Monday, November 28, 2011

Once, twice, three times a horny frustrated loser.



So I have three guys, mentioned in my last post, who are interested in me... but it's a vague interest. I exist in a twilight space in which I have a lot of potential but no actual activity.

I was supposed to have a first date with Guy Three last night, but he cancelled early that morning after waking up sick. This is the second time he's cancelled on me - the first due to work, the second due to illness - and while I believe his excuses to be genuine it's hard not to feel jerked around.

Meanwhile I'm hoping that Guy Two will get back in touch tonight, since he arrived home from interstate last night, but who knows if he actually will.

And Guy One had some minor surgery last week and hasn't been online much lately, so I have no idea what's happening there.

The thing is... I'm horny. Part of the sudden change in my attitude after Mr Singular rejected me has also ramped up my sex drive. I still don't want to go through the ordeal of No Strings Attached sex, which I can only see as sex with an unhappy ending. But I'm not demanding a partner or even a boyfriend. A Friend With Benefits or, at worst, a fuckbuddy would do me for the moment. I have three guys who would seem to fit the bill quite well, but between sickness, work, and a desire not to appear desperate we're simply not managing to get an introductory meeting, let alone a night together.

As for Mr Singular... I saw him on Saturday morning for a late breakfast, and as I was leaving I asked where we were at. There was forgiveness on both sides, yes, but did he want to get back togther or did he want to just be friends? He opted for friends, for the moment, with the door open for more. Although rather ominously he warned me that a few months down the track that door could well close.

I wasn't worried. It means I can pursue other relationships with a clear conscience.

However by evening we had arranged to meet at my place for drinks and a movie, and I found myself with his feet in my lap. I gave him a foot massage. He gave one in return, and then moved on to a hand massage. Is this something that "just friends" do? I wondered. What's he playing at?

I have a suspicion that he's trying to manoeuvre me into being his Standby Fag Fag: a sexually interested but impotent friend to entertain him when his Main Fag Fag is otherwise occupied. Needless to say that's not going to happen. But I also recognise that every suspicion I've ever had about Mr Singular has been utterly wrong, so for the moment I'm going to suspend judgement.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

In the aftermath, potential.

So Mr Singular has broken his silence.

After he'd ignored my texts and emails for a week, I decided that I didn't want to end this on such a sad, vituperative note, so I sent him an email on Monday morning basically stating that I was sorry for hurting him, I hoped he would eventually forgive me, and wishing him well. I imagined him and his fag fag* snickering to themselves at my old-fashioned preciousness and the fact that it took me so long to realise I was dumped, but I felt I had to do it, if only for the sake of closure.

Half an hour later, I noticed an email in my inbox. From Mr Singular. Great, I thought, it will be some scorn thinly disguised as acknowledgement.

But it wasn't. It was a sad admission that he was suffering under a mound of guilt and inability to move on, and hating himself for not being able to forgive me. He said I deserved better, but he hoped we could still be friends.

I replied in a noncomittal fashion. He replied to that. I replied again. By the time we'd both left work we were discussing the issues, albeit obliquely. He texted me later in the evening, and, after several exchanges, he admitted that he'd forced himself to forgive me, and asked for my forgiveness in return, which I gave.

And I thought, "Dammit, you total bastard! What are you doing? And why are you doing it now?"

Because something odd had happened. I think he broke me. It's as if I'm suddenly a slightly different person. Once the awful realisation that he was rejecting me sank in, about a week ago, I'd decided to get my life back on track. I went back online and chatted to some guys whom I'd been keeping at arm's length because of my relatonship Mr Singular. Now that that was over, by Monday night I had set up dates with three new guys.

And the thing is I don't want to cancel. They are all interesting in their own way. More problematically, they are all sexually interesting in their own way. As things stand at the moment it's pretty much guaranteed that I'll fuck at least two of them.

Guy One is a government manager based in a regional city, who is only up in my big city sporadically. He wants a proper relationship but hasn't been able to find anyone who fits the bill, so as a second choice he's interested in a long-term, committed, respectful fuckbuddy relationship. Basically he wants to find someone he can stay with, and fuck, when he's in the city. He's fit, intelligent, not unattractive, hung, and apparently has the sex drive of a herd of wild stallions. I've enjoyed our online chats, so I'd be interested to meet him, at least.

Guy Two is a stockbroker who appears to have brushed aside my insistence that I'm not into casual sex, but in a friendly, direct, no-nonsense way that I find perversely attractive. He's fit, nice looking, and very masculine. His attitude - "Of course we'll have sex. It'll be fun. Quit your bitching" - is refreshing because it's so unsleazy. I spoke to him on the phone last night and discovered that we have a surprising number of things in common, so it will be interesting to actually meet him.

An odd additional aspect is that Guy One, Guy Two and I all have the same first name. When I realised this I jokingly thought, "Man, three guys with the same name... we should totally have a threeway." And suddenly the idea seemed irresistibly hot. It's too early to suggest it - hell, I don't even know if I really want it - but it's lodged itself in my brain and is just sitting there, waiting.

Guy Three is a nurse, and does not have the same name (which is good, because I don't think I could handle a fourway), but he seems like a nice guy. He's sort of odd-looking, at least according to his profile photo, but the layout of a person's face is often the least important aspect of attraction. The fact that he's a nurse suggests a caring, compassionate nature, and after all the stress and heartache of Mr Singular I could really use that.


*a gay male version of a fag hag - a non-sexual, somewhat codependent gay best friend. Mr Singular spends a lot of time with his.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Life amid the wreckage.



I didn't communicate with Mr Singular the next day, nor him with me. The day after I had to be up at 6.30am for an early meeting, a time when he's usually at work. I texted him, So this is what 6.30am looks like. I do not approve.

No response.

Later that morning I found a rubber band on a colleagues desk that looked hilariously like an erect penis. I snapped a photo with my phone, texted it to KCG, who finds these things amusing, and then to Mr Singular. KCG responded. Mr Singular didn't.

Friday passed without communication from either of us. On Saturday evening I went to the local Pride Parade. I took a photo and texted it to him, with Guess where I am!

No response.

When I don't respond to his texts for 48 hours, it's unacceptable game-playing and a deal-breaker. When he ignores me for almost a week, it's... well, who knows? But clearly I've been dumped. I stood there at the side of the Pride Parade, in the middle of a crowd of happy, laughing gay men. The one's who didn't have committed partners would have uncommitted partners within a few hours. And then there was me, unceremoniously brushed off by the only man he'd ever had serious feelings for. Despite the go-go boys in gold hotpants and brightly coloured drag queens swirling around me, I felt as if I was at the bottom of a dark hole. It was only though force of will that I didn't sink to the pavement and bawl my eyes out.

So instead of going to an afterparty I went home, and sobbed into my pillow.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

In which it all comes apart like a cheap Ikea bookcase.



The last few days have been excruciating.

It started on Saturday. I had an all day sporting event to go to, Mr Singular had an all day family event. We agreed to meet up in the evening for massive amounts of sex. Well, perhaps not so specifically, but with my cold sore finally healed, and it being Saturday night after nearly two weeks of chastity, it was understood.

I went to the barber early in the morning so that my hair would be looking its most stylish and sexiest. I met KCG, his new boyfriend, and the Human Dynamo's new boyfriend and went to our sporting event. Over the next few hours I allowed myself to tell KCG about the new man I was seeing. I also allowed myself the satisfaction of knowing that now that KCG, the Human Dynamo and I were all in nascent relationships, we'd crossed a line and "made it". If we weren't up on the winner's dais at the Gay Olympics, we were at least competing successfully.

At around 6pm we were in the car heading home. KCG's boyfriend had exhausted himself and was asleep in the front seat, and I watched as KCG stole cute, affectionate glances at him as he drove. The Human Dynamo's boyfriend was texting little love notes to the Human Dynamo, who couldn't be there because of work. Suddenly my phone chimed, and I saw that it was from Mr Singular.

I have to cancel tonight. Will not be home any time soon. Sorry.

I felt... numb. He'd been a bit standoffish when I'd seen him on Thursday, but I'd put that down to a lingering fear of my cold sore. I'd asked him to make sure that he didn't drink too much at his family thing (his family are apparently massive binge drinkers) so that he'd be in fit state to deal with me. But it seems that wasn't enough. The message was pretty clear: I'm okay, but when it comes down to a choice of spending the night with me and getting hammered with the cousins he gets hammered with at least once every few weeks... the cousins won.

Understood, I texted back. Meaning, "Oh, I understand all right. Fuck you too."

KCG dropped me off at home, making a ribald joke about hoping that his boyfriend still had enough energy for the evening's activities. I smiled, but only on the outside. Later that night Mr Singular sent me another text.
So yet another family event that's left me feeling like shit. Not sure why I go to them, actually...

"Whatever", I said to myself in disgust, and tossed my phone onto an armchair.

The next morning, around 9am, he texted, Sorry about last night. It was longer than I thought. What are you up to today?

"Yeah, I'm really feeling the sorrow", I muttered, and I went off to have breakfast.

Throughout the day I checked my phone to see if there were any more messages. There weren't. Any missed calls? No. Any suggestion of, GTR, are you okay? or Is something wrong? Apparently not. Just silence.

He really had tired of me. I'd known him for less than three weeks, and he'd already grown bored with me. I cleaned the house and fretted. I went out with some friends in the evening just to take my mind off it. Then I barely slept all night. The next morning, Monday, I checked my email... nothing.

On Monday evening I went to see my therapist and discussed the matter with him. I knew I had to be the mature one and resolve this one way or another. He made some conflict resolution suggestions, and when the session was finished I called Mr Singular and asked if I could come over. He agreed.

As per my therapist's suggestions, I took him a little gift (a cookie) and started with an apology ("I'm sorry I didn't respond to your texts"). Then I waited to hear what he had to say.

It was all my fault, apparently. After I didn't respond to his second text he decided that he was never contacting me again. It was playing games, and he hates people who play games. It was a deal-breaker. I apologised again, not abjectly, but sincerely, for causing him pain... all the while thinking, "Do you really imagine that this is all about you? That you're the only one who suffered here?"

Slowly, over the next few hours, the anger dissipated. We had a glass of wine. We sat on the sofa and talked. We watched more Will & Grace with him resting his head in my lap and me stroking his hair. He was less brittle but still withdrawn, and uncommunicative. We kissed a little - tiny, passionless pecks - and left him around 11pm. As I drove away I thought that our relationship had been damaged, and maybe it could be healed, but it certainly wasn't going to be as smooth as either of us had hoped.

Cut to the next morning. Full of hope for the future, I flicked him an email to his work address around 11.30. There's no reply, but I assumed he was busy or maybe away from the office.

Around 2.15, I sent him a jokey little text. He usually responds pretty quickly, but this time there was nothing.

And slowly, horribly, sickeningly, it dawned on me. All of his talk about not communicating being "game-playing" and "a deal breaker"... it was a setup. He'd been tiring of me and my little stunt had pushed him over the edge, but he couldn't leave it with me having the final say over the relationship. So he went along with the reconciliation. He let me think that we had talked it out. He sent me on my way thinking that things were okay, all the while intending to turn the tables and ignore my every attempt at contact from now on.

The hypocricy was staggering. The vindictiveness even moreso. He said goodnight to me knowing that the truth of what was going on creep up on me, humiliatingly, over the next 24 hours.

I called his mobile around 5.45pm from my office phone. It went to voicemail and I didn't leave a message. When I got home from work I called again, this time from my mobile. There's no response, but by this time I would have been surprised if there was one. He's screening his calls. I was tempted to leave a nasty message, but I just asked him to call me. I didn't expect him to, but it was the adult thing to do to give him the option to do the right thing.

How do I get out of this on top? I wondered. There's no point trying to salvage the relationship. After battling with fury and anger and soul-crushing anguish for a few hours, I had an epiphany. Humility. Apologise to him, sincerely and from the heart, and say goodbye to him forever. Acknowledge that, whatever his behaviour, I did the wrong thing and I need to say that clearly and properly and without any hope of getting anything out of it. Basically, be the better man and genuinely wish him well.

I composed a message, right from the heart, but written down so that I didn't say anything stupid or give in to a sudden flash of hurt or anger. I wanted to do this right. I thought about leaving it right there and then on his voicemail, and get it all over and done with, but the timing seemed wrong so I decided to wait until morning.

Around 10pm, after setting up a date with a new guy on Manhunt, and with numbness starting to replace the hurt, I had a perverse desire to look at my last message to him again. I opened up the text app on my phone and suddenly saw the New Message light next to his name.

What the fuck?

The phone had been sitting next to me for the last few hours. It hadn't chimed. There'd been no icon for a new message. I tapped it open.

There was a response to my jokey little text, and then Wassup? Not at home and can't really talk.

WHAT THE FUCK???

What's he still doing out? I wondered. He works an early morning shift and he's usually asleep by now... I checked the timestamp next to the message. It's from three hours earlier!

WHAT. THE. FUCK???

MY FUCKING CARRIER HAS DELAYED HIS FUCKING MESSAGE FOR THREE FUCKING HOURS!!!

Working backwards, I determine that he must have texted me right after I phoned him.

I sent him a text saying that I only just got the message. A moment later my phone rang, so softly that it's barely audible even in a silent room. Somehow the ringer volume had been turned right down. It would explain why I didn't hear it chime, but not why there was no icon for a new message on the home screen.

"Hello?"

Hey, I just rolled over in bed and saw that you texted me.

"Uh, yeah. Fucking Vodafone. It only just gave me the message you sent three hours ago!"

It's shit. All telcos are shit.

"I know."

So what did you want to talk to me about?

All of my anger, my hurt, my hope, basically every feeling I have is crashing around my ears and I can't think straight. "I just wanted to know if you were okay."

Uh... yeah?

"Since you said you hadn't been sleeping well, and been tired all the time."

Yeah, I slept pretty well. Too short, but pretty well.

"Good. Good."

I ended the call as quickly as I could. I had no idea what to feel. This morning I had hopes we could start anew. This afternoon I realised he had betrayed me and was playing me for a sap. This evening I overcame my anger and hurt and resolved to end it with dignity and maturity. And then late at night I find out that everything I'd felt over the last ten hours was wrong.

Maybe.

I can't deal with this. Nothing has changed since I wistfully thought about how much I missed him this morning... but my feelings for him are dead. The stress has killed them.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

The despair of a relationship in a straitjacket.



My mouth is still a wretched place inhabited only by the herpes simplex virus and my own sense of despair. It's healing, but I think it's still infectious.

It's only been ten days since I had sex with Mr Singular, but it feels like a month. I've seen him three times, including last Saturday night, and we couldn't do anything racier than hug and watch Will & Grace.

Sure, you could argue that we could have jerked each other off, or something similar... but this isn't about getting off. This is about intimacy and connection, and the natural expression of the attraction we feel for each other. We can't be close to each other in the way that we want to be.

I'm still finding it hard to read this whole relationship. On Saturday night Mr Singular seemed a little bit distant in some ways. When I wrapped my arms around him he responded, but he didn't initiate any contact. He fell asleep lying on top of me in front of the TV, then stumbled off to bed with a mutter that he couldn't stay awake.

Okay, I thought. Maybe this isn't as profound a relationship as I thought. He's happy to have me around and even happier to fuck me, but he's not going to make any effort to make me happy in return. Perhaps he's realising that I'm not going to be anything special.

But then all through Sunday and today he was texting and emailing, telling me how much he missed me, and being romantic and affectionate. "I'm watching people kissing on TV and thinking, 'I can't wait to kiss my man again...'", he wrote at one point, and I thought, "So you're thinking of me as your man, then?" When I admitted to feeling flat, he asked if it was anything he'd done, or if there was anything he could do to make me feel better.

Then when I spent Tuesday evening with Mr Singular, everything was peachy. When I was standing at the stove stirring a pot he came up behind me, wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled my neck. When we were lying on the couch watching bad British renovation shows on TV, he held my hands in his, or stroked my leg.

So perhaps he was just down on Saturday because after a week of waiting I still wasn't able to kiss him, or enjoy myself in his bed.

The cold sore is just about healed. We probably could have kissed last night without infection, but it seemed silly to risk it. Plus giving the ulcer an extra two days to heal will be more comfortable for me.


Friday, November 4, 2011

Still having to wait.



Last night I managed to catch up with Mr Singular - it's been three whole days since I last saw him, a record in our short relationship. We met at an invitation-only sale at a high end and extremely gay interior design store, and we spent a while looking at pretty things while sipping champagne. I was very gratified when we bumped into another gay friend of mine: as soon as Mr Singular's back was turned, gave me a split-second, wide-eyed "OMG HE'S HOT!" face, before he had to slip back into a neutral expression when Mr Singular turned to us again.

Afterwards we slipped off to a fashionable bar and just spent an hour together talking and enjoying each other's company. But I had to do some grocery shopping, and take a friend to the airport for a late night flight, so we had to part by 8pm. But for the rest of the evening we traded texts, ramping up the sexy banter until we were forced to admit that it wasn't really banter any more. I wanted him, and he wanted me.

We've had an arrangement all week to see each other on Saturday, and oh, the plans we had! Meet mid-afternoon and go shopping. Have dinner at a little Italian place around the corner from his house. Snuggle on the couch with a glass of wine. Go to bed early and tear into each other, releasing all the pent up sexual energy that we've been hoarding all week, voraciously, hungrily, creatively, late into the night. Wake up on Sunday morning and laze in bed, nuzzling and enjoying more langorously paced sex.

But... my cold sore is a very bad one - the skin across my whole face is dry and my eyes have a vague, constant itch. Despite the fact that I'm dilligently using the anti-viral cream it's only healing very slowly. I was hoping that it would be healed by tomorrow, but here we are the day before and it's still blistered. We're facing the horrible prospect of having to forgo sex even longer. I feel as if I'm letting him down. I feel diseased - here I am getting freaked out by unprotected sex, but I'm the one who's demonstrably infectious.

I'm longing for the touch of his hands on my naked skin, his lips brushing against my ear, his teeth biting just a little too hard on my nipple. I yearn for the prickle of his chest hair under my fingers and the soft downy fuzz of his shaven head on my cheek. And frustrated when we stop talking for a moment and just look at each other, and I see the flicker of hunger in his eyes.


Tuesday, November 1, 2011

A sore point.



It's odd how small things can change the course of a relationship in ways that'd you'd never even expect.

Yesterday morning I noticed a slight tingle in the corner of my lip, and I realised that, thanks to a combination of stress and sucking face with a stubbly guy, I was developing a cold sore. By the time I went to Mr Singular's house for dinner at around 7pm, it had blossomed into its full, itchy, annoying maturity.

But this was, counterintuitively, a good thing. An infectious cold sore on my mouth meant that the most intimate thing we could do was hug. In fact, it puts me out of sexual action for around five or six days. Faced with no sex or even kissing, we had no excuses not to sit down and talk

We snuggled on the couch and watched some Will & Grace DVDs, with my head resting on his stomach and him leaning down every so often to kiss me gently on the forehead. I stroked his leg, perhaps mischeviously, in a way that made him sporadically hard; I could feel his erection pushing against the nape of my neck through his shorts. We talked for a bit and eventually shut the DVD off because we weren't really watching it.

I decided to be bold and give him an opportunity to get answers to any questions that had evolved over the last week. I asked him, "We've been dating for a week now. Would you like to ask me anything?"

He asked me why I didn't have a sexual history until my mid-30s. I told him the truth. He asked me my opinion about gay marriage. I told him the truth about that too. Wrapped up in each other on a couch, full of wine and with no anticipation of sexual activity on the horizon, we could open up to each other and clear the air. We shared what we wanted in the bedroom (apparently my kissing is too aggressive, but the things I'm doing when I blow him are driving him wild). Unfortunately we aren't yet in a place where we can discern where all of this is going, but hey, it's only been a week and we are coming from very different places. He's eleven years younger than me but for every man I've shagged he's had six or seven.

As for my fears raised by the barebacking episode of the previous night, he swore that he only did it because he knew that he was completely clean. As for my other fears... well, it's a little low, but when he went to the toilet I flipped open his wallet and glanced at his credit card. The name on the card matched the one he'd given me. Later I noticed some mail on a table, and it too had the correct name. So I was reassured that he was telling me the truth.

I still want to physically see the results of his last STD test. But everything about what he says and how he acts speaks of the fact that he wouldn't do anything to put me at harm.