Sonriso, Part 3

Exit Strategies

We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.

—from “We Wear the Mask,” Paul Laurence Dunbar

The next morning, I sent Derek a text: “We need to talk.”

In terms of dating and relationships, about 80% of the time that is a very bad sign. And for that reason it took him a while to respond.

That night, he sent a very generic message either oblivious or evasive of the situation: “Hey, GMB. What’s up?”

“Not much. Just homework tonight. Do you have a sec to talk on the phone?” I responded.

After another half hour, my phone rang and the pressure suddenly mounted. Cliché as it might sound, I panicked at the last minute wondering if I should even pick up. I answered at the last possible moment before it could go to voicemail.

“Hey, Derek,” I said in as neutral a tone as possible. “How was your day?”

“Super busy. School, then rehearsals, then work, then some family drama when I got home.”

“You do seem to have a lot of that don’t you?” I jested.

“Can’t deny that. At least there’s the weekend, right? It’s too bad things didn’t work out for you to go too,” he said, lying through his teeth.

“About that…. I really did want to go,” I said gritting my own teeth slightly. Teeming with dissatisfaction but holding back, I paused. “I talked to Zane on Connexion last night and he explained the situation.”

“What situation?”

“If you didn’t want me to go to Sundance, you should have told me.”

“I do. It’s just complicated, okay?”

“Yeah. This is getting pretty complicated,” I said. “This isn’t going somewhere I like, so I don’t think another date is a good idea.”

***

To be completely honest, that’s not what happened. Not at all. I didn’t send any text or attempt any serious talk. That’s how the story would have ended had it happened a year later.

Instead, I let it go. I had no intention of pursuing an actual relationship with Derek, but I still planned to wait it out. Zane’s forecast was that he’d lose interest soon and move on when he knew he wasn’t going to get any more action turned out to be fairly accurate.

One date was all it took.

I didn’t want to be there and I’m sure my body language indicated such. It all started with an uneasy hug in the snow as we met at the movie theater. Since he drove a bit that day, I suggested he pick the movie, and without fail he picked the one movie I wasn’t interested in: Underworld 3, “It’s okay,” he reassured me. “It’s a prequel, so you don’t need to see the other movies to know what’s going on.”

I sat there amused. While he was so enthralled he didn’t attempt to make a move, I amused myself with analyzing how ridiculous I found the movie and the situation. How did I end up stuck here. At least it’s a free movie, right? That’s all I’d pay to see it.

Our quick, final date ended with a quick hug goodbye. Should I say anything? It was as if I was holding my breath debating whether to come up for air or keep waiting it out conserving what little I still had in my lungs. We passed each other hollow smiles as he got in his car to make the drive back.

Twenty minutes later, I received a call.

“I had a good time, GMB.”

I listened waiting for the inevitable “but.”

“You know it’s been fun and all, but we’re at different places in our lives. I left the Church a long time ago. I’m comfortable with sex. You’re going off to grad school fairly soon.”

“True,” I said. Oh my gosh. It’s really happening, passively embracing this fate.

“Well, I feel like I haven’t been getting a lot out of our time together. I mean, I keep making all of the effort and don’t feel like it’s paying off.”

“Okay.”

“It’s best we move on then. After all, you’re looking for a relationship and at this point I don’t think I am anymore. I only have so much time to have fun.”

“I agree.”

With a few painless words, it was all over and I saw through the counterfeit smile. Not Derek’s, but my own. I was weak for putting up with being nothing more than an object, nothing more than a conquest, nothing more than a pretty face.

End, Part 3.

Sonriso, Part 2

Red Flags and the Kindness of Strangers

This post is rated PG-13 for some language.

At worst I feel bad for a while
But then I just smile
I go ahead and smile

—“Smile,” Lily Allen

A few nights after that steamy evening with Derek, a chat window popped up unexpectedly one night. It was Drake, a guy I’d spent months chatting with and texting without any success of lining up our schedules for a single date. I’d heard through the grapevine that he was in a relationship, so this conversation was particularly unexpected.

“GMB!”

“Hey, Drake! How are you?”

“Pretty good. Life’s treated me well. I saw you online and thought I’d say hi.”

“Thanks. I like hearing from old friends, but you know it gets weird when they’re in a relationship. I’m self-conscious of what it’ll look like sometimes.”

“That’s one of the silliest things I’ve ever heard. I know we haven’t talked for a while, but a friend is a friend.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.”

“There’s not a ton of good guys out there, so we’ve gotta look out for each other.”

His sentiment brightened my day a bit, but I wondered if its surfacing was not entirely spontaneous.

“I heard you’re seeing Derek.”

“Yeah. He speaks pretty highly of you. He considers you his best friend.”

“We go back a few years, I guess.”

“He’s handsome and witty.”

I wasn’t really expecting what came next although I wasn’t entirely surprised.

“He is. You just need to be careful.”

Drake didn’t elaborate, but rather left me to wonder just what he was leaving for me to discover for myself—a topic we would discuss over coffee a couple of weeks later.

Cole had acted similarly since Derek and I began to date. They went to school together and knew each other from a distance. Only later did I learn that it was by Cole’s wishes. That said, their paths did cross. A few nights after my chat with Drake, Derek made a confession:

“I was at a party last night and ended up telling Cole everything.”

My heart skipped a beat. I’d kept something from the one person I could trust the most. It was something deeply personal that I was still processing. I was planning on telling him about that hand job sometime down the road (despite his joking remarks that he would disown me if I got any action before he did). In a way, though, I’d kept it from him as I withheld the details of the date.

Cole’s response was ambivalent. He was happy I was comfortable with myself in the moment and reassured that I wasn’t so comfortable afterward. Just what I needed at the time even if I wasn’t able to reach out for that kindness myself. At this particular time in my life, that seemed to be my luck.

Despite what I’d learned about Derek that week, I was gearing up for our next date, a day at the Sundance Film Festival with a few of his friends. I’d wanted to go since I was a freshman in college (as one of my instructors was in Napoleon Dynamite and offered to take us before it sold out). Thursday night, though, he dropped a quick text: “Saturday won’t work after all.”

He didn’t really offer an explanation other than “Things didn’t work out,” which left me a bit upset. I put on a smile and let it all go in the moment, though.

“It’s alright. Some other time.”

“Next week. I promise,” he said.

Later that night, a chat window popped up as I was finishing up a paper on some Brazilian short stories.

“I hope you’re having a good night. I’m Zane, BTW.”

Zane was another one of Derek’s friends. The one who’d invited him to Sundance. I bet this is going to be an interesting conversation, I thought to myself.

“Nice to meet you. Derek’s thinks you’re pretty much the coolest guy he knows. He really goes on a lot about you.”

“Oh really? LOL, because he’s an asshole.”

Although I’d half-expected something negative from him at that point, his comment really took me by surprise. He explained:

“Derek’s a fun guy to hang out with, but doesn’t have a lot of substance. He’s why gay men have a reputation for being drama queens.”

“I’ve started to see that more recently. It’s got to be true if one of his best friends goes to some length to track down a total stranger warn him.”

“He’s got a pattern. He goes for he wants and when he gets as much as he possibly can, he moves on. Don’t let it get that far is all I’m saying.”

“Okay. That’s good to know. Next week’s definitely the last.”

“Next week? Aren’t you coming on Saturday to Sundance?”

“He told me things didn’t work out for me to go.”

“See…Total asshole. The only reason I got the passes was so that I and my friends could meet you. I’d hardly call it a reputation, but I’d call it a good one still.”

“Wait… Why was I not invited then?”

“You’ll have to ask him. If you ask me, though, I think he’s insecure about us possibly liking you better… and for good reason.”

The time had come to contemplate my next move.

End, Part 2.

Sonriso, Part 1

Reading Between the Smiles

And I can't hide, as people lie.
They make me cry, but i just smile
I can't hide, 'cause people lie.
They make me cry, but I just smile
I can't speak you read the team,
Your words they live to burn my dreams
But I can't hide, as people lie.
They make me cry, but I just smile.

—”Fake a Smile, Hide the Tears,” Beyond All Reasons

I used to wonder why my opinion of Derek changed so drastically in the months after we stopped seeing each other. It wasn’t so much a change of opinion so much as a sudden realization that I was attracted to the idea of doing what I’d never done before and having a boyfriend. Almost overnight, I went from recalling his wit, his skilled hands, and the squint of his eyes as he smiled to a disdain for each and every one of his traits. His wit turned from charming to malicious. The hands that brought me the first sexual sensation I’d shared with any other person (a hand job in a photo lab) took on a fiendish, self-serving character. And his smile was no longer an open expression of joy as I’d once seen it. It read more like a history of one people overcoming another in battle, making our romance more like the lust of conquest and his smile more a celebration of my fall to our desire.

In the moment, I enjoyed it. The pressure—of being the example, being the one that made being gay, Mormon, and happy work for him—had been mounting for months. I’d done what I could to cope with the friction of these two conflicting pieces of me, pushing against each other like two massive geological plates, and it seemed inevitable that one would subduct under the other resulting in some sort of growth. My faith that some path would be opened to me resulted in the apathy regarding the Proposition 8 debate and my ambivalence toward the self-hate I’d seen in other gay Mormon boys including my own best friend and others who were in much darker places to the point of contemplating suicide. Letting go for that moment made me reevaluate my stance on remaining neutral—or possibly complicit—in the gay Mormon silence.

In my disobedience, I’d let myself feel. It felt good to feel bad—to feel the guilt and know I’d made a decision not solely based on fear, but based on me. At least I knew what it felt like. At least I had knowledge to act on. I would not go gentle or blind into whatever lay ahead for me.

At least that’s what I salvaged from the rather dismal romance between me and Derek, which quickly unraveled in a matter of weeks. Every attempt I made to see him again just didn’t fit into his schedule and my idea to have a simple dinner sometime wasn’t as appealing as watching Underworld 3. Needless to say, that date became our last.

Before that could happen a number of red flags appeared, well-preparing me for the imminent end of our tryst.

End, Part 1.

I’m Not That Boy, Part 9

A conclusion is finally here.

Warning: This post contains some adult content.

Calando

“I really wanted that one to work out!” Cole said, turning to me as he drove us home from an evening at the symphony.

It was months after the whole thing had played out with Ianto and Derek, and I was finally getting his take on the story. Although we share a lot, Cole made an effort to distance himself emotionally from the possibilities there. After things had played out, though, he felt more comfortable sharing his feelings about what had happened.

“I suppose it was nothing more than wanting to see two good friends happy and it seemed like a good fit to me,” he continued.

“I know what you mean. I really wanted it to work out.”

***

If there was one lesson I needed to learn at that moment, it’s very possible that lesson might have been letting someone off gently. In a sort of cosmic way, Ianto did for me that night what I couldn’t do for Anderson the month prior. Rather than avoiding the situation somehow hoping it would disappear, he was completely honest with me on that final date.

Following our last, awkward kiss, he cleared his throat and it was apparent something was up.

“Um… we’ve got to talk.”

Every part of me knew what was coming, though I put on a brave face hoping to at least come off a little surprised.

“Guys like you don’t come along very often, but as you know, I’ve been seeing this other guy, and well…, I just feel like I need to see where things go with him right now.”

It was as if I’d cut my finger with a knife. I’d opened myself up for hurt, but when I thought about it, when I examined the supposed wound, I found no blood, no mark, no scar. “Just this once, everybody lives!” Nobody gets hurt! I thought.

Sure, I was disappointed, but I coped (in the lightest sense of the word) with the disappointment as I always had: by focusing on the positive. I didn’t really have to make a decision between Derek and Ianto because Ianto had done that for me.

***

In speaking about Ianto with Cole, the inevitable comparison returned to mind. They were so different from one another. Ianto was stable and intelligent while Derek was more adventurous and dramatic.

After a bit of silence, he finally brought it up after several months of wondering. “Derek?! Really, GMB? Why were you ever interested in Derek?”

“He was just fun. He was something different,” I rationalized with a bitter-sweetness in my voice.

Knowing exactly what was going through my head, Cole asserted, “He is something different alright….”

***

Following that last date with Ianto, all of those dreams for the future were simply displaced. Like water swelling up from the ground, they naturally had to flow somewhere.

I didn’t have a care in the world. Anxiety and fear were the last things on my mind as I met Derek for dinner that night. I didn’t really have any choices to make. Nothing to hide or be uncomfortable about.

We simply went out to dinner and then I showed him around campus. With everyone on break, the place was practically empty. We started in my office.

“Yes, this is where I work.”

“And that’s your desk,” he said, walking towards the desk I’d gestured towards.

“Right. This one’s mine,” I said as I cut him off on his way.

“So…” he paused. “What if I were to do this?” He pushed a stack of papers on the floor. “Or this?” he asked, pushing me up against the desk and sitting me atop it.

My heart raced as he entertained my forbidden workplace fantasies. Minutes had slipped by and I realized it was really happening.

“No. I’d get fired. If my boss [a brilliantly liberal, open-minded woman] came in right now, she might cheer, but I’d also get canned.”

“Okay,” he said removing his hands from the back of my jeans and turning away to button the top half of his shirt

***

“You know exactly what was so appealing about Derek, Cole.”

He looked over and smirked in that I-could-have-told-you-so kind of way.

“He was nothing like anybody I’d ever dated before.”

“That’s right, GMB. We were always in the same page on that sense….And poor Anderson.”

“Everybody has to date a rebel of sorts. He was my James Dean, my Danny Zuko.”

“I don’t need to call you on how gay that reference was. Do I?”

“Alright, I do regret what happened, but I still learned something. There’s no sense in being bitter about the past when we can’t change it.”

As much as that was true, we knew that what had happened was significant because he didn’t find out from me.

***

That night with Derek quickly evolved into a series of subversively adventurous make out sessions. In the course of a few hours that warm January night, we moved from my office to the bushes outside.

The thrill that somebody might catch us heightened every sense. Each sound we made was carefully muffled as we paid attention to the world around us and each sound we heard was followed by a breathless pause.

We migrated our way between buildings, ducking into darkened bathrooms or classrooms whenever we heard the sound of footsteps.

“In here,” he said, holding the door of a tiny room open for me. “I hear someone.”

The faint smell of foreign chemicals thickened the air. He placed his forehead against mine then we paused for a moment to listen for the sound of footsteps, but there was silence. Our eyes adjusting to the darkness once again, I realized we were in a darkroom surrounded by hanging photos developing around us.

He pushed me against the counter next to the sink. My heart raced as quickly as it ever had as he moved his 6’3” frame against me. He lifted me up with his firm hands without breaking the seal of our kiss and sat me upon the counter. His left arm moved farther around my waist as he pulled me towards him. Slowly, he pulled his right arm around in perfect symmetry, until suddenly the motion broke and his hand migrated down and rubbed. Then, in a singular motion, he unbuckled my belt and released the top button of my pants.

I exhaled.

For the first time, the impulse to say “Wait” or “No” or “Stop” did not win out. The rhythm was entrancing and gratifying—more so as he peeled through each layer until I felt the sensation of skin against skin. Guiding my hand, he invited me to do the same.

I was speechless and lost in the moment.

My left arm extended and on his shoulder, I sensed him motioning to stoop down when I finally said, “Okay. We need to stop.”

***

After Cole dropped me off at my car, I considered the situation a bit more. Derek was never right for me. He was shallow and wanted in my pants. After that victory, he quickly shared the story of his conquest with everyone he knew (including Cole and a very deceived Anderson) and found an excuse to move on.

Cole knew exactly why I would keep something like this from him. In my eight months of dating, I’d found the perfect balance. I could be gay and Mormon. I could date and be happy so long as it never went beyond kissing. So long as that moment in the darkroom never happened with Derek, that tenuous balance still existed, or, at the very least, I had time to re-conceive that balance in my existential crisis.

Did I really want the celibate life I’d consigned myself to? Or was there something to those feelings I’d finally let myself experience? Was I never meant to experience the range of emotions and sensations I’d been bestowed with simply because those feelings could never be inspired in me by a woman?

I couldn’t bring myself to tell Cole mostly because, as my fears later confirmed, he was right. Despite my excellent planning skills, my ambition, and my emotional composure, I could not have everything I wanted from life. I began to understand why he was so angry following his broken engagement two years earlier—although the trauma of his situation was enhanced by the fact that in his situation he could not please himself or his fiancé in the manner he’d been taught his entire life.

Now that he’d found out about that one night, we connected on a much deeper level even though it we’ve never discussed that night or the spiritual repercussions in the detail presented here. As I considered these consequences and lessons Derek had taught me, I had an ally on my side who not only understood my feelings, but would support whatever decisions lay ahead for me.

End of Series.

I’m Not That Boy, Part 8

Volti Subito

Ianto was really everything you could hope for in a guy—caring, talented, intelligent—and I really appreciated it. In a matter of weeks of forging a pattern for ourselves—a dependable, stress-free approach to dating. We were both dating other people, but interested in finding something serious and this led to regular conversations regarding the development of our relationship.

A staggered series of nights over those weeks was spent eating and watching TV. The wonder of the situation was that it didn’t really matter what we were eating or watching. We could be sharing an order of Wendy’s French fries and watching a movie starring Paris Hilton and Sarah Brightman, but the quality of the night would not be discounted a single smile or witty comment.

“This may be weird to say, Ianto, but it’s going to be weird to have you out of town for the holidays… and my birthday,” I said holding him in my arms as the credits to 30 Rock trumpeted in the background one evening.

“It will be different and I assure you we’ll celebrate when I get back,” he said, turning around for a quick kiss. “You be thinking of where you want dinner and what you’d like to do. Make sure it’s something special.”

And so, as he went on his trip, I did some thinking. He was the best guy to come along in months. Without a doubt in contention with Mark (my ex-boyfriend) for a very special place in my heart. Ironically, as he’d left to serve a full-time mission, I’d locked my heart much in the way that he was directed in his preparation to leave.

I could feel a change within me. A greater capacity to trust and care was resurfacing and I was growing confident in myself. I am desirable. I am a good person. I don’t need to change. It was at this time that I had stopped seeing Anderson and Derek entered the picture.

It became inevitable to compare Ianto and Derek, to examine just how different they viewed me and how I viewed them. Ianto was cautious and stable while Derek was adventurous and provoking. I knew that I couldn’t start dating anyone else because they both seemingly presented opportunities at a relationship. I stopped checking on my Connexion (gay Facebook) profile and stepped up communication with both of them.

As I awaited Ianto’s return, I considered the adventures I’d had with Derek—the experiences at the club, going to geeky movies, and getting busted by mall security towards the end of an unplanned make-out session. Part of me felt as if I had to choose while I also cautioned myself about rushing things.

After Ianto returned, we immediately celebrated my birthday before school could dominate our lives once again. We weren’t on anything as we planned the night, but all of the decisions were made on impulse. The night started out auspiciously enough at a great Chinese place with a karaoke bar.

“C’mon. The birthday boy’s got to sing,” he teased.

“No way. Never.”

“You’ve got to make this night memorable somehow. What are we going to do? It’s got to be the most random thing you’ve always wanted to try.”

“I do have an idea…” I said timidly.

“Spit it out. I’m probably going to laugh, but that’s a good thing.”

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to wax.”

“What? Your eyebrows?”

“Um… my shirt area.”

He did laugh for a few minutes. “This is going to be memorable alright!” He didn’t have much hair to his name to be self-conscious about, but he did have experience waxing his arms.

We made our way back to his place and it seemed like the kind of date I’d longed for since before I even thought about these things. Whatever we were to do at that moment would be somehow special and done with care for each other. I trusted him in that moment unlike I’d trusted anyone but my best friend Cole in months.

I didn’t care about the stretch marks and scars I bore to him. I knew that didn’t matter in his eyes. At every step of the process—pouring and spreading the hot wax across my back, placing the strips, tearing away the hair—he showed concern for my comfort. “Is this too hot?” “Was that too hard?” “Are you okay?”

It was obvious comparing him and Derek that he was the type of man I could only dream to end up with not just in this moment, but also in my life. We settled on his bed for a cuddle after he applied some lotion to my back and I put my shirt back on.

“That feels so nice,” I said, laying on top of him. “I know I won’t forget tonight.”

We grinned at the reference to our earlier concern. His hands on my shoulders and mine on his, we pulled each other for a kiss. Our heads and lips turning in synchrony, our embrace tightened and we turned to each other on our sides. Taking his right hand in my left, I instinctively guided it down my side. As I let go, it went up my shirt, blazing a trail across my waist.

I didn’t want him to stop, but in that moment, all the passion was diffused:

“What are you doing?” I asked. “I’ve never really done anything.”

He respected me and stopped, but we were both intimidated by the awkwardness born out of the moment and the certainty that I felt about him being the right guy at that moment in my life was thrown by the wayside. The same thing may have gone through his head.

Although we returned to our rhythm of dinners and movies, something was off. Our next kiss revealed it all:

Hesitantly, I turned and kissed him. Our eyes locked and closed, but the magnetic impulses were absent. I pulled away somewhat surprised.

“GMB, we need to talk,” he said.

End, Part 8.

I’m Not That Boy, Part 6

Accelerando

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked. 

I must have looked as if I were shattered into a thousand pieces.  I was caught in a lie—the kind of lie where you withhold some of the details rather than sharing the whole truth. 

“Anderson just texted me.  He’s on his way.” 

“This is hilarious,” he said.  “Don’t sweat it.  You were never exclusive or anything.  Why would he be here in the first place if he wasn’t looking for some action himself.”

“But I was—”

“You had a family thing after your date with him and he didn’t know you just didn’t mention you had a date afterward as well.  Don’t worry.  Anderson’s the forgiving type.  He may be shocked at first, but he’ll still be friends with both of us no matter what.”

Although I knew deep down that this was true, it wasn’t all that comforting.  I hadn’t been who I wanted to be and that’s what mattered in this situation. 

I didn’t know what to text back, so I didn’t. 

“I’m at the door, but I need two bucks to get back in,” he texted moments later. 

My anxiety was anything but relieved.   “I’m sorry” was all I could think to respond. 

The next half hour was spent intermittently receiving frantic text messages from Anderson and shrugging off Derek’s advances, until the final word came “Gave up on finding an ATM.  I’m going home.” 

After a simple “Good night,” I let loose. 

I danced and even made out with Derek who reminded me, “You’re here to have fun on your 24th, remember?”

The evening was entrancing.  The rumblings of music against the walls and the dancing lights were somehow welcoming.  Everything that became unquestionably forbidden only because it was gay suddenly took on that air of the exotic.  I could like things that were stereotypically gay or associated with pop culture for the sensation of liking them—fashion, art, hairstyles—and it didn’t really matter. 

In that moment, kissing Derek seemed to fit into that category.  He was definitely the most experienced guy I’d kissed, and as I paid attention to the way his lips moved.  I pondered the rhythm and the pressure of each movement and his arms around me helping me complement his every movement.  In one sense it was very gratifying and in another I wondered if that was going too far. 

As the drag show began and we debated staying or leaving to avoid the crowds and the people, I spotted Drake Hatch, who upon noticing my presence gave a friendly nod and smile.  This coincidence led me to wonder once again if that was the future me—at home in the club and enjoying anonymous, suggestive dancing.  Maybe that isn’t such a bad thing?

After a small taste of the drag show (there were a lot of big queens to handle in one night), we drove back to my car.  The discussion centered a lot around where I was in the senses of coming out, especially in regards to the church. 

“Why do you even go?”

“Sometimes I wonder, but I just feel like I need to make it work.”

“Like you owe it to someone?  You don’t owe anybody anything.  Especially if you are uncomfortable.  I know you’re not 100% comfortable.”

“I make it work.  I just have rules.”

“Like what?  I know you’re dying to try coffee.” 

“I keep to the swimsuit rule.  I don’t touch anywhere a swimsuit would cover a guy and vice versa.”

“Wow.  I remember that one from Primary.  You’re really cute that way.”

“Well thanks.”

“I’ll do my best to respect that but no promises.”  He chuckled.

As we said our goodnights, he joined me on my side of his car for one last kiss… which turned into a very long kiss… which turned into something more physical.  He was on top of my.  His large frame was heavy but in a comforting way.  My hands starting in the small of his back ended up in his thick, dark hair—where they’d wanted to travel all night—as his travelled downwards caressing my face and neck, unbuttoning the top button of my shirt, and then coming to a rest above my waist. 

I could barely breath from the exhilaration.

“Come up for air before you pass out,” he teased.

After a brief pause, we continued where we’d left off and he unbuttoned the top button of my jeans. 

“Oops.”

“No.  Not tonight,” I said not nearly as firmly than I’d anticipated. 

He stopped after a playful grind and we sat smiling at each other.  I took a deep breath, said goodnight, and went on my way. 

End, Part 6.

I’m Not That Boy, Part 5

Now back to the series in progress.

Counterpoint

Stuck.

Stuck in this situation with Anderson.

Stuck in a series of go nowhere romances.

Stuck in this parking lot.

“Why won’t you start?!” I shouted at my car. Lights would go on and make a sputtering sound. The stereo would play. But no matter what I did the engine wouldn’t turn over.

There was no getting around it. I had a reception and another date lined up for the night. “Anderson!” I shouted, leaping out of the car and calling for help as he walked away, completely unaware that this would be the uncomfortable end of our final date.

“I can’t get it to start either,” he said.

“Go figure. Gay boys not being able to figure out a car….”

He laughed. I tried to be as light about the situation and moved on to Plan B.

Spotting a mall security guard patrolling the lot, I walked over to her SUV. “What are you doing in this cold?” she asked.

“I’m stuck and I don’t suppose you could give me a jump.”

“That’s actually not a possibility,” she said. “I can only do that if you buy jumper cables at the hardware store in the mall.”

“Seriously?” I asked as Anderson approached.

“Seriously.”

“My mom’s on her way with jumper cables,” Anderson cut in before I could get angry.

He took my arm and we walked back to his car. Before long, his mother was there, asked no questions, and helped me out. I said thank you and went on my way, giving Anderson one final hug and saying my goodbye.

At the reception, I cooled off and de-stressed a bit. It was the first marriage in years and someone younger than me. The natural procession of thought at weddings goes to who’s next. It’s even built into the rights of bouquet-throwing and garter-tossing. A half-dozen times family members asked me about my status, receiving only a discreet “nobody special” or “the right one hasn’t come along” and truthfully he hadn’t.

At one point, the bride’s sister cornered me and asked if I’d be interested in three particular girls who had all asked about my status.

“They’re from here, right?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, long distance has never worked for me, so I don’t think so.”

Finally, as the night winded down, I went on to another date. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Two dates. Two guys. One night. One slight twang of guilt.

“Where are you?” Derek texted as I was leaving.

“I’m on my way. Hopefully, I’ll find it.”

We met just outside his security job.

“Come upstairs when you get here and bring your change of clothes.”

He was in every way Anderson’s opposite although they shared their enduring interest in theatre. Derek was strong, intelligent, experienced, and organized. He always had a plan and direction.

“This is going to be the best birthday ever,” he said from the other side of the door as I changed. “It’s not every day you can turn 24 in the club.”

I wasn’t sure what to think. I liked the adventure and the story. It had been six months since my last club experience and I thought it was time to give it a chance again, especially as he was different from any other guy I’d been out with who had all disappointed me in some way or another (with the exception of Ianto).

After a quick visit to a Mormon friend who seemed to approve of me and my innocence, we went directly to the club. Discussion consisted mostly of how I felt about the night and what I didn’t want to happen.

“I don’t drink or smoke and sex is out of the question.”

“And kissing? Is kissing out of the question? It is a first date, after all.”

I blushed a little. “ That’s not out of the question.”

Upon arrival in the subzero temperatures, we rushed to the door and made our way in. The bar itself the size of the entire club I’d been to in Canada. I wasn’t sure if I was prepared for what was on the other side.

“This. Is. Club. Sound!” Derek proclaimed. “Can I get you anything to drink? Just kidding.”

As he grabbed a drink, I looked around. I saw guys dressed in nothing but their underwear parading around for compliments (and perhaps more). At the pool tables, there were guys playing the part of chic in their deliberate approach to dressing themselves with the latest styles. And finally there were guys who came off 100% normal—those guys you’d see at school or at a church activity in jeans and a T-shirt and never suspect of being gay. This was a place to leave all of that behind for a moment—the solitude of quietly fitting in—to fit in somewhere else and somehow acknowledge the wholeness of one’s identity.

On the balcony, Derek sipped on his drink as my eyes examined my surroundings and we superficially discussed the experience. The flashing lights and pounding music were not as intimidating as the last time and the guys seemed to share so much more with me. I was not the only Gay Mormon Boy there and could not have been the only one facing the issues that I was facing.

“Are you liking it?”

“It’s different and interesting.”

“Pretty soon you’ll be here every week like me.”

“We’ll see about that. I hope I don’t get a panic attack on the dance floor.”

“I’ll watch out for you. Everyone here will be watching out for you. They like the hot ones.”

Moments later we were on the dance floor. It had been years since I’d danced. Nearly five years to the day with Chastity, my date to the Junior Prom. I had no idea what to do. How to move or what to move to the rhythm.

“Loosen up,” Derek teased. “It’s much easier than you think. Just move to the rhythm.” And with that, he wrapped the arms of his 6’3” frame around me and forced me into the rhythm. I calmed down.

I stopped thinking and started feeling. Nothing was going to hurt me. Nothing could go wrong. I was beginning to enjoy the remixes of Britney and Beyonce as well as the lights and even the humid atmosphere of the crowd.

Derek went in for a kiss and I contently accepted as my heart pounded along to the music.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my pocket. My heart sank as I read a text from Anderson (unaware that I was on a date with Derek): “Save a dance for me. You didn’t mention you’d be clubbing tonight. I’ll be back in a bit. I had to drop some friends off.”

End, Part 5

I’m Not That Boy, Part 4

FYI—Missionary Monday looks like it will soon become a reality. Due to high demand for the current series (and the fact that I haven’t contributed to it in a couple of days), however, I see that happening next week.

Unresolved Cadence

I went home very unsure of what I should do. I enjoyed Anderson’s company a lot, but I couldn’t get past some of the details that limited the relationship. I tended to focus on the fact that he was always so busy pursuing his acting dreams because that was easier than focusing on the other limitations to a relationship with him. I puzzled over this for a while. Was it okay to just have fun when I felt like he wanted to go somewhere more serious or had the time come to stop whatever was going on between us?

I am not proud of what followed.

Two days later on Connexion (the gay Facebook), I received a message:

We met the other night at Gracie’s. I just thought I’d say hi and tell you you’re hot.

~Derek

I considered the possibilities. There’s nothing wrong with a polite response. Said polite response (something along the lines of: “Thanks. It was a fun night.”) quickly escalated into flirting and then some thought-provoking chats. He forced me to think even more about why I wasn’t satisfied with Anderson and vocalize what I wasn’t necessarily prepared to vocalize otherwise.

My birthday was approaching and I wasn’t happy. Everyone was demanding some time to celebrate and I was just not used to that much attention especially in a romantic sense. Friends and family wanted to throw parties. My co-workers surprised me with a card and a party. Anderson wanted to take me to a nice dinner. Ianto wanted a night in watching a movie of my choice. And Derek, too, had something planned—“You’ll never forget your 24^th,” he said.

The eve of my birthday, Anderson and I went on what would be our final date. He had planned something simple because I told him it would be a hectic night. It would be, but it was also because I didn’t want it to complicate things as the end seemed near. Following this date, I had a reception and another date.

We went to dinner at a little Italian place, La Ferrovia. It was the kind of place out of a romantic movie. Local and under the guidance of a matriarch who served us that night. However, the whole experience seemed like an ordeal. It was a conflict of being out of place as I put on my best face. We were surrounded by happy couples and families, but that’s not where I projected us in a few weeks or a few decades. He belonged there. He deserved that ideal. I couldn’t give that to him, though. The conversation blurred together that night—mostly small and superficial talk unrelated to what was going on in my head—and the only sensation that remains completely engraved in my memory is one of sinking. I was becoming too heavy for the situation welling up around me.

After dinner, we stopped by the mall for a moment. He introduced me to his sister and we continued our now-forgotten conversation. Finally, we ended up back at my car. He pulled a surprise out of his messenger bag.

“I got you something, too,” I said, “for Christmas.”

I knew exactly what it was. I’d seen it in his eyes on our last date. They were the shoes I refused to buy for myself. Cheap red leather, pointy-toed, shiny, perfect angles… it was the type of shoe unique enough to fit into my collection and be used regularly. My gift of two measly CDs (Ingrid Michaelson and Kristin Chenoweth) just didn’t seem to cut it and I felt worse. We sat in the car listening to his new CDs for a while, then I turned off the radio and took a deep breath.

Then and there I knew I wouldn’t have the courage to say it would probably be our last date. I just thanked him and gave him a quick, unimpassioned kiss, and said goodbye as he left for his own car.

I took another deep breath, deeply unsatisfied with what had happened and turned the key in my car. Nothing happened. I tried again, but to no avail.

The battery was dead.

End, Part 4.

I’m Not That Boy, Part 3

Fateful Dissonance

Anderson and I picked up right where we’d left off after he finished up another show. At this point, I was making efforts to branch out and be more social, although (for the most part) outside of my hometown. I was also in the midst of my first great date rush—as many as seven dates a week for the three weeks of Winter Break.

Anderson was a really sweet guy who completely trusted and respected me. He was incredibly attractive in a physical sense. We also had a lot of fun together. All of this worried me because looming on the horizon were two barriers to things working out between us. First, the give and take of shows upon his schedule diffused any progress we seemed to make in getting close to one another. And second, although we connected on an emotional and physical level, I just wasn’t sure it would go any deeper than that even were he to have unlimited time for me.

My heart said to enjoy myself while my head told me it was time to let go, especially as Ianto had recently come into the picture.

Our penultimate date was spent in Salt Lake away from the cares of home and school. I’d bought tickets to The Light in the Piazza at the Pioneer Theater a month earlier, working out all of the possible kinks in our schedules. As the day approached, I was excited and dreading it all at the same time. Am I leading him on or are we just having fun?

We turned the day into something care free. An adventure in a town I knew relatively little about. I completely relied upon Cole to drive or guide me through Salt Lake because there was no reason for me to be in the big city. That day, Anderson showed me some of my first slices of Salt Lake’s gay culture. He pointed out Babylon and Gossip (two of the bigger names in gay clubs at the time) and the homes of a few of his friends. He saved what he thought of as the best for last.

“Okay. Turn left here,” he told me on State Street. Then a few seconds later, “Left again.”

“The D.I.?” I asked. “You know how much I like my thrift stores, but that doesn’t make for much of a surprise.”

“Just wait,” he said over the top of the car as we got out. “Follow me.”

He put his arm around me for a second and flashed his bright blue eyes before leading the way. PDAs weren’t his thing, but he was always tempted.

“There,” he said, pointing to a large black and red sign. “Spark.”

As we went in, I realized that we were in a specialty store of sorts. It was a clothing store, but with a different vibe. Everything seemed to call out a bit more than usual, especially the wall of shoes.

“This is what I wanted to show you,” he said, picking up a pair of checked faux snakeskin shoes. “These are just what you need. They go perfectly with your purple shirt.”

“Only forty dollars!?” I exclaimed. “I can’t. I can’t”

“You know you want to….”

I procrastinated another twenty minutes, weighing out options. “I can’t. I can’t I can’t,” I told him, picking up some burgundy shoes. “They’re so nice and even reasonably priced!”

His puppy-dog eyes pushed me over the edge. “I’m doing it.” I set down the red shoes and picked up the snakeskin ones on the way to the register.

“Wait,” he said, “I have to show you the back of the store.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of the sexually-charged tone in his voice, but it took my breath away. As we entered the back of the store (“Cockers” as it’s known to some), I felt a certain spark, a blatantly-sexual connection. It wasn’t so much the sex paraphernalia (toys, lotions, and literature I will leave to the imagination), but rather the underwear. Some of it was modest and some of it downright skanky, but it all seemed to glorify and emphasize the contours of the male body—something that seemed forbidden on so many levels, but also beautiful.

“Wow.”

That was all I could think or say at that point, and the experience stayed with me.

After buying the shoes, the night turned into a collage of memorable moments: a chatty dinner at a local pizza parlor; stealing a kiss in the parking lot; hiding our back-row hand-holding under my suit jacket; stealing another kiss behind the coat rack during intermission.

I couldn’t really escape the feeling that he might be falling for me more than I could ever fall for him. As we left the theater making our way through the chaotic surge of people, I spotted Drake Hatch pushed towards me by the current of the crowd. Just weeks after his disappearance, he pretended not to notice until conversation was unavoidable. We passed our pleasantries of “Hi, how are you?” and went on our ways. I felt good for putting on a strong face and having a handsome man at my side, but wondered if it was an omen of what I would become dating so much and lacking a necessary connection with Anderson.

“Well, that was a great night,” I said.

“I have a surprise for you, GMB. If you’re not too tired, the night doesn’t have to be over.”

Not one to turn down a surprise, I said, “Sure. What is it?”

He then took me to a friend’s house. My theatre friends are having a party and I say we stop by for a few minutes. It’ll be nice for them to put a name with your face. I felt a bit guilty as he introduced me to Grace, a budding director; Alec, a very flamboyant tenor; RJ, the lone straight seducer in the department; Tara, the brilliant character actress/alto; and Derek, a tall curly-haired bass who remained quiet the rest of the night as he sipped his drink.

With his friends (clearly all aware of his sexuality), Anderson was more of a showman and distant. Was he presenting me as a friend or a love interest or maybe even an object? We enjoyed the night of improve games and desserts as I made some new friends. That said, I wasn’t sure what to make of my feelings for Anderson. Or the way he acted around his friends. Or Derek staring and smiling at me from across the room the rest of the night through his black thick-rimmed glasses.

End, Part 3.