Le Gars de Chocolat Chaud, Part 3

The Waiting Game

So whatever was going on with Toni wasn’t what I’d prepared to deal with at that point. Another crush hadn’t panned out. Dating wasn’t really a possibility (although he probably initially had that same desire), and I had somehow consigned myself to moral support as he got over Ash.

It was a torturous position, really, because I had essentially volunteered to listen to him pine over another man. Over the course of several weeks, he opened up more and more about the breakup and life in general. He invited me to lunch with friends and introduced me to two new and distinct sets of friends: the Multicultural Student Union and the local gay crowd.

Picking him up from his place for the first time (to go on a Jamba Juice run), I realized something I should have pieced together earlier. Toni lived with not one but two of the guys I’d been out with in town. He belonged to that elite fraternity of gay boys living in The Wood House. He didn’t talk much about his roommates, but it sounded like they were gay.

As I pulled up and walked to the door I wondered what would happen if I ran into Kevin or Jack, guys I’d dated and lived there. Toni and I weren’t dating, but that’s what I wanted. How would all of that affect the situation? Toni opened the door and invited me in for a moment. Sure enough Kevin and one of the other roommates were there in the kitchen having a discussion about school.

“…I’ll be glad when it’s all over. I can’t wait to just get out there and do something even if it’s not web design,” Kevin said. He then passed a flirty look.

“You are graduating, Kevin. You should feel like that,” the other roommate said. Turning to me he introduced himself. “I’m Alberto. What is your name?”

“GMB. Nice to meet you.”

“Kevin, have you found someone to take your room yet?” Toni chimed in.

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“He should move in,” Alberto suggested, indicating me.

“I don’t know about that.”

The conversation pretty much stifled there. “Are you ready to go to Jamba?” I asked.

“Definitely. You guys wanna come?”

“I’ve got work to do,” Kevin said perhaps a bit upset that I didn’t ask him myself.

“I’ll come,” said Alberto, running off to grab his wallet.

Deep down, I still hoped that somehow things would work, but I was nothing more than one of the guys. The trip to Jamba only proved that was the case as the conversation in the car quickly turned to his dating problems. The hopes that he might get over Ash continued, however.

The following Saturday, he invited me to a party at The Wood House. These parties took place with regularity and involved much of the gay crowd. In a way, it was like arriving. The atmosphere wasn’t so much exciting as interesting. I suppose I approached it much as Jane Goodall would her noble gorillas. I observed social behaviors: hugging upon entry and exit, somewhat scandalous dancing in the breakfast nook, compliments on clothing and hair, tennis games of innuendo-laden exchanges.

I stuck with the people I knew. Certainly, my caution came off to some as arrogance, but I remained polite and cool-headed as I figured things out. Toni, as host, made the rounds and remained distant throughout the night, so I stuck with his friend Lila. We remained the lone sober guests at the party.

Although our conversation began as we made fun of the immature behavior going on around us including our own Gilmore Girls-esque jabs, we ended up talking about something more serious by the end of the night.

“I have a confession to make,” I said.

She smiled, nodded, and turned her ear towards me. “Go on… Anna Freud’s here and listening.”

“I’m kind of hung up on Toni. He’s just so nice. He brought me hot chocolate. Who does that?! And now, all I can think about is going over there and dancing with him, but I know it won’t mean anything to him.”

“You’re right. It won’t. I’m Toni’s best friend and I know for a fact it won’t mean a thing. He’s not over Ash and he doesn’t really want to be.”

“How so?”

“He doesn’t accept the fact that it’s over because he thinks that it’ll start up again. He’s been texting Ash all night, if you didn’t notice and just now I bet he’s going into his room to call him.”

“How do you know this?”

“You forget,” she said smugly and honestly as Toni passed us on the way to his room with his phone up to his ear. “I’m in psychology. I don’t know everything, but I know my best friend better than most people know their own family.”

I marveled at what she said. If I came close to knowing that much about a person it would certainly be Cole, but even then I wondered. Moments later, angry shouts pounded against the door.

Lila then turned to me with a sternly comforting look: Let go. I knew that it had come to a point where the only sane thing to do was let go. I would be there for him, but not as some sort of knight in shining armor.

End, Part 3.

Note that in the previous post “My First Fruit Fly” falls within this post, and should this blog ever be transformed into a book-length memoir will be incorporated into this series.

Adventures in Internet Dating, Part 6

Coming of age

Warning: this post contains an adult discussion some may consider profane.

Kevin was fascinated by my innocence. He wasn’t the only one. Many guys’ fascination with innocence has to do with taking it away. In fact, many of them made that offer in the coming months. Kevin was different, however. He respected that I had not done anything more than make out with a guy.

There we were in his room. At first, I was worried about an awkward confrontation with Jack, his roommate who I’d dated a couple of months before; however, he was no where in sight. I had no intention of causing drama in the house.

Kevin sat at his computer desk checking his email as I perused his DVD collection for a movie to watch. Eventually, I came across Miss Congeniality.

“I haven’t seen this in a while,” I noted as he maneuvered his computer and speakers into position for a movie and cuddling session.

I was surprisingly at ease. I’d been very open about the fact that I didn’t want to be touched below the belt.

There was no doubt in my mind that he respected that as he repeatedly reassured me, “I wish I’d been as careful as you. There are a lot of things I shouldn’t have jumped right into. You don’t want to become a slut like I did.”

His history unfolded a little more:

“After I was here at college and on my own, I had total freedom to give into everything. I could give in to everything I’d wanted to for so long. And I did.

“I’ve been hurt plenty of times and regret a few things, but it really makes me wonder how you tick and how you’re able to keep from doing what almost all of the gay Mormon guys end up doing.”

I thought it over in my head as we laid there side-by-side under the covers of his twin-size bed. It was nice to be held. As the back of my head came to a rest just in front of his head, it was as if he was whispering something inaudibly as we silently watched the movie. He had shared with me things he didn’t feel comfortable discussing with other gay boys.

I felt special for thinking about more than just sex, for wanting to know guys, talk to them, and figure myself out before I did anything I’d regret for the rest of my life.

At that point, Kevin was the friend who had the most to offer me in that sense. I didn’t look down on him for what he’d been through or done in his wild years. We both accepted the underlying lesson that we could both learn from his mistakes.

Throughout the movie, he asked if he made me uncomfortable or if I needed anything. Consistently, I responded, “I’m fine, really” and we continued to enjoy ourselves. He also teased a few times that his hand would graze me somewhere inappropriate, but remained true to his promise. I suspect he was holding back a lot and I appreciated it. Still, by the end of the movie we were making out.

It was a little wetter and a little harsher than usual due to the scruff, but it was a fantastic release. It felt right (minus, perhaps, the slight taste of pastrami from dinner). We’d connected (to a degree), we’d enjoyed ourselves, and we were as honest with each other as we’d been to anyone else.

As the night came to a close, we sat there on his bed around 2 am. We’d returned to our conversation following the make-out session.

“So just how innocent are you?”

“I don’t know…. I’ve told you everything about my past.”

“No. I mean do you even know I’m talking about sometimes. A second ago, I said ‘cum,’ and you looked like you didn’t know what that means. Do you?”

“Um… no.”

“You really ARE that innocent! It’s slang for semen and you know what that is.”

I blushed and he kissed me as his hand traveled down my sides. Suddenly, he pulled away before his hand could go anywhere forbidden.

Kevin was having trouble talking. He was blushing and his laughter had silenced him. “What about top and bottom?” he asked with tears in his eyes.

“The guy on top and the guy on bottom, right?”

“Oh, GMB, it’s a little more complicated than that.”

I suppose that was one way to relieve me of a bit of my innocence without doing anything I might regret. Also, these were things I knew I’d need to know not to look like a fool in the gay world. Kevin, thus, became a sort of mentor. Somebody who cared about my integrity and kept me safe from foreseeable dangers—even when he felt he posed a threat.

End, Part 6

AfterMARK, Part 9

Misfire

The shock of getting busted for parking didn’t wear off very easily. Sure, I’d laugh at it in conversation with Cole, but it was really my first brush with danger. What if I’d gotten fined? What if the officer had been one of those psychos?

Things with Anderson did take a toll whether as a result of the incident or because of our schedules. Conversations grew infrequent, but we remained in contact.

Meanwhile, conversations with Cowboy Mark continued at a steady pace. Often, he would text me about the beautiful autumn weather or a line of poetry and I would think, Geez, he’s the perfect guy: sensitive, manly, sincere… but not for me.

On our last date, my mind kept going back to the original Mark—the one that had remained so perfect in my mind and heart for so long. To say that I would ever feel exactly the same about any other Mark (or any other man, for that matter), would be a lie. Just as I believe every individual is unique, so is every relationship.

We found ourselves at his place. I’d come over to watch TV with him and little did I know we were in the midst of the World Series. He sat in the recliner as I laid on the couch. Between innings, I ran upstairs to grab some drinks, noting again his ability to be a manly gay man in the details of his house:

Light beer was his drink of choice. Cowboy Mark’s kitchen embraced a “rooster” motif (for reasons that might take you a moment to process). And the living room where we found ourselves watching the game was also thematically decorated with photos of wildlife and pieces of taxidermy.

Although, I tried as hard as I could to appreciate baseball, I found myself falling asleep after drinking a Diet Coke. A few hours later, I awoke to find myself in his bed. As much as I love cuddling, I was not prepared for this. I immediately tensed up and searched for excuses. It was an awakening of other sorts as well.

Getting up, I woke him and explained uneasily, “I need to get home. I have a paper to write early tomorrow.” And like that it was over—the text-messaged lines of poetry subsided and we started avoiding each other at the gym.

It turned out my dreams for an atypical, manly guy were short-sighted and that my first love was still casting a heavy shadow over my love life and perhaps always would. My first love had become the standard every other man, whether that be this other Mark or Jack or Anderson, in my life would be measured against whether I liked it or not.

End of Series

The title AfterMARK references a TV show from 1983-85 called AfterMASH, a spinoff of M*A*S*H which was a pun on the word ‘aftermath.’ The problem with many spinoffs is that they are more about the old show rather than the new characters or situations presented. This was the aftermath of Mark.

AfterMARK, Part 3

Now… it’s Complicated

The next morning, I faced my first bout of Post-Date Stress Disorder (or PDSD). What was I to make of a cuddle session with someone who was supposed to be my friend? I wondered what I would do when he called or texted. Was it still supposed to be normal? Would it get weirder?

Jack didn’t do or say anything out of the ordinary. Regular “How was your day?” small talk continued along with witty banter about web comics. Things weren’t off too much, but they were definitely off.

As problems with his roommate worsened, Jack decided it was time to move out. As a friendly gesture, I offered to help. That’s what friends do, right? I told myself.

“You know, I could really use a pickup,” he texted me. I offered my father’s truck and we worked out a time the next day.

Seeing as neither of us is particularly muscular, the move took a little more effort than you would think. Loading up everything from the tiny duplex, we made our way over to his new place. Upon my entry, I was taken aback at how beautiful the whole thing was. Vaulted ceilings. A real fireplace. A breakfast nook! It was beautiful.

The evening ended with a hug and a warm-hearted goodbye.

Things continued more normally than I could have ever anticipated. There were even some friendly on campus run-ins between classes. Later that week, after a bad day at work, he offered to take me to dinner and I only slightly hesitated as I agreed to it.

Going into it as a real date definitely helped. Even as the waitress at the Chinese restaurant seated us in the same room as a guy from my stake on a date of his own, I felt oddly at ease. We talked mostly about school and the beginning of a new semester.

“It’s about the same. I keep busy with 18 credits and work. It makes me feel accomplished and like I’m actually going somewhere.”

“That’s good. How’s the new roommate situation working out?” I asked.

“It’s the regular struggle. I’m still getting to know them.”

“How is it living with a bunch of gay boys?”

“It got crazy last weekend, but my room’s far enough from the chaos to get away.”

I laughed off his slight discontent with the situation as the check came. He snatched it despite my protest.

“You helped me move. I owe you at least this.”

Moments later, we found ourselves at his place. We sat there on the couch continuing our conversation. Our bodies, however, were speaking their own language. We found ourselves moving closer to the center. Usually wary of any tactile contact, I found myself touching Jack on the arm, looking into his eyes (blue as the night sky), smiling, and laughing at his jokes.

Then, in an instant, he pulled away, looked at me, and smiled before going in for a kiss. It was sweet and reminded me of my first taste of romance with Mark.

I flashed back in an instant to the kiss that had felt like:
a singer’s first standing ovation,
a swimmer’s first broken record,
an author’s first book sent to print.

Would you ask any of them to take that piece of their lives back?

It was a feeling engraved upon the tablets of memory standing up to the elements and other tests of time. Every kiss would be compared against that one. It wasn’t quite that same warm sensation. An awkwardness came between us akin to the irritating, clunky friction of our teeth repeatedly bumping into each other as we made out.

The chemistry slowly dissipated from the room as we found ourselves staring each other. He faced me on my lap. An awkward silence preceded a forgotten excuse to get home and the night ended.

What followed was not glamorous. Our run-ins on campus consisted of greetings and now-awkward small talk and we never looked each other in the eyes again.

In the coming week, however, I stopped worrying about the awkwardness as two more men entered the picture: an actor and a cowboy.

End, Part 3.

Clue: AfterMARK references something from 1983-85.

AfterMARK, Part 2

It’s not complicated, but it’s getting there fast

There we were on the couch.  He’d invited me over to watch movies at his place.  When I got there, an interesting smell was in the air. 

I’ve always considered Jack an interesting person.  A conglomerate of characteristics I wouldn’t necessarily put together.  As I mentioned, he was sarcastic but sweet.  His talents were equally diverse; he could tell me the what macros were on computers and explain the best way to prepare chocolate mousse.

Which brings me back to the story at hand.  The warm and creamy aroma of cheesecake.   My weakness had taken wing and waited on the coffee table in front of the television.  His roommate and the neighbors all came over for a piece, but left us to the sofa alone as our movie began.  It was clear he’d put a lot of effort into the night.

Jack’s interest in foreign film intrigued me (as did his wits for technology and cooking) and he offered to share with me his collection of French language (Francophone) films with me.  His eyes lit up as he explained to me the plot.  It was the first time he’d ever looked at me so directly in the eye.

“Imagine say a tiny mining town in Utah—there’s one industry and it drives the whole town.  Move that town with all of its odd people and stories to Quebec and make it a fishing village.  The industry begins to fail, so they decide to trick a doctor into moving to the village in order to be considered for new development and jobs.”

I raised an eyebrow and chuckled.

“You don’t look convinced.  They do all sorts of wacky things like tap his phone to find out his favorite sports, teams, foods, etc. so that they can provide him the perfect place.”

“Now that sounds funny.”

Alone, the lights dimmed, the curtains pulled, we began to watch the movie (Seducing Dr. Lewis). 

Not-so-suddenly, the game had begun.  The is he/will he/ should he game.  We were friends.  But could we be anything more than friends?

An inch at a time, he made his way across the couch to me.  Is this really happening? I asked myself.  What should I do?  Am I even into him? Was liking all of those things about him—his love of foreign film, fine cuisine, technology, and wit—the same as liking Jack?

In an instant, I left behind a few of my countless inhibitions and returned the signals, opening my palm to his.  He took it and he drew closer.  

We spent the night cuddling and left it at that.   I talked about how wonderful Canada was in real life and how I felt like life was turning around for me.  He talked about his accepting family and their trials, and the recent romantic disappointment he'd had with his roommate.  We left it at that.  A good night.  A good movie.  And a good conversation.  No goodnight kiss.  Nothing I wasn’t ready for….or so I thought.

Waking up the next morning, I panicked as if I’d done something on a drunken whim. 

End, Part 2.

Clue: The title of the series falls under the category of reference.  Pay attention to the capitalization.

AfterMARK

Returning from Canada, I knew that things had to change.  I couldn’t go around feeling ashamed or  sorry for myself or feeling like I’d be alone for the rest of my life.  That said, I was returning to a more judgmental place and any adjustment would be gradual. 

Even two months after it was over, my life still seemed to revolve around Mark.  My every action, it seemed, was a reaction to his absences.  Following my trip, though, I returned aware that changes needed to be made. 

I was going to meet people.  I was going to date.  I was going to make friends going through the same situation (aside from me and Cole). 

Part 1: A Friend

Returning to work, Stacia noticed that I was in better spirits.  After the breakup, she could spot the disappointment on me like Oprah can spot a good book.  Upon my return, my account of the adventure at work focused mostly upon the scenery and the research. 

Pulling me aside, she pointed out the change in my disposition.  “You’re looking refreshed. Any Canadian lovin’ I need to know about?” She was delighted by my boldness in obtaining Marcelo, the flight attendant’s, phone number and my moment in Eric’s arms.  “You have the makings of a playa’!”

I was really amused by her comment.  The only gay boys I knew at school were entirely unappealing.  They fit every stereotype I was trying to escape.  They seemed to get upset over every little issue and whine about their lot in life to an unbearable degree.  They had no idea what I was going through.

Then it hit me.  I’m being a total hypocrite.  I want a world of acceptance and love yet I can’t bring myself to give one of these guys a chance.  I was going to give someone a chance.  Someone safe that I could confide in.  Someone who could save me from the consuming loneliness that I faced on a daily basis. 

One day Jack walked into my office.  He had a nerdy vibe, a high-pitched voice, and that sarcastic, witty way about him.  A slight ping in the gaydar went off.  I think he’s gay, but not too gay.  Sure enough, after a wee bit of facebook stalking, it was clear that he was safe to approach (“interested in men” is a pretty big clue). 

When an opportune time arose, I used my beat around the bush tactics to make a connection and get to the subject.  I started:

Jack, I noticed your status update yesterday (when I was making some changes to the department profile on Facebook) and it struck me-- Geez, that's exactly how I feel right now. You see, I'm going through a pretty bad break-up and it's killing me.

Despite his gruffly sarcastic exterior, he proved himself sensitive and gracious as he sent me a considerate reply:

It's always nice to feel like you have someone who will listen, someone that can at least agree and say "Yes, I get it", even if they can't fix the problem. I'm glad that you at least felt like you could message me. I'm sorry it ended badly. You will find someone better who actually deserves you. Chin up! If you ever need someone to talk to, don't hesitate to ask.

What better response could a guy in my position ask for?  Someone was ready to listen to me and take care of me.  Not long after that, we were texting and hanging out. 

It had become just what I’d wanted when things got complicated.

End, Part 1

Note: Whoever can explain the title of this series first can ask me any question they’d like.  I’ll answer as I deem appropriate (via email or an actual post).