I've been in love before. More than once actually so I know the accompanying feelings. For the past month and some change, I was seeing a guy who I can genuinely say I cared about. And while I can't speak for the other person and his feelings towards me, I'm sure on some level we both felt strongly for each other. We saw each other consistently, we slept together many nights, we lay in the dark and spoke about the deepest and stupidest shit there is. In essence, there was true intimacy.
At the same time, I continued to date other people (although not as consistently or consecutively) and I had sex with other men.
The last man I had sex with asked me an interesting question. The question wasn't interesting in itself, but upon reflection it raised a bunch of Carrie Bradshaw-esque personal musings. After we had sex, we were laying down cuddling and he asked, "Are you dating someone?"
I felt naked - and I was already naked so double whammy. I answered coyly along the lines of, "Aren't we all dating someone?" I don't know why I was afraid to say, "Yes, I'm dating someone" since in all fairness I was. Well, actually I do know why and it's pretty much the subject of this blog post: I was embarrassed to admit that I was dating someone yet had thrown caution to the wind and fucked somebody else.
In my older years, I've become hugely aware of the intricacies of human relationships. Commitment, dating, courtship, hooking up, friends with benefits, fuck buddies - all of these terms have very different rules and regulations. While some may be a lot less defined, there are still boundaries that one can and cannot cross.
Commitment, which is probably the most coveted and despised of the abovementioned, is like the holy grail to any single person who wants to be in love. It doesn't just mean going steady, it's runs the gamut of seeing each other almost everyday, spending very intimate moments together, being able to hold hands and kiss in public, sharing the deepest and darkest parts of yourself, sharing your life in almost all of its entirety and being completely vulnerable with someone all the while being stuck at the receiving end of their judgment.
Dating is a little harder to define. Personally, when dating someone I prefer the clean and simple. I can't date more than one person at the same time. It can get sticky, details, dates, situations and stories can get blurred and to be very honest, if I see someone more than four times it pretty much means I can see a future with them in some capacity. Sharing a part of yourself like that can be tiresome if you spread it out among multiple dating partners.
I did see the guy who asked me the "dating" question once again. We met for coffee in Chelsea and we had a conversation about sex. He asked me if I had bottomed for anyone since we had had sex (I had refused to bottom for him because, as I explained, I feel the need to have a certain level of emotional connection with a man before I can enjoy being penetrated by him). I didn't respond but that was enough of an answer for him to assume the worst. I think he was genuinely upset that I had let someone else fuck me but not him.
The interesting thing is even I felt a little weird after. Was I being some kind of slut martyr? What was the difference between dating someone and having sex with someone? Furthermore, the guy who I wasn't dating was actually sweet and hot and we did have an emotional connection which wasn't completely based on simple sexual tension. We had met before, we had conversed and were both very attracted to each other, not to mention I knew the possibility of dating him was on the table.
And even deeper than all of this, was the person I was actually dating even taking any of this into consideration? Not that it mattered much (except it totally did). I rarely fuck someone when I hook up with them. I'm not old fashioned but it takes a lot of emotional energy to stick a dick into a person and it is infinitely more pleasurable if it's someone I actually like, really like, really, really, really like or love. However, was this the case for the man I was seeing? Or was he fucking other people without the scruples I was holding on to?
The dating question also wasn't just transfixed on sex though. I was genuinely in like with a guy, a future would have been exciting, dare I say a relationship could have blossomed yet I was seeing other people and having sexual relations outside my courtship. The reason being that I felt like if nothing was said and no discussion about a probable future ever had, I was free to do whom I pleased. Except I never tried to broach the subject.
Early on in our relationship, I'd had a conversation with my dating partner and he had made it clear he "wasn't looking for a relationship" yet on the flipside he had told me (during the same conversation) the quest for love was paramount in his life - so even these confusing signals left me with an eyebrow raised and a straying penis. However, in other conversations he would say things like "our dating life is going well" or that we had a good thing going together or while he wasn't looking for a relationship, the natural flow would dictate more than he or I could.
So when does dating become DATING (caps intentional). And when does DATING become being open to something even more serious... like a relationship? While a month and a half is definitely not enough to know if I want to pursue a full fledged relationship, I wish I had brought up the topic just to bounce it off the other person. It's a confusing land, and the terrain isn't that well traversed. I remember being 15 and after making out with my first boyfriend, we hung out everyday and never even spoke about the fact that we were in a relationship - probably due to the fact that we were too young to even realise how earth-shattering and gravity-defying the word "relationship" tends to be. Is it that we just put too much weight on shit like commitment, or boyfriends, and we should just hop on board and hope for the best?
Or do we just need to program our minds differently when it comes to relationships and dating. Do these terms only hold the weight we apply to them? And if we don't apply any weight, or don't even think about the consequences of what they can possibly mean, would our dating lives/relationships be the better for it?
Something to ponder.
Showing posts with label gay in new york. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gay in new york. Show all posts
Monday, June 3, 2013
Monday, April 22, 2013
Ren - 13/4/13 to 21/4/13
Ren... yes, he's a guy. And as the date in the title suggests, I first met him Saturday 13th April, 2013.
Well, actually, it's a little more complicated than that. After scouring OkCupid for likely matches (and there are hundreds - maybe even thousands in the New York, five borough area), I messaged this guy. He had pictures of himself with video cameras and captions like "On set in Brooklyn", a very cute smile and a picture of his cat. Now I generally think pet pictures can be a bit corny, especially when it's your pet and nothing else - pictures with captions like "Buddy sitting on a park bench" or "Lola, 3 weeks old". How am I supposed to gauge how hot you are when the biggest picture on your profile is that of your solitary pet that you could have scratched from some unsuspecting ASPCA fansite. It's just like strangers with candy: they lure you with the idea of something sweet and then rape you unrelentingly, blaming your naivete to justify their pillage.
But I made an exception because his cat was adorable and so was he, not to mention I often don't hold steadfast to my general rules of courtship because then I'd only date Noah from the "Notebook".
I can't remember exactly when Ren messaged me back, but he did. And his message went something to the effect of "Hey James, I think we met before outside Industry. I remember asking a guy from Tobago with a cool accent for a cigarette a few months ago."
Upon reading the message a vague recollection of the event entered my hypothalamus. We're talking months back - maybe around January - and I vaguely remembered speaking with a guy who I thought was cute outside a club, giving him a cigarette and nothing ever coming of it.
So I hit this stranger with my number and told him to contact me if the urge ever led him to. Later that day I got a text with plans to meet in the West Village the day after (Saturday the 13th - useless Friday the 13th pun not intended) for coffee. I didn't reply right away because I had another date that Saturday and for some reason I thought the other guy was hotter and better. He wasn't.
Eventually I messaged him back, I agreed to meet at the desired location and the next day I headed down to the beautiful West Village to meet "that guy I loaned a cigarette to". I got to Mojo Coffee which, if I might say, has the most unoriginal and base coffee shop name in all the world, and waited outside. Eventually, Ren came out from the coffee shop and poked me in the back. "James?" he asked.
My heart sank to my penis. He was cuter than his pictures (I love when this happens. It's like waking up on Christmas morning to find a naked Hugh Jackman with a bow nestled snugly on his crotch, waiting to be unwrapped next to your 20 foot tall Christmas Tree) and his smile was like the glittery part of a rainbow right before it touches the pot of gold with the fat leprechaun dancing around it oddly. We went inside and immediately had some of the best first-encounter conversation I have ever had. He was funny, he touched my forearms when he spoke, he kept prefacing his sentences with my name (eg. "James, you are so hot and I want to do you on the espresso machine right now."), he was animated and intelligent and our conversation never lulled. We weren't sure if we had met previously outside Industry until we started speaking about our cats. Immediately I recognised his cat wallpaper and he said he remembered me telling him that my cat was "a bitch".
We left and walked toward Chelsea, spoke about "Breaking Bad" which he has just started to watch (he received immediate props since I'm a big fan of the show) got more coffee and sat in a park where we chatted more, got very close and engaged in kissing in the presence of complete and unsuspecting park-goers. After, I walked him further uptown to his gym and we made plans for me to go over to his place on Monday to watch a few episodes of Breaking Bad - which, in gay world, is slang for engage in massive doses of making out, cuddling and being ridiculously inappropriate with the hot stranger I hung out with for a few hours for one day. Because being a slut is what I do best.
I was pretty excited after meeting Ren. He was a sweetheart in almost every sense of the word. He kept trying to mimic my accent, but sounded like a lazy, white Jamaican-Bahamian hybrid, his smile (I'm sorry, did I mention that already?) made me want to giggle like a seventeen-year-old who is watching porn for the first time and when he held my hand in the park he entwined his fingers with mine - which my mum always said was "the way someone who loves you holds your hand". Insert obvious squeals of excitement here. Also insert a puke bag in case the corn factor is just too much for you.
He messaged me after that very day and said he had a good time, that I was really cute and he couldn't wait to watch Breaking Bad later that week. Well, a man who is sweet and then texts me right after gratuitous park making out is a man among men in my book.
On Tuesday, I headed to his place. He made dinner - or heated and boiled pre-packaged goods - and we got right to it. Now, the reason this guy gets an entire post becomes clear in my mind on this very night. We watched Breaking Bad, spoke about the acting class he goes to, ran some lines from "Death of a Salesman", he gave me an extra copy that he had because he said he thought I would like it (points for trying to expand my artistic intelligence), got hot and heavy and eventually retired to his bed for the night. We're talking, kissing, talking, kissing, groping, talking, getting more and more naked, talking, et cetera. At one point, with the moonlight on his face (or the lights from the apartment building on the opposite side of the street facing his window) he stops to look at me and says (paraphrased), "James, I don't want you to think the only reason I invited you over is to have sex."
Melt. Melt melt melt. This is me melting. This is my jaded New York City dating heart melting. This makes up for every douchezilla I encountered, every ignorant fucktard, every cunt and any other viable terms that can be geared toward the horrible gay single men of New York. In one sentence, he patched up every wound I had felt and every disastrous encounter I had taken part in.
We were there, in the bed, in our skivvies, I was ripe for the taking, he was huge and strong and ridiculously gorgeous and all he wanted to do was talk and cuddle and laugh and act like that seventeen-year-old. There is a God. Kidding, there is no God. But there is some kind of karmic retribution that sent this fine motherfucker my way.
After that night, we planned to meet on Friday for a drink with his friend and see a movie. I spent the night and the day after we met again for dinner and a movie - since the movie the night before didn't happen. Our conversation is always going, I haven't laughed like this with someone in a very, very long time and who the hell lies down in bed, in the dark, in each others arms, talking about the silliest and smartest things? Me, that's who. Not to mention the sheer serendipity that I met Ren months ago in front of a bar where we didn't flirt, didn't exchange numbers and I ran off inside prematurely because it was too cold and I didn't think he was worth freezing my right ass cheek off for is so New York, I want to die.
Now the hopes aren't up. I'm a writer and very aware that hope is for the faint of heart who are disappointed at every juncture. I am still exceedingly weary of the men in New York. But finally, I feel like I am being rewarded for being a patient gay camper, Brokeback style (although his tent is a studio in the Upper West Side with heat and cable).
And while I am still dating other people, and I am keeping every door, window, peephole and crack open I'm finally aware that maybe there are guys out there who are nice and charming and kind. And sometimes you can just hang out with a sweet guy who is intelligent and beautiful and thinks just as much of you as you do of him.
Praise Jah.
Well, actually, it's a little more complicated than that. After scouring OkCupid for likely matches (and there are hundreds - maybe even thousands in the New York, five borough area), I messaged this guy. He had pictures of himself with video cameras and captions like "On set in Brooklyn", a very cute smile and a picture of his cat. Now I generally think pet pictures can be a bit corny, especially when it's your pet and nothing else - pictures with captions like "Buddy sitting on a park bench" or "Lola, 3 weeks old". How am I supposed to gauge how hot you are when the biggest picture on your profile is that of your solitary pet that you could have scratched from some unsuspecting ASPCA fansite. It's just like strangers with candy: they lure you with the idea of something sweet and then rape you unrelentingly, blaming your naivete to justify their pillage.
But I made an exception because his cat was adorable and so was he, not to mention I often don't hold steadfast to my general rules of courtship because then I'd only date Noah from the "Notebook".
I can't remember exactly when Ren messaged me back, but he did. And his message went something to the effect of "Hey James, I think we met before outside Industry. I remember asking a guy from Tobago with a cool accent for a cigarette a few months ago."
Upon reading the message a vague recollection of the event entered my hypothalamus. We're talking months back - maybe around January - and I vaguely remembered speaking with a guy who I thought was cute outside a club, giving him a cigarette and nothing ever coming of it.
So I hit this stranger with my number and told him to contact me if the urge ever led him to. Later that day I got a text with plans to meet in the West Village the day after (Saturday the 13th - useless Friday the 13th pun not intended) for coffee. I didn't reply right away because I had another date that Saturday and for some reason I thought the other guy was hotter and better. He wasn't.
Eventually I messaged him back, I agreed to meet at the desired location and the next day I headed down to the beautiful West Village to meet "that guy I loaned a cigarette to". I got to Mojo Coffee which, if I might say, has the most unoriginal and base coffee shop name in all the world, and waited outside. Eventually, Ren came out from the coffee shop and poked me in the back. "James?" he asked.
My heart sank to my penis. He was cuter than his pictures (I love when this happens. It's like waking up on Christmas morning to find a naked Hugh Jackman with a bow nestled snugly on his crotch, waiting to be unwrapped next to your 20 foot tall Christmas Tree) and his smile was like the glittery part of a rainbow right before it touches the pot of gold with the fat leprechaun dancing around it oddly. We went inside and immediately had some of the best first-encounter conversation I have ever had. He was funny, he touched my forearms when he spoke, he kept prefacing his sentences with my name (eg. "James, you are so hot and I want to do you on the espresso machine right now."), he was animated and intelligent and our conversation never lulled. We weren't sure if we had met previously outside Industry until we started speaking about our cats. Immediately I recognised his cat wallpaper and he said he remembered me telling him that my cat was "a bitch".
We left and walked toward Chelsea, spoke about "Breaking Bad" which he has just started to watch (he received immediate props since I'm a big fan of the show) got more coffee and sat in a park where we chatted more, got very close and engaged in kissing in the presence of complete and unsuspecting park-goers. After, I walked him further uptown to his gym and we made plans for me to go over to his place on Monday to watch a few episodes of Breaking Bad - which, in gay world, is slang for engage in massive doses of making out, cuddling and being ridiculously inappropriate with the hot stranger I hung out with for a few hours for one day. Because being a slut is what I do best.
I was pretty excited after meeting Ren. He was a sweetheart in almost every sense of the word. He kept trying to mimic my accent, but sounded like a lazy, white Jamaican-Bahamian hybrid, his smile (I'm sorry, did I mention that already?) made me want to giggle like a seventeen-year-old who is watching porn for the first time and when he held my hand in the park he entwined his fingers with mine - which my mum always said was "the way someone who loves you holds your hand". Insert obvious squeals of excitement here. Also insert a puke bag in case the corn factor is just too much for you.
He messaged me after that very day and said he had a good time, that I was really cute and he couldn't wait to watch Breaking Bad later that week. Well, a man who is sweet and then texts me right after gratuitous park making out is a man among men in my book.
On Tuesday, I headed to his place. He made dinner - or heated and boiled pre-packaged goods - and we got right to it. Now, the reason this guy gets an entire post becomes clear in my mind on this very night. We watched Breaking Bad, spoke about the acting class he goes to, ran some lines from "Death of a Salesman", he gave me an extra copy that he had because he said he thought I would like it (points for trying to expand my artistic intelligence), got hot and heavy and eventually retired to his bed for the night. We're talking, kissing, talking, kissing, groping, talking, getting more and more naked, talking, et cetera. At one point, with the moonlight on his face (or the lights from the apartment building on the opposite side of the street facing his window) he stops to look at me and says (paraphrased), "James, I don't want you to think the only reason I invited you over is to have sex."
Melt. Melt melt melt. This is me melting. This is my jaded New York City dating heart melting. This makes up for every douchezilla I encountered, every ignorant fucktard, every cunt and any other viable terms that can be geared toward the horrible gay single men of New York. In one sentence, he patched up every wound I had felt and every disastrous encounter I had taken part in.
We were there, in the bed, in our skivvies, I was ripe for the taking, he was huge and strong and ridiculously gorgeous and all he wanted to do was talk and cuddle and laugh and act like that seventeen-year-old. There is a God. Kidding, there is no God. But there is some kind of karmic retribution that sent this fine motherfucker my way.
After that night, we planned to meet on Friday for a drink with his friend and see a movie. I spent the night and the day after we met again for dinner and a movie - since the movie the night before didn't happen. Our conversation is always going, I haven't laughed like this with someone in a very, very long time and who the hell lies down in bed, in the dark, in each others arms, talking about the silliest and smartest things? Me, that's who. Not to mention the sheer serendipity that I met Ren months ago in front of a bar where we didn't flirt, didn't exchange numbers and I ran off inside prematurely because it was too cold and I didn't think he was worth freezing my right ass cheek off for is so New York, I want to die.
Now the hopes aren't up. I'm a writer and very aware that hope is for the faint of heart who are disappointed at every juncture. I am still exceedingly weary of the men in New York. But finally, I feel like I am being rewarded for being a patient gay camper, Brokeback style (although his tent is a studio in the Upper West Side with heat and cable).
And while I am still dating other people, and I am keeping every door, window, peephole and crack open I'm finally aware that maybe there are guys out there who are nice and charming and kind. And sometimes you can just hang out with a sweet guy who is intelligent and beautiful and thinks just as much of you as you do of him.
Praise Jah.
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