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.