“Do you mind if I crash with you while I’m in town?”
It seemed like a simple enough question. I knew what I was doing. He knew what I was asking. There was plenty of dialogue to setup expectations that it didn’t necessarily equate sex and it was more of a chance to finally meet face to face. In fact, it was an explicit conversation we had.
Leave it to single people (or boys) to transform any social network as a means to an end for dating. And in the short-term, for sex.
I am as guilty as the next person for having what is commonly referred to as a Twitcrush. Modest interaction that turns into this grey world of flirtation, as is what happens among two witty and intelligent people. But of course with that banter is this weird, “Oh, do I have a crush on someone on the internet who lives thousands of miles away?” The logical part of you realizes that what people portray is only a sliver of their real existence. What you actively push out to the public is merely a part of yourself – and cannot be representative of the whole. I know that. Because this blog is also a fine example of that. Despite the volume published here – you see only a sliver. A calculated, edited, thought-out, composed version of myself at times; others, a manic and indigo boy.
“Yeah! You can totally stay at my place.”
Well, that’s settled.
With social media infatuations (Social Media Infatuation Junkies, if you will – and if you won’t, fuck you), there’s a good probability you’ll never meet the person you privately flutter over. But me, well…when did I ever leave well enough alone?
I’ve actually met and dated a couple as a result of connecting on social media. It’s not a bad thing – in fact, a girl I work with just married a guy that she met by interacting with on Twitter. So you just never know what happens when two people come together, textually.
One has to be resourceful in this modern day of dating. When you find yourself tapped out for intelligence – you claw and cling to any inkling of wit, charm and personality – even if it’s through 1s and 0s.
With his invitation, I knew that my trip to NYC was going to be interesting, adventurous and probably a total shit-show.
I’m typically always right. At least about predicting a shit-show.
Sitting outside of Dave Letterman’s studio and waiting with a leg-hiked up on a suitcase, I felt like my life was absurd and yet utterly free. He struts up and we smile and say our hellos.
Attractive, a great smile. Beautiful eyes. Smart. Funny. Just cool. Everything I had expected. I felt a sense of relief. God only knows what he thought, but that’s none of my business nor is this a story about my own self-doubt or egotism.
A movie, a meal and several shots later we are heading into the city to meet a friend at a club. He and I pile into the back of a cab when he grabs me with a break-neck urgency to put his lips on mine. I don’t resist and return with the same force.
Hello, New York.
[Side note: These things happen in your life. And if they don’t – I’m sorry. Even if you’re married, give in to a bit of sensuality and allow yourself to be consumed with passion enough to step outside the bounds of your marriage and feast on your partner. It’s worth it. It breaks your own inhibitions down. Let yourself go toward the whore for a moment.]
Cut to me at the bar and him busting open the buttons of my shirt on the dancefloor. Now, I’m thin – but I ain’t built to be showing off my body. At least not in some NYC club – those queens are a different breed: thoroughbred. This led to more kissing in front of his friend, who stood by just sipping on a drink. (Can I apologize for that now?)
Some drinks later, I cut myself off and started on water. They kept going – and good for them. I’m old. I can’t party like I used to. And the last thing I need to do is get sloppy in some lower East side bar in Manhattan.
[Side note 2: Although, it wouldn’t be the lowest moment in my gay life to that point – that happened earlier the same day when I had to go stand in line at 8 am in a Chelsea free clinic for an STD test, after having a truly dramatic panic attack about having gonorrhea, which in my mind also meant I probably had HIV (yes, I’m that paranoid and neurotic). As it turns out, I had neither. But I couldn’t even wait for the clinic results to come in, because as soon as I got home I went to my doctor and had ANOTHER blood panel taken, with my results turned around in a few days. Both came back completely negative for everything. Meaning I had a UTI. God, why did I ever go off Xanax?]
We make it home, and I crawl into bed with him. Nothing happened – I promise you. He blacked out on the cab ride home, so I was relieved that there wouldn’t be any pressure to escalate our making out to the next base, whichever base that may be.
And you know what – I’m happy nothing happened.
The next day, we went to brunch and I parted ways to meet up with another friend and former lover. Yes. You heard right. Let me introduce myself:
I continued my trip and had a blast but didn’t really hear much from him since then. While I’m fine with that, it was a little disappointing.
I think because he was totally refreshing. And I rarely meet people I find refreshing or unique or want to commit to getting to know. Do I think we were a match or compatible or anything? No, not really. But he was the type worth investigating.
However, I also saw the pattern of my own behavior. I get drawn into the curiosity and the exploration of new relationships and my attraction is more in the anonymity and the spark. As I’ve alluded to before, and with some amount of head shaking, I’m a junkie for the high. I’m always chasing the high of meeting someone new and having that mutual rush of unknown attraction. I’m looking for a hit of newness.
But like any addiction, it becomes detrimental and harmful. My own addictions are ready to be broken. I’m leaning into the slowness of relationship growth and development and learning how to extend and draw out the sensuality instead of giving into the lust of a moment. Do I think the latter has its place? Of course. You must be human and representative of the whole. But now I’m ready to stretch the muscle of long-term attraction. And maybe I met someone who may be willing to teach me how to go slow.
Dedicate myself to the molasses speed of love, because it may be sweeter for longer. But I could never wait for the drip to drop.
I had to die in Texas to get there.
Read the rest of the Boys I’ve Liked series.