In a bloggy mood this AM. It should be illegal to post pictures of yourself on the internet if you're male and you have muscle. Or are hunky in any sort of way. At all.

I do think I'm recovering nicely from a whirlwind crush I achieved a few days ago. I got turned onto a comicbook/comedy troupe last week by a fellow fan, and lo and behold, they had a kinetic manhunk in their ranks. Made me laugh and made me lust. So what do I do? Well, I hit 'im up, of course! I posted on their YouTube, friended them on Facebook, Tweeted them with praise. And who of the four should respond immediately? Why, Hunkalicious of course! Letting me into his Facebook world helped not at all. "Single" declareth he! As I browsed his camping pics and wrestling shows attendance, we traded messages "Have you done this?" "Where do you live?" "Did you read that?" "What'd you like best?" kind of stuff. All the while I'm noticing his (as well as his troupemates) involvement in a big church. Pics of song services begin to unearth. Hunkalicious on a stage with a mic in one hand and the other stretched up to the sky in prayer.

Hunkalicious' Facebook preference is "Women" and these boys are ministers in a mega church. And although he's the only single one in the group, and the best looking, and the hunkiest, he's involved in ministry. That means that even if he harbors a secret love for the well-figured man--he's buried himself under the protective cocoon of Godliness. At my most grandiose, I know that to court him any further would be (another) big letdown for me.

So, here's the deal--if you can avoid being gay, I highly recommend that course of action at any cost (Yeah, right).

It's absolutely no fun getting these unbidden crushes when you least expect them, as they have approximately 0.0034% chance of turning into anything. And NO it is not just like hetereo crushes. No it is NOT. Because a guy can find a girl attractive and can expect a reasonable chance of chatting her up. It would be a surprise if he discovers she's "Single" but interested in "Women." But this is what it's like all the time for the gay single man. Guys befriending guys is common and expected, without the baggage of sex-attraction. Poor single straight guy just wants a friend. WHY did it have to be with THIS guy, preying on him with unwanted sexual advances that skeeve him the ufck out? He didn't ask for that. He was just being friendly.

Not to mention that Facebook puts all your business out there in front of all your "friends."

My safest fantasy scenario is that any of the single, good looking guyfriends on my Facebook chat with me, and I with them, and somehow someway (through osmosis I guess?) he or I approach the topic of why I'm single at my age, I tell him in a PM, and he says, "Oh. Hmm. That's funny. So am I!" Then we start communication on another level "What's it like for you?" "Isn't it difficult to see all our friends married, having kids, etc etc?" "How many gay relationships have you had?" "You neither?! Wow, you're exactly like me!" Hilarity ensues.

I suppose that could still happen with Hunkalicious, but the man is ensconced in a church. Publicly ensconced. Unless their church is so open-minded as to allow samesex marriage within the ministry -- I'd be setting myself up for failure. Or something illicit and potentially disastrous. Have you ever seen a church line up to excommunicate a member for moral indiscretion? I have. Participated in fact. Sick and tragic. Talk about moral failure--WE committed it that night, regardless of what that member had done.

And then of course, there's the fact that he's 12 hrs away from here.

Oh, speaking of that, Ned, I missed you during my trip to Charlotte! I guess there was a lot going on for both of us? I was running with two groups this time instead of just the one group you met last year.

Anyway, so that's what's going on. I'll probably still head down that road with Hunkalicious in conversation ... I feel it. No. Stop it, Me. He said he's interested in "Women" on his Facebook. It doesn't matter if his church supports samesexness. He doesn't. Let it go. Stop it.

So much fun to be me. Eat your hearts out. :-/

45 Years of Bad Road

I'm going to re-name this blog "downer" because that's all I seem to use this space for anymore. I twitter happy stuff with pictures and funny things to say all the time. All day everyday, in fact. In 140 or less. But when Teh Suck descends on me, 140 or less don't cover it. And too, some people who follow me on twitter are not trying to hear Teh Suck. They don't follow me just so they can hear me say that sometimes my life is no better than a steel-toed boot to the face.

Because frankly, EVERYBODY lives a life which isn't always that great. And so people subscribe to twitter accounts for their own entertainment, not to be brought down. Which is why there are therapists. You go pay for the service of having someone hear you whine. Not many want to do it for free.

But for the ones who WILL do it for free? Them I call "friends."

So friends, here it is again.

I spent over an hour on the phone today because the insurance company that pays me for listening to people's problems wildly both overpaid and underpaid me--as if they lost their entire minds when the insurance buy-out took effect and their pay rates to me changed.

In trying getting to the bottom of why they screwed up so badly (no answer was forthcoming), I did find out what they intend and actually WILL pay me, once they get it right on a consistent basis.

This;
Fully one-third less than what I had been paid.

This will be from now on with my insured clients. The same work for much less pay. For no other reason than that one company bought out the other.

Aside from the ethics of that action, I ask myself, when does life get better? How many setbacks is ahead of me, yet still left to wade through?

I tend to think that, okay, life sometimes absolutely sucks. Without question. It can ab. so. LUTELY suck. Absolutely. But through the suck, you grab a foothold here, a threshhold there, and you get to enjoy what's "normal" sometimes. You get to have a sense of equilibrium. Some security. Some love. For just a while. Maybe for a good while. And maybe along in the good whiles, you can make a difference. Plant you a flag somewhere. Matter to planet Earth and a few of its inhabitants for just a spell. Get a little of that glow before you go back to Teh Suck again.

But what happens when Teh Sucks seem to mount up to more than the Good Whiles? Inordinantly disproportionate numbers of Teh Sucks. Wildly out of kilter. What then? When you look back at your life and you realize you're looking at 45 years of bad road.

Parents who physically fight one another.

Polysubstance-abusing father.

Bipolar-disordered mother.

Raised by a woman who, while is not your mother, dysfunctionally loves your father so much that she covers up for the absolutely shitstain of a human being that he is.

Molestation from a neighbor.

Uprooted from home and transplanted into a roach-infested, impoverished neighborhood.

The task of fitting in thrown comically off-kilter by the fact that you already know what sex is, and it's terrfying.

Learn to escape your life by playing D&D and reading comicbooks.

Sequester yourself in a religious cult, because fantasy & science fiction isn't covering your tracks when your peers want to go get high and make all the gooshy sex.

Made to believe that the only life worth living is the one on the other side of death.

Realize religious zealotry is mainly best suited if you're a bigot, but your skin is brown, so you know you'll never fit in there.

Realize also that men are more sexy than women, and so, hey guess what, you've actually been gay all this time! 1000 bonus points!

Try to turn this shitstorm into a life, head off into being a therapist because that's the only degree your years in religious zealotry can be folded into.

Discover your chosen profession pays the least amount of all the degreed professions because mental healthcare is low on the totem pole of societal concerns and values.

Turn around to see yourself smack dab in the middle between your 45th and 46th birthday with no savings, living from paycheck to paycheck, rooming out of someone's apartment, no girlfriend, no boyfriend, no kids, no future security, no ... you don't know what. So unsuccessful at being an adult that you don't know WHAT else it is that you don't have. But you know you don't have it.

Yeah.

Now.

If I don't succeed in something within the next 5 years of my life, then really, what am I doing? What's the rememdy for the facts as I've lain them out here? Do I need to shake off the cobwebs and get that doctorate? Go deeper into debt but come out somehow with a better paid position because of the PhD? Do I reinvent myself as a Super Hip Metropolitan Professional Life Coach, and pile on the charm to court the affluent and needlessly wealthy & encumbered? Do I jump tracks completely? Do I sign up for public assistance--again?

Or maybe I go back to the pursuit of art and find ways for it to make me money this time. All this free time, forcing the time & opportunity to write, maybe that makes it "put-up or shut up" time.

I think I'm a good writer.

Oh yeah?

PROVE IT.

Make some MONEY with it.

Stop whining.

DO something.

Else.

I Hurt My Friend

So I go into my geek internet hangout and got all shouty and preachy last night, and called out one of my favorite dudes--one of the thimbleful to whom I came out of the closet, mind you. I challenged him on the idea of elitism. He didn't verbalize how upset I had made him, but he did withdraw from the forums for the evening with a statement that indicated how he felt.

So of course, now I'm upset. I don't regret my opinion, I just regret the sledgehammer with which I delivered it. There are some truths out there that people aren't ready for. And there are some comparisons that aren't fair to make. I'm guilty of doing both to one guy who really didn't deserve it from me.

It's just that the term "I'm better than" sets off alarms for me and it calls up images that scare me and threaten me. I didn't want that to be true of my dude, so I rang the bells and called him out. And his reaction seems to indicate that I touched a nerve.

But I need to let him have that. His sense of superiority put him where he is now and keeps him successful in his field. I also think it's a character flaw and that career success isn't so important that it should allow you to look down on anybody. But that's why I'm not a sports fan. I'm clearly a hippie, in fact. Still, this guy has never shown anything but love to me--so why did I let his character flaw threaten me? Did I think he was going to go get a rope and a white hood and lynch me?

Ahhh! I just hope he can recover. I hurt him. I sold him short. I've asked him to forgive me. I hope he accepts.

"I Deserve This Sexy"

That's what Fringes said at her place when she told readers that her size 4 jeans were falling off her butt.

I LIKED that!

Because I've been strutting my stuff in front of my mirror too! Today I finally made that bitch of a scale say my name! "186!" it said, clear as a bell. 30 official pounds have been shed since Jan 5th.

Last week I was at the gym in shorts and only my black athletic t-shirt (and socks and sneakers). I've never before worked out in public in just an underwear t-shirt. Other, thicker, "outerwear" t-shirts always, but never a common Hanes t-shirt. This time I did, actually because I forgot the other kind at home. And this was following a day where I felt fat and unattractive and just yucky. What a difference a day made.

Day before yesterday, I came up with something that for some reason I hadn't at all considered. It's this; even though I like to blog 99% of my business out, and Tweet 75% of the same, I actually don't have to declare JACK.

All my friends to whom I haven't told about my sexuality--never need me to. Whether they want to know or not. Whether they would care or not. I don't have to tell them anything! I'm not a war that needs open declaration!

After all, they don't tell ME the saucy details of THEIR shtup life! So why they have to know mine?? When did I assume THAT responsibility?

And the corollation goes thusly; I can go get my freak on without worrying who knows and who doesn't. Because if I'm ever 'found out', or if I ever get one 'a dem lurve connections and my smoky hot man wants to come to a comic convention with me, I don't have to feel guilty at all. At all.

Here's how it'll go;

Friend; "So who's your buddy?"
Me; "This is my dude, Rick." Rick pecks me on the cheek. Or maybe the mouth. Because Rick is never ashamed of who he is. And he thinks I'm hot too.
Later, when Rick has gone--
Friend; "So ... dude, you're GAY??"
Me; "Yeah? Is that a problem?"
Friend; "But ... what about Corinne Bailey Rae? And Ciara? I thought you loved them?"
Me; "Ciara's hot, and if Corrine ever entered my life, I surely would try to make a go of it, but nah dude. Generally guys turn me on. Always have, as long as I could remember."
Friend; "Hmm. Just ... I don't know...I had this whole image of you!"
Me; "Yeah, no."
Friend; "But why didn't you ever say so?"
Me; "Didn't seem appropriate at the time. We never really talked about sex, have we? I mean, not really."
Friend; "I guess not ... really."
Me; "And if you would have asked me point blank, I guess I would've told you. But you never did. I mean, I've never asked you when the last time was you had sex. I never thought you really wanted to get that intimate with me."
Friend; "Fair enough. I guess it does make sense in a way."
Me; "So again, is this a problem for you?"
(And as I suspect, those who are really my friends will say--); "Dude, what's changed? Be who you are. You'll always be my friend."

As others have already done.

I'ma have a sixpack by June.
I deserve this sexy.

I've Heard It Calling My Name

I've heard it too many times to ignore it
It's something that I'm s'posed to be.
Someday we'll find it
The Rainbow Connection
The lovers,
The dreamers
And me.

This Homo Life, Pt 2

So yeah, so out with Con Buddy last night and had a fun time with the geekery, which went along with more candid talk about our private lives whereupon he detailed more of his very very straight libidinous attractions and I fronted again as if I were Johnny Hetereo.

Yeah, I'm settled. Con Buddy loves the ladies and I'm just where I always have been--on the outside looking in.

Whatevs.

This Homo Life

Did I already use that blogpost title once? But anyway. So the bloke I've blogged about once, we'll call him Con Buddy--not because he's been to prison, but because he's great to buddy up with at a comics convention--is getting closer with me in terms of friendship. Handsome Italian guy who has made offers of companionship since the day he first said hello at my first Geektogether lo these two or so years ago.

Of course, his offers have mostly concerned conventions. He booked us in the same hotel room down to the next con, and we're driving down together, and then the plans evolved to include others in on the trip and the hotel room.

Then lately, at the start of the year he wanted me to come with him to Yoga. (Didn't work out because he said he'd hurt his back, but I was going to go, dang it. Was going to show my feet and everything.) Then he wanted to meet up with more geeks when I did, here and abouts in the city. "Don't forget me!" said he. Then last week he wanted me to take him to a gym for a trial membership since he knows I go. Which I did, and afterwards we went out to eat. Tomorrow, we're going out to a small and regular comicbook social venue that I've wanted to attend for ages.

So lemme ask you...in the mind of the average man, this is just what friendship between dudes is supoosed to be like, right? We laugh, we have things in common, we're physically butchy, we cuss, and we talk about girls.

*skkrrrrxx*

Oh yeah, that's right did I mention that part? This is something we men seem to need to do. Talk about girls. Even when, as in my case, we're not actually sexually all that interested in them. So in the mind of my Con Buddy, I'm a single straight guy who makes a good and available friend.

And in MY mind, he's a single straight guy who is where I was when I was his age (just touching 40). He's had girlfriends like I have, (only in his case lived with one of them, and has had sex with more than one of them), and now has drifted back into singlehood by his own choice.

So of course, in my mind I've thought and hoped more than a little that all his overtures for friendship have been because he's attracted to me but doesn't want to be gay, but is just obeying his libido and not piling recriminations on himself. I want to believe he's going with his flow because life is too short, plus he's not learned how to live in the shadow of self-condemnation and fear religious judgment.

But.

Even if all that were true, I rediscovered the other day just how fearful I am of This Homo Life. Even with all the above hopes and beliefs about Con Buddy fully in place, when I had the opportunity to come out to him over dinner, after the gym, I didn't do it. It's not for lack of ability--I had the same conversation going with him that I had had with my Podcast Mancrush(es) when I came out to them. I knew what conversational road to go down in order to lead to the Homo Destination. But with Con Buddy, I breezed right past my stop.

Why did I do that? And, you might ask, why do I not plan to revisit that stop at all? I accept that he could be just like me; attracted and looking to be swept off his feet with his first passionate butch-kiss but has never had any homosexual relationships and doesn't really want to cross that line into that world and that identification. Which, since I've chosen that same path for myself, I respect. But if there's ever any chance to even briefly experiment, much less have a full-on same sex romantic relationship, he would be the guy to try it with.

Yet, I just can't. It's like bungee-jumping (do they still do that anymore?) If the cord breaks, I'm dead. Dead dead dead. And I've done just fine without it. And people who have tried it say it's a rush, and life-affirming and yadda yadda yadda. But the shit is scary.

So I'm content to just have a friend to do stuff with and go places with instead of being alone all the time. Even if I think he's handsome, I don't need to be kissed (wants aside). It feels safer just to have the human connection without complicating it with The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name. I mean, hell, straight guys do it all the time, don't they? Why can't I?

And that's what's going on.

Hello Blogger My Old Friend...

...I've come to talk with you again.

So about my D&D buddies, who I've left behind because of utter frustration and growing tension between myself and the Grim Jester, I've discovered some news. The guy who I once gave a lift to, who once canceled because Jester wasn't going to show up, still checks up on me once inna. Even though he prefered Jester's compnay over all of ours that days, he still wants to be a friend of mine and invites me over to see movies and all sorts of things that I keep declining--the way I keep declining going back over there in a group-friend capacity.

Because, really--it's not so much about the tensions between me & Jester, now is it? Or, actually, it's EXACTLY about the tension between me and him. Or more just about MY tension. He turns me on. Always has done. And he infuriates me too, because he won't stop being a misanthrope weirdo who scoffs at my profession and pretty much everything else in life. That was all covered in previous posts.

So the news I got through the grapevine is that Jester found himself another girlfriend. Through Match.com. HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAHAHHAHAHAHAAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!

And isn't it ironic?

Dontcha think?

A little too ironic.

Because, yes, he's successfully moved on from the death of his last girlfriend, which is great for him. And he's giving relationships another try. Which is also great. And he's successful again--which I thought was a longshot, given his crazy ways. But there's two things about this which makes me want to--need to post.

1) I continue to feel such jealousy toward the hetereo world. How nice and convenient and tidy how hetereos can date and find other other and hookup and be accepted, and be normal. Match.com. How very lovely for you. These guys in that group, they do date, yeh. Remember The Cop, another member of that group who I found to be a nice friend, affectionate and friendly? Serial dater. Never goes without a girlfriend, love interest, and at the very least, coitus. Little Italian sparkplug is what he is. And it's just so friggin disheartening to be in their company and watch them date, and make jokes about girls, and make fun of gay stuff (as hetereos do without nary a though) and sit there laughing and fronting as though I were one of them. When, once I actually was one of them. But now, I'm just nothing like them anymore at all. And that breaks my heart.

but

2) Like a fool, and I do mean an utter fool, I've been holding out hope that Jester is living a lie and is secretly gay (a power top if full definitions are to be used), and that the tension between us has always been sexual. That somehow my absence would have made him more fond of me, and that someday--and soon, I was going to make my confession to him and he'd just throw me to the bed and voila! Happy Homo Ending. Yeah. Meanwhile, he's been Desperately Seeking Susan, and of course, because he's all MAN, he found her.

So I'm so done with These Stupid Dreams. All these storybook fantasies that I've been pining away for. Ridiculous waste of my time and emotion. In the big dice game called life, when it comes to love, I crapped out.

But I have other things going for me, that I enjoy, and will continue to do so. No need to reserve energy for things I cant change or force to happen--I'm going to spend it on things that are fun, and wonderful, and make me laugh, and make me smile. Like comicbooks and friends who know I'm gay and don't care. Like controlling my weight and getting myself gorgeous for absolutely no one but myself. Listening to music that I adore. And making art for art's sake. And leaving a positive mark on planet Earth for when I'm no longer living on it, but enjoying my right nows in full succession until that day.

And that's what's going on.

Being Human

So, I haven't read Ned's blog since "Food Lion", which was about like two weeks ago. A little more. So I go over there today in consolation of not being able to chat with him at the moment, and I discover that he posted about dreams and the interconnectedness of dreamstate phenomena, etc. and then I stopped reading because his post was on the 26th and my post about my Hetereo Dreams was on the 27th. (Please refer to the fact that I hadn't read his blog for 2 plus weeks.) So I'm hoping that the time stamps are somehow jacked, either on his end or mine, because otherwise, right after he posted about dreams and the other-realm quality of them leading to ESP and stuff--I was moved, 700 miles away, to post about MY dream. And you can check the history of both our blogs. Do we post much about dreams at all?

So how weird is life?

Right. I'll tell you how weird.

So every once in a Wolf Moon a television show or a movie will breeze along and drown me in overidentification. Once it was the movie "Sideways," back when I lived with George, and once (way back) it was the TV series "Family Ties" when I realized I was the ghetto version of Alex P Keaton.

Haha. I'm so punny.

So the newest sensation is a TV show called "Being Human". It's a gritty treatise that starts with the tagline "So this werewolf, vampire, and ghost all live in this house..." What it's REALLY about is how hard it is to fit into society when you're not like them. At all. The vampire (who is a hot hairy little number that I'd think was more suited to be the werewolf) has stopped drinking blood and is running parlay between the vamps who still do. The werewolf (who is a right nerd--not geek though, mind you) infected his girlfriend last season and he's trying to life with the consequences of that--and so is she). And the ghost is trying to forget that she's dead and attempted in the first episode to have a job at a pub, get a boyfriend, and stuff and t'ing.

In great dramatic fashion, it all goes slightly sideways. It's a great show.

So I watched the second episode today, at the break of dawn because that's my sleeping schedule nowadays, and I realized how much I have in common with their theme.

Just two days ago I met up with two of my podcast mancrushes for a dinner of laughs and comicbook chatting goodness. Geeks Afire! We are SO not yer granddad's geeks anymore. Or at least, THEY aren't. And to the one, I had already personal messaged my confession of homoness, but on Friday I "came out" to the other. Which makes now 3 altogether out of this community of maybe 50 comicbook geeks.

And it was funny, but my new confidant, who was as cool with it as I'd hope he would be (having had a gay uncle in a 25yr-long relationship until his death, and being an atheist, and believing its purely biological, and realizing one of his three sons could be gay by sheer dint of the odds, and expressed that he and his wife would be perfectly fine with that) said to me pretty quickly "So are you dating?" This was after the rundown of how I "got here" and how I tried so long to fit in with religion and with girlfriend after girlfriend.

So, already feeling vulnerable and skittish, with the guts laid open like that on our 13 dollar burger plates, which he paid for btw, I told him what I was really thinking at that moment and...well generally feel actually. No I'm not dating. I doubt if I ever want to date. And he said, "Don't tell me something stupid like you're 'going to be celibate for the rest of your life'?"

And I thought, God, why do I have to be the one in this position right now?

And this morning I watched "Being Human" and saw these vampires, werewolves, and ghosts struggle for normalcy, and fail and fail and fail and I think again to myself--"I am so kidding myself. I will never be normal. I have never been normal. It won't ever be easy. I have never had it easy."

And at times like these, I feel the greatest despair. The most hopeless. The most prone to curl up somewhere and just fade away.

And really, that's all I wanted to say about that today.

Oh, and that I've lost 16 lbs since Jan 5th. Trying to get comparatively sexy in order to enter into the homosexual dating life that I'll never really do.

And so it goes.

Hetero Dreams

About three weeks ago, yeah. Very sexy girl with the right kind of expression of her face did one of those come hither giggles and I went hither. We nuzzled a little and then of course I woke up. Blinking in the harsh morning light I had the afterglow of Girl Lust. I remembered what it feels like to be entranced by the female--to be woo'd and to woo. To fit into the Yin as a standing member of the Yang Club.

That's it really. No big revelation there. I still am what I am. I've dug on dudes since then so I didn't dream myself into 100% heterosexuality. I've never been that.

I only wish it had were that easy.

Checking In

Bullet Points;

-Still realizing that Life In The Closet is warm and toasty.

-Got with Former Father Figure a few Saturdays ago and eventually got down to my baseline. He had a lot of advice how to become "normal." I argued staunchly pro-gay. I represented my side of the equation and made many analogies so he could see my side of it. And somewhere in all that I realized that I didn't care anymore what he or my old church people thought about me. If they don't realize that I've done everything...EVERYTHING they taught me in order to be "normal" and NOTHING. WORKED. then they can, to a man, kiss my ass. All them blessed with "normal lives" and sex drives that happen to pull them in the accepted direction. So they can slap each other on the backs, attend each others weddings, make saucy innuendos about each others sex lives, have children, and the whole nine. How very fucking nice for them. But if they want to peer down at me from their lofty "normal" heights of superiority, point fingers at everything I've done wrong to "make myself this way" (yes, the Former Father Figure went there), and now wants me to wire up like Clockwork Orange to "fix this." then it's about time I stop caring about their opinions.

So I took the code of secrecy away from Former Father Figure. I gave him permission to tell anyone in the church that I'm alive, where I live, and what I'm doing. I told him he can give them my phone number if any ask for it.

And they can come get me.

But you know what will most likely happen? Not one God-damned thing. Ain't nobody but my Former Father Figure was checking for me all these years. They don't give a shit about anybody else's life but their own. They only try to convert people to Christ because it's a feather in their Holiness cap.

Now mind you, none of this means that I'm about to jump in the bed with the next dude I see.

In fact, at the gym this AM was a nice guy who I could tell had to leave his comfort zone to chat me up in the locker room, making small talk with me and hoping for the best. He was odd and not my type (unlike the Haagen Daas guy), but I had mad respect for his courage. I spoke back, flattered and responsive, but we were not going to be hooking up today.

I'm not desperate to pop my gay cherry with just any ol' bloke who comes along. And the scorn of the Holy Saints of My Former Church is not going to drive me to it. If the right one comes along, if I have the opportunity, if there's enough there to cross this line of sexual commitment -- I will do it. But if not, I'm committing to living comfortably, with quality and honesty. I'm here to help people, enjoy what I can in my life, and do no harm. If God is still real, surely He understands that. Who I am and what I've done. What I want. The true and honest beat of my heart.

Nothing is stopping Him from loving me. Nothing I can do can MAKE Him love me more. He either does or He doesn't. I've left it up to Him.