This entry will be short today, but I am saddened that it has to be included at all. I thought we all had a little more common sense than this. I have become more and more concerned with the number of people who seem to be having unprotected sex these days, many of whom don’t seem to think that it is it all that big of a deal.
First, I was shocked to find out in a conversation among several friends and acquaintances that several of them don’t even keep condoms around the house anymore. One stated simply that “I don’t like them, it’s not natural.” Another that, “I get tested every few months, I’m clean.” Maybe so, but testing is only going to catch the problem after the fact. Then what are you supposed to do?
And there seem to be more and more men out there directly advertising a bare-back only policy on their internet profiles and personal ads. Isn’t that sort of inviting trouble? As one friend put it, “If they don’t care about that, then what have they already got that you don’t want?”
Then, on top of that, I read an article in a magazine today that outlined the rise in bareback porn and how the incidence of HIV is increasing again in relationship to this sudden abandonment in condom use.
Have we forgotten what can happen if we don’t protect ourselves? It only takes one time. We all know this, so why do we suddenly not seem to care? I’m afraid that part of the problem is that the current youth, people in their late teens and early to mid-twenties, never directly faced the epidemic that hit gay men of previous generations. And without that, it’s not real enough to pose an immediate threat. It’s something that happens to other people, or used to happen. But if we don’t protect ourselves, then it could happen all over again, and then it will be real to all of us.
We all do stupid things. We all make mistakes. We are all adults and have to make our own decisions, yes, but, please think twice before getting yourself or someone else hurt when it doesn’t have to happen.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Saturday, July 28, 2007
The Ins and Outs of Sexual Compatibility
For a Man and a Woman, it’s fairly straightforward. The man has the penis; the woman has the vagina for him to put it in. The top and bottom roles are already defined. Well, unless you get into to strap-ons or that sort of thing, but we won’t delve into that here. The point is that once you leave that straightforward relationship, the lines get a little fuzzy. Suddenly you have two vaginas, or two penises. Now what? Well, obviously we all know how sex works, we all have holes; but the problem comes in when the roles start being defined. Or rather, in finding someone that in compatible with you in the bedroom in an already minimized field of play.
Think about it this way. The old adage is that 10% of us on this earth fall into this pink-card carrying category labeled ‘homosexual.’ That immediately eliminates 90% of the world from our range of possible mates. Then, of course, we have to consider that half of those 10% are of the opposite sex, cutting our numbers in half again, just like that. Perhaps that wouldn’t be too bad, except that once again we have to cut the numbers down when we consider that certain members of our group tend to prefer to use their genitals for the purposing of filling holes and other members tend to prefer to simply have genitals inserted into their holes, while still others could go either way (although some would argue that there is no such thing as a truly versatile gay man, but that’s a subject for another day). And then, there are those of us that have foot fetishes, underwear fetishes, wrestling fetishes, or the like. I’ve even heard of a man that had a haircut fetish. He went to the barber shop at least once if not twice a week whether he needed a cut or not. And even still, there are those of us that prefer not to have anal sex at all, or don’t like to kiss, or can’t stand the sight of male excretions. The list goes on and on.
Look at it this way, and it would seem almost an impossibility to find a mate that was both emotionally compatible with you as well as satisfactory in the bedroom. I mean, if you’re a total top bear who doesn’t like to kiss, with a foot fetish and a thing for nipple rings, what are the chances that you’re going to find a total bottom, who likes bears, who won’t kiss you, will let you play with his feet and, on top of that, mutilate his nipple for you? What is a guy to do? (Now I’m not saying I fall into either of those categories, but you get the idea). I’ve been in situations where I and my partner or possible partner seemed to get along wonderfully in general, only to find that there was something lacking in the bedroom (most often involving a top/bottom incompatibility). And then there have been those times when the sex was great, but we had nothing to talk about after the fact. Each experience cutting the ever dwindling playing field more and more. I sometimes fear that I’ll soon run out of possibilities altogether despite the fact that I know that idea is ridiculous. But how can I argue with the numbers? The situation is almost comical.
The real lesson, here, though, is to appreciate what we have when it does come along. Those of you out there with mates that have proven true and honorable inside and outside the bedroom, hold on to what you got and cherish it. Lucky devils! It’s a rare thing to find someone you can truly be compatible with in the long-run. But that’s the appeal of romance, isn’t it? Finding love, keeping it despite everything against you and against all odds. We may be at a handicap from the starting gate, but that won’t stop this guy from trying.
Think about it this way. The old adage is that 10% of us on this earth fall into this pink-card carrying category labeled ‘homosexual.’ That immediately eliminates 90% of the world from our range of possible mates. Then, of course, we have to consider that half of those 10% are of the opposite sex, cutting our numbers in half again, just like that. Perhaps that wouldn’t be too bad, except that once again we have to cut the numbers down when we consider that certain members of our group tend to prefer to use their genitals for the purposing of filling holes and other members tend to prefer to simply have genitals inserted into their holes, while still others could go either way (although some would argue that there is no such thing as a truly versatile gay man, but that’s a subject for another day). And then, there are those of us that have foot fetishes, underwear fetishes, wrestling fetishes, or the like. I’ve even heard of a man that had a haircut fetish. He went to the barber shop at least once if not twice a week whether he needed a cut or not. And even still, there are those of us that prefer not to have anal sex at all, or don’t like to kiss, or can’t stand the sight of male excretions. The list goes on and on.
Look at it this way, and it would seem almost an impossibility to find a mate that was both emotionally compatible with you as well as satisfactory in the bedroom. I mean, if you’re a total top bear who doesn’t like to kiss, with a foot fetish and a thing for nipple rings, what are the chances that you’re going to find a total bottom, who likes bears, who won’t kiss you, will let you play with his feet and, on top of that, mutilate his nipple for you? What is a guy to do? (Now I’m not saying I fall into either of those categories, but you get the idea). I’ve been in situations where I and my partner or possible partner seemed to get along wonderfully in general, only to find that there was something lacking in the bedroom (most often involving a top/bottom incompatibility). And then there have been those times when the sex was great, but we had nothing to talk about after the fact. Each experience cutting the ever dwindling playing field more and more. I sometimes fear that I’ll soon run out of possibilities altogether despite the fact that I know that idea is ridiculous. But how can I argue with the numbers? The situation is almost comical.
The real lesson, here, though, is to appreciate what we have when it does come along. Those of you out there with mates that have proven true and honorable inside and outside the bedroom, hold on to what you got and cherish it. Lucky devils! It’s a rare thing to find someone you can truly be compatible with in the long-run. But that’s the appeal of romance, isn’t it? Finding love, keeping it despite everything against you and against all odds. We may be at a handicap from the starting gate, but that won’t stop this guy from trying.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Cool Jazz and Cologne in the Air
Every once in a while, I feel like reminiscing, and today is one of those days. I try not to focus on the past, but rather keep myself focused on looking forward. However, it’s good to look back every once in a while. We remember the good times to appreciate what we’ve had, and keep the bad times in mind to learn from our mistakes and prevent ourselves from repeating them.
I’d like to tell a story today, something romantic. After all, the title of this blog is ‘Modern Romance.’ I was driving downtown today past an old apartment building where my first love used to live many years ago. Well, perhaps love is too strong a word as we didn’t know each other very long before he moved away to take a new job. Perhaps ‘infatuation’ is a more appropriate term. It was the first sex I ever had that I actually enjoyed, and the first time I ever felt like it was alright, maybe even cool, to be who I was, a young gay man.
We met on the internet, as many of us do. I had gone home to spend the summer with my parents after a difficult year at school and a series of failed attempts at finding a ‘friend’ to hang out with (i.e. have sex with). I wasn’t even looking for anything at the time. I was in another state. I started talking to this gentleman, however, and we decided we would meet once I returned to school. I remember I was very nervous. I had never just gone to someone’s home without knowing anything about them before. He gave me directions to an apartment building downtown where I had to be buzzed in at the door. I was intrigued. The lobby was very swank, the inhabitants obviously had money. I took the elevator up to the third floor where I found the number I had been given and was greeted by a short, sexy blond man of 38.
The first thing I remember was the smell. There was something more sophisticated here than the average apartment, no nasty candle scents or air-fresheners, but rather something more earthy, more masculine, but not nasty or seedy like my roommates dwellings. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. He sat me down on the couch, and after a few awkward moments leaned over me and planted a very strong kiss directly on my lips. Before I knew it, he was taking me by the hand into the bedroom where he undressed me and…..well, you know the rest.
Before the end of the night, he had asked me if we could be ‘exclusive.’ In other words, only have sex with each other. I had never been asked that before, but I quickly said yes. Everything about him was intriguing to me. His furniture, his artwork, the way he drank his coffee at this little table next to the kitchen out of mug labeled with artist’s names. And his body, of course, I found him incredibly attractive. We talked about art and music. I remember I would go over in the evening and he would be playing Billy Holiday on the stereo and I would feel like I had been transported into another universe. Everything here was so much more sophisticated than anything I had yet experienced in my mere 21 years. I wanted to be a part of this world; I didn’t want to go back to my seemingly mundane existence. Everything seemed possible here. This was romance.
We had a conversation about crayons once. That was my favorite. I had never been allowed to have the real Crayolas, but I had always dreamed of having the 64 pack with the sharpener in the back. He had had the brand name, but was never allowed to have the big pack, either. Such deprivation as children! We laughed.
I remember that he had this scent about him when we were close that I couldn’t get enough of. I can recognize it anywhere to this day. I found out later that it was a cologne called ‘Catalyst.’ It became the first scent I ever bought on my own, and every time I wore it I would remember those evenings downtown and feel a little more sophisticated. He would go off to shower after sex, and I could still smell it on the sheets. I loved it.
The irony is that we never actually ‘dated.’ We never met outside the apartment, in fact, until much later when I shared dinner with him on a trip I had taken to the city he had moved to. I feigned logical thinking when he sat down and told me he was thinking of taking a new job, even though inside I was suddenly crushed. I told him that we had not known each other long and that I shouldn’t be involved in any decision he made on such matters. He was sweet to pretend that my opinion mattered on the subject and that he was taking me into consideration. I know better now, but I let myself believe it then. I would think of a joke to tell him or something funny and I would call him up just to hear his voice for a second, make sure that he was still out there. I was young and naïve, what would you expect? I didn’t know anything about love or dating or anything really. At that point I didn’t even know all the ins and outs of sex in general. But it was a start. It was my first journey into any kind of romance, whether it was real or I just created the idea in my own head.
He was the first man to ever take my breath away, that feeling where you just have to stop for a second because you are so happy. It makes me smile to think about it. I just hope that he smiles sometimes, too, when he thinks of me, wherever he is these days. Incidentally, my parting gift to him before he left town was a box of brand-name Crayola crayons, 64-count with the sharpener in the back.
I’d like to tell a story today, something romantic. After all, the title of this blog is ‘Modern Romance.’ I was driving downtown today past an old apartment building where my first love used to live many years ago. Well, perhaps love is too strong a word as we didn’t know each other very long before he moved away to take a new job. Perhaps ‘infatuation’ is a more appropriate term. It was the first sex I ever had that I actually enjoyed, and the first time I ever felt like it was alright, maybe even cool, to be who I was, a young gay man.
We met on the internet, as many of us do. I had gone home to spend the summer with my parents after a difficult year at school and a series of failed attempts at finding a ‘friend’ to hang out with (i.e. have sex with). I wasn’t even looking for anything at the time. I was in another state. I started talking to this gentleman, however, and we decided we would meet once I returned to school. I remember I was very nervous. I had never just gone to someone’s home without knowing anything about them before. He gave me directions to an apartment building downtown where I had to be buzzed in at the door. I was intrigued. The lobby was very swank, the inhabitants obviously had money. I took the elevator up to the third floor where I found the number I had been given and was greeted by a short, sexy blond man of 38.
The first thing I remember was the smell. There was something more sophisticated here than the average apartment, no nasty candle scents or air-fresheners, but rather something more earthy, more masculine, but not nasty or seedy like my roommates dwellings. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. He sat me down on the couch, and after a few awkward moments leaned over me and planted a very strong kiss directly on my lips. Before I knew it, he was taking me by the hand into the bedroom where he undressed me and…..well, you know the rest.
Before the end of the night, he had asked me if we could be ‘exclusive.’ In other words, only have sex with each other. I had never been asked that before, but I quickly said yes. Everything about him was intriguing to me. His furniture, his artwork, the way he drank his coffee at this little table next to the kitchen out of mug labeled with artist’s names. And his body, of course, I found him incredibly attractive. We talked about art and music. I remember I would go over in the evening and he would be playing Billy Holiday on the stereo and I would feel like I had been transported into another universe. Everything here was so much more sophisticated than anything I had yet experienced in my mere 21 years. I wanted to be a part of this world; I didn’t want to go back to my seemingly mundane existence. Everything seemed possible here. This was romance.
We had a conversation about crayons once. That was my favorite. I had never been allowed to have the real Crayolas, but I had always dreamed of having the 64 pack with the sharpener in the back. He had had the brand name, but was never allowed to have the big pack, either. Such deprivation as children! We laughed.
I remember that he had this scent about him when we were close that I couldn’t get enough of. I can recognize it anywhere to this day. I found out later that it was a cologne called ‘Catalyst.’ It became the first scent I ever bought on my own, and every time I wore it I would remember those evenings downtown and feel a little more sophisticated. He would go off to shower after sex, and I could still smell it on the sheets. I loved it.
The irony is that we never actually ‘dated.’ We never met outside the apartment, in fact, until much later when I shared dinner with him on a trip I had taken to the city he had moved to. I feigned logical thinking when he sat down and told me he was thinking of taking a new job, even though inside I was suddenly crushed. I told him that we had not known each other long and that I shouldn’t be involved in any decision he made on such matters. He was sweet to pretend that my opinion mattered on the subject and that he was taking me into consideration. I know better now, but I let myself believe it then. I would think of a joke to tell him or something funny and I would call him up just to hear his voice for a second, make sure that he was still out there. I was young and naïve, what would you expect? I didn’t know anything about love or dating or anything really. At that point I didn’t even know all the ins and outs of sex in general. But it was a start. It was my first journey into any kind of romance, whether it was real or I just created the idea in my own head.
He was the first man to ever take my breath away, that feeling where you just have to stop for a second because you are so happy. It makes me smile to think about it. I just hope that he smiles sometimes, too, when he thinks of me, wherever he is these days. Incidentally, my parting gift to him before he left town was a box of brand-name Crayola crayons, 64-count with the sharpener in the back.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
He Can't Rescue You
My current list of favorite songs includes one by the great singer-songwriter Lucinda Williams entitled “Rescue.” If you know the artist, you know that she delves often into the deep well of sadness, broken relationships, and general heartache. While this song is a slow-moving, moody journey into the inner mind, it seems to me to have an important message. I may be completely off in my interpretation; but, to me, the song is about having an inner strength and not relying on a relationship, i.e. a man, to fix your problems.
A lot of us do it. We run around in constant search of the comfort that comes with being in a relationship. When one ends, we are quickly onto the next, sometimes clinging to the wrong person just so that we don’t have to be alone, don’t have to turn that light off in the bedroom without someone next to us. I’ve done it. I’ve stayed in relationships far past the breaking point, clinging to the familiar comfort of what I knew rather than being strong enough to break away on my own into unknown territory. I even continued to try to live with one of my exes for six months after we had decided to separate. It just seemed easier that way.
And what prompted me to finally leave? A new relationship, of course. I quickly fell in love with a young man that I thought was my equal, someone I could count on, someone who seemed to care about me. He offered me a place to live, not with him, but a piece of property that he was trying to rent out and that had sat empty for some time. It was meant to be a temporary solution to both of our problems until we figured out what to do next.
But why did I leap so quickly and determinately? It was a complicated situation that is hard to simplify here, as many factors were involved. However, I often wonder if I thought perhaps that this new relationship was going to solve my problems at the time, that somehow this man was going to fix the heartache and general unrest I had felt since ending my last relationship. Perhaps it was this sudden rush of affection and seemingly meaningful attention that I clung to, something that had been missing from my life. I felt wanted again, and I opened my heart completely and let him in without abandon.
Yet, the general unrest did not disappear. I was still in the throes of dealing with the last relationship, having it finally completely ended; and I was feverishly trying to create a new space for myself and trying to build a life with this new man. I hardly slept I was so consumed with activity, constantly distracted by all that was going on around me. And here I expected a new relationship to flourish in this kind of chaos? I was so lost in the idea of it, so entirely consumed by everything, that when the new man finally decided that we were not meant to be, I was so shocked that I could barely breathe.
It was perhaps the lowest I have ever been emotionally, the most difficult winter I ever faced, suddenly alone and completely abandoned. I don’t regret it, though, and I don’t think I would be the person I am today without having gone through it. What it taught me was that I cannot rely on a man, a relationship, to complete who I am, to elevate me to where I need to be to be happy. That strength and that energy has to come from within myself, and only then will I be able to be a true partner to whoever I choose to share my life with. It has made me much more cautious with my heart, yes, but at least I know that I am capable of giving myself completely to another person in love. I just have to be sure it is the right person next time.
We have choices to make, everyday, in every aspect of our lives. We can choose to look at the positive side of things and move on, or we can dwell on the hurt and anger, which holds us back and stunts our growth. I held on to the anger and the hurt for a long time with these two relationships, and yes, I did some stupid things in response to that. But at some point, I looked at myself in the mirror and decided that I didn’t like what I saw. Something needed to change; I needed to make things better, myself. So, I work on it everyday, trying to become a stronger person, working on being happy with myself before moving on to my next romantic adventure. When it comes, and hopefully it will, I won’t jump in so quickly this time, and I won’t use him as a band-aid to cover up my wounds. I’ll make sure I’ve left the baggage far behind and start with a clean slate this time.
So, I hear you, Lucinda. He can’t rescue me. He can’t save me. He can’t fix me. I’ve got to do it myself. We all do.
A lot of us do it. We run around in constant search of the comfort that comes with being in a relationship. When one ends, we are quickly onto the next, sometimes clinging to the wrong person just so that we don’t have to be alone, don’t have to turn that light off in the bedroom without someone next to us. I’ve done it. I’ve stayed in relationships far past the breaking point, clinging to the familiar comfort of what I knew rather than being strong enough to break away on my own into unknown territory. I even continued to try to live with one of my exes for six months after we had decided to separate. It just seemed easier that way.
And what prompted me to finally leave? A new relationship, of course. I quickly fell in love with a young man that I thought was my equal, someone I could count on, someone who seemed to care about me. He offered me a place to live, not with him, but a piece of property that he was trying to rent out and that had sat empty for some time. It was meant to be a temporary solution to both of our problems until we figured out what to do next.
But why did I leap so quickly and determinately? It was a complicated situation that is hard to simplify here, as many factors were involved. However, I often wonder if I thought perhaps that this new relationship was going to solve my problems at the time, that somehow this man was going to fix the heartache and general unrest I had felt since ending my last relationship. Perhaps it was this sudden rush of affection and seemingly meaningful attention that I clung to, something that had been missing from my life. I felt wanted again, and I opened my heart completely and let him in without abandon.
Yet, the general unrest did not disappear. I was still in the throes of dealing with the last relationship, having it finally completely ended; and I was feverishly trying to create a new space for myself and trying to build a life with this new man. I hardly slept I was so consumed with activity, constantly distracted by all that was going on around me. And here I expected a new relationship to flourish in this kind of chaos? I was so lost in the idea of it, so entirely consumed by everything, that when the new man finally decided that we were not meant to be, I was so shocked that I could barely breathe.
It was perhaps the lowest I have ever been emotionally, the most difficult winter I ever faced, suddenly alone and completely abandoned. I don’t regret it, though, and I don’t think I would be the person I am today without having gone through it. What it taught me was that I cannot rely on a man, a relationship, to complete who I am, to elevate me to where I need to be to be happy. That strength and that energy has to come from within myself, and only then will I be able to be a true partner to whoever I choose to share my life with. It has made me much more cautious with my heart, yes, but at least I know that I am capable of giving myself completely to another person in love. I just have to be sure it is the right person next time.
We have choices to make, everyday, in every aspect of our lives. We can choose to look at the positive side of things and move on, or we can dwell on the hurt and anger, which holds us back and stunts our growth. I held on to the anger and the hurt for a long time with these two relationships, and yes, I did some stupid things in response to that. But at some point, I looked at myself in the mirror and decided that I didn’t like what I saw. Something needed to change; I needed to make things better, myself. So, I work on it everyday, trying to become a stronger person, working on being happy with myself before moving on to my next romantic adventure. When it comes, and hopefully it will, I won’t jump in so quickly this time, and I won’t use him as a band-aid to cover up my wounds. I’ll make sure I’ve left the baggage far behind and start with a clean slate this time.
So, I hear you, Lucinda. He can’t rescue me. He can’t save me. He can’t fix me. I’ve got to do it myself. We all do.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Is The “Whore Phase” a Required Rite of Passage?
I have a friend who insists that every gay man, when he has finally accepted who he is, goes through what he calls a “whore phase.” In other words, a period of time in which he has an inordinately large amount of sex with several, if not many, partners. To add to the idea, he insists that we must all get through this phase before we are able to truly settle down and be a good boyfriend or ‘husband.’ I can’t say that it is not true, as I seem to have gone through this phase myself when I finally separated from my partner of nearly 5 years. It was almost a rampage, and the more I engaged, the more it seemed I needed. And when I wasn’t out looking for something, it was like I was missing out, losing the opportunity for yet another new encounter. It was a restlessness that screamed “where will my next blow job come from. I can’t wait. I need more flesh!”
Alright, maybe that’s a little exaggerated. Although maybe not for everyone. I have spoken to several men that boast over a hundred partners before their mid twenties, and don’t think twice about it. One of the local college campuses here can seem like one large, cruisy locker room to hear some people talk about it. A blow-job in the 4th floor bathroom, a stolen embrace in the locker room at the school gym, an empty classroom and a condom kept in his backpack ‘just in case.’ And it’s not just on random occasions. For some of these guys, this is a daily occurrence, sometimes two or three times a day. I knew two guys that competed to see who could break the record for the most in one day (which ended up being four, by the way). Am I the only one who finds this a little disturbing?
Like I said, I can’t claim to be completely innocent of these types of actions. But at least I never let it go that far. And, thankfully, I was well over that within a few months and came out of it unscathed and free of any diseases. However, I fear that some of us never leave this phase, no matter how old we get. Men in their 50’s, even 60’s still out there looking for sex wherever they can, whenever they can. I know one gentleman in his late thirties, who has basically given up on the idea of finding someone to build a life with. I heard through the grapevine that he had said something to the effect of, “I’m probably an idiot for not dating him seriously, but I’m too much of a whore” (him being me). At least who knows where he stands I guess. But if we don’t move on from this constant sexual experiment, do we ever really mature?
I think that I certain amount of sexual experimentation is required for anyone, gay or straight, in order to determine what a person likes and dislikes, what makes him tick, what turns him on. Otherwise, how do we ever determine whether or not we really are gay or not? How are we supposed to know if we are bottoms or tops, versatile, if we have fetishes, etc., without trying it out first? Maybe it is in this search for who we are, sexually; that we eventually determine what type of person is best for us and who we would want to make a true partnership with. We just have to take that next leap in order to actually do it, though, and that’s where the growing up part comes in.
Is there anyone there that took a more traditional approach, though? Anyone who dated first, waited for the serious relationship before really diving into the sex part, and then sticking with that one person almost like a traditional marriage without ever really experimenting first? I do not personally know of any gay man that did things that way, so I don’t have an answer for that one. But then again, it doesn’t seem to be done this way even among straight folks these days.
Sex seems to be more accessible to the gay man, what with the proliferation of ‘hook-up’ websites and the general lack of inhibition in comparison to women in the bedroom. But if it's not a question of ‘getting some’ then why aren’t we more concerned with finding that special someone, that one person that we can be happy with. You would think it would be a comfort to find someone to have sex with that you really cared about, and that was there for you so that you didn’t have to go out and look for it all the time. Maybe that’s the paradox, though. Because it is so accessible, it’s not as much of an issue to find that one person to hold on to. There’s always another one around the corner.
I guess I’m going to have to agree with my friend for now. We may not all do it to the same degree or for the same length of time, but it seems that most of us go through this “whore phase” at one point or another in our lives, whether it’s to validate that we are attractive to other people, to experiment sexually, or simply because we can. What I am hoping, though, is that more of us make that leap into a more mature adulthood, finding valid partnerships and sticking with them. Or perhaps that’s just a little too idealistic of a dream. We’ll see.
Alright, maybe that’s a little exaggerated. Although maybe not for everyone. I have spoken to several men that boast over a hundred partners before their mid twenties, and don’t think twice about it. One of the local college campuses here can seem like one large, cruisy locker room to hear some people talk about it. A blow-job in the 4th floor bathroom, a stolen embrace in the locker room at the school gym, an empty classroom and a condom kept in his backpack ‘just in case.’ And it’s not just on random occasions. For some of these guys, this is a daily occurrence, sometimes two or three times a day. I knew two guys that competed to see who could break the record for the most in one day (which ended up being four, by the way). Am I the only one who finds this a little disturbing?
Like I said, I can’t claim to be completely innocent of these types of actions. But at least I never let it go that far. And, thankfully, I was well over that within a few months and came out of it unscathed and free of any diseases. However, I fear that some of us never leave this phase, no matter how old we get. Men in their 50’s, even 60’s still out there looking for sex wherever they can, whenever they can. I know one gentleman in his late thirties, who has basically given up on the idea of finding someone to build a life with. I heard through the grapevine that he had said something to the effect of, “I’m probably an idiot for not dating him seriously, but I’m too much of a whore” (him being me). At least who knows where he stands I guess. But if we don’t move on from this constant sexual experiment, do we ever really mature?
I think that I certain amount of sexual experimentation is required for anyone, gay or straight, in order to determine what a person likes and dislikes, what makes him tick, what turns him on. Otherwise, how do we ever determine whether or not we really are gay or not? How are we supposed to know if we are bottoms or tops, versatile, if we have fetishes, etc., without trying it out first? Maybe it is in this search for who we are, sexually; that we eventually determine what type of person is best for us and who we would want to make a true partnership with. We just have to take that next leap in order to actually do it, though, and that’s where the growing up part comes in.
Is there anyone there that took a more traditional approach, though? Anyone who dated first, waited for the serious relationship before really diving into the sex part, and then sticking with that one person almost like a traditional marriage without ever really experimenting first? I do not personally know of any gay man that did things that way, so I don’t have an answer for that one. But then again, it doesn’t seem to be done this way even among straight folks these days.
Sex seems to be more accessible to the gay man, what with the proliferation of ‘hook-up’ websites and the general lack of inhibition in comparison to women in the bedroom. But if it's not a question of ‘getting some’ then why aren’t we more concerned with finding that special someone, that one person that we can be happy with. You would think it would be a comfort to find someone to have sex with that you really cared about, and that was there for you so that you didn’t have to go out and look for it all the time. Maybe that’s the paradox, though. Because it is so accessible, it’s not as much of an issue to find that one person to hold on to. There’s always another one around the corner.
I guess I’m going to have to agree with my friend for now. We may not all do it to the same degree or for the same length of time, but it seems that most of us go through this “whore phase” at one point or another in our lives, whether it’s to validate that we are attractive to other people, to experiment sexually, or simply because we can. What I am hoping, though, is that more of us make that leap into a more mature adulthood, finding valid partnerships and sticking with them. Or perhaps that’s just a little too idealistic of a dream. We’ll see.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Dinner for Four
Picture it: a group of four friends outside on the patio on a breezy summer evening in July. They share a meal together, a few cigarettes, and a lot of wine. All four in their late twenties, nearing thirty, that ever dreaded aging milestone that forces contemplation and begs for introspection. “What have I done with my life and where am I going next?” All four suddenly single, searching for romance anew or trying to get over it. I know what you’re thinking: perfect setup of a cry-fest/man-bashing session. Actually, that’s not what happened. In fact, it ended up being one of the most constructive discussions I’ve had about love and relationships in a long time.
I had a wonderful mid-week dinner with my best girlfriends last night; and, if nothing else, it gave me comfort to know that I am not alone in my confusion over the current state of romance. There seems to be more of us out there than I thought. Young people starting to get a little older, a little more mature. People that have been through school, or are finishing school, who have been out on their own for a while, gaining financial and emotional independence but lacking in that one ever elusive part of their lives, love and romance.
This is, of course, in stark contrast to those friends and acquaintances of ours that jumped into marriage at a young age, who never knew an independent life and never had to struggle to make it through life without someone else there to struggle with them.
It’s a question of lifestyle, I suppose. Choices we make at certain stages in our lives that determine the paths our lives take thereafter. Some of us find the “love of our lives” at seventeen, get married at twenty, and disappear into the marriage unit never to be heard from again. Some of us get married at twenty, divorced by twenty-five or thirty, and have to start over from there, sometimes with a child, and sometimes without. Some of us go through lengthy relationships, get engaged, sometimes move on to marriage, and sometimes not. And some of us go from person to person looking for that quick sense of euphoria, that sense of being wanted and desired, until it wears off and we move on to the next quick date in search of that euphoria anew.
But what is the right path, and which is wrong? Or is there even a right and wrong?
There isn’t really. Those of us who have found love and stuck with it, worked for it, are no better off than those of us who haven’t. It’s a matter of circumstance, a simple matter of choice and consequence. We choose to get married, we choose to date someone, or not, we choose to have sex, or not, we choose to end relationships. And the consequences follow the choices we make. What was so striking about my friends and I as we sat there together was that we had all had different pasts, different paths to our current state, yet we suddenly all found ourselves in essentially the same situation, asking the same questions about where to go next and if love was possible again for any of us.
Perhaps it is our independence and our experience thus far with love that makes us more aware of what we want, whatever that might be, but also more cautious in trying to find it. Once you’ve been hurt, seen the good and the bad, you know a little better the reality of what love is really like, what it is supposed to be like, and what you want it to be like. But you also know how rare it is to find someone that you are truly compatible with, that you can talk to, have a conversation with, work towards common goals with. At thirty, we concern ourselves more with creating family units for our children or ourselves, establishing lone-term bonds, finding stability. But we’re also smart enough to know that Mr. Right may never appear, so we prepare ourselves for the alternative. Not that we don’t get lonely sometimes, long for affection and desire, but sometimes we’ve got to be realistic in knowing that life, especially love, rarely turns out the way we expect it to.
The lesson for today is to remember that we are not alone in our struggles. I am eternally grateful that I have such good friends to help get me through hard times, people I can really talk to and who understand where I am at in my life. We support each other. And if that’s as it good as it gets, I’ll take it for now. I love them all dearly.
I had a wonderful mid-week dinner with my best girlfriends last night; and, if nothing else, it gave me comfort to know that I am not alone in my confusion over the current state of romance. There seems to be more of us out there than I thought. Young people starting to get a little older, a little more mature. People that have been through school, or are finishing school, who have been out on their own for a while, gaining financial and emotional independence but lacking in that one ever elusive part of their lives, love and romance.
This is, of course, in stark contrast to those friends and acquaintances of ours that jumped into marriage at a young age, who never knew an independent life and never had to struggle to make it through life without someone else there to struggle with them.
It’s a question of lifestyle, I suppose. Choices we make at certain stages in our lives that determine the paths our lives take thereafter. Some of us find the “love of our lives” at seventeen, get married at twenty, and disappear into the marriage unit never to be heard from again. Some of us get married at twenty, divorced by twenty-five or thirty, and have to start over from there, sometimes with a child, and sometimes without. Some of us go through lengthy relationships, get engaged, sometimes move on to marriage, and sometimes not. And some of us go from person to person looking for that quick sense of euphoria, that sense of being wanted and desired, until it wears off and we move on to the next quick date in search of that euphoria anew.
But what is the right path, and which is wrong? Or is there even a right and wrong?
There isn’t really. Those of us who have found love and stuck with it, worked for it, are no better off than those of us who haven’t. It’s a matter of circumstance, a simple matter of choice and consequence. We choose to get married, we choose to date someone, or not, we choose to have sex, or not, we choose to end relationships. And the consequences follow the choices we make. What was so striking about my friends and I as we sat there together was that we had all had different pasts, different paths to our current state, yet we suddenly all found ourselves in essentially the same situation, asking the same questions about where to go next and if love was possible again for any of us.
Perhaps it is our independence and our experience thus far with love that makes us more aware of what we want, whatever that might be, but also more cautious in trying to find it. Once you’ve been hurt, seen the good and the bad, you know a little better the reality of what love is really like, what it is supposed to be like, and what you want it to be like. But you also know how rare it is to find someone that you are truly compatible with, that you can talk to, have a conversation with, work towards common goals with. At thirty, we concern ourselves more with creating family units for our children or ourselves, establishing lone-term bonds, finding stability. But we’re also smart enough to know that Mr. Right may never appear, so we prepare ourselves for the alternative. Not that we don’t get lonely sometimes, long for affection and desire, but sometimes we’ve got to be realistic in knowing that life, especially love, rarely turns out the way we expect it to.
The lesson for today is to remember that we are not alone in our struggles. I am eternally grateful that I have such good friends to help get me through hard times, people I can really talk to and who understand where I am at in my life. We support each other. And if that’s as it good as it gets, I’ll take it for now. I love them all dearly.
Monday, July 9, 2007
The Big City
Now, obviously, my profile says that I live in Lexington, Kentucky. Well, anyone who lives in Lexington knows that the picture at the top of this page is not from Lexington, but rather the great city of Seattle. I chose this picture because Seattle to me, besides being one of my favorite cities, seems to be the place where my conscious search for modern romance began. Before Seattle, it seems I just sort of fell into love (or lust) without trying. I sort of let it lead me and determine my path. After Seattle, it seems I have been more proactive in my approach to love, more determined to be happy with myself and know what I want in love rather than letting it determine the path of my life. Not that I woke up one day and just decided this, or that it just happened overnight. Like most things in life, it was a process; but everything just seemed to reach a turning point while I was in Seattle.
It was the first trip I ever took completely on my own without having at least someone there that I knew when I got there. It was also the first place I've ever been where boys hold hand (and girls, too) wherever they wanted to instead of just in gay bars or gay neighborhoods and no one seemed to care. Everyone just seemed to be whoever they wanted to be without worry. This is the way it should be, and my idealistic mind relished in the idea that there was actually a place where it might actually be possible.
Everything in that city seemed to speak to me: the friendly people, the fresh food, the art, the culture. I walked through the new sculpture park along the waterfront on a gray but still lovely day. I was struck by a sculpture consisting of several benches, a rotating sign and a small tree. At first glance, not impressive, or rather not immediately discernible until you interacted with the piece, walked in, around, and through it. Once I did this, it became apparent that there were letters strategically painted to form two words, Love and Loss, crisscrossed at the Os. The rotating sign was an and (&) symbol. It spoke to me. How often were the two interconnected, almost inseparable. How appropriate for me to experience such a thing at a time when I was dealing with two huge losses, and with it love gone awry. Not to be melodramatic, but it felt like I was meant to be there right at that time in my life, like Seattle was a reflection of myself.
And so, I've chosen a photograph from my time in that place, as one of many markers signifying a new beginning, a paradigm shift, the start of a new search for modern romance. And if that doesn't exist, then maybe I'll have to make some up myself.
It was the first trip I ever took completely on my own without having at least someone there that I knew when I got there. It was also the first place I've ever been where boys hold hand (and girls, too) wherever they wanted to instead of just in gay bars or gay neighborhoods and no one seemed to care. Everyone just seemed to be whoever they wanted to be without worry. This is the way it should be, and my idealistic mind relished in the idea that there was actually a place where it might actually be possible.
Everything in that city seemed to speak to me: the friendly people, the fresh food, the art, the culture. I walked through the new sculpture park along the waterfront on a gray but still lovely day. I was struck by a sculpture consisting of several benches, a rotating sign and a small tree. At first glance, not impressive, or rather not immediately discernible until you interacted with the piece, walked in, around, and through it. Once I did this, it became apparent that there were letters strategically painted to form two words, Love and Loss, crisscrossed at the Os. The rotating sign was an and (&) symbol. It spoke to me. How often were the two interconnected, almost inseparable. How appropriate for me to experience such a thing at a time when I was dealing with two huge losses, and with it love gone awry. Not to be melodramatic, but it felt like I was meant to be there right at that time in my life, like Seattle was a reflection of myself.
And so, I've chosen a photograph from my time in that place, as one of many markers signifying a new beginning, a paradigm shift, the start of a new search for modern romance. And if that doesn't exist, then maybe I'll have to make some up myself.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Internet Date Much?
Frankly, at times, I find the whole idea of internet dating, chatting, cruising, or whatever you want to call it, rather humorous. It is such a contrived situation, basing an introduction on a couple of pictures or a paragraph of information, which most of the time simply states things like “Hot and Horny,” or “Hungry Bottom, For Your Pleasure,” or the funniest, “Looking for Something Special, I’m More Than Just a Big Dick,” followed by a picture of a big dick and that’s all. But then, of course, there are the ones that think they’re clever, stating something to the effect of, “I’m tired of seeing nothing but ass shots or pictures of your penis, be a man, show me your face. No pic, no chat.” You’ve got to love ‘em for trying. And how many variations of the word top or bottom or the city you live in combined with the word boy (or the euphemistic boi) can these people come up with? Bottomboi27, bttmboy69, topguy4u, nightdude24, topniteinlex, lexguy15, lexingtontop4boibttms. What’s next, topsometimesbttmothers4boisorboysdependingonmoodatnightorduringtheday694fun? Get creative people, they all look the same!
Let’s be honest here, though. It’s the picture that’s going to grab your attention, maybe a blurb or two out of a short profile, but that’s it. So does it really matter what you write about yourself. What I love is the guys with no picture at all, and little or no profile. The ever ‘discreet’ internet user. He’s usually an older man, probably been married, or afraid of people at work knowing about his cock-worshipping habits. “I’m discreet, don’t have any pics, but can I see yours?”
Someone told me it was better to meet people on the internet because it forced communication. Well maybe that’s true sometimes, but lets review a typical conversation.
Guy1: hi
Guy2: hi
Guy1: wassup?
Guy2: nothin’ just chillin’
Guy1: that’s cool
Guy1 (again after a minute or two of contemplation): what do you get into? Or simply, u lookin?
Guy2: maybe
Guy1: are you a top or a bottom?
(and here it can go one of two ways)
Option 1:
Guy1: all top
Guy2: cool, looking to bttm here. What part of town you in?....
Or Option 2:
Guy2: usually bottom
Guy1: I’m looking to bttm, too. (Click. End of Conversation)
Wow. What communication! Three-fourths of the time, you don’t even get a name out of these guys much less an occupation or general interest. It seems to me we’re just setting ourselves up for constant disappointment. It’s like a tiny world of immediate acceptance or rejection: yes I’ll talk to you for a few minutes, give you a chance, or no, you’re not my type, I can tell from your torso picture. At least they can’t see the hurt on your face when they won’t respond to your “hi,” or you can pretend to keep your cool as you cheer or grin real big when a hottie sends you a ‘wink.’
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’ve had many actual conversations in the chat rooms, actual guys that have something to say, but none of us can deny that this isn’t how is goes a lot of the time. A good conversation happens about once every 20 guys you start talking to, if that. A lot of guys I’ve talked to say that if you ask a penis size or if you’re looking right away, they won’t even respond. This may be a good policy, weed out the hardcore whores; but the good ones won’t start out with that. They talk to you for a bit, a little small talk, “how was your day? glad to be off work, myself,” or, “what do you do?” And then they bring it in, “Stats? Are you masculine? What do you get into?” It all turns out the same in the end. But what gets me is the guys that start talking to you, they make the initial contact, and then they run out of things to say. Personally, I don’t know how to respond to that. Either learn some conversation skills and come back, or just get to the point, i.e. when and where are we going to have sex if in fact we are going to. Talk about modern romance!
But I guess it’s the one in 20 guys or so that actually have something to say that brings me back every once in a while (although less and less frequently these days). It’s these guys that you get personal enough with to get a name, maybe an occupation, and if you’re lucky, a few of their interests, like a favorite band or food. And then maybe you get to go out to lunch, or the lucky fellow is smart enough to ask you out on a real date (if there is any such thing anymore). Sometimes you even get a friend out of it. Of course, only about one in another 20 of those actually ends up being what you thought they’d be in person, but that’s a subject for another day. Happy hunting.
Let’s be honest here, though. It’s the picture that’s going to grab your attention, maybe a blurb or two out of a short profile, but that’s it. So does it really matter what you write about yourself. What I love is the guys with no picture at all, and little or no profile. The ever ‘discreet’ internet user. He’s usually an older man, probably been married, or afraid of people at work knowing about his cock-worshipping habits. “I’m discreet, don’t have any pics, but can I see yours?”
Someone told me it was better to meet people on the internet because it forced communication. Well maybe that’s true sometimes, but lets review a typical conversation.
Guy1: hi
Guy2: hi
Guy1: wassup?
Guy2: nothin’ just chillin’
Guy1: that’s cool
Guy1 (again after a minute or two of contemplation): what do you get into? Or simply, u lookin?
Guy2: maybe
Guy1: are you a top or a bottom?
(and here it can go one of two ways)
Option 1:
Guy1: all top
Guy2: cool, looking to bttm here. What part of town you in?....
Or Option 2:
Guy2: usually bottom
Guy1: I’m looking to bttm, too. (Click. End of Conversation)
Wow. What communication! Three-fourths of the time, you don’t even get a name out of these guys much less an occupation or general interest. It seems to me we’re just setting ourselves up for constant disappointment. It’s like a tiny world of immediate acceptance or rejection: yes I’ll talk to you for a few minutes, give you a chance, or no, you’re not my type, I can tell from your torso picture. At least they can’t see the hurt on your face when they won’t respond to your “hi,” or you can pretend to keep your cool as you cheer or grin real big when a hottie sends you a ‘wink.’
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’ve had many actual conversations in the chat rooms, actual guys that have something to say, but none of us can deny that this isn’t how is goes a lot of the time. A good conversation happens about once every 20 guys you start talking to, if that. A lot of guys I’ve talked to say that if you ask a penis size or if you’re looking right away, they won’t even respond. This may be a good policy, weed out the hardcore whores; but the good ones won’t start out with that. They talk to you for a bit, a little small talk, “how was your day? glad to be off work, myself,” or, “what do you do?” And then they bring it in, “Stats? Are you masculine? What do you get into?” It all turns out the same in the end. But what gets me is the guys that start talking to you, they make the initial contact, and then they run out of things to say. Personally, I don’t know how to respond to that. Either learn some conversation skills and come back, or just get to the point, i.e. when and where are we going to have sex if in fact we are going to. Talk about modern romance!
But I guess it’s the one in 20 guys or so that actually have something to say that brings me back every once in a while (although less and less frequently these days). It’s these guys that you get personal enough with to get a name, maybe an occupation, and if you’re lucky, a few of their interests, like a favorite band or food. And then maybe you get to go out to lunch, or the lucky fellow is smart enough to ask you out on a real date (if there is any such thing anymore). Sometimes you even get a friend out of it. Of course, only about one in another 20 of those actually ends up being what you thought they’d be in person, but that’s a subject for another day. Happy hunting.
Monday, July 2, 2007
When Are We Really Ready to Move On?
However short or long a relationship lasts, the bottom line is that no one should be able to tell you how long it should take for you to get over someone. Only you can know that, and only you know if you are truly ready to move on to something new. If there was a lot of emotion involved, if it was a serious relationship, then, frankly, losing someone special is a traumatic event. In many instances, it could be equated to someone close to you dying. It's the same or similar set of emotional responses. No one would question how long it should take to get over a death, so why should they question your ability to move on from an ended relationship?
The experience is filled with sadness, anger, and eventual acceptance, basically a grief response. I've gone through it several times. Sometimes, it took me just a few months to be ready to start over, and other times, it has taken me a very long time. The hardest part has simply been learning to be happy with myself regardless of having a partner or not. It is very difficult to calm the heart, to calm the soul and to be at peace with myself so that I can be in the right place for someone new, if that is meant to happen.
But how do you know if you're really ready? John Mayer, the noted singer-songwriter from Atlanta, has a song on his latest release called "In Repair" in which he questions his heart's readiness for a new love. He also questions whether he will ever be ready to love again. Perhaps this should be my theme song. Being in a transitional period relationship-wise has been one of the most confusing periods of my life. Everyone has good days and bad days. I know this, it is a fact of life. Knowing this doesn't make things any easier, however.
At the risk of exposing myself emotionally, I will tell you that the last relationship I was in left me the most hurt and the most unsure of myself of any relationship I have been in. I put a lot of effort and energy into the relationship, and once it was over, I felt deflated, so to speak, and extremely spent. So much so that with even the remote possibility of someone new being interested in anything more serious than a simple date or two, I have become so frightened at the prospect that I've essentially pushed them away. At one point, I was so scared of the idea of starting a new relationship, that by the end of a day of running the possibility through my mind, I had broken out on both sides of my body completely in hives. How can I ignore that? Never before have I been afraid to love or hesitant in any way to open my heart when I felt it was appropriate. But now, here I am so scared of the idea that I physically break out in hives. I want to love again, but how can I?
But what can be done? Perhaps there are times in our lives when being alone is the right situation. There are times when we must step back and take stock of where we are in our lives before bringing anyone new into them. I suppose that that is where I find myself at the moment. I don't have all the answers. I certainly don't know where I will end up in the next few years. All I can do, all any of us can do, is to take each day for what it is and hope that eventually I can accept love again and give it freely. But I cannot rely on anyone else to tell me when it is time for me to move on. I have to feel that it is right in my own heart and in my own mind before I venture into that world again. And the same goes for anyone else. It takes time, yes, and sometimes letting that time pass is the hardest thing to do, but it has to be done. I wish there were words that could comfort someone going through it, but I know from personal experience that there is nothing anyone can say that will make it any easier. In the end, you've just got to get through it yourself on your own terms.
The experience is filled with sadness, anger, and eventual acceptance, basically a grief response. I've gone through it several times. Sometimes, it took me just a few months to be ready to start over, and other times, it has taken me a very long time. The hardest part has simply been learning to be happy with myself regardless of having a partner or not. It is very difficult to calm the heart, to calm the soul and to be at peace with myself so that I can be in the right place for someone new, if that is meant to happen.
But how do you know if you're really ready? John Mayer, the noted singer-songwriter from Atlanta, has a song on his latest release called "In Repair" in which he questions his heart's readiness for a new love. He also questions whether he will ever be ready to love again. Perhaps this should be my theme song. Being in a transitional period relationship-wise has been one of the most confusing periods of my life. Everyone has good days and bad days. I know this, it is a fact of life. Knowing this doesn't make things any easier, however.
At the risk of exposing myself emotionally, I will tell you that the last relationship I was in left me the most hurt and the most unsure of myself of any relationship I have been in. I put a lot of effort and energy into the relationship, and once it was over, I felt deflated, so to speak, and extremely spent. So much so that with even the remote possibility of someone new being interested in anything more serious than a simple date or two, I have become so frightened at the prospect that I've essentially pushed them away. At one point, I was so scared of the idea of starting a new relationship, that by the end of a day of running the possibility through my mind, I had broken out on both sides of my body completely in hives. How can I ignore that? Never before have I been afraid to love or hesitant in any way to open my heart when I felt it was appropriate. But now, here I am so scared of the idea that I physically break out in hives. I want to love again, but how can I?
But what can be done? Perhaps there are times in our lives when being alone is the right situation. There are times when we must step back and take stock of where we are in our lives before bringing anyone new into them. I suppose that that is where I find myself at the moment. I don't have all the answers. I certainly don't know where I will end up in the next few years. All I can do, all any of us can do, is to take each day for what it is and hope that eventually I can accept love again and give it freely. But I cannot rely on anyone else to tell me when it is time for me to move on. I have to feel that it is right in my own heart and in my own mind before I venture into that world again. And the same goes for anyone else. It takes time, yes, and sometimes letting that time pass is the hardest thing to do, but it has to be done. I wish there were words that could comfort someone going through it, but I know from personal experience that there is nothing anyone can say that will make it any easier. In the end, you've just got to get through it yourself on your own terms.
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