Random Rubber Bands

Niche

2007-07-03T11:15:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was invited to speak to another class regarding Human Sexuality. I was going solo this time, and I had to fill two hours of class time. The easiest way to do that, I've found in the past, is to open up the discussion. Two hours of lecture is lame and boring, but asking questions as I go through various concepts helps me not only to fill time, they allow the discussion to flow the way the class dynamics need the dicussion to move.

I generally go into these things ad hoc. I rarely prepare other than collecting some current statistics, look up some recent happenings in LGBTIQ local and national settings, and then I just get a feel of what kind of class I'll be speaking with. This time, I called up the instructor to find out what basic concepts were in the textbook they are reading, and I directed the discussion to touch on those concepts while filling in the gaps and creating transition moments to bind it all together with materials from outside their reading.

Strangely, even in the mood that I am in now, I can do this pretty readily. I just show up, do a last minute checkover on their curriculum, then I start talking, following the class's lead on what they would like to clarify, and then filling in the gaps on things that they haven't yet considered.

It was really nice after I finished, because after several students came down the auditorium to ask me personal questions (about their lives, or thier friend's lives) the instructor told me that in the five years that she's been teaching this class, she's never heard a more eloquent, vibrant, and dynamic discussion of the topic. She said that she was really impressed, and I thanked her as she thanked me.

This is what I need right now. Positive reinforcement of my skills and abilities. I am talented. I am good at what I do. I am a very powerful and engaging public speaker. I am personable. I am successful. And I can do with with very little energy, because it's all already within. When I really dive into something that I spend a lot of time researching, I can blow everyone away. I've forgotten this, and now I'm glad that I have been reminded of it again.

Sometimes even the little things are important for rebuilding that self esteem.

Afterwards, I made it home, and I called and left a message on the mobile of a young man who has been interested in me. Okay, he's about my age, only a year or two younger, and he was a student of mine four years ago. Plenty of time and distance now to pursue something interesting. He asked me for my number in February, and while it's a bit late to be timely, who knows? I might get somewhere. Or I might not. Who cares? I'm just going to try it anyway. I'm going to get back on that horse and have a good time.

Fuck the people who have tried to bring me down.

It's my turn to have a good time.

Rewriting History

2007-07-02T09:12:00.001-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about some of the things my ex-boyfriend last said to me. He said that he hasn't been in love with me for over three years. That seems like a long time to be with someone that you don't care about in a romantic way. Especially since we bought this house one one month more than three years ago today. It seems pretty strange that somebody who doesn't love me would buy a house with me. It seems as if he's been rewriting history in his head to match what he wants now.

I have other questions too, and fine, I know all these things are ultimately rhetorical, because whatever has happened, it's happened, regardless of whether it makes sense or not. But for example, I recently had lasek surgery and went from legally blind (but glasses correctable) to 20/20 literally overnight. One of the things that my boyfriend at the time did was send me something that I had talked about years before, I had always wanted a projecting ceiling clock. I never got one when I was wearing glasses because it was useless, because by the time I put on my glasses, I'd be awake looking at the ceiling which was pointless. I could just turn on a light and look at the clock bed side. However, once my vision was normalized through the lasek, he bought me both that and some very nice sunglasses, just because. Who would be so thoughtful for someone that they didn't love?

I mean, if he didn't love me for those three years he was talking about, then what were we doing that whole time? Was I a placeholder, a convenient distraction, was I used? Of course, the fact that he chose to pursue two relationships at the same time these past six months does indicate that he didn't love me as much as I thought he did. Of course, that also makes him a huge ass - but that's something else entirely. Strangely, even when confronted with this fact, I'm not mad at him. I still love him, and I forgive him. Mostly. Not entirely. I just wish he had been honest with me. I wish he would be honest with me. I wish that instead of being nasty and callous, he would just sit down and be entirely honest with me. But he doesn't seem to want to do that, and I don't think I may ever get that from him.

From what has already happened, it's pretty clear that he never really respected me. Of course, I wish he would see this (and he might) and call me up and write me to tell me that I'm wrong, and that I am missing some critical information. But that may never happen. That is a fantasy of mine that may never be realized. I have to live with that. I have to live with these four and three quarter years. I have to live with the fact that I was rejected. I have to live with the fact that he doesn't care enough to try to save what was a significant relationship. I have to live with the fallout. Alone. Rejected. Abandoned. Again.

And that's all about me. Has nothing to do with him. And it has everything to do with him. I love him so much. I am willing to forgive everything. But, I have to love myself through this too. And if I don't love myself, then I can accept what has happened to me because I deserve all of it. But I don't deserve any of this. I don't deserve to be rejected. I don't deserve to have my heart put on a platter like this. I don't deserve to be hurt in such an awkward and stumbling way. I don't deserve a jerk. To say to me that he couldn't tell me because he thought I was too fragile is a sham. The way all this came out, the way I found out about him leaving me. This is the way he said he wanted me to find out. He said he wanted me to find out the way I did rather than from him directly and honestly. That breaks people. If he would have sat down and told me in person, I would have handled this a lot better. I would have been able to take this a lot better than finding out randomly and as circuitously as I did. He did it in the most hurtful way possible. When I asked him what he would have done if I hadn't figured it out on my own, he told me he'd have let me know in July.

Great. I was packing the house with him two weeks before as we both prepared to move across the country. Now I have to unpack all of my shit so that I can have my house back. He'd have told me in July. Great. I would have packed even more of the house, just to be told at the last minute. 'Oh, sorry. You're not moving with me. I'm going by myself or with this other guy that I'm with now. You're on your own. My bad for not telling you earlier.'

Okay. I'm a little mad now.

Of course anger is supposed to be part of the grieving process. And I'm acutely grieving. I had no Plan B. I didn't see this coming. How could have I been so stupid? How could I have trusted him so much? How could I have been so naive?

Because I love and had loved him. Because I did trust him. Because I didn't think that he was a Royal Asshole. And fine, he's trying to make up for that by being financially helpful. And I'll be honest, I do need that help right now because I didn't have a Plan B. My fault. Definitely. I appreciate the fact that he's offering to do that, and I'll take him up on it because I need the help right now. And I also am heartened by the fact that it will ensure that I will stay in contact with him for a little while. But that doesn't take away from the fact that he quite literally took a knife and cut out my heart.

I hope that it makes him feel better because I'm sure he's beating himself up enough lately. I know I'd be wracked with guilt if I did what he did.

But still, here I am, I'm the one he blamed for this relationship falling apart. I am at fault because I was too aggressive. I didn't care enough. I wanted to be sexually intimate with him. I was too strong for him. You know what though? He used sex as a weapon. Actually, it was the lack of sex that was the weapon. He used that to control me, to make me dote over him. I spent so much time being understanding, patient, trusting, caring that I didn't see that I was being used. At least, that's the case if he didn't love me for these past three years. If he did love me, then I was doing the right thing, but if he didn't then I was a pawn. A trick. A doormat.

That all feels fucking wonderful. It hurts so much because I love him so much. It hurts because I fear that it might be true. It hurts because I didn't see it coming. He never shared. He never gave me the chance to fix my shortcomings. He never let me know.

He said he thinks of me as a child. Perhaps he also saw me as a parent. In this history rewriting that would make more sense. He's often compared me with his mother. He said that I wasn't his equal like his new boyfriend is. Fine, but it's not because he thinks of me as a child. He's often pointed to the fact that I was emotionally stronger than him. I was the bully, he said. I was exactly like his mother. Scary thought for me, but in hindsight, it means that he didn't think of me as a child. He thought of me as a parent. And he didn't want to have sex with me. Perhaps, creepy as this thought is, that is why he was so intimately unavailable. Perhaps, because I helped prod him on, helped him achieve goals that he would have otherwise given up on, he thought me as a parent and therefore sexually taboo.

That would make a lot more sense. Perhaps he was afraid of me. I have accomplished so much out of life out of so little. I have strove forward despite all the roadblocks in my life, and I have succeeded. I have conquered. I have overcome. Comparatively, with what he had, he has moved forward very little. Yes, he has reached great heights, but he started from a pretty lofty perch. He continues to be afraid of success. I helped him along for these past four years, pointing out directions and giving him encouragement to accomplish his goals. Perhaps he was afraid that he couldn't measure up.

I have self-esteem. He can't take that away from me. My whole life shouldn't revolve around him. And now I'm reminded that it doesn't. I can succeed and meet goals without him. I always have before. I can move on. I will move on. Despite that fact that I love him, I can't cling to someone who disrespects me so much. I am not a quitter. I am not a loser. I am not a doormat.

I never will let myself be one again.

He can rewrite his history as much as he wants. I know the truth of who and what we are. I know that we were both in this together for a very long time. I know that we both helped each other, that we both protected each other, and that we both cared for each other for a very long time. He can say that he didn't, that he only did it out of pity, but I know the truth. I am not that fragile. I know he knows this. I have survived things that have killed most people, that has driven most to the breaking point. I have always come out on top. I do not need that kind of protecting. He can think I did, but my history shows that I can do this all just fine by myself. I have intrinsic strength, not extrinsic need.

And the fact that he tried to pin on me that it was my fault that this relationship died is a crock. Yes, we obviously both contributed. I didn't let him fully in, but neither did he. This is a fifty-fifty contribution. We both made some major mistakes, but to pin this all on one or the other person is a sham. To decide mutually exclusively to try to destroy me and my self-esteem to move on is cruel and uncalled for. He could try to fix this, but he refuses. I could be what he needs, I have shown by action if not words that I would stick by him though thick and thin. Instead, he has tossed me aside for a new and more muscular model. That is not my fault. That has nothing to do with me.

I have finally figured out that this is really all about him and his needs, selfish as they are at this point. He says that he can see himself alone for the rest of his life. He says that he doesn't need anybody else. That is fine. His life is all about him, I concede that. But trying to destroy me in the process of finding his own independence was sheer malevolence. Regardless of whether or not it seemed good at the time. I deserve better than that. I deserve honesty. I deserve respect. I deserve someone who loves me.

And again, I know I may never get honesty from him. And that is fine. I know that I love him, but I will never allow myself to be in love with someone who disrespects me so. That is about me, and caring for myself. I don't need to cry over someone who as so little regard for another human being. It has been a hard lesson to learn. I will be his friend, I want to love him, because I still care about him, but I can not love someone who doesn't love me back.

Baby Steps

2007-07-01T10:13:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the first day that I didn't cry at least sometime during the day. The day before yesterday however, that was a doozy. However, instead of dwelling on that, I should probably pat myself on the back for making it though yesterday and even through today. I almost got a little weepy after parting from friends after we had watched "Live Free, Die Hard". Strangely, I think it was from all the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I've had enough adrenaline the past two weeks to keep my heart rate up twice normal when I've been seen by doctors, and I too can feel that my heart rate has been rather fast. After this movie though, it really got going, just as if I had been in a crisis situation - and as the adrenaline level went down after leaving the theatre and my friends, I started to get weepy. But then I focused on the task at hand, driving, and I stopped. It lasted all of thirty seconds, much better than the three and a half hours that I sobbed the night before last.

I guess I'm cried out for a while.

It's all baby steps anyway. I'm trying to focus on the moment, and being proud of what I have in that given moment. I'm not crying now, great! I'm writing now, great! In the next hour I might be crying, I might not. I don't know, but I hope for the best and try to survive each moment as if it were my last. Sadly though, I still have that feeling of "'oh Shit!' I've lost/forgot/didn't study/got caught" feeling in my stomach, but it's a bit better than acutely feeling the hole in my heart.

People keep saying that this is a good thing. They keep saying that I'm better off. They keep saying that he was bad for me. They keep saying that this is a new chapter. Great, yeah, I have to do something different and new, but I'm still not convinced one iota that this is a good thing. My love for him, my ex, is still as strong as ever, and I don't believe that he was a negative force. I just believe that he made a choice that wasn't in my best interest recently, even if it was in his. I've asked the people who tell me this is for the good to stop. I'm not ready for that yet. I may never be. I might be tomorrow, or next week, or next month. But right now, it's not appropriate - I have to figure this out on my own, sans input from outside stimuli. I have to find my strength within.

Again though, it's going to be baby steps. One little step at a time. Moving inexorably forward. Moving precipitously close to a new beginning. I may have already crossed the boundary even if I don't want it/don't know it. But then again, I have no idea where I am. All I know is that I'm trying to build anew. One step, one piece. Each piece rebuilding the foundation anew, each piece belonging to the new chapter in my life.

Looking Past the Cover

2007-06-30T09:34:00.001-07:00

You can never judge a book by it's cover, and perhaps sometimes people are like those dingy books you see in that wonderfully comfortable corner bookstore. Sometimes we hide who we really are under that cover, masquerading what we really feel under the protective paper or plastic cover that presents itself to the world. We want to hide our true selves, what we really think, what we really feel under that cover. Sometimes we create such a bookcover that we even try to our loved ones because we're too afraid to let them in, to see the whole story, to know what and who we are. Sometimes we hold on to that cover even as it tatters with age and use, because it is familiar and has fit before, even if it is no longer useful or illustrative of what we have within ourselves now. As with books, we can't be judged by what's on the cover. But sometimes we forget, we pass the book by thinking we know exactly what it has to say and it's never picked up. And we miss the opportunity to know what is on the inside because we never allowed the chance to read between the lines. Sometimes it's important to re-examine that person like we would a book, ignoring the cover and peering into the pages of the life within. The closed book may look old, used and perhaps ever so familiar that it even seems plain, but once opened, a whole new story takes shape, a whole new person and life is realized once the cover is folded over for the story and the feelings to be read. If the first few paragraphs are even remotely interesting, shouldn't we try to learn what there is to say in those pages a little deeper?

I thought about that yesterday I talked with my ex-boyfriend. We had an amicable conversation. Of course it helped that I was rational and not freaking out. He was wary of course, but we did talk for about 40 minutes. I want to be his friend. I know that it sounds stupid and silly, and perhaps a bit foolhardy, but even though we are no longer a couple, I need to know that he is alright. I've had a peek under the cover for the first time in years, and although I was hurt through that, I still wonder at the amazing mind within.

He complained when we broke up that he took care of me. Yes, he did. And so did I for him. We took care of each other, we protected each other from the outside world. I am as much his parent as he feels he is mine. And I loved that about him. I spent a lot of time bluffing however, hiding what I really wanted under the cover of being strong and stoic. Inside I was grateful and happy that he paid such attention to me and was so protective. Outside though, I rarely showed that, and he, not surprisingly felt that I did not appreciate who he really was and what he meant to me. I'm sure that there is a bit of symmetry for him as well.

He called me a child, and insisted that the man he is with now is his equal. We were equals. We protected each other, trusted each other, and looked after the wellbeing of each other. I know I did in the best way I knew how at the time. I know better now, but my learning curve was a bit slow to respond to his needs. I regret that so much. I love him so very much. I know it will always be there, even as time passes on, the feeling in my heart will always hold on to the fondness that I have for him.

I pried open my own book for him at the end. I stripped off the cover and let him deep into the chapters and pages that I protected and hid from everyone, the whole world. It was too late though, for although he did see inside, he was clouded with other thoughts, another book, another man. Now I feel stripped and bare, I feel naked and alone. I gave it my all at the end, I pushed and pleaded. I begged and cried, and I did everything wrong - except let him finally know who I really was and what is in my heart. I regret so much these past few weeks, months, years. I don't regret finally letting him in however.

I've never done that before for anyone. Never completely, never so fully. I've finally done it and it was completely liberating. Even if we aren't together, someone knows who I really am, someone I care about knows everything. I'm not alone. I was never alone. I opened myself up, and for that, I have to be grateful. Honesty is what I have at my disposal. I might as well use it, and stop the deception of what I really want for the sake of others. I have to be me, and not try to be what I think others want of me. I have to do what I want and like, not what I think others wish. I have to meld the two. I have to embrace the two parts, to make a better and stronger whole. I have to keep the book open and not let the cover define me.

So now I can write it. Let's see if I can live it.

Need to write

2007-06-29T10:48:00.000-07:00

I don't want to write, but I need to write. Yes, it's certainly very painful to write about the implosion of my relationship with my boyfriend. The feelings that I am feeling now are so wounded and raw that I'm having trouble focusing on anything else. I need to move forward, but I'm still stuck in the past. I need to move on, but I continue to wish for reconciliation.

I need to write what I feel and what I'm doing to survive this.

I'm just having trouble typing this into the keyboard. Writing has never been such an effort for me as this. I'm struggling. It literally hurts my arms, hands and fingers to type these words. It feels as if there is a 50 pound weight hanging off of my arms and my fingers feel tight and stiff. When I put my hands into my lap, I feel better, when I bring them up to the keyboard, it all comes back.

My best friend, my ex-boyfriend and myself flew to Reno on the advice of a counselor in Raleigh, "Make the split as soon as possible. Make it a clean break, move your things out of the house." I was so conflicted, I wanted to get all of this over with, and I never wanted it to end because once it did, I knew it'd be forever over for him. After arriving in Reno Wednesday evening, much of the next three days were a blur. I don't remember much, but I do remember some key things. On Wednesday night we went to bed together, and slept together. He held me for a while as I cried, feeling the hair on his chest and smelling him was so calming. I laid on top of him as we used to do when we felt especially close, and I drifted off to sleep quickly. It was the first time I've been able to fall asleep fast in the past four months.

On Thursday we all went to see my doctor, and she told my ex-boyfriend to make a decision, to stop confusing me and her. And he did, from that moment on, he turned crueler and crueler. I know that he was hurting inside as much as me, but for him, that's what he needed to do in order to distance himself from me. From there we went to a psychiatric hospital, and it was determined again that I wasn't suicidal and therefor didn't meet criteria for intake. After the nurse had talked with me, then talked with my best friend and ex, she invited them to again take a seat in the waiting room so that she could talk to me privately again. She said that I need to let go, "It's obvious that he has let go of you. His body language and the things that he said show me that he is through with his relationship with you."

I looked at her, and told her how I'm not sure how I could do that, letting go was the last thing that I could accept.

"If you don't let go," she stated, "then you will suffer a long time. He doesn't love you. He appears to not have loved you for a very long time. I don't know why he stayed with you, but whatever it was, it is gone now."

I began to cry again, "I love him so much, I don't know how to do that!"

"If you don't, he will just hurt you more. He appears to be invested in another relationship now." She then went on to talk about how he should have done this or that, but I wasn't listening. I was crying too hard. When I calmed down, she looked at me, gave me a concerned look, and said, "You will have to do this. You have no choice. You come first, not him. Choose to love yourself, more than him. You have to, it has to come from within." And then she led me out to the waiting room with my best friend and ex.

Thursday night we slept apart, and I cried myself to sleep.

The next day, Friday is much a blur. I do remember going to see the psychiatrist. I remember that very vividly. He was an ass, and he didn't listen worth a damn. I remember sitting in the waiting room, watching as people were called upstairs in an old victorian house. His office was in this place, the same place that my ex-boyfriend and I had couples counseling two years before, counseling that ended disasterously. So I was already wary about that. The people called were upstairs and then back downstairs and leaving within approximately 15 min increments. I remember thinking that I hope that these people weren't all seeing the same person I was scheduled to see. I remember my ex mentioned the same thought.

I was then called and I met a middle eastern man named Abdollah Assad who was standing in the stairwell. He introduced himself and turned around, not proffering a hand or displaying any concern as to why I was there to see him. I stopped, and before I went up the stairs with him I said that I wanted to talk with him privately, but because I was having difficulties with my memory, I would also like him to talk with my best friend and ex-boyfriend also, so that he could get the bigger picture of what was happening. He thought a moment, and then asked. "So you think you are a woman?"

"No!" I said, appalled. "I'm gay. I have a boyfriend. We were in a relationship. It is ending now, and I'm having difficulties with that."

Without a beat, he then asked "So you want to be a woman?"

"No! I am a man. I like being a man, but I am losing a relationship with a man. I am gay. Do you understand that?"

I should have turned around and walked down the stairs at that point, canceling the evaluation. But I didn't. I was too fragile to think that far ahead. Instead, he shrugged, turned around and told me to follow him.

So I did. And after being offered a seat and closing the door he said, "This is what we are going to do. I am going to ask you a question. I want you to answer in one sentence. I will then write it down. I do not want you to speak while I am writing. I will then ask another question, and you will do the same thing."

I looked at him, and thought 'oh god, what have I gotten myself into?' But unfortunately I went along. He asked me eight questions and gave me two world puzzles before he diagnosed me. The first question was, "Why are you here?" The second question was, "Are you sure you don't think you are a woman?" Then he asked me to remember three words in order, 'pen, car, and orange'. He then asked me, "What do you think has brought you to this point?" He then asked me to spell world backwards, at which I admit I had trouble. It took me about thirty seconds to figure it out in my head. The fourth question was "Tell me the three words I asked you to remember," at which I did, without difficulty. The fifth question was a multifaceted, "Are you on any prescribed medications and do you use caffeine, smoke, drink alcohol, or use illicit drugs?" to which I told him that I have an inhaler for my asthma which I use very rarely, I drink caffeinated beverages extremely rarely, I've never smoked a thing in my life, I drink approximately an average of one to two drinks [alcohol] total a month, and I have never used illegal drugs (poppers are legal in Nevada, so I didn't mention that). The sixth question, "Do you hear voices, see things that are not there or are you afraid of things or people?" I told him no to all of the above, except the fact that I was afraid of being alone now that my boyfriend had left me for someone else. He pressed, asking if I was paranoid, and I told him no, because I wasn't and I'm not. He then asked the eighth and last question, "Do you have any family history of mental illness?"

To that question, I answered honestly, my mother has disassociative identity disorder and has also been diagnosed as bipolar.

He wrote that down, paused a moment, and then said, "Aha. You are bipolar. It is strongly genetically linked. From what I see of you, you are also bipolar like your mother."

I stared at him for a moment, then I quickly said that my friend and my boyfriend still need to talk to him. He told me dismissively to go get them, and then he'd talk to them. When I came back up the stairs with them, he looked at them and asked who they were. It was as if he had no idea, especially because he didn't write it down. He asked them a few questions, without any introduction of himself. Mostly he was trying to get at whether or not I was having paranoid episodes or exhibiting paranoid delusions. Both my best friend and ex said that I wasn't exhibiting such behavior, and as Dr. Assad asked further questions, it was clear that they were more and more uncomfortable, just as I was. He told them that I was bipolar, and then began to offer types of medication for the sleep issues, the anxiety, and then for mood stabilization.

At that point I said, "Look, you've only asked about the past two weeks in terms of what is going on. I should add the context of my childhood..."

He interrupted me, "If you want to talk about your childhood, you should talk to a therapist. I am a doctor, not a therapist, and I don't see how that would be important now." I then completely shut down. My childhood is very important context. I have weathered things that kill most people. I have suffered from 13 years of sexual abuse from the ages of 5 to 17 years old by eleven different people, both men and women. I have suffered from prolonged abandonment from my mother and my father. My mother, beginning at age 11 would leave me alone at home, taking my brother and sister with her, for up to two to three weeks at a time. I had to find my own food and my own way to school, or not go or eat because I lived one mile from my nearest neighbors (who we didn't get along with), and three miles from the closest school bus stop, and 17 miles out of the town's city limits. Often these were the times when I was most sexually abused, because I would have to call the abusers for help or food. I was beaten and raped by my step-father, who my mother would go back to over and over, because he was an alcoholic and I was his stepchild. Often when I was little, he'd pick me up by the neck and bang my head against the wall until I'd pass out. I survived all that. I always knew I would survive that. I was rational through all of that, I kept goals and reached them. I have been the stable nurturer for others for so many years though my adulthood, even after such a childhood. I stayed rational up until now, and finally breaking up with my boyfriend who I love so dearly is what has made me crack. I am not bipolar, I am devastated. I am in situational grief. The psychiatrist needed to know that, he needed context, but he didn't care.

My best friend asked him about the medications I was taking, what specifically the were and how to use them. He told us that if we wanted to know more, we should look them up on the Internet. She was pissed at that point, and I was drifting away and shutting down further.

After the psychiatrist, my best friend sat in the minivan with me and consoled me. As she turned around from the front seat, she put her hand on my knee. "Don't believe him. He's a quack," she said. "He didn't even listen to you. He had no idea who we were. He just wanted to prescribe meds to you, and the bi-polar diagnosis was the easiest way for him to do that." Meanwhile my ex-boyfriend called his colleague, a doctor, trying to find a way to get a second opinion.

I stared at my best friend, and I was sinking farther and farther into myself. Again, I no longer wanted to climb out and as she talked, her face became hazy. I remember her saying that everything was going to be okay, and I remember my ex-boyfriend taking my insurance card from me... and that is the last thing I really fully remember until Sunday afternoon.

I woke up from a nap on Sunday, and I thought it was Saturday. I was talking about things that needed to be done, and my best friend stared at me. I was confused, and I remember having these hazy dream like sequences about talking to my ex about our belongings, but I thought they were just dreams. Come to find out, that those dreams were reality, and I don't remember much at all. I remember talking about a globe that belonged to his aunt, I remember asking about the pictures of the two of us, and I remember briefly crying on the sidewalk, but beyond that, I have lost all memory of what happened. I don't remember him moving his belongings out. I don't remember negotiating what was his and what was mine. I don't remember saying goodbye to him.

According to the both of them, I had said goodbye, and the whole episode of that was supposed to be respectful and caring. I just don't remember it. I've lost that memory. I didn't have closure. I had nothing, and I was frightened by the implications of losing so much time. Apparently I had taken the two of the three meds that the psychiatrist gave me, seroquel for sleeping and xanax for panic attacks. The third drug, I have no idea what it was because it was nixed by my ex-boyfriend's colleague based on what he already knew of me, and it disappeared in the chaos.

I've never taken any kind of psychotic or mind-altering drug before, so this first attempt apparently left me confused and lost, because I literally lost the ability to formulate short-term memory when first using them. I can say that on top of feeling like I've lost all control, and already feeling the worst that I ever have in my life, I've never been so afraid in my life either. The thing that I hold most dear about myself, my mind and my memory, were interrupted. I lost even that, and I can say that I never want to ever experience that again. Especially hard hitting was the fact that this happened during my really last chance to say goodbye in person. I am still mourning that. I can't get over it. I've tried to gain that closure back using the telephone, but it's not the same. I lost that chance. It slipped away right in front of me and now it's gone.

I've never been so sad in my life.

Of all the things that have happened to me in my childhood, in my adulthood, this is the worst. This is the worst feeling I've ever had. I feel deserted, abandoned and betrayed. I lost him. I lost me. I lost the man I love.

And all I have now are words.

Behind the screen

2007-06-20T08:35:00.001-07:00

The relationship with my partner, my boyfriend is now over. He chooses not to try to repair it, not to try again, anew. We are done, it is his decision. I love him, I love him so much. I love him more than I ever gave myself or him credit, but it's too late for that now. I'm too late. I pushed him away, and for my efforts I lost him.

He is no longer attracted to me, my aggressivity, my needs, my body, he has lost all connection with the feelings that he once had for me. He does not want to try to regain that. He wants to pursue Greg, the new man he is with and that I have to accept.

My heart is broken. My heart hurts so much. I love him so much. I have to let him go if he needs that, I have to stop projecting this fantasy world where I imagine that he will suddenly change his mind and come back to me. That may not ever happen, that is so rare. I want to hold out hope, but it just brings me more hurt.

We are going back to Reno today. He and I and SpyCgirl are flying back so that they can pack up his things, and remove them from the house. I don't want that to happen, but again, I have no choice. I have to accept it. He is leaving me. He is running away from me. I am left alone in the dark. I have to find the light, but it is so far away. I'm not sure where I might see it in the distance, I just know it's there and if I keep looking, then perhaps one day I will find it. Perhaps one day I will feel whole again.

This is my last entry on this blog. I will not be writing anymore. I hurt too much. I may change my mind, I may not. I reserve that right. Right now though, I need to stop writing. I need to stop this. I need to live my life, not relive my pain through writing. This pain is so unbearable, but I'm forced to continue bearing it. I have no choice.

Hole in my Heart

2007-06-18T20:05:00.000-07:00

My, I guess for all intents and purposes, ex-boyfriend flew into Raleigh today and will be here for the next week as we intend to "work out" what comes next. He wants closure. I want reconciliation. I'm not going to get what I want.

It's just so hard to think otherwise, and it's not any easier now that he's here because he's being so nice to me. It would just be easier if he were a bastard, besides the being with somebody else. If he just hated me I could reject and blame him and then move on with my life. But he's not doing that. He's being loving and caring and sympathetic, up to the point where he says that he doesn't love me anymore beyond that of friend. But then he gets that distressed look when I'm trying to hold myself together. He holds me as I cry. He holds me as I hold him so tightly, never wanting to let him go as I breath in the scent of his deodorant and sweat. He puts his hand on my leg. He lets me do the same. He kissed me before going to bed although I didn't initiate it, although we are sleeping separately. It was only a peck on the mouth, but it was as much as we've had for the past three years, and that symbolizes so much to me.

Oh god, I don't know what to do with that. I told him that him being nice to me is making this so much more difficult. I told him that I am not going to give this up willingly, especially because I still hold out hope. I know he made the decision that was right for him, but I still love him even if he doesn't love me. If I see even the glimmer of hope, then I have to fight. I have to try. And I keep seeing that hope. I know that he doesn't want to take care of me, I know that this weakness in me makes it worse for him. That's what drove him away, he hated taking care of me when I emotionally melted down. I needed him to take care of me when I'm emotionally overwhelmed. It doesn't match. I need it to match, he doesn't want that. He left.

Why can't that be the end of story? Why can't I just let him go? Why can't he just let me go? Why are we in this quasi-land when, if it is as he insists, there isn't any hope? He says he cares too much to just never see or speak to me again, and I beleive it, hook line and sinker. I want him. I want him forever, and the fact that he says he still cares makes this so much harder. There is a hole in my heart that has been poked out, and it feels as if my life is draining out - even as I know that I should be strong. Even though I'm supposed to know that I should be valuable. Even though I'm supposed to know that I should be brave. I don't feel any of it, all I feel is the pain and betrayal, and the glimmer of hope that this is all just a nightmare that I will wake up out of any time soon.

Today when at the counseling session, the counselor remarked about how caring we were for each other, how we listened to each other and validated each other's feelings. We've been like for years, at least I thought we had been. She remarked about how loving we seemed toward each other, even as he was telling me that he doesn't love me anymore. We've been like this since he got back, as we talked before the session, then during the session, then after the session through until we went our separate ways for bed.

I spent so much time and effort letting him know when things weren't working in our relationship. We talked, we deliberated, we agreed, both of us to fix this or that or make things different and ultimately better when that happened. He grew from the experience as did I, and I thought our relationship was getting stronger because of it. However, he's kept his misgivings about our relationship to himself because he thought I wasn't strong enough to handle it, and they grew and grew until he couldn't take it anymore and called it quits. But he didn't tell me that either and let me believe that everything was still all right. He didn't give me the opportunity to grow from what he needed, he didn't let me know. He says he's sorry about that now, but it's too late to do anything about it. I'm so angry at that, I don't understand how it could be so unilateral. I don't understand how he could suddenly turn a switch and say that he doesn't love me.

Of course it obviously wasn't as quick as turning a switch for him. At least, I can only hope that, if that were true, then I was living with a monster. But he's no monster, and he is just as fragile as I am, and just as human. I love him for who he is, but apparently that wasn't enough for him. I can't do anything about that, and yet, this all still hurts so god damned much. I hurt more than I ever have in my life, more than I did when my first marriage ended. More than I did when I lost practically my entire extended and part of my nuclear family because of rejection over being gay. We were together almost 5 years. And I know that he is hurting too, hurting so much that he is refusing to feel anything at all. He still hasn't cried, he hasn't shown any emotion other than concern, and he is still keeping everything bottled up inside of him. I don't know how to help him let it out. I don't know how to help him.

And that makes me hurt even more.

Our anniversary was supposed to be September 3. It's gone now. My rational side keeps telling me that I've learned so much from him over the years about relationships and about myself (as well as him) so this is no lost cause. However, my emotional side keeps bleeding out of that hole in my heart, and the pain from the hemorrhaging isn't going away.

For Better or Worse

2007-06-17T16:59:00.000-07:00

I've been having a tough time as late. However, that is as much news as the sky is blue. This past week has been terribly dark. I'm losing myself, and willing to do it because I don't know what else to do. I want to feel, but don't know how, and as my friends keep telling me, I'm allowing myself to feel too much.

I am also not letting go. I'm fighting to keep my boyfriend even though in the back of my mind I know I've already lost him. I refuse to entertain that thought though, even though he, my friends, his friends and all reason says so. I'm not being rational, and I refuse to be so as long as I have hope. I still have hope, so I'm still going to try. I'm not going to resign myself to this loss until I see him and then he still says that we are through.

He coming to Raleigh tomorrow. If he leaves at the end of the week as he came, then I will finally have to really come to terms with the death of my relationship with him. If somehow we can reconnect, even a little bit for now, then I will rejoice because that's all I hope for. I know that one week cannot cure such a rift as we have. I know that one week cannot fix our problems, however one week of true and brutal honesty and feeling may, perhaps, respark what we both saw in each other when we first met, and I can only hope that it will for him.

My friends want me to move on. They want me to accept what has happened and move on, be rational, be the old me that they remember, know, love and cherish. I can't right now. I've only had a week to deal with this for God's sake. Yes, I know that my mood swings during this are manic. I know that I go from being semi-okay to crying for hours and then suicidal over and over again. I don't know how to deal. I don't pretend to know how to deal. I refuse to deal with this. I refuse to let this just happen without me taking an active role to make it stop. I need to actively feel. I demand that the world not fall apart, I demand that we do not fall apart, and I demand that I really feel what is happening around me. Sure, it's easy to stuff everything inside and be the stoic and proud person that everyone knows me to be. But that's what got me into this trouble the first place, and now I'm being what I never thought I could, emotional, irrational, and vulnerable.

I'm trying to save us, I'm fine with giving up my dignity for someone I love, I have to fight for him. I have to try everything I can while I can. If I don't try, then I don't deserve him anyway. I refuse to live with that. When I have tried everything, and the next week has passed and if he still is adamant that we are over, then I will have to finally deal with that loss. Until then, I have to hold out hope, even for what everybody thinks is a lost cause, even him. I love him, and he's all I have.

He has suggested (and agreed to) couples counseling. I've contacted several counselors in the area to try to work out a viable option. A facilitator, regardless of the outcome would probably be best for the both of us. We need to look at this from a fresh perspective, both of us. I need it if everything is over, and he needs it if everything is not for him. Only time will tell. I have a week to find out how my life will change.

Whatever is decided, our lives have changed forever, for better or worse.

Pain

2007-06-13T04:22:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning and my heart hurts. My chest hurts, my eyes have sealed shut. My heart is racing, and I can't get it to slow down. My kidneys hurt and my stomach is bundled in knots. I have pain in my lower esophagus, as if I'm having massive heartburn.

I have the overwhelming urge to cry, but the tears aren't coming. It hurts to open my eyes today.

I want my body to shut down, but I promised that I wouldn't hurt myself. Is it hurting myself if I take no action? If I let it go, is that okay? It hurts too much emotionally for me to deal. I'm in so much denial. I'm so frustrated.

I'm so tired, but now I'm not sleeping. I try. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, still awake as the minutes drag into hours. I put my head under the pillows wishing to lose consciousness so that I can escape, just for a little while more. And yet I still can't sleep. With my mind racing and my body so utterly fatigued and wasted (I've lost another 7 pounds these past four days), I'm not sure what is up and what is down.

I trying to stay in the moment, trying to stay cognizant. I'm trying to stay rational. I made a promise to do that.

I need to eat, but I'm throwing up what I have tried to eat and besides, I'm just not hungry.

My world is falling apart and I just want it to magically be put back together. I know that won't happen, but for now, I'm waiting. I'm hoping. And pretty soon I will need to really come back to the real world, but I'm not there yet. It hurts too much.

Immediacy

2007-06-12T18:20:00.000-07:00

I don't understand why I didn't see this coming, and yet I still don't understand why it had to happen. Yes, we both felt reject by each other a lot in this relationship, but we both have struggled so much and invested so much time to make this work. To suddenly let all of that go, and in such a sneaky backhanded way seems so, unreal somehow. I'm still pining, although we are writing intermittently. I want to tell him that I would do anything to get him back, but I know that if I did that and we did get back together for only that reason, then we'd be doomed to failure again. I don't want to be co-dependant, but I don't want to be without him either.

I am strongly tempted to drop everything and fly to Paris to force us to work this out. But would that really get me anywhere?

I fell into a deep, deep blackness just after writing my last post. I talked to him just after writing it, and things went badly. He reconfirmed my worst fears, and worse yet, suddenly seemed as if he was on the fence about the decisions he's made. That only makes it worse for me, because I want to hear that he realizes that he's made this huge mistake and that we're still good. I am so fucking desperate. I haven't eaten or drank anything in two days. I just stopped.

We were both hysterical over the phone, but I was the more so. I am feeling all these pangs of jealousy, something that I have no experience with because I was losing my boyfriend. I have already lost him. I didn't feel jealousy about what he was doing before, just the same I was doing, because we both came home to each other. I thought that I didn't have to be afraid of losing him. I was wrong, and now I'm strongly reacting to that, emotionally reacting to that, I can't control it.

When I talked to him, I asked him why he left me for somebody else without telling me honestly to my face when he decided to move in with him that he wanted to end our relationship.

"Ok, look. I am very confused right now," he said, "I don't know what I'm... where I am."

"That is bullshit!" I cried. "Don't give me the 'I'm confused' bit because all that does is leave me in a 'what do I do, what do I do?' mode. I want to know if you are planning being with this somebody else. Are you planning on leaving, or are you planning on staying? If you are planning on leaving I need to know, and giving me the 'I don't know' just makes me confused and leaves me not knowing what to do either. And that's not fair to me."

"I understand. I... I don't know, I just don't know," he moaned. "How do you feel our relationship is, how do you see the near future? What, what..."

I interrupted, "I was about ready to give up my job, my house, my everything for you!"

"No, no. Come on!"

"Yes!"

"You want to do that anyway. You need..."

"You know what, that is not the point!" I snapped.

"It is also the point, it is about you, not doing this for me... you are not doing this for me, come on!"

"Why don't you just tell me what you're doing. Why don't you just tell me if you are leaving or if you are not. If I didn't call you exactly when I did, I wouldn't know about any of this. You didn't have the balls to tell me to my face, and now I had to find out this way. Tell me if you are leaving or if you are not!"

I was met with silence.

So I continued after several seconds pause. "If I didn't call you right then, you wouldn't have told me anything. If I didn't call you then..."

"It's better this way. I had to move out of mom's because we've been fighting and he was here," he paused. "And while I was here I started thinking about our relationship and how it hasn't been going anywhere. It happened three days ago, four days ago now, and I was afraid to tell you because you've been so..."

"So you've formed an emotional relationship with someone else."

"I did not. I just..."

"Liar."

And I was met with silence again.

"Why... You know how much I'm hurting right now? That was extremely cruel of you and...."

"Right, yes," he said contritely, "Right, right, it's all my fault. It's all me. Your life depends entirely on me. It revolves completely around me."

"You're right, my life did revolve around you. Right now it does revolve around you. It really did. I love you. And you just stomped on me. What you've said, what we've said in this conversation has confirmed all that." I paused. "And, I, I... I'm really... I don't want to go back to that house. If you're not ever going to be there. I don't want to be alone there without you. I feel that my life is pretty much over," I said completely despondently.

"Come on... I'm not leaving!" he countered. "I'm just so..."

"You are!"

"I'm just so worried about what we are becoming..."

"You are," I repeated quietly.

"I just didn't know if we were a couple. I don't know if we are a couple. I don't know. I don't know!"

"Yes, it's obvious you are," I whispered.

"I'm not leaving you!" he cried.

"It's obvious now that you feel sorry for me and you want to retract what you've been saying because you're suddenly worried about me."

And then while I cried, he kept telling me he wasn't leaving. But I knew. I know. He's already moved in with this other guy that he's been seeing for several months. I'm simultaneously resigned to it and denial about it. I am so fucking torn. I don't want this to happen, but I know it must and demand it shouldn't.

"We're going to see each other in July."

That is so far away, and so very unacceptable. Not at this point. If we end up waiting that long, there really will be no point. So I said, "Not if it is that far away. No we are not."

"I have to come to Reno anyway. Why won't we see each other in July."

I met him with silence. I was so angry. At that moment I never wanted to see him again, and yet, I wanted to have him hold me and never let go. So when I spoke up, I said exactly the most hurtful thing I could think of. "I hope you know you broke my heart and stomped all over it... and I hope the other person knows that too."

"I don't know how I did that. I don't think I did. If you say so. Of course I am not suffering. You are the only one who is suffering, and et cetera et cetera. I hope you realize what you are doing too."

"You know, you are right. It's both of us, it not just you. I just didn't think that I would be... no. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter."

"I've always been so protective of you," he insisted. "I've been so caring so generous and sensitive and attentive to your needs, so everything. I've just been lacking in sex. And that's my only fault. I've been so incredibly with you, except that sex part. I just have been so everything for you, but even through that, you said you yourself that you didn't just want companionship. You didn't want me to just be your 'brother'. You wanted more and I couldn't... what did you want?"

"I wish you would have had the fortitude to have told that to my face, and not just leave me for somebody else without telling me."

"Tell you what? I don't even know what you are talking about," he snapped and then he paused. After a moment, he said "Even if there was no one else, I would still be thinking about our conversation in the car in March... Did you want me around or not?"

"You know what I wanted," I sobbed, "I wanted you. I wouldn't have continued to try all these years with you. I wouldn't have held you over and over again while you were here in May. I wouldn't have held you telling you I loved you, just to hold you. I wouldn't have told you that I was so happy to see you, stopping everything to make sure that we were together, even if it just ended up that we were working together. I didn't even try to make you uncomfortable have sex with you, because I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I waited for you to initiate on your own terms, so that you knew that I didn't just want that from you, but you never tried, and I never made an issue of it. I wanted you to be..."

"I was so respectful of you, I didn't try either because I didn't want to hurt you if it didn't work.

You're so respectful that you started a new relationship in France while letting me think that I was still with you, without letting me know."

"I am not starting a new relationship."

"You are a liar." I whispered.

"Believe what you want. I love you."

"No, I don't think you..."

"Yes I... It's true. I am in doubt currently about our relationship... So."

"Yeah."

"I really don't know."

"Let's just call it quits or something so I can move on. Don't leave me with this doubt." I was so tired.

"You tell me that I am guilty of so many things."

"I'm sorry," I said. I was so exhausted. I just wanted to die. "I'm sorry for everything I've done to you. I'm sorry for making this worse. I'm sorry for making your life so miserable. I'm going to go, I can't do this right now. I can't do this anymore."

And I put down the phone in the grass and walked away as he continued to talk into it. I stepped off the lawn and into the forest clearing behind the yard and sat down. I stared at the trees for at least a couple of hours before my friend came home from work and found me outside, in my extended moment of utter despair. I was ready to step in front of a truck, and was contemplating how to do that most efficiently.

My best friend here in NC stopped me. I just wasn't being rational. I had lost all sense of proportion. I felt as if I had lost everything. Between my general depression and now losing my boyfriend, my partner, my suddenly realized everything, my whole world had fallen apart. It took her almost 17 hours to get me back into real life and some sort of perspective and I am so grateful to her for that. I almost walked into traffic... I was heading in that direction, and she talked me back into the house, after a stint where I apparently passed out and tipped head over heels down their backyard incline. Apparently I passed out again as I hit the bed. The first thing I remember after standing up to go into the house was waking up in my bed, after which I cried for almost five hours straight as I laid on the floor, and then I tried to strangle myself. Twice. I passed because of it both times, but after the second time of waking up and then seeing the morning sun stream though the windows at about 5:45 a.m., I told myself I was a fucking coward and cried myself to sleep again.

I woke up a couple of hours later, and it was clear that my friend had been in the room to check up on me between the time that I had cried myself to sleep and woken up again. She didn't see what I had done to myself, and I had this sudden pang of guilt, realizing what she would have had to deal with if I had succeeded.

I left the bedroom, sat down in the stairwell and cried. She heard me and came up the stairs and I couldn't look at her. I just kept crying. "I want you to know I love you," she said. "I thought a lot about what happened yesterday, I want you to know that I would never leave you alone. Neither of us will," she said, referring to her husband and my other best friend. "No matter what happens, we'll always be here for you. You're family. You're my family. I would never let you go."

I cried harder.

"We need to get you help," she said, it wasn't a suggestion.

"No. I don't need help," I said, sniffling into my sleeve.

"Yes, you do. Obviously you do. What you are doing right now isn't working. You've tried, and it's not working. I don't know how to help you. I can't help you like this. You need professional help. I will go with you. I will be there with you, but unless you can put yourself together, we need to get you help."

"No. I'll be fine," I said, still sobbing.

"No you won't!"

"I'm so sorry. I don't want to put you through this."

"You are not the person I know. You are this dark, lost, desperate person. I don't know who this is. The person I know is stronger than you are right now. You need to get back into that place. You have been able to get out of worse problems. You've been able to pull yourself up and deal with these things before. This person in front of me can't. This person doesn't seem to want to."

I sat there, staring at my feet. I was trying to get up the courage to tell her that I was climbing. Slowly climbing, but climbing nonetheless. I took a deep breath and whispered, "I tried to kill myself last night."

"Oh god!"

I took a breath. "But I didn't. I couldn't. I was too much of a coward."

"I don't think you are a coward," she said quietly. "You chose the more difficult path."

"I know," I said. "This is harder..." I stifled another tear, "Hurting is harder. Hurting you is harder.

"I couldn't imagine if I had to find your body, I don't want to imagine it. Don't ever do that!" She was crying. I have only ever seen her cry a handful of times in the twelve and a half years that I've known her. In the past two days, she's cried twice. Both because of me. I'm horrified by that. I'm devastated that I have been so, so... broken. And so desperately needy as I have been so broken. I'm embarrassed and simultaneously I still need her help, her presence. Her just being with me. I thought I lost her yesterday. I had lost myself yesterday. I have lost so much of everything else. Her husband was in London, and he is my second anchor to reality and I was in that place where I felt so very very alone.

"Look," She said, "I know you have a counselor's training. And I know you. You can manipulate other counselors." She looked at me pausing, waiting for me to look at her, "I want you to know something. I called some places today. I called a suicide hotline and a potential counselor. I warned them that you are very good at talking your way out of situations, they're on to you. And I think that you need to utilize these services."

"I'm not going to do that. But the first four minutes of this conversation has meant more to me than you know."

She looked at me, not believing a word that I said.

"Look," I said, "I thought I was alone. I felt completely isolated a half hour ago. And you came up here and reminded me that I am your family. That you love me. That you will never let me go."

She began to cry again.

I cried with her, "That means more than you know." I tried to laugh, "More than it should for a gay man." She choked out a laugh through the tears with me. "Look, I love you. It's as if you have been my twin sister, separated at birth. But we've found each other, and you'll never let me forget it. We're so very exactly alike, yet come from such different places. You know this, and you've reminded me of it."

She nodded. "Don't ever make me think about losing you again. Don't you ever do that."

"I know. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm just so... lost right now."

"I know you are, but you are not alone. We'd... I would never leave you. You need to know that."

"I've just lost so much." I began to cry again.

"But not me. I can't think of any reason why I would ever be willing to let you go. Even after everything. It's been over ten years! Why would I give up on you now?"

"That does mean so much to me," I mustered a smile. "So here's the deal. I will pull out of this emotional mess, and I can do this. I just need time."

"You better not be putting me on. I want to believe you, but..."

"Have I ever lied to you? I have risked everything to tell you the truth in my life. I have nothing else to risk with you. I've always been honest with you, or avoided telling you something, but I've never outright lied to you."

She looked at me and looked into my eyes, her eyes were darting back and forth across my face, searching... trying to ascertain if I was being sincere.

"I am not lying to you now when I say that I will not try to hurt myself again. I figured that out again last night."

"But if you were there, who's to say if..."

"I was there 13 years ago, when I tried to kill myself just before I came out of the closet. I was very good at manipulation then. I was able to convince the counselor that I didn't need inpatient services even though I was in ICU for three days after trying to kill myself. I convinced her I was fine. And I convinced myself that I was fine."

"Yes, and that is exactly my point."

"But I was fine. I made sure I was fine, and I was fine for the next thirteen years, until last night."

I looked directly into her eyes, I wanted her to know that I was sincere and I was fully present when I said, "I will not try to do that again. I will not try to kill myself again. I was lost. That was stupid. I felt desperate, and in that desperation I lost perspective. You do not need to worry about me about that. You can worry about me about all kinds of other things, but on that issue I will be fine."

"You had better not be putting me on."

"I promise I am not."

"I hope so. I love you so much." She was teary again, "Don't ever do that again. Don't ever... I could never deal... I don't ever want that to happen. I couldn't take being at your funeral. You mean so much."

"Me too. I can only tell you more than you know, but I will tell you over and over again." She does mean so much. Both of them, both her and her husband. I know they know and but words go only so far. They are my kindred spirits, my best friends. If I had lost them both, then I wouldn't have had an anchor, but I did have them, and I was okay. They have always been there for me, and she was there for me again these past several days. And she continues to be.

We talked about me not going back to Reno. Perhaps I shouldn't. She says I shouldn't be alone. And she's right. She wants me to stay here in North Carolina and start fresh, and I think that perhaps I should because going back to my house with all the memories... I don't know how long I could take that. She wants to go with me when I go back to Reno so I don't have to be alone. My boyfriend and I are still linked, we have our house as well as other assets together that will have to be liquidized if things now stay status quo. That will take time. I will also have to find a new job here in NC, as well as leave my old one.

But that is another journey, one that will unfold in the next several days to weeks. We'll see what happens, but at least I've survived thus far. I had better. Or she'll kill me.

Why?

2007-06-11T10:57:00.000-07:00

Why is it that when things begin to move smoothly and everything starts to seem wonderful, something has to come out of left field and fuck everything up worse than before? I'm trying not to overreact, and trying not to overreact means that I've spent the last 36 hours in bed sleeping, or staring at the ceiling trying to sleep.

Some time ago, I had a conversation with the boyfriend about him seeing other people. I thought that this might help us get through this sexual differential more easily and would help us perhaps discover each other more, especially since it was important for him to become more comfortable with his body. I'm not sure if I mentioned on the blog that he did do what was suggested, he started seeing other people. Coupled with this though was that we were supposed to talk about it, just as I bring up regularly what I'm doing and reassessing with him, I naively thought that he'd do the same.

He hasn't, and I've talked to him over the phone a few times where I'd get this gut feeling that I've interrupted something. When that has happened, conversations were generally terse (him towards me) and the conversation was generally quite short. I'd then call him back the next day and gently press, trying to figure out if I was correct in my assumption. He'd be flustered, then say I was right, and then ask how I knew. I'd tell him that I had a feeling and leave it at that. Every so often though, I'd add that it was important for him to talk about this with me on his own, without me having to ask, because that was important for our communication and viability of our relationship, just as I have done with him.

A couple of months later, I somehow found myself in the position where I felt that I had to press again. He told me that he was seeing two people, both of whom are single. After prodding him to keep the conversation going, he admitted that while both knew I existed, both were trying to get him to leave me so that they could pursue a deeper relationship with him. I was taken aback, and I reminded him of my story. I am with people who are in relationships so that there is none of this emotional tug-of-war. We have some fun, meet needs that aren't otherwise being met, then go our separate ways to our own homes. For me, I told him, doing otherwise would violate our agreement because I am emotionally bonded to my boyfriend, no one else. He agreed, and he said that he would try other things.

He did drop one of the two men he was seeing. Apparently that person became more and more clingy, and demanded more and more from my boyfriend while trying to drive a wedge between us. My boyfriend realized that this was toxic, and wisely moved on.

The other guy, however, he didn't drop. I was concerned, because he too had tried to pursue a deeper emotional relationship with my boyfriend, but I trusted my boyfriend's judgement. I also hoped that perhaps this guy from New Zealand would help my boyfriend come to terms with his body and be able to bring that confidence home to share. I talked to him about this, but my boyfriend always was embarrassed and evasive about this, so I brought the conversation up less and less.

The last time that my boyfriend was here for 10 days in late May, not only did we not talk about him and what he was doing, even though I shared with him, but he didn't even try to attempt intimacy with me. I tried once, was then told that he was too tired, and then it was ignored. I tried to talk about it, but he didn't want to do so, and so I dropped the conversation. At that point I was way to fragile to be shot down, either through conversation or attempt at intimacy, so I let things as they were. So while he was in Reno with me, nothing happened. Nothing was really said, and while I was so happy that I could hold and hug him, we never went any farther.

Fast forward to this past week. I was calling my boyfriend daily, as per our usual arrangement near 10 a.m. or so, his time in Paris. He'd call in the evening, I'd call in the morning. These past few mornings when I'd call, I've either woken him up - and he was terse, or he was always in a hurry to get me off the phone. He was fine when he'd call me later, but the mornings were suddenly very strange. I chalked it up to stress, because he's been trying to get some communication from potential job prospects. However I called a bit later than usual, because I had a specific question... and he wasn't at home. I got his mother, and she said he was out. No problem, I thought, I'd just try his cell phone.

And I caught him sleeping. He was confused. I was confused, and asked him where he was. He in his sleep confusion said that he had moved out of his mom's place and was staying at his friend's place down the street. I asked him how long he had been staying there, and he told me about a week. There is only one friend who lives down the street, one of the guys he was messing around with, the other guy who was adamant about starting a relationship with him. As calmly as I could, I asked him if he was staying at this guys place. He said yes. And then not so calmly, I asked him when he was planning on telling me.

He woke up suddenly, realizing that he had said too much, but now wasn't prepared for the conversation. He started stuttering, stating that I wasn't supposed to find out, which suddenly made the conversation take a turn for the worse. Have you moved in with him for good, I asked mildly hysterically. "I don't know," he moaned, "I'm not sure what I'm doing right now."

I didn't take that well. I was very flustered and I told him in my irrationality that I didn't want him to call me for a while and then I told him that I had to hang up, and did. And then I started crying. Uncontrollably. He had broke our one cardinal rule, don't get emotionally attached to others. He did, and now suddenly I was faced with losing him. I am losing him. I've already lost him.

He called back but I didn't answer. In the message he told me that he is really confused and not sure what he is doing. He told me that I was right, he was with this guy, but he was concerned about our relationship and that because I've trying to make him somebody he's not (aka sexual) that I made him think that I didn't want to be with him anyway because he wasn't meeting my standards. He then said that this guy understands him better sexually, but he is just really confused right now.

I cried harder after that.

He hasn't called me and now it has been over 36 hours. I know I told him I didn't want him to call, but I realize I didn't mean it. I've been telling myself that when he calls back, it will all just blow over. I keep telling myself that if he really still did love me, he'd keep trying to call back. I've stared at the phone and my email, waiting for him to call again and he hasn't. I am pining after him, thinking about all the things that I had done wrong, blaming myself for all of this. And he still didn't call. And then I started to write. I don't know what I'm going to say to him when he does. I don't know how to feel right now. I just want to be angry and sad and desperate all at the same time. I want to demand why, and I really don't want to know. I want to ask him why he felt like he couldn't have just been honest about all of this in the first place and why he let me find out the way I did.

I want to know why he hurt me so much, and what made him think that it was okay to do that. I want to know why he crossed that line we had so vividly drawn in the sand, even though he had all the opportunity in the world to talk this through with me. I want him to tell me that this has all been a mistake and I just misunderstood. I want to hate him. I want to forgive him. I want to love him. I want him to love me.

I want to know why he left me.

Unapologetically Me

2007-06-06T19:55:00.000-07:00

Just after my wonderful spyCgirl (the woman hasn't updated her blog in a while, sorry) and I reviewed some gay porn together, mostly to compare and gawk at cock size and extreme dildo play, I checked my email and found that I received an e-mail from Prof #2.

He explained that he was swamped, but was hoping that we could get together sometime soon. I however, had to decline because I'm here in North Carolina. It's too bad too, because we will probably end up missing each other. He's going to be out of the country for a while, and he's leaving at just about the time that I'm coming back to Reno. Ah well, such is the nature of life.

Being in NC has been a great relief. I'm really enjoying being with close friends, being myself. No pretense. No crap. Just unapologetically me.

And being able to be myself without having to fear judgement has been seriously invigorating. I'd forgotten for a while just how much they mean to me, and how much I mean to them. I've been reminded that I'm important, respected and loved and it means more to me than I realized it would. The world isn't perfect, my friends aren't perfect. But they're mine, and the family that I've never had. And they love me regardless of whether I'm a freak or not, and especially when I am.

Getting Back into the Swing of Things

2007-06-05T16:48:00.000-07:00

So I'm off again to North Carolina. My friends believe that getting out of Reno is going to be good for me. I can't help but agree. So I'm now sitting in the Chicago O'Hare airport on a layover between Reno and Chicago. As I sit here I'm reminded of one of my last layovers, although that was in Dallas. The layover is only an hour this time 'round, and I'm not sure I'm up to such engaging activity at this time. Still, it has been interesting to look around, and while there is an extremely limited selection of good looking men in evidence here at the airport, there is.... well, never mind, the one good looking male has left the terminal.

Before leaving Reno however, as I mentioned in the previous post, I thought that I would try to be more human again, which for me means regaining and restarting my sexuality. It's been a tumultuous time, I've been going through these phases of oversexed fixations, to distraction, to days of complete and utter disinterest of anything sexual. It's been difficult to figure myself out. But of course, that has been true about a lot of things lately. However, I wanted to see if I could hook up with Prof #1 or #2, perhaps both. I hooked up with Prof #2 a couple of times in the past couple of months, but with everybody else, I've appeared practically celibate. I find that I feel really refreshed and renewed after sexual activity, but getting though the catalyst spike in order to actually get to that point has been a pretty difficult journey. It's like hard work, I really don't want to get started, but once I do, I find that I like what I'm doing, especially the rewards at the end. Sex is much the same for me at this point right now, even though I'm still not quite sure why I'm reluctant to start in the first place.

I'm pretty sure it's because I'm still very embarrassed about my behavior, my depression, and my confusion. It doesn't make for great bedside conversation, and trying to get though a tough time is a whole lot tougher when I'm so god damned stubborn about my privacy. Even if at this point what has been happening to me hasn't been so private, I'm still a sucker for appearances.

So getting through those initial barriers, I put a couple of tentative feelers out there. I emailed both profs to see who would respond last Thursday. Prof #2 hasn't responded, but I know that he's working on his miniterm classes right now. I also have a feeling that he's pretty weirded out from our affair, as he likes to not so delicately call it. While it is an affair per se, I haven't thought about it much in such a way. Affairs sound so sordid and underhanded - and emotional, whereas this is not the like at all. At least not to me. However, it seems like it may be such for him, so I do what I can to help him feel better about it, but then I must leave him to figure this out for himself. Either he will be able to come to terms, or he won't. I hope that he will, of course because I'm not looking to take him away from his partner. I like to have sex with him, not live with him. I think he is of the same mindset, but there is that part of him that still subscribes to the heterosexual idealism of monogamy, and he seems to feel dirty for it. So I must let him figure himself out, and be understanding towards his choices, whatever they might be.

As for Prof #1, that problem doesn't seem to exist. I had concerns about him over a year ago, but we've seemed to find a path that works for both of us, and I've learned not to worry about him, and he has apparently figured out the same for me. I'm certainly happy for it, he's a great and lasting friend, a great buddy, and a good fuck to boot! And I mean that in the most respectful of ways. I ended up seeing him twice in the past seven days, both on Wednesday and on Sunday. Both times were fantastic, especially since I was able to use up all my pent up energy in the most delightful of ways. While I am generally very versatile with him, these past two times I've been a dominant top, and while not meaning to sound repetitive, it's been really fantastic.

As I said, I've been self-repressed for almost six weeks now, and being so has created a flood of need when the mood strikes. So now when I'm charged up, I'm really charged up - and willing to go a little farther for a good time. This has created some pretty serious passionate sexual activity, both with Prof #1 and Prof #2 (which is what I think scared Prof #2 a bit). I'm a pretty passionate sexual partner as it is, but when I'm riled up, I guess I can be a bit daunting unless you know exactly what I'm there for. When I was younger, before I was with my ex-husband, my sexual encounters often turned to proclamations of men spending their lives with me. I was often taken aback, and in my youth, I never handled such things well. I either flatly rejected them, or believed blindly that it could work. Both reactions were recipies for disaster.

Today however, I'm a little more suave about dealing with such things, although they happen less because I'm fucking fewer friends than when I was in my Freshman and Sophomore year of college. Still, remnants of this are still obviously manifesting, and even in my days of less than stellar mood and emotional health, this still shows up. Funny that. It's both a compliment and a continuous concern, as evidenced early on by CFAD, Prof #1 and now Prof #2. Hopefully Prof #2 and I can work through this better than I did with CFAD. Live and learn.

SOF has also been in the mix, athough I've not been sexual with him in quite some time. He took a bit of a step back when I went into meltdown, and now that I'm showing signs of recovering, he has begun to be more engaged again. I'm actually glad that he was wise enough to pull back a bit. He was obviously concerned, and he said so, but he knew that it was important for me to work this stuff out by myself. I would reach out when I was ready again. He sees that I'm again approaching normal, and that being so, he has been very eager to hook up again, however our schedules have prevented that, and we still have yet to do so after some six weeks or so. I'm sure that it will certainly make for an interesting time when we do so, probably soon after I get back from the East Coast. I do miss his company, and his cock.

If that makes me a bad person, then so be it. I can beat myself up for much worse things.

So I'm slowly getting back into the swing of things. I'm taking some time off back east to help heal with good friends, and perhaps, explore my future a bit. When I head back to Reno, I hope to be in a much more healthy place, with the perspective to do what I need to do to be successful and happy. In the meantime, I may have to be celibate for the next couple of weeks while I'm here, but after what I've been though the past six and a half weeks, it's not so bad. Besides, two weeks really isn't celebacy anyway.

It just seems like it now that I'm finally really wanting to sow those oats again.

and Later...

2007-06-02T23:37:00.000-07:00

My boyfriend flew back to Paris yesterday after leaving Reno on Wednesday for a conference in Illinois. While he was here, we had a pretty good time. We didn't have any points of conflict while he was here. Granted, we spent most of our time packing up the superfluous tchotchke in our home in preparation of selling the house. And granted, I didn't even try once to push his boundaries on the sexual exploration front. And finally, granted that he was still worried about my emotional health, so I'm sure he was treading lightly.

It sounds like I was hoping for a fight.

Well, no. I don't know what I was hoping for though. I had all these dreams of biking with him, reading quietly together in the living room with him, sitting on the sofa together as we watched T.V. We didn't do any of that though. We did have a very nice day at the Secret Cove, the nude beach in Tahoe on his first full day back in Reno. However that was the only extracurricular thing that we did for the ten days that he was here. The rest of the time we were busy packing. 67 boxes in 10 days. We packed a lot of shit.

And avoided dealing with the things that we needed to deal with.

Still, having him here was massively comforting to me. I never realized just how co-dependant I am. I really miss his company and his presence. And even while he was always busy mucking about some project, whether it be preparing for a conference or consulting at his lab here in Reno, I just was comforted to know that he was back home with me. Even though we didn't even try to engage in any kind of sexual intimacy, I was really happy just to hold him, and have him hold me. I knew it was going to be only for this short time.

How the hell did I become so weak?

Wanting him to hold me is fine, avoiding problems just because I'm afraid to deal with them or afraid of how others might react is just pathetic. So what am I going to do about that. I have no fucking idea. I'm going to have to figure out how to emotionally deal with this, or if not, be on my way. This limbo is intolerable and unreasonable.

It's a hell of a lot easier to write that than actually do anything about it.

I am in limbo though. I have no idea what I want, why I want what I think I want, and even worse, I have no idea who I am right now. I'm no longer despondent, and that's good. Now however, I'm confused and unsure about how to proceed with my own future as a person, and as a couple. I feel secure when my boyfriend is with me, but I don't feel fulfilled. What is more important? Are my needs that important? Or am I selfish to even be considering all of this because whatever my decisions may be, I will ultimately be impacting one other person. The other man in this relationship. My boyfriend.

I'm riding on so much hope, yet I fear the foundation continues to crumble.

The funny thing is though, it's not him. It's not really even about him. This is all about me. Me and my uncertainty. Me and my selfishness. Me and my indecisiveness. I am still lost and confused about what I want and what I need. My life, my education, my career, my relationship and my friends. The whole house of cards came tumbling down. I'm trying to pick up the pieces at the foundation while still holding up the remaining cards that haven't collapsed yet. Perhaps I really need to let things completely tumble so that I can build up from scratch again.

And that might be one of the stupidest things I could do. Letting everything go to start over. Doesn't that sound like a mid-life crisis? Aren't I too young for that? And perhaps it's this reflection that is most important. Picking though the pieces of my life, saving the kernels and tossing the chaff. Unfortunately at this stage, the chaff still is mostly emotional wild cards - and it's making the whole picture fuzzy as I try to peer through the blowing bits in the wind.

How's that for a mixed metaphor?

If I realized one thing this time around, this past ten days with my boyfriend, it's that I'm as stoic as ever, even though this tempestuous period. I protect myself from others by denying my own feelings, pretending they don't exist, or by simply putting them aside while convincing myself that my own feelings/desires/problems don't matter. Even during the times when I am most aware that they matter, I'm still pushing it all away for the sake of appearances and my own pride. That is something I really have to work on, something I really need to change.

And perhaps writing all of this down in this literary vomit of thoughts and personal judgements is part of the process. I admit that I've been engaged in this process formally since I started this blog, but I have generally not been so incoherent as I am now. Writing in this stream of consciousness is most certainly therapeutic. Although I've not been writing as often as I have been, I'm still thinking about all of these things.

And I'm still in the process of trying to be a real human being. I have been sexual, but not as often as I have been in the past year. I shut down my sexual urges when my boyfriend was here because I wasn't willing to engage in that emotional roller coaster. I'm still trying to sort out the confusion of feelings. This jumble and maelstrom which has been me for the past six weeks. I am trying to be normal and yet, know that I'm not yet ready to be normal.

Did I mention that all of this sorting out is going to take some time?

Hysterics

2007-05-18T11:30:00.000-07:00

My boyfriend is flying back to Reno today. I'll be picking him up at the airport this afternoon. We were planning on him coming back to Reno in June, but with my fall from reality - he decided it would be best to come home a little earlier. I'm actually pretty relieved. Whereas I'm not really looking forward to the conversation that will most assuredly include what the hell has been wrong with me and why I'm still having difficulties, it will have to happen nonetheless.

Yesterday he called me after we hadn't spoken over the phone for four days. I have been very busy with trying to get everything finalized in my office as the semester has wrapped up, and then I've been going to these social events to firstly try to became a social person again, and secondly to say goodbye to the people who are leaving now that they've graduated. I know I would regret staying invisible during this time because there are many I won't see for a long time to come, I'm sure. After this activity though, I'm spent and drained, and I trek back home exhausted and overwhelmed.

When my boyfriend called me, I was with a colleague explaining various anti-virus software to her in my office, and that moment wasn't really a time to talk. He sounded peeved, especially when he mentioned that I hadn't called him in four days. I told him I couldn't talk at that moment and I would call him back. He allowed me to hang up the phone, and when I was finished working with my colleague I called him back.

He still sounded pissed.

"You're actually mad at me," I stated. It wasn't a question because it was to obvious, and I wasn't ready to deal with being coy.

"You haven't called me for four days," he said shortly.

"You have a phone too, and it's a two way street. And you know my schedule. You've been at a conference and then having work meals, I have no idea when to call you." He has been at a conference in Chicago for the past week, and he's been busy. I let that be my own personal excuse. Yes, I should have called him, but I really haven't been up to it. The funny thing is that I really have been looking forward to seeing him, but for some reason, the energy to call up and try to have a conversation over the phone has been exhausting - or even thinking about trying to talk about something vaguely important without having him actually here has been daunting. So I avoided it all together and was rather relieved when he didn't call.

Of course, I didn't actually say all of this over the phone right then. Ultimately the conversation would have been easier if I did. Instead I passed blame, allowed myself to sound defensive, and got ready for an argument.

"You could have called me anyway," he snapped.

"So could have you."

"I have to admit, I'm a little pissed. I purposely didn't call you to see if you would call me."

"I'm sorry. I've been overwhelmed. I don't know what else to say." I lost the anger and began to get emotional.

"Why didn't you call?" he asked.

"I'm not in the state of mind to be tested or subject to examinations right now," I blurted, trying not to cry. I realized that if I did cry, then it would be an attempt at manipulation and transference of guilt, and as I was struggling with that thought, I gave in to the manipulation. I didn't actually cry though, I'm too proud for that.

"I'm sorry," he said obviously deflating, "I not trying to cross-examine you."

And then I went quasi-hysterical, "I've been struggling to try to be social for the past week, trying to get back into life, trying to be a real human being again - and suffering for it because I'm still freaking out, and you call me to tell me that you're pissed off at me because I didn't call you even though you could have easily called me." In my head I wanted to tone it down, but I didn't, the thought at the back of my head kept telling me that if I make him feel more guilty, then he can't be mad at me. "And then you call me just to tell me that you're pissed off at me because I didn't call you, even though you know that I'm not even in the frame of mind to go to work, let alone call anyone!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't call you. I went to the doctor today and she gave me the permission to get the time off that I need." He knew I was serious then, I hate going to the doctor. He struggles with me just to get me to see my doctor when I'm really ill, so he was suddenly silent. I immediately felt bad. What I was saying was true, I wasn't making anything up, but I realized that I was trying to make him feel guilty, and that was stupid. And childish. And selfish.

He can be mad I didn't call. I can be relieved that he didn't call. We can both live with that. But I still suddenly felt really guilty about everything. That's when the waterworks came on in earnest and I began apologizing profusely, which made him feel uncomfortable. I thought, 'great, we're see-sawing', which made me want to apologize more. After hanging up, I took a breath and began to analyse.

This is what I came up with to get me through the next couple of weeks. I promise myself that I'm not going to let my depression be an excuse for anything. I promise that I will be upfront. I promise that I will not be consciously manipulative. I promise that I'm not going to allow myself to be hysterical.

Perhaps that will help me feel like a real human being again and simultaneously allow me to talk to my boyfriend about the things I really need to talk about. I want to be able to do this without shutting down, without retreating, and without panic. I can do this. I just need to brace myself.

Manifest Irony

2007-05-17T16:02:00.001-07:00

I've mentioned that over this past month, I've been approached by most of my friends, all expressing their concern with my well being. Most all of whom now know that I've been unwell. The grapevine is alive and well, even though my friends are from very diverse backgrounds and walks of life and don't mix amongst each other, they certainly have been keeping informed about my health and status. Even though I didn't want anybody to know what was going on, it was ironic that all the people who are close to me knew regardless.

Of course, I could ultimately blame my boyfriend for calling several of them when he was panicked about how I was doing. It would be easier than blaming myself.

It was all very odd. And disconcerting. And strangely comforting.

For the past couple of weeks, both Prof #1 and SOF have both been trying more and more desperately to check in, and until the past couple of days, I've pushed them away. I know now why, because of the feelings of guilt that enveloped me as I continued to keep my distance. The circular loop that spiraled out of control. The guilt wasn't from my sexual relationship with them, even though I wasn't sexual at all during that time. Looking back, it seems pretty silly and stupid, and I was embarrassed about my inability to relax and my lack of any kind of drive, sexual or otherwise. I didn't want them or anybody to see me like that. I didn't want to be perceived as weak. I'm realizing now that I was being overly sensitive, but that is the whole point and manifestation of depression, right?

All though I'm feeling better, I'm still having trouble explaining, expressing, quantifying and assessing just what was, and still is, going on. I'm not quite sure how to talk about it, nor how to fully describe it. It's as if I have this mental block on everything, and the weight of it all continues to inhibit my ability to express myself.

I went back to the doctor today, and she wrote that note stating that I should be taking the next couple of weeks off. I handed it over to the director, without any guilt whatsoever that I was going to basically be gone for the next month or so, especially because I finagled a couple of weeks of general leave the day before yesterday to just coincide with my expectations from the anticipated doctor's note. If all goes well I can even, legitimately, get another two weeks off with the consent of my doctor and even have the general leave converted into sick leave.

That would be just... fantastic.

Now the funny thing is, I'm well known here for being a workaholic. This desire to escape and just say sayounara is well, so past due. Here I am doing just that, and the irony is that a department who has treated me poorly will figure out rather quickly just how things here are really melded together after driving me away. When it inevitably begins to fall apart, as it has in the past which is why they've demanded that I come back to my office (and work 65-70 hour weeks teaching and managing) - and this time I plan on refusing to answer my phone. I'm burned out and bitter at them for being so disrespectful of my contributions and abilities, and I'm tired of the lack of respect and recognition. Good night and good luck there.

Should I feel guilty for that making me feel better already?

Roller Coaster

2007-05-16T14:52:00.001-07:00

One of the things I doing to help me out of my depression is going out to see people. Beyond the work responsibility and my responsibilities with my groups I still don't want to hang out with others, but it's important for healing - so I'm forcing myself to do it.

I, of course, tend to go overboard with such things trying to force myself along, which has caused a little bit of general consternation in my life. I just want to be better now! Of course, that's not going to happen, but I'm happy that I am now in a place where I want to live life again. Now I just have to get through the embarrassment of being mentally ill in the first place. While depression isn't the worst thing that could have happened to me, it was certainly a dark place. I'm not out of the woods yet, but again, I'm seeing the light more and more these days. It's been a bit of a roller coaster this past month though. I've never experienced such a prolonged bout of depression before in my life - not even during the time when I was coming out of the closet. I felt it more only a bit more intensely then, which is saying a lot because the intensity this time was, well, petrifying.

This time however I had the experience to prevent myself from becoming suicidal. I did that once before, and even tried when I was 16 years old because of the uncertainty and the loneliness I felt when I was finally admitting to myself that I am gay. After several days in an ICU after a stomach pump and other various ignominies, I can confidently say that I would never try that again. Thankfully, my first try was enough to teach me a lesson for life.

Suicidal or not, this recent episode of depression has been paralyzing. I've gotten little done, and only was able to do my professional work, even though most of the reason I started to crack was from the job itself. However, it gave me a goal, gave me something to focus on, and prevented me from falling off the Earth entirely. That in itself must be something good. Limitedly. Besides work and my students, I pretty much stopped everything else.

So I'm going to social functions again. On Friday I went to a Shabbat gathering. I'm not religious in any way, but I've been invited for years by my students, none of whom are Jewish themselves. They, however, have participated with Hillel's (Jewish student union) activities for several years now, and have created quite a close knit community of queer students (gay, lesbian and bisexual) and straight Jewish students. I've gotten to know this other demographic by proxy, and have always been made to feel as part of the group, although I was not a student and although I was not participating in the Hillel activities. So I went, and apparently part of the ceremony is to talk about the best and worst parts of the recent week. When it was my turn to share, through the embarrassment of not wanting anyone to know what I've been dealing with, and not wanting to talk about it, at that moment I decided that I would.

I realize that ignoring my depression or minimizing it or trying to wipe it away stigmatizes mental illness, and is the reason why many people don't seek help. When in the role of role model, as I have been for over a decade, it's especially important that I model the appropriate behavior for such things, which includes coming to terms and bearing through the embarrassment. (Can I ever stop being counselor, gosh I hope not.) Ultimately, if these people cared about me, they wouldn't intentionally try to make me feel worse, and if they did, it's ultimately my problem and not theirs anyway.

So I shared. The worst part of my week was the constant panic attacks about socializing. Especially because I've never suffered panic attacks of that magnitude until about a month and a half ago. The best part of my week was being strong enough to finally go to the doctor on Thursday to talk about these panic attacks for the first time and, even better, not be told that there was something unfixably wrong with me. Instead I was told that I could take some time off from with my doctor's recommendation and with more time and continued counseling, I didn't need to be prescribed medication regarding the issue either.

Everybody stopped... and looked at me. Silence. Remember, I'm the one who was considered perfect and only remotely human for years because I only showed the happy, the best, and the most dedicated nurturing side because of my advisory role at the university. And then they got up, one, then another, then all - to hug me. While that was a little uncomfortable, I really did appreciate it deep down. And it helped.

One of the ways I know I'm beginning to heal no is the fact that I'm beginning to feel like a sexual being again. In order to explore my rediscovered sexuality, I called Prof #2 on Saturday to see if he was interested in having coffee on Sunday. He was available, and instead of having coffee, we ended up having amazing sex at my place. I was planning that all along of course, and apparently, so was he, but we're still not at a place in our trysts where we're comfortable to just call it for what it is. I'm more so, but he's not, and he's still trying to figure out for himself how he will deal with what we're doing. This past month of abstinence has been helpful for him at least to try to assess his own feelings about how this is working. However, he's still pretty ambivalent about how he feels about our sexual relationship.

This last time he mentioned that he felt bad for my boyfriend, but, he added quickly, he knows he shouldn't because my boyfriend is aware of what I'm doing, even if not with whom. I think he was hoping that I'd concur about his partner, but I didn't take the bait - because I don't feel bad about what we're doing. (That, and he's really good in bed. I've found someone else in all these years who I like fucking me. I'm really pleased about that!) I'm not trying to have a relationship with him, and I'm not planning to pluck him out of the relationship he's in. I am just happy meeting the sexual needs of both him and myself since we're not meeting those needs with the people that we're otherwise committed to.

I know that sounds hypocritical, having in the same sentence the word 'committed' with the phrase 'meeting the sexual needs' outside of that commitment. However, I will continue to be emotionally committed to my boyfriend, and I will not expect any of my sexual partners (other than my boyfriend if a sexual relationship is ever realized) to be emotionally committed to me. Friends, yes. Boyfriends or some other similar social categorization, no. I know I have this squared away, but he's still working on it. On Sunday he mentioned that he's still conflicted about 'this sneaking around thing' that we're doing. I disagreed, stating that we weren't sneaking around. He rejected my assertion, asking what else it could it be. I teased him, telling him that we were skulking around, and although he laughed, I could tell that he didn't think it was really funny. He is truly conflicted.

And I don't know how to help him with that.

I'm not conflicted about this. Of all the things that I am conflicted about, of all the things that I've been dealing with depression about, my sex life is not on the list of things of which I feel guilty.

Does that make me a bad person?

If I weren't still in the mode of questioning who exactly I am, I would immediately say no. However, since I still am in this mode of trying to figure out who and what exactly I am, I'm more open to admitting that perhaps I've become a person who is less phased by this particular moral ambiguity. However, when weighing the risks and benefits of being sexual versus non-sexual with people who are in relationships that are similar to mine versus single, I still come up with this answer that I'm doing the best that I can. In the best way I can. I don't want to fight the singles trying to realize a relationship that I cannot offer just because we're having sex, and I can't honestly deal with the alternatives of celibacy or leaving my boyfriend.

I'm not going to dwell on the bad person part. If some people think I am, fine. There are a lot of worse things that I could do or be, but I'm not. If this is the worst thing that everybody did, then the world would be a much happier place. I'm just happy that I do feel sexual again. I'm happy that I can be sexual again, both in private and tete-a-tete. Perhaps I'm on my way, but it's still going to take a while, it's still going to be a bit of work. I'm not quite off the roller coaster yet, but the loops seem to be behind me for now.

And while I'm not sharing any details about my emotional frailty with my sexual partners, they have been respectful of my space. SOF was for a while worried that all this had something to do with him, but has come to a conclusion that it's not about him. And Prof #1 has had his own bouts with massive depression, and has been pretty understanding, if albeit eager to reinitialize our sexual relationship again, even if it's just to 'make me feel better'. I'll be taking him up on that sometime soon. I'm glad that I do have friends who care and are supportive, both far and near. And even though I've expended a great deal of energy lately locking myself away in my own little cocoon, they are still there for me.

And I am very thankful for this.

Benchmark

2007-04-24T23:54:00.000-07:00

How will I know that I'm feeling better? After all of this gnashing of teeth, devastating depression and achingly slow logarithmic climb into this general blah feeling, how I will I actually know that I'm truly feeling better? When will I be certain that I've tipped the balance towards healing?

I've decided I'll know when I'm interested in masturbation again. Somehow, I've fixated on this as my benchmark. I haven't been interested in such diversion for the past three weeks now. This is a massive departure from the usual 3 to 4 times a day, including the sexual asides that I have been habitually engaged for over the past year. At least I'm thinking about it again. For the past two nights, I've sat at my computer, really trying to decide if I should embrace my comfortable habit again, or go instead lie in bed and sleep my evenings away.

Of course I'm not really getting any sleep, I'm just tossing and turning in my bed. In the past, yet another go at spilling the pud helped that particular problem, but I just don't feel the inclination or the energy to actually go through with the whole process of masturbating right now.

And then it hits me, I feel like I getting old.

And then I tell myself I'm stupid for being such an idiot.

I just keep telling myself right now, 'at least I'm considering jacking off again!'. That's a step forward. That's at least a viable and attainable goal.

It's all so sad. Quite devastating, really. I like masturbating. No, I really love it. Of course, everybody does. I just admit it and refuse to feel guilty about it. Now though, I'm feeling drained and tired. I don't feel guilty about wanting to, I just feel too exhausted to do anything about it. I don't even feel the physical inclination. I'm just trying to find some normalcy again. And to not want to masturbate is... well, disconcerting to say the least.

So I hold myself in my hands. Nothing happens. No interest, no desire. Nothing.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Nothing.

I stare at my penis in consternation. It's soft. Limp. Flaccid. Unresponsive.

I stretch it, trying to feel something.

Nothing, other than the pressure of my own hands.

I watch porn, and I find it vaguely repulsive right now. I try some old favorites, and I find I'm not feeling even the faintest bit aroused.

Nothing. I turn it off.

Exasperated, I go get something to eat. I lost a lot of weight these past three weeks. I tell myself eating is good. I read the news. I play a mindless computer game. I read my book about the evolution of life 250 million years ago. I feel the pain on both sides of my head creeping across my temples. I stare at the ceiling. I marvel at the new clock my boyfriend gifted to me that projects the time and the outside temperature as a digital blood-red stain spread across my bedroom ceiling. I watch the temperature outside drop as it gets later and later. I try to determine a pattern, I begin to mentally piece together a regression line. The graph in my head gets fuzzy and its coherency fades as I imagine pieces of it drop from the ceiling where I was intersecting the imaginary lines. It falls like lumps of bread onto a concrete floor. Silently. I imagine the parts thud as they hit the imaginary floor.

I hear a high pitched whine ring in my ears.

I feel exhausted. I can't sleep.

I toss.

I turn.

I give up even thinking about masturbating.

I can only think of my boyfriend.

I guess I need more time.

Climbing out

2007-04-23T11:40:00.000-07:00

I've been spending much of the past week struggling to climb out of this nasty depression. I'm not sure just how close I came to having a nervous breakdown, but the struggle of work, volunteerism, social responsibilities, my educational goals, my relationship and my future all came crashing down at the same time. It's still difficult to get up in the morning, but I'm doing it. I can't shrug off all of this responsibility just because I feel crappy.

I sense something is going on with my boyfriend. I've been trying these past several weeks to figure myself out, to figure out if I'm really in the right place. I'm trying to figure out if I can do all this, change everything, venue, job, self - to meet the next challange with my boyfriend. I want to be so much more for him, I want to be able to do all of this right - but there's something missing. And that's me. I've been hiding behind this wall, trying not to let anything show for fear of him rejecting me. But something is happening beyond me, something is going on with him, I don't know what it is. I sense it. I feel it, but I can't put my finger on it.

I hope it's just me.

My overwhelming responsibilities at work coupled with a profound lack of respect or appreciation by my colleagues hasn't helped me figure anything out any clearer either. Thankfully my episodes of profound sadness and change didn't transfer to my workplace too much. While I tried to take some time off, they wouldn't allow me such consideration - and I realize that I'm glad that I was forced to go to work everyday. I wasn't about to give the department any food for fodder at this point, they disrespect my work now, although I my product, my teaching and my evaluations far surpass my peers. I also didn't let any of this reach my volunteerism work. As an advisor, I need to keep it together. I was able to do that, and my groups and volunteerism always give me purpose. Even so, it's been a struggle these past couple of weeks. I may be falling apart, but I'll suffer at home. With my classes and with my kids, I'll soldier on until I fall over.

I know that I need to start giving up projects in order to focus on the more important things. I also need to pare back on the work hours, damn the needs of the department. These 65-70 hour weeks are killing me, and although I always take a step back over the summer, I don't plan on stepping up again next semester. Thankfully keeping my job isn't dependant on the additional hours, I was just doing it to be nice to the department and have some extra cash in my pocket. The cash isn't worth the lack of life associated with working such hours however, and the department can find somebody else to supervise the courses. As for all of my volunteerism, I have to let a lot of that go too.

I'm going through separation anxiety about that though, some of these volunteerism projects that I've been managing or advising are projects that I've been involved with for the past 7 and a half years. One of these groups that I'm giving up I've been involved with for the past 12 and a half years, which is a long time when I'm nearing 30 years old. I've given my whole adult life to these things, and now I'm getting ready to walk away. My transition date is July 1. I know I have to go cold turkey from this particular group, because otherwise I won't be able to help but get involved again. I love working with these students, this group. I've watched the group, grow, change, evolve, stagnate, and rise up like the phoenix to become great again. I've not only watched, but I've been an active participant, a political cowboy and an activist in the group. But I've also been an advisor, a mentor, a counselor, a cheerleader and a friend to countless students over this past decade. Giving this up is one of the hardest decisions that I've ever had to make.

I've been in the process of giving this up for over the past 6 months, and I've even aided the transition for the group by instituting a new advisor who has been co-advising with me since late December. The transition will be smoother and easier this way for them, but for me, it's been terribly difficult. As July has come closer and closer, the sense of loss has become much more profound. This is why it's so important for me to go cold turkey over it.

Giving that up coupled with everything else going on right now, the job, the boyfriend, my future... I couldn't take it any more. I felt so alone. I was surrounded, but I still felt isolated. I still do feel this isolation, but I am able to extract this feeling from the rational part of me now. I've momentarily confined and relegated it to the emotional self, which I can control much more easily than the rational part. Now that my rational mind is no longer controlled by this lapse of emotional grief, I can start to rebuild the scaffolding that will help me heal - and that coupled with my determination to take my time and my life back for myself so that I can feel like I'm back in the driver's seat.

Ultimately, this is the problem. I don't like to feel like I'm not in control. I need to feel useful, productive, and helpful. I need to have my boyfriend next to me. I need to feel him, smell him, be with him. Without these things, without him, I crash, want to give up, and decay into despair, self-doubt and darkness. It's time to climb out of that abyss now, make some necessary changes, and then reach again for the light. It's time to take myself back. It's time again to shine.

Love and Fear

2007-04-20T18:05:00.000-07:00

I have to tell my boyfriend I love him. I don't know how to do that right though. I've been so lost this past week, I have only been focusing on him. I've stopped everything else. Everything seems as if it is on hold, everything except for him. I watching everything around me fall apart, I'm watching the pieces of my life fall away. All I can do is think about him.

But I don't know how to let him in. I want to tell him I love him. I want to hold him. I want to make everyone else disappear so I can be with him. I don't know what to do. I don't know how I can survive this. I don't know how I would survive without him.

He's been calling, but I've been vague on the phone. I don't know how to tell him that there is something changing in me. I don't want him to feel that I am weak or indecisive. I'm not either, but I am. I don't know why I can't tell him how I really feel. I want to tell him, I want to tell him everything, then I stop. I don't know what to do next. I don't know how to say it, how to write it, how to show him. I just know that I want him to hold me while I figure this out, but he's so far away. I want to let him in, but I'm so afraid he'll not know what to do with me. I'm so afraid that I'll be left alone. I'm so afraid that I'll lose him, lose everything. I'm so afraid I'll lose myself.

Trapped

2007-04-14T10:08:00.000-07:00

I'm avoiding everybody. I stopped answering my phone calls these past few days, so to try to get through, my friends are showing up at my office. I know that they're trying to help, but doing that just forces me to think about why I'm avoiding them in the first place... and then I feel guilty.

Which makes this all worse. I can go to my office and the classroom and not cry. I can put on the fake smile and look unfazed at work. Yes, I look tired when I'm there, but everybody thinks it's just that, fatigue. My friends, though, they sense something different. When they show up to give support, that porcelain veneer of stoicism begins to falter and then I just start to cry. Right there. Uncontrollably.

Which is embarrassing, and unacceptable in front of the students. So I try to push all the feelings back down, I try to put on the face for my friends. Taking deep breaths, I'm able to shove everything back into a corner for a little while. Just enough so that it doesn't look like I'm about ready to crack. Even though I feel like I'm at wit's end, and hitting my limit is not so far off, I can at least convince myself at that moment that I'm not crazy. It's more difficult to do that though, and the feelings of guilt when I see my friends don't help either.

Don't hug me. Don't hold me. Don't tell me everything is going to be okay.

They are hoping that I'll snap out of this. I may... but from this vantage point, it's going to be aways off. I think they know this, even though they aren't sure why. At least I'm writing, and for those who know about this blog, this is their window in. I'm not talking, I can't talk right now. I can't do that without crying and sinking into paroxysms of guilt, shame, and fear. I wrote before that I feel very little. That isn't entirely true. Yes I do feel numb, but I also feel overwhelming fear. I feel dread. I feel loneliness.

I know that I have people who care about me, but I can't seem to wrap my head around it mattering. I feel like I'm going to lose them, I just feel it in my soul. I know that such feelings generally are over-reactions and projections - but in this case, I may be more right then what my nightmares portend.

All I can do is apologize. Over and over again. I know it's stupid. I know it doesn't help much. But that's the only way I can deal with this when confronted, and it serves as a pretty good distraction. They keep telling me that everything is all right, and they back off a bit.

I need that space right now. I need a lot of space right now. I'm not sure for how long, but I need it. I want it. I demand it.

And I feel guilty for it.

Questions

2007-04-13T23:00:00.000-07:00

I've cried myself to sleep every night for the past week. I stare at the ceiling and wallow in self-pity. It's so stupid. And knowing that creates a downward spiral of guilt and consternation. I know I should be able to climb out of this depression, but I can't. I'm not. I know that I should be able to chill out and come to terms, but I haven't.

I have secrets. I can't share them. Even here.

I have to carry them myself.

I feel alone doing that.

Nobody really knows me.

And I pity myself for that. I hate myself for that.

Who am I?

Why am I?

What am I?

Why don't I just share? Because I will lose those I love.

Why does that matter? I'm pushing them away right now anyway.

It's easier for me to reject than to be rejected.

Why do I do this, even though I know the stupidity of my reasons?

Because I feel like I have some control. Control over my environment, control over the stimulus, control over my choices.

Why do these things I hide suddenly have so much weight, so much inertia? Why does it suddenly matter? I've been carrying these burdens for decades now, why does it suddenly matter? Because I feel disconnected from my boyfriend. He doesn't really know me. He doesn't really have any idea of who I am, who I was. Why I am who I am. How can I love him if I haven't been completely honest with him. How can I love him if I'm hiding from him. But if he finds out, so will everyone else. But how can he love me if he doesn't know everything. What is it, in fact that he loves?

An image. An idea. A projection.

Me?

But what am I? Am I all these things? What are these things? Are these things valid? What makes those things valid? What assumptions define me? Who defines these assumptions? Am I parts of a whole. Are the parts definitive? Are they invalid? Who makes those decisions? Who can label me as a good or bad person? Who makes that choice? Am I both? Am I neither? Who defines truth? What makes truth? Consensus? Belief? Facts?

Am I a good person? Or am I not?

How are facts, concensus or belief determined? What makes all of this real? What makes the parts of my character real? How is my character, my personality defined? Who defines me? Society? Myself? Am I what I think, or what others think? Am I a combination of both? Who holds more weight in this determination? Whose opinions matter? Whose opinions do not. Can I determine that? What happens if others opinions overtake my own. What happens when the projection of who and what I am changes? What happens when I fall from the pedestal? What happens if I break my neck on the way down?

To prevent this fall I've stayed silent. This is why I cry. I've shared my deepest demons with no one. Now the burden of this privacy is unbearable. I no longer have the will to hide. I no longer have the strength to share. I'm holding on to what is left of my dignity. The idea, the image, the projection is wavering, and static has begun to dominate. I've lost my sense of self. I broken my own mask. Now I feel the weight of it all. I can't hold on. I can't keep up. What the hell am I going to do?

Disconnected

2007-04-12T19:26:00.000-07:00

I'm still feeling overwhelmed. I haven't had the time I've needed in order to come to terms with my emotions or feelings. Things have actually gotten worse. Since I have responsibilities in the classroom, I can't just stop. I called in sick today, and the department demanded I come in anyway. I still have over 600 hours of sick leave, but they won't let me take a day off. If I quit, I'd get my life back, but I'd lose my sick leave hours. I can't cash them out.

Bastards.

Prevent me from using them today, prevent me from benefiting from them tomorrow.

I've stopped taking all calls, except for those that are professionally related and those from my boyfriend. I'm still able to put on the happy face for work, even if I shrug and sigh to myself - and cry when I go home to my empty house. I'm not sure how much longer that this will last though. The face smile will only go so far before that will start to crack and fall away. I really want to talk to my boyfriend but I know I'll fall apart. I know I'm getting ready to crack. I can't let him know that I'm so very weak right now. I want to shut myself away in my house and refuse to see and talk to everyone, but I know that he would take my silence personally. He wouldn't understand that this moment, these feelings, are about me. He wouldn't understand that I'm in a place were I want, need, have to be alone so that I can figure out exactly who I am, what I want, and how to share that with him. So I try to pull myself together when he calls, I try to answer his calls. I force myself to pick up the phone. And then after a brief conversation, I sob uncontrollably after I hang up with him.

He is incredulous that I'm not calling him. He seems hurt that I don't want to talk. He is still taking my depression personally, but I can do no better right now. I need to worry just about me right now, but I have enough of a conscious to know that I can't completely shut him out either. Especially when he's so far away. Even so, I can't feel better. I can't act better. I can't be better right now. I just want everything to stop. I want to stop.

But I can't. My job requires that I show up everyday, even though I have hundreds of hours of annual and sick leave. I have to go to the classroom and smile and be helpful and supportive to students who need help and support. I don't want to give, but they don't deserve anything less. I just don't have the energy to do it. My friends keep calling. And I keep ignoring their calls. It hurts to watch that phone ring, it hurts to hear their voices. It hurts when they tell me they love me.

SOF and the two profs are both worried. I've cancelled our weekly meetings and both prof #1 and #2 see that I'm physically and emotionally exhausted when they run into me on campus. Prof #2 was explicitly worried that I was headed towards a burnout, and I let him know that I was already there. Prof #1 has been leaving messages to try to have dinner or just talk, but I don't want to do either.

My best friends have been trying to get a hold of me, but I'm just not able to pick up that phone. I know they love me, but even with that, they wouldn't understand exactly what I'm holding in. What I'm keeping to myself. What I'm feeling. I need to feel alone right now, at least I'm feeling something right now and I'm not completely numb yet. I don't want to talk about what I'm going through. I don't want to talk about what I'm feeling. I feel it, and that's enough for me. That's all I've got in me to deal with.

There's so much irony in knowing what behaviors would be good for me right now, but refusing to engage in those behaviors. Instead of surrounding myself in people who care about me, I'm pushing them away. I'm surrounded, but I feel isolated. I'm loved, but I feel alone. I know this, but I don't feel it. I feel very little.

I feel sadness.

I feel tired.

I feel weak.

I should probably be taking medication, but I won't be. That would compound my feeling of weakness, even though I know from my education and training that counseling and medication is no weakness.

But that's the problem. I've disconnected the emotional id from the rational id. I feel split at the seams, with no mediator between. I'm struggling with myself, as I tear my own life apart through this internal quest for dominance. I am one self, but my needs have begun to schism and I am being smothered by my own fallout.

At least I'm writing, I tell myself. At least if I can't talk about this stuff verbally, I can type it out here. I'm embarrassed by my weakness. I'm embarrassed by my depression. I'm embarrassed that I feel this need to isolate myself. I'm embarrassed that I have done so.

I can't talk. I can write. I have something. I have nothing. I have everything. I have me. As long as I have this, then I am safe. If I lose this connection, then I'm not so sure about my safety. I don't want to sound alarmist. I do want help.

I don't know how to accept it.

I want to be alone.

I don't ever want to feel alone.

I feel alone now.

I'm doing this to myself.

Overwhelmed

2007-04-09T13:22:00.000-07:00

Do you ever have those times when you have so much you want to talk about, but really have nothing to say? Are there times that you are enveloped in activity and so much is going on, but you really have no idea what you're doing next and then struggle to keep caring? Do you ever find that you are forcing yourself to care, in order to just survive another day? Are there times when you are surrounded by people but you still feel totally and utterly alone?

I am feeling all of those things now. There has been so much activity surrounding me these past couple of weeks, and I've had no real time for myself. What time I've tried to make for myself has ended up filled with other people again as they've requested or demanded help or other energy from me. I know we all force smiles sometimes or often, depending on where we are in our lives. I know that we all hide the parts of us of which we are ashamed. I know that we all try to blend in, in some way or another just to be able to live our lives in peace and perhaps, if we can, really truly actually feel needed by others.

I don't mean tell ourselves that we are needed, but to actually feel it. Deeply.

That feeling is slipping away.

Even though I'm one of the most active people, if not the most active person, in the campus community for campus queer community - I feel more and more useless. Even though I have been complimented over and over again, today even, about what an asset I am to this campus, I still feel lost.

Disconnected.

Lonely.

I am most certainly depressed.

And the most hilarious thing is that I can objectify this depression and find logical reasons for what caused the slippage to this state, what stimuli continue to contribute, and what various paths would be to climb out again. But that's what I do. I analyze. I calculate. I weigh pros and cons. I rationalize.

And I hole everything up again when I go out, forcing the smile. The helper comes out, and I help other people in need. I get others through the tough times, the difficult decisions, the terrible loneliness. I try to fill the voids in my life by being an activist, a counselor, an advisor. But it's not enough. Not anymore. And I'm giving up my activism soon anyway. I know that I'm just using it to distract myself from myself. It helps me avoid my own life and problems by masking my own life with the lives of others.

I was getting prepared to go out to clean up after the event yesterday and I needed to take a shower. As I stepped in front of the mirror, I stopped when I caught my reflection. I stood in the doorway and stared at my own nakedness. It dawned on me in that moment how truly alone I really feel. How isolated. How lost. As I stared into my own eyes I began laughing maniacally because of the absurdity of this all. I'm surrounded by people but I feel alone. I'm loved, but I feel alone. I'm sought after, but I feel alone. I'm considered responsible, reliable and a leader, but I feel none of these things. As I laughed at these absurdities, I shifted and then I broke down into sobs. I found myself dropping to my hands and knees on the floor, crying into the carpet.

And then I stopped. I stood up, wiped off my eyes and my nose, took one last whimpering sniff, and stepped into the cold shower. After showering I quickly got dressed, picked up my things, and then got into my car. I still had to manage the clean up and breakdown of the Gay Prom, where I had managed everything and chaperoned the night before. I allowed no trace of my sadness to show through though while with the students, for again, I was compelled to look perfect, be in charge, and control my feelings. And again, I was able to do just that.

There's so much that I want to say, but won't. There is so much I want to feel, but can't. I have so much locked up inside, and I still feel trapped in my own mind, captive to my own thoughts, and tethered to the concept of what I should be.

I have to talk to my boyfriend, but I don't know how to say what I need to say. I have to let him know how much I love him, but I don't know how to do that in the way I need to now. I have to let him know about what is inside of me.

It's all so overwhelming, especially when this feeling of being overwhelmed is compounded with the knowledge that I shouldn't be so overwhelmed. I should be able to just say what I need to say, but I can't. Expectations have only made my feelings more confused. I only feel worse.

I need some time away from everybody. I need a week so that I can repack all this emotional baggage in order to be able to take on more. I feel like everything is spilling out as fast as it's coming in, and I just can't keep up.

I just need some time.

Running Ragged

2007-04-05T18:01:00.000-07:00

Prof #1 and SOF have been clamoring to hook up this past week, but I've been so busy I was able to just fit Prof #2 into my limited schedule. I've been taking it easy the past couple of weeks anyway, and I'm now just at the point where I can be more recreational without overwhelming myself from both time and effort. I gave Prof #2 just a little more time because of our limited time together thus far, and simultaneously of course, because of the fact that he's new in this explorative mix. New is always exceptionally fun, especially in the sexual realm and wanting to play a bit more with Mr. Novelty is only natural.

This past week has been a busy one professionally and socially, and I'm near the point of saturation. Ever since I've made it back home from Las Vegas, I've been barraged with constant requests and demands from my students, my supervisor, and my organizations. Each wants another piece of me, and the pieces are now at a point where, cumulatively, they are more than what I have to give. This has left me physically and emotionally exhausted and overwhelmed. These commitments have been coming at me for almost three months straight now, and coupled with the 65-70+ hours per week that I'm putting into my career itself, I'm finally at the point were I'm going to have to say enough is enough and start telling people 'NO!' to further requests.

I hate doing that, but I've not been so exhausted as I am now in many years. I'm near the point of falling over, and even after taking two days off of work this week to try to recoup my strength (because even though I love spending time with friends afar, it doesn't lend to the actual sleeping that is so important), I was called back into work because the substitutes lined up for my classes by my supervisor were sub-par and the courses began to crumble. I'm reminded of job security, but with over 600 hours of sick leave, I would like to not be limited to 8-16 hours of actual usage of said leave at any particular time. Still, because it was my supervisor who kindly (but firmly) pleaded with me to return to my classes, I ended up coming back before I was ready.

My students are very aware I wasn't ready. All seem very worried about my health. I look like hell. The circles under my eyes and the sudden lack of patience has been startling for them. I know this because I'm hearing scuttlebutt about how I've been startlingly different since I've returned. They all know how much time I spend in this department and the group of them have always been very vocally appreciative of my time, effort and help that I offer to them into the wee hours of the evenings and into the night. Since I've returned, I've found it difficult to keep my eyes open, let alone smile. It's tough being patient when all I want to do is put my head down to cover my eyes so that the fluorescent lights don't pulse into my retinas forcing the inevitable migraine. So answering the same question over and over again, especially regarding topics that the students should know from applicable experience in the coursework has become maddening at this point. My sudden lack of patience has caught everyone off guard, including me.

I need a week to recoup, but I know I won't get it. This weekend is Gay Prom with the students of the Queer Student Union, and I'm expected to aid in set-up, break-down and also, of course, attend. That makes my whole weekend vanish. Next week is going to be even more busy and consuming at work with courses and student expectations, so I'm going to be even more exhausted before this is all over. I don't know when I'll have even two days to myself, but if I don't get some time off soon, I just might have to go AWOL until I can get at least 10 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Time Off

2007-04-01T09:41:00.000-07:00

I'm in Las Vegas this weekend with my best friends from college who have moved to North Carolina. They're visiting their parents, and have invited me along. I know the parents well since my college friends and I lived together in the dorms, we were forced to integrate families some 13 years ago.

I haven't seen her parents for a couple of years, and my friends and I haven't been able to connect since last Thanksgiving holiday. It was a generally sedate trip, except for the hospital visit with her grandmother after a nasty fall. After determining that she wouldn't need surgery even with a fractured clavicle, she was put into the care of my friend's brother and father. We had planned to go to Death Valley with her mother since her mother had somehow never been to the national park even after living in Las Vegas for over 20 years.

The park is a two hour drive from Vegas, so it's not really that far. And for what you see, the most remote, lowest (282 feet below sea level at the lowest point), hottest (and one of the driest) region of the North American continent is remarkable. The salt, the geological formations, and the fact that life does exist in such a place is a testament to the tenacity of life. We had a great time hiking through the formations and crossing the salt flats. On April 1, it was 96 degrees Farentheit, pretty respectable when Vegas itself was only in the mid-80's and Reno was still in the low 60's.

Before heading over to Vegas though, I had a fun romp with Prof #2 on Friday. We've finally begun to find the comfortable zone between the two of us. The first couple of times, we were still exploring the possiblities, negotiating the nervousness and the limits. This time we were able to begin focusing on the fun part, just trying to feel good.

He wanted me to fuck him, but I was pretty intent on being fucked by him. So we compromised. I got fucked first, him second, me third. Ah, versatility - it's such a wonderful thing. He was tentative at first, worried that he'd hurt me. I assured him that I'd be fine, and he soon ramped up his energy level until I was whimpering loudly.

He was in much less of a hurry to leave this time, he seemed much more comfortable in the moment. As we lie on the bed with the cum dripping off our stomachs, he grabbed me and held me against him. He asked why we didn't do this more often, and I reminded him that we've been limited by his own readiness. He laughed and agreed, telling me that he'd be finding himself more and more ready in the not too distant future. I egged him on, taunting him by telling him to prove it. He winked at me, and then suggested that we hit the shower.

I had to be at the airport for the Las Vegas trip an hour and a half after the prof left, so I packed the last of my things for the weekend and closed up the house. I knew I was going to enjoy the weekend and the time with my friends, but I needed engage in a bit of recreational time before actually recreating. While I do love my friends, I know that I wouldn't have the inkling nor the time to be sexual in Vegas. So, getting those needs met before I went would allow me to really enjoy my time off with them.

It's fantastic being so easy to please.

Away Again

2007-03-29T17:32:00.000-07:00

I drove my boyfriend to the airport early this morning. He's on his way back to Paris as I write. All in all, we had a nice time together. Although we didn't have sex (or even attempt to do so) while he was here, I did enjoy just being with him. Unfortunately, I couldn't just leave it at that, so I did have to confront him further after our conversation in Sausalito, but I think that it further galvanized our commitment to get through this and make the serious changes necessary for the relationship to survive.

For the past year we've discussed the necessary changes and consequences. This trip, it became important to establish a timetable for these changes. Changes and consequences are fine, but in the vacuum of whenever, there is no impetus to make those changes. While intimacy in our relationship has been the obvious goal for both of us, my boyfriend has apparently been under the impression that he could take as much time as he liked getting to working on the issue. It took almost 9 months after our discussion in February 2006 before even beginning to attend counseling, than another 3 months before he started speaking with a sexologist. Before he spoke with the sexologist, the three months of counseling before that consisted of conversations about how his mother impacted his life, rather than how to reinitialize intimacy in our relationship or how to become comfortable with his own body - or mine. A false sense of comfort seemed to have set in for him, he had convinced himself that I would wait for the transformation indefinitely. I am waiting, I am being patient. I love him so much, I know I have to let him do this on his own. But I need to bluff a bit, otherwise everything seems to be okay status quo. He needs to show a concerted effort toward change, and I need to see and feel physical intimacy with him soon, otherwise I'm going to crack. I cannot lose him, but if things don't change soon, I feel as if I will. I feel as if I will slowly succumb to my own dispair.

I know that this isn't fair to him. Me trying to make him change to fit my needs is selfish and demanding. This is a relationship though. I've been protective of his security and happiness for so long, I want him to be happy. I want to be happy. I want us to be happy. I know I'm being selfish. I require and demand that our love be supplemented by physical intimacy. I feel as if sometimes I see in him essentially a brother, rather than a romantic partner. But then I realize that I could live without my brother, but I can't live without him. He is more to me than anything else in this world. I love him to very, very much.

I know I didn't ask for this to change overnight. I know I was harsh with him this week. I just need to try to get him to move foward with me, versus feel as if I was only a companion to him. It hurts so much to know that I'm right next to him, and he thinks nothing of me sexually. In order to try to crack this open, in order to move forward, I tried a strategy. I told him that I want to see significant changes before I'm willing to move across the country (or abroad) with him. I told him that I'm not willing to uproot my life and my career for someone that I'm not sure I can be with long-term. I'd like to make this work. I want to make this work, but I cannot continue being celibate with him. That will kill me. I want him to want me, to need me as I need him. I want him to look at me and love me, love me for who I am, love me for what I am. I want him to look past the walls that I've put up and I want him to help me break them down.

I love him, I'm just so tired of being physically ignored (or outright rejected) by him. It hurts, and I don't know how to make it feel better. I know that he has a lot to think about as he heads back to Paris. I let him know that I love him, but I don't love rejection. I want to be with him, but that includes the implicit expectations of coupledom. I know it's a desperate tactic, but it's all I have left. I don't know what else to do. I can see his face in my head. I can see him sleeping in my memories. I love those images, I love feeling him against me. I love smelling him next to me. I love listening to him breathe. But that is all so far away when he leaves the country.

I miss him terribly.

We need compromise. We need equability when meeting our personal needs. If they continue not to match, then the relationship will be doomed and that's the last thing that I want. My patience is beginning to wear. I'm feeling broken, it has becomes so thin that the gossamer string tying us together is nearing the breaking point. And that is what scares me to death. I've been trying to ensure strength through reinforcing our similarities, our metier, and our force of will. However, such attempts have only gone so far, and the string wears down and breaks from sheer brittleness. I feel broken. I want him next to me. I want to strengthen our love through togetherness, through proximity. Fresh connections have to keep being made. I fear because of our distance from each other, the reinforcers that have tied us together have become fewer and fewer. I am desperate for that not to happen.

Perhaps our discussion will enable him (and ultimately me as well) to find the energy and the will to make some changes. Perhaps not. We shall see. I'm willing to compromise, it's not all or nothing, but I need something. I need to feel loved by him, and I mean loved as a lover, not as a brother. To be loved as a lover to me sometimes includes sex. It's not only sex, but sex is a very important supplement to intimate relationships. It is a reinforcer. It is the bond that cements us. At least from my point of view. If I wish to stay with him and not be unhappy, then this need must somehow be met, even if rarely.

I don't want him to be somebody he's not. I just want him to love me for who I am. I'm just afraid sometimes of showing him just what and who I can and want to be. I try to share, I try to explain, but he doesn't understand. I can't blame him though, because sometimes even I don't understand. All I know is that I love him.

Isn't that enough?

Just the smallest little glimpse of hope would do

2007-03-24T16:16:00.000-07:00

My boyfriend has been in the United States since the sixteenth. He flew into San Francisco near the 9 o'clock hour and I had to rush from Reno after work to make it there on time. He wanted to fly into San Francisco so that he could catch up with friends in the bay area, and since I'm fond of the area, it wasn't a big deal.

We had a fine 2 days together there before we headed back to Reno. Once we made it back home though, he was off the next morning to a conference in Santa Fe, New Mexico. He's been there since Monday, and finally flew back home today. He'll be leaving for France on Thursday, so we haven't much time together this trip. It's unfortunate and sad, but I'm happy to have seen him at all. This conference was determined as a viable option at the last minute, and his excursion to Reno has been an additional bonus. Having consulting work based here has allowed him to stay, despite the normal visa restrictions.

Thank goodness for networking.

While I've seen him, however, we haven't been sexual, although that isn't a big surprise. I tried engaging him a little bit when I first saw him in San Francisco. I was so happy to see him, I couldn't help myself - I had to try. I left him alone the first night, but offered to give him a back rub the second evening we were together. He accepted, and I was being relatively modest with him as I was rubbing my hands across his skin. He was skittish and overly ticklish though, which is a sign of him being uncomfortable. I tried to muster through it, becoming more and more gentle as he became more and more squirmy. It finally came to a point were I just gave up, called it finished, kissed him and said it was time for bed. Instead of becoming mad through my frustration though, this time I smiled, and talked to him gently, engaging in the small talk important to wind down for sleep without getting worked up in a discussion about how he wasn't really trying.

I knew that this wasn't the time for it, and that I could talk to him about it later. Talking about it that night would have caused an emotional scene, which neither of us were prepared for. The next morning as we were waking up on the day we were to leave, he was playful, trying to hug me and otherwise be in physical contact. I played back, and we had a good time being silly. I then took a chance and I pinned him down on the bed, kissing him. He responded, but he kept his kisses simple, although for him they were about as passionate as they get. He's not one to share tongue - ever. Later, after breakfast when we were alone in our host's home because they were out walking the dog, I flirted with him a bit. When he responded positively, I pinned him down, kissing him again.

He was less into this time, turning his head away and making efforts to get me off of his chest. I stopped and sat up, letting him sit up as well. I smiled, kissed him on his forehead and began to pack up my things.

He continued sitting on the bed, staring down at the floor. I stood up from leaning over the suitcase. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"Could you be a bit less aggressive." He responded, it wasn't a question.

"I am being less aggressive," I said calmly.

"Yes, you are, you're not even trying."

I retorted, "What do you mean? I've been patient since you got here. I haven't tried to force you into anything."

"Yes you have."

"When?"

"Last night."

"I gave you a back rub. That's all, I didn't do anything remotely sexual."

"But you're not being patient."

"That is not true." I was getting angry, I had spent a considerable amount of effort trying not to cross any boundaries, but simultaneously show my affection for him. "When you were being snorky last night, I stopped what I was doing and let you go to sleep, right?"

He nodded.

"And I wasn't angry, right?"

"I don't know that," he said.

"Did I in any way act angry?"

"No."

"Any when I am mad, am I good at hiding it, ever?"

"Not really."

"And just now, did I try to keep kissing you even though it was obvious you didn't want to do that with me?

"No."

"And did I seem angry about it?"

"No."

"So did it seem like I was angry or in anyway impatient last night or since you got off that plane, especially since I haven't seen you for two months and a normal couple wouldn't be able to keep their hands off each other?" I wasn't being completely fair there, but I was pissed that he had accused me of being anything but patient and understanding up to that point.

"No."

"So how could you suggest that I've been too aggressive? When you have signaled that you want to stop doing what we're doing (even though you aren't actually saying anything and I'm reduced to trying to read your mind), I've stopped." I stared at him, daring to contradict me. "And I haven't been acting mad about it either. Haven't I?"

"No, that's true," he said.

"So how have I been too aggressive?"

"You are right now!"

"Yes I am. And I'm mad. I've tried to respect you and your boundaries since you got back. But I love you, and I want to be with you, and I want you to want me. And when you rejected me the night before last, last night, and this morning - I was gracious about it. All I want is what normal people have. I want that with you. But I know that that will be a long time from now. I get it!"

"I'm sorry," his head was down.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm trying really hard to respect your limits. At the same time, I'm trying to show affection for you. I do have that. I still have that."

"I do too!"

"I know, but you have to give me something back. Even the smallest glimmer."

"I know."

"I know you know, but you have to get through that catalyst bump."

"My threshold is just so low," he said. "I haven't seen you for a long time, and I'm not used to being touched anymore. There's something in me that just cringes when I'm touched."

I looked at him.

"And it's not just you," he said quickly, "anybody who touches me. I respond like that to everybody."

"I'm not everybody," I said sadly, "I'm supposed to be your partner."

"I know."

"I just don't understand," I pleaded, "I'm trying to understand, but I don't."

"I don't understand it either," he said.

"Look," I demanded, "when we were together, I gave you back rubs often, and you were find. When we were first together, you didn't like them much, but later, you were fine."

He nodded.

"You have to find that place again, and build on it."

"We have to get you through the rough spot, get you over the hump, and you find that your threshold will be higher. And then we do it again, and it will be higher still."

He looked unconvinced, "Maybe."

"We won't know if we don't try. And if we don't try, there is no point."

"Yes."

"So let's try!" I hugged him. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"I know, but we have to work at this. No more ignoring it, no more pushing me away."

"I'll try."

"That's what I'm asking."

Later we headed home in the car, and we had a really nice drive. That night he unpacked his stuff from Europe, and repacked for the conference. He left early the next morning. I haven't seen him again until today. He kissed me on the curb of the airport when I picked him up.

It's just a glimmer of hope I have. I don't know how this is going to work sometimes, but I've got to try. I love him so much. I couldn't dream of hurting him. I want to be right for him, and I try to be patient. I really, really try. I can only hope that he returns the favor with me.

The Coming Weekend

2007-03-15T17:16:00.000-07:00

"So what are you doing this weekend?" Prof #2 asked as we were walking back from a campus tour. I was showing him around the university, introducing him to various people of interest in student services and beyond. He's still relatively new here, only having been here for a couple of years, so he's still got a lot of important people to meet. Well, all the more important when things have to be done quickly, but that's another matter.

"I'm going to be picking up [my boyfriend] in San Francisco," I said. "He's flying in Friday night." My boyfriend is flying in from Paris, and he'll be staying in Reno for the next two weeks. I'm so excited! I've missed him terribly, and being able to see him has been a great boost to my mood. All the better is that he'll be here through my spring break, and I'll be taking the week off. Unfortunately, I'll also be having surgery this Monday, which dampens some of my excitement, but not nearly enough to take away the giddiness. I'm actually glad, because he'll be with me as I'm recovering, and recovery shouldn't take too much longer than a week anyway.

I didn't say all of this to the prof though. The surgery isn't too serious, and I'm being rather private about it at home. I'm not worried about it, and I don't want others to worry about me, so it's best if I keep it to myself. Coincidentally, since my boyfriend will be here, I'll have time to recover without having the pressure to explain why I'm not going to be engaging intimately with the others. Again, I hate having other people worry about me, so this all works out.

The prof asked if we were still planning on inviting him and his partner over for dinner while my boyfriend is in town, and I assured him that we would. I asked him if he'd prefer tete-a-tete, or an invite as part of a larger group.

"Oh, one on one would be much better, don't you think?" He asked, "It's much more intimate that way, we can talk to each other without the awkwardness of a whole bunch of other people."

I told him that was fine, and to expect an invite. I then added, "I won't be able to see you otherwise until April though."

"I completely understand," he said. "I've been terrible with you, I've been so busy writing, I haven't had time to do anything interesting with you. It's only fair then I guess."

"You've been fine," I replied, "You have nothing to apologize for. I completely understand." And it has been fine. I've been less active with everybody the past couple of weeks as I've geared up for surgery, and I also know that in the first couple of months of getting more intimate with Prof #2, we both have needed time to figure out our own comfort zones. I've been especially concerned about how he was figuring all of this out because having an itimate relationship outside of his established partnership has been so new to him, so I've been happy to give him the time and the space to do just that. No point in rushing along and getting ahead of yourself, or ahead of the other person.

That just mucks things up.

No point in doing that.

And I am excited that I'll be able to see my boyfriend tomorrow. We haven't seen each other since I left him in Paris on January 15th, and while two months aren't forever, they're long enough. We've both been seeing counselors, we've both been talking to each other, and we both are committed to working through our sexual differences. This visit will not be the venue to see if things have been solved, because that will take much more time and effort, but it is an opportunity to continue to consolidate our strength and commitment to each other. I look forward to that.

The next couple of weeks may be eventful. Whereas we do not have a lot of travel plans, especially because my boyfriend is here on a business visa and not a tourist visa, this time will certainly have its share of emotional journeys. We'll see how it all goes. I have trepidation, but simultaneously I'm excited and I'm happy. And regardless of what happens during the next couple of weeks, it's going to be an eventful weekend. I'm glad to see him come home.

No Pretense

2007-03-13T15:10:00.000-07:00

The other night SOF stopped over for a frolic. As I said yesterday, I was in a FUCK ME mood, and SOF has always been able to deliver on that. We had a bit more time to hang out together than we usually have, he didn't need to be anywhere for three or so hours, so we could play around a bit.

He's a big man, and he seems to love holding me. I don't mind, I'm a short guy, and I've always appreciated being held. It's the only way I'll allow myself to feel protected. Don't try to help me in other ways, I'll fight you off and feel resentful, but being lovingly held - I've always enjoyed that. He cuddled with me for almost an hour, just holding me as we talked, him in his underwear and me in my pajamas. It was all really quite sweet.

Of course later it progressed to the hard-core part where I am then fucked energetically as my head hits the wall with every thrust. That part is less sweet in the traditional romantic sense, but it still is a hell of a lot of fun.

Afterwards we cuddled again. As the cum lost its stickiness and began to drip off of my stomach, SOF whispered, "You know, I love this part."

I murmured in response. I was still coming down off of the poppers from several minutes before.

"I mean, fucking you is great," he continued, "don't get me wrong. But I love holding you in my arms afterwards as you drift off."

I smiled at him sleepily.

"It's the best part, hands down."

"I won't argue with you," I said, "even if I'm not sure I agree with you about it being the best part. It is very nice." I snuggled up closer against him, the slippery cum on my tummy mashing into his hip.

"I love the fact the we don't have any..." he paused.

"pretense?" I suggested, waking up a bit.

"Yeah," he hugged me tighter to indicated his agreement. "Pretense, difficulties, whatever it might be. We don't have to worry about what we have to say to each other. We don't have to worry about offending each other. We can just be, and let it be. We can lay here and small talk and not feel awkward, ashamed, or anything. It just feels right."

"And it feels perfect, just like this," I said. "No expectations, no worries, no concerns. Exactly. Just as you said."

"Whatever it may be, boy, it's damn nice!" He laughed as he said the last two words, giddy in his own reverie.

It is sweet. This is nice. It's quite similar to the ideal situation. It's nice to be able to do what we do, and feel comfortable with each other and about each other. No pretense, no egos, no guilt. It's exactly as it should be.

Stretching my Limits

2007-03-12T13:32:00.000-07:00

Strangely, I've had the overwhelming desire recently to get fucked. No, it's not the general background noise that permeates the human desire for sexuality - instead it's the need to actually have a dick in my ass.

I've been meeting that need through SOF and now Prof #2, and often even with Prof #1 we flip-flop the fucking, as we did yesterday. But the past week I've been obsessing over it, thinking constantly about this need, wanting, desiring it, craving it. It's all very odd. I don't consider myself a top, or a bottom. I've always thought of myself as pretty versatile, but this recent obsession has gotten me re-evaluating my self-proscribed labels.

Or it's just a phase. As phases and proclivities go, it could continue to shift.
Or perhaps I'm just getting lazy, and being buggered is a hell of a lot easier way to get my rocks off.

Not that I'm just laying there or anything - 'cause I'm not!

However, it has beem unusual to fantasize about being fucked as I have now for the past week or so, and I've started to obsess over my own fantasizing. Am I changing? Is this just a phase? Does it signify something deeper? Am I just blowing this all out of proportion?

I have a strong suspicion that the answer lies within the latter question. Still, the food for thought is interesting in itself. So many gay men determine their identity and masculinity based on their perception of whether they are a top or bottom. While not always linked, the public perception from the outside (and all too often, from the gay community itself) is that masculinity or femininity is linked to whether you like it up the ass or not. From my experience, it's definitely not the case that there is any correlation between masculinity... but the social pressure from the outside wants there to be these silly correlations. And I catch myself thinking about this stuff even though I know it's stupid.

Perhaps I should stop thinking all that much, and just accept what I want. I should learn to be comfortable with what I think feels good and stop worrying about what other might think of me. Learn to live in the moment instead of pondering the future at every step.

That was the whole purpose of starting this blog in the first place.

So I headed over to Prof #1's place. I intended to get fucked, and so I did. I fucked him as well, but not like I usually do. We did quite a bit of flip-flopping, and that was enjoyable, but I really wanted to explore my limits - much more than I allow myself to usually. I tried different positions that I didn't like so much in the past and often avoid, generally the ass up positions with my stomach facing the ground. There's this nerve bundle that doesn't like being pushed, and when I'm on my stomach or in any type of doggy style position, it gets bumped, and the pain reflex takes over. On my back, this problem doesn't exist, missionary, on my side or sitting on the guy faceing him, again no problem. But if I'm spooning him or otherwise facing away from him, pain.

I wanted to try to get though that, to see how far I could go and still bear it. Perhaps, I thought, if I could make it through the limit, then I could control it. Maybe even learn how to be a better bottom. Ya might think that a dildo would be helpful for this, but they haven't been. They don't reach in quite the same way, and it doesn't create that painful feeling in my gut as if my inner sphincter is clamping down like the real thing does after vigorous activity. Especially with the guys I keep finding. Not that I'm a size queen, but other than SOF, they all seem to be huge at 8+ inches, or in Prof# 1's case, a bit over 10 inches. That's a monster on my little body. It might be said that if we just went slower, everything would be fine, and that would be true, but who likes to fuck slowly and carefully all the time? I might like being fucked gently, but the guy I'm in bed with will tire of it quickly. I been getting though it by being creative, or in Prof# 1's case, being mostly a top, which I enjoy immensely, but I know my dirty little secret of deceptive fucking. I make it seem like we're doing novel stuff, when I'm really in relatively similar positions. And that means always facing the guy. Unfortunately, my experiment failed because of discomfort and I coaxed us into a more comfortable position (after a segue of fucking him again).

Of course it'll take practice, but it's not like I haven't been trying! I've never had anyone complain about my bottoming, nor have I been embarrassed by it. I seem to have ingratiated myself on the men I do bottom with, they seem quite happy and satisfied with me. But I envy those power bottoms that can take it in any position, feeling fantastic in however they're bent over. I'm not quite like that. I'm only fine if it fits just right, or if it goes up in only a limited number of ways. It's so sad, really. Perhaps if I were taller, my colon would be longer - or at least my rectum would be. Then again, perhaps not.

Ya gotta work with whatcha got (and a copious amount of quality lube), and I'm certainly working it. As much as I humanly can, I'm working it. I guess we all have limits, and while I'm stretching them, they're only so elastic. Not that versatility is a bad thing, certainly not. I enjoy fucking others quite a lot, and I've been told I'm a damn good top. I'm just disappointed that I'm having difficulty exploring further because of physiological limits. Especially because my fantasies really want such active exploration, I'm all the more frustrated that the limits are within. This is especially true because I have the men behind me to fulfill my wishes as they come, no pun intended.

So I guess I gotta keep trying! Practice does make perfect. And boy, do I have the opportunity to practice.

Double Trouble

2007-03-07T12:47:00.000-08:00

There are some days when I want to push the envelope. There are some days where the opportunity to do something new, something unexpected, or something just a little bit crazy presents itself. Yesterday I didn't do anything terribly earth shattering or paradigm shifting, but I did find myself getting fucked by two different people on the same evening, and it wasn't at the same time.

Okay, for most who are sexually liberated, it's no big deal. I've met a lot of women, and men, who have had a string of sexual partners that they've met up with consecutively. I've never done that before and so now I'm quivering in giddiness (and having a little trouble walking). I'm also reeling from the self-imposed questioning rolling around in my head, which is currently assaulting the way I think about my self. The thoughts floating around right now mostly pare down to three main points. These include: 'What have I become that I can easily shift from fuck buddy to fuck buddy without feeling remorseful?'. 'Is this process of overthinking a manifestation of remorse?'. And finally, 'Does this make me a bona fide slut?'

Not that there is anything wrong with that. Or is there?

It comes back to comfortability. What am I comfortable with, and when lines are crossed for the first time, what come of it? Growth or regression. Pride or shame. Declaration or secrecy? Obviously public declaration beyond this blog is out. Private declaration and confirmation of self, determination of growth and development (both cognitive and social), and pride in such are all important. What's the point of engaging in activities of which one is ashamed? We all do such things, hopefully some of them less than others, such as pick one's nose or sneak a larger portion of fries from one's partner (okay, so I sneak more fries than I pick my nose, promise!). But when it comes to sex, the social implications are so wound up in our own feelings and thoughts that we often let the implied consequences over rule our own desires.

But moving on from that. Could I continue to write about this in a way that makes it sound more boring? Nah, I'm just wallowing in my grandstanding sort of way, which I'm rather prone to do. So enough of that and let's get in on the interesting stuff!

After work yesterday I met up with SOF. We were only meeting for a quicky because his partner was coming home early so that they could go to the Reno Philharmonic, for which they have season tickets. That only gave us 45 minutes to fuck, not including shower and clean up after. So quickly we moved. Sadly, with the lack of time there was little foreplay. It was mostly a hop on and off affair, not that such is necessarily a bad thing. He sat back in his office chair and I just sat on him with my back facing him, bouncing up and down and enjoying myself. Turning around to face him, we were able to get acheive deeper penetration - which was exactly what I wanted. Grinding my hips into his, it didn't take long for us both to climax.

A simple fuck in only 20 minutes.... faster would have been a travesty.

And then off I was to a meeting. I met up with Prof #2 at the meeting, as usual. Normally we'll perhaps go out for a drink afterwards, but up until last night we then parted ways without doing anything more aerobic. He hadn't been feeling well for the past week, and I didn't want to presume that he'd be up for drinks because it had been only a couple of days since he's been over the flu. So, I thought I'd just touch bases, say hello, ask how he was feeling, then wish him a good night. Instead however, he beat me to it.

"Wanna hang out tonight?" he whispered.

"Um sure," I said, surprised, "You sure you're up to it?"

"Yeah. Great!" He had a huge smile on his face.

And we finished business as usual, ushering out various students.

We walked to the parking garage where he was parked, and as we both got in, he asked what I'd like to do. I suggested a pub, since I know he loves a certain place in town, and after a long day, I could use a beer.

"Are you sure?" he then offered, "I can stay out pretty late tonight."

"Well," I paused, I didn't want to make him feel like I was rushing him. Although I'd love to jump in the sack with him, but I had already gotten release that evening. Still, thinking about romping with him was appealing. "We can do something interesting, I'm sure." I let him lead the conversation however, because I wanted to let him have control, "What do you have in mind?"

"We can go to your place," there was an eagerness in his hesitation.

"I'm down with that."

We decided to drop me off at my car because that made the most sense, and after I confirmed that he remembered how to get to my place, we parted ways. He took the highway, but I knew that approach was the longer route. That was fine, it gave me enough time to make it home and make sure I was really cleaned up for a second adventure that evening. I'd only have a few minutes to spare, and I knew that I'd better use it to the best advantage. So I took the surface roads home, beating him by about 15 minutes.

Just enough time to do a spot cleaning of the house, grab some towels... and touch up on the personal hygiene.

He rang the doorbell and I invited him in, taking his jacket and offered him some juice.

"You had time to change, how did you get here so fast?" he asked.

I told him I had just taken off a layer, and he shrugged. "Your fly is down," he pointed out.

I looked down, "Why so it is! How did that happen."

"I don't know, but I like it. Cuts through the difficult part of the conversation."

"Is it really that difficult?" I asked.

"No, but it's still less awkward than just jumping on you. That would be rude."

"No it wouldn't," I argued.

"I was watching you all evening," he said. "I was sitting there thinking, 'What if I just walk over there and kiss you right now,' I wonder what people would think."

"They'd be a little incredulous, I'm sure."

"Fuck them."

"You mean fuck me."

"Oh, you're a riot."

"I know. Doubley. I mean it."

He pushed me up against the wall. "I know," he whispered as he began to nibble on my ear.

Things progressed rather quickly from there. While roughing me up a bit against the wall (of which I was a very willing participant) as he kissed me, he began to unbutton my clothes.

I followed suit.

With a mound of rumpled clothes at our feet, I pushed him backwards onto the bed, crawling over him as he lay on his back. Up to that point, he had been the one playing dominant, and it was time to turn the tide... just a little bit. Happily, he was a lot less self-conscious than the last time I had invited him over. He seemed to like the fact that I was grinning the whole time this go around.

After lots more foreplay and cocksucking it was time to get to the more energetic stuff. With some deft maneuvering, I was able to suit him up and lube myself up (not that I needed so much because I was already relaxed from earlier that afternoon). And while he was again lying on his back, I straddled him. That made him really happy. He took control again, man-handling me and really shoving deep - if I hadn't been so relaxed he might have hurt me. When I started to show discomfort though, he paused and asked if I was all right. I told him I was a little uncomfortable and to remember, I'm the size of the average 12 year old.

He stopped, and told me never to say that again.

I laughed and promised.

But then he was more gentle, and still quite firmly in control.

He flipped me over on my back and continued to pound me, lifting my legs over his shoulders, then stretching me sideways in order to get deeper. I was loving every minute of it.

Having already cum from having my prostate pounded, I was definitely able to take a longer pounding than I normally could from someone his size. I hope that I haven't given him false hope for future encounters, and I told him so afterwards. Explaining myself limitedly, "I don't usually liked getting fucked for so long by someone so large!"

"You're no small fry either," he said. "And you are definitely not the size of a 12 year old."

"I meant body size. I was talking about height."

"Whatever. You're very large for your size." Obviously referring to my dick.

"It's average, but no, I didn't mean that... seriously."

"I know," he said. "I'm just making it clear so I never have to again."

"Deal."

Changing the subject, he commented, "I can't believe [your boyfriend] doesn't want to sleep with you. You're amazing."

"I can't believe [your boyfriend] doesn't sleep with you," I countered.

"I know," he said with some consternation, "I don't understand it either."

"That's pretty much why we're on the same page," I sighed.

And after a shower and some more playful banter, I sent him on his way.

As he was walking out, he asked, "See you on Saturday, maybe?"

I nodded, smiling wryly, "If you're up to it." To which he responded by poking me in the ribs.

It was a much more relaxed visit this time, and there wasn't quite as much fumbling as we were trying to figure each other out as there was the last time. We had a much more mutually satisifying visit, without the consternation that came from the first time. Ah familiarity, it brings such joy. I can't wait for the next time.

I guess that answers, at the very least, my last question. I am, indeed, a bona fide slut.

The Rhythm of Things

2007-03-06T14:39:00.000-08:00

I spent last Saturday afternoon with Prof #1. We hadn't planned a get-together, but I was feeling horny, and thought I'd call him up to see if he was available. He was. Woo hoo!

So headed over to his place for a bit of fun in the sack. When we're together, he's always up for a pounding, and I was ready to give him one. Usually when I see him, it's after a long day of work, and I'm tired. Saturday however, I saw him well before 11 a.m., and I was full of energy. He noticed, and commented on how he should see me earlier in the day every time we get together. Lately I've been tuckering out after about an hour and a half with him, but this time, we were busy for almost four hours of non-stop fucking.

I've not been terribly versatile with him lately either, I've spent a heck of a lot more time fucking him rather than vice-versa. Not that that's a bad thing, but I've been noticing the difference. I'm not sure why that is, because I do enjoy being fucked by him, it's that it hasn't come up in the past several visits with him. The last several times we've been together he's commented on how much he likes relaxing to 'pig-out' while he's being fucked. When he does that, he looses his erection, and it's difficult for him to get it back again. So it's just been convenient.

That sounds so lame though, at least when I put it in print.

Ah well, the joys and the monotonies of sex. It's all back to the comfort. I think we've both found ourselves in a comfortable equilibrium. At least for now. And it's fine. I enjoy what we're doing, as does he, apparently. I enjoy fucking him, I enjoy the feeling, I enjoy the passion, I enjoy the rhythm. We've done some crazy shit together this past year, amongst other things. But thankfully, since I'm not just having sex with him, it's not getting boring, it's not getting monotonous. Our sexual connection is just changing as we both evolve.

We had a great time together this Saturday. We normally have a great time together, but it's been awhile since we actually went out as friends. I've been so busy this past semester and the last that I haven't really engaged much with my old friends as friends. Mostly I've just been having sex with them. It was nice to get out of that rut and be what we've always been, do what we've always done, and just hang out. We went out for lunch together at a sports bar/pub afterwards, and we sat at the bar and ate wings while we watched the local college basketball game. Neither of us are really big fans, but it was the last game of the season, and it was a nice distraction from real life. We won. Everyone celebrated, and the prof and I quietly made our exit from the pub. I wished him goodbye after talking about when we might see each other again. Perhaps Wednesday, depending on my schedule. I'm pretty locked up in my classes right now, just before spring break hits - and he has been pretty understanding and adaptable about that (for which I'm grateful).

Being fuckbuddies with several people, I've drifted away from what allowed us to be so in the first place. Just simply being friends, good friends. I need to get back into the habit of that, methinks. I was so worried about crossing the line of fuckbuddy into the hazy murky world of quasi-relationship that I pulled back from the stuff that made up our friendships in the first place. Focusing on the sex only, we became closer and ironically, we drifted further apart. I'm now more comfortable with myself now than I was a year ago, and I'm a lot more comfortable with my own limits as well as where the lines are in my own, long-term relationship with my boyfriend. I think I'm at the point now that I know where those limits and lines are without crossing over them before realizing it, and I know my partners well enough (specifically Prof #1 and SOF) that I know where their limits and lines are so as to not drift beyond the comfort zones in their territories as well. No longer do I have to continually focus on sensing the limits, I can now focus on the holistic picture.

That picture includes a well-rounded relationship, one that includes the initial foundation of friendship and what that entails, as well as this dimension of sex. No longer new, the picture has come into better focus and these relationships are now resolving. This can only make for stronger friendships. Our friendships were strong and full of trust when we started, and this time and transition as only strengthened them even more.

How lucky I am to have been able to find this out about these wonderful people in my life. How lucky I am to have had a glimmer of recognition of what I really have. I am a fortunate man. I need to ensure that continue to deserve this fortune that I have found. I can do that by not taking anyone for granted, by making sure that I deserve their friendship first.

Putting My Money Where My Mouth Is

2007-03-01T18:03:00.000-08:00

I had made an appointment last week to see a counselor on Monday. Thankfully we have free access to counseling at the university, so it's very convenient. It's even more convenient because the department hosting the counseling services is literally next door to my own departmental building. All I have to do is walk across the grass and the services are right there at my fingertips.

My appointment was a 10:00 in the morning, and I showed up a couple of minutes early. I was directed to the waiting room, where I waited, and waited, and waited some more. After 15 minutes past the scheduled time to meet, I was exasperated and headed back the secretarial office to ask what the delay might have been. Apparently the counselor wasn't even at the office yet.

Hmmm, so the convenience of walking across the lawn for services is trumped by a counselor walking in over fifteen minutes late to the first appointment. I guess you get what you pay for.

She seemed nice however, and once the appointment started, allowed me to talk. I've met many counselors over the years who find that their voice is the one that should be heard the most, rather than the patient. I was pleasantly surprised to find that she listened. She asked timely questions, but let me lead the way this time. There are moments in counseling when the counselor should reign in the discussion, leading it in specific directions in order to really get at the root of the issues at hand. Some counselor's do that at the very beginning, trying to steer the point of seeing them on the first visit, before the patient knows or trusts them. I'm obviously not very keen on that approach. I appreciated the fact that she let me ramble, incoherently sometimes, as I gave her a reader's digest condensed version of what was going on in my life.

I was honest, and I weaved through the various topics of interest. As I went, I transitioned though my thoughts, while also trying to be somewhat concise in a short period of time. I talked about my childhood and the serious impact that it had on my life and my feelings about sexuality. I talked about my activism, and how that impacted my identity and moulded my sexual morality. I talked about my approach to relationships as expressed in my burgeoning adulthood. I talked about my current relationship, and what it was like when we started dating, and what it is like now. I talked about what I want, what I think I want, and what is happening regardless of my wants and needs.

We didn't have a lot of time, especially because she was a bit late and I had to teach a class at 11:00. All in all, there were only 30 or so minutes available to us before I had to rush back to my building for class. It was a start though, and a follow through on my promise that I made to my boyfriend while we were in Paris this January. I'll stick this through, and even if I find that I'm not so enamored with the counselor I currently have, I'll find myself another one that works, even if it takes lots of time and many different attempts. I need to work at this too, and not just talk. (Either figuratively about the topic, or literally, even in the context of with a counselor.) I need to put my money where my mouth is and do this thing.

And we'll see how it goes. Wish me luck - and strength.

The former employer, part II

2007-02-27T12:31:00.000-08:00

My former employer called yesterday. I hadn't called him back after my last conversation with him in November because I was concerned about the long-term consequences of engaging with him. He expressed disappointment that I hadn't called, and asked if I was too busy to talk. I told him that I was busy at the moment, because I was preparing for class, but I could talk to him later. He pressed, asking if I was busy only at that moment, or if I was busy all week.

I told him I was busy all week, as I am every week.

"Oh," he said.

"Sorry, the semesters always kill me."

"That's too bad, I wanted to be able to see you."

"Well, I'm always swamped this time of year. I don't get home until after 7 or 10 most nights."

He insisted, "I really would like to see you."

"Is everything all right?" I asked because this was pretty unlike him. He can be aggressive, but usually it's in a passive-aggressive sort of way, and not in a direct way. This was really unusual.

"Yes. I'm just horny, and I'd like to see you."

"Oh."

"So, are you available?" He really was being insistent.

"Um, I am pretty busy..." Seriously, sex with him could be kind of fun, but I really don't think that it would be a good idea. I want to let all the socialized barriers hold sway on this one, because I just have a feeling. And feelings count, especially in this arena. I'll go with the gut.

"Well, call me when you get the chance."

"You know I'm really swamped until semester end..." I fumbled. I didn't want to say, 'NO!' to him, because I am friends with this guy. I would like to stay friends, but keep it at that, and outright rejecting him seems so rude. That, and I'm a pussy, but that's a whole other topic for discussion. Still, it might come to that. I don't think I'm going to capitulate on this one. At least, I hope not.

I gotta be concerned with my own self-respect! Besides, I'm already Anna-Nichole enough as it is, with this string of lovers. Do I really need to make it more complicated. Nah. Perhaps engaging with more people doesn't make it complicated in itself, but engaging with certain people does. He is certainly one of those people. I just have this feeling...

"If you can make the time, it'd be great to hear from you." He wasn't going to let this go!

"Are you sure you are all right?" I was getting concerned, because I've never known him to be quite this insistent, and was beginning to really become worried about what might be causing this behavior. Was this an awkward cry for help? Was this something else. I really wasn't sure what to think.

"Yeah, I'm bored and well, I mean, you're interesting. I thought we could do some interesting things together."

Hmm, I thought. I really haven't talked to him too much about my current predicament with my partner. I've chatted with him a little bit, but not so much to really give him any major details, nor enough to give him any indication that I was seeing other people. At least I think I haven't. I'm pretty sure. So his behavior was doubly unexpected.

How odd. And awkward. Again, I'd like to stay friends, but I'm not terribly interested in his advances right now. So I have to find some way to let him down without rejecting him completely. That will be a challenge. I think. I don't really know. I'm so new at this whole thing myself. Dating, acceptance and rejection have always been the most troublesome part of my socialization experience because of my own self confidence issues. Over the past year, I've gotten much better at the personal advances (my own), but I'm still a bit fuzzy on how to handle rejecting someone else, especially for those who are friends and with whom I'm emotionally invested. (Rejecting strangers was never a big deal, if I was uncomfortable, I'd go along pretending that I didn't understand that they were making the advance.) I've never dealt with rejection of people with whom I've had pre-established friendships. This is new territory. One that I have to traverse, lightly, in order to come out of it with face and dignity. Where I cognitively realize that am not responsible for his dignity, I feel emotionally responsible for his comfort and his feelings, and this is where the difficulty lies.

So, I'll need to figure this out. I think I can continue stalling, but that is only a band-aid, and a piss poor one at that. I'll have to do better for both of our sakes, and perhaps, hopefully, come out of this with stronger skills and be better prepared to handle similar situations in the future. One can only hope.

Quick and Dirty

2007-02-26T12:52:00.001-08:00

On Wednesday night I spent a couple hours with Prof #1 at my place. He said that he really needed to be fucked, and for some reason he thought I was just the man for the job. Of course, I wasn't going to argue against that particular point.

Neither of us had a lot of time, but we both wanted to enjoy ourselves. Without much ado, we both headed for the bedroom to release some much pent up tension. As we generally do, we both ended up having a really good time. Fucking him silly until and beyond the point that he's loudly moaning, I really try to make sure that he's thoroughly enjoying himself. After all this time, I still want to ensure that he's having a good time before I even consider finishing up. To do anything else would be rather rude. And even though we were both rushing because of the late hour, it still takes time to do the deed well.

We spent about an hour and a half together, and that was much less time than we normally give ourselves. Still, rushed as it did seem, the time was action packed. Down and dirty sex, it's a fine, fine thing.

Isn't that what matters?

Alibi

2007-02-22T09:34:00.000-08:00

"You know," I told Prof #2 in mock seriousness, "when you want to create an alibi, you're not supposed to tell your boyfriend exactly where you're going and with whom."

"I'm really bad at this!"

I laughed. We had gone out to get a drink after work, and we had just started talking about seeing each other again for more intimate purposes. He had just said that that he had told his boyfriend that he was going out with me to get a drink after work. I looked at him strangely, which made him give me this look of 'what did I do?'. I explained to him the intricacies of the down-low, since that was the game he wanted to play.

"No, seriously," he responded after reminding me that he was new at this whole process, "I'm really really bad with this. Obviously I'm not supposed to do that. But it just came out. I didn't know what else to say to him."

"Well, that's between you and him, but I'm sure it'll all be figured out," I said.

"It all just seems so sneaky," he said.

"It doesn't have to be," I responded.

"Well that works for you and your boyfriend, but it's not so simple for me." He looked pained.

"No, really," I said leaning towards him and looking into his eyes intently, "I understand. This process can be really difficult, and it can be disconcerting and scary." I leaned back. "I know, I'm still pretty new at this myself! But look," I locked eyes with him again, "we'll go only as fast or as slow as you want. I know how discombobulating this whole thing can seem."

He nodded.

"That's why I've been so discreet with you. I haven't called, or e-mailed, other than professional stuff that is par for the course. I haven't wanted to make you feel rushed at this, and I wanted to give you space to think."

"I really appreciate that," he said. "I'm not freaked out because of you, or even because of all of this. I'm just out of practice. Besides, I really wanted to go out for a drink tonight just to talk. There's nobody else here like you who I can just talk with, guy to guy, about stuff that seems so trivial but so important. Especially about gay stuff, I feel like I'm the only one in my department, even though I know I'm not. It's so strange."

"I know about that," I affirmed, being all too familiar with feeling like you're the only one on the block, even when you know you're not.

"So tonight, I didn't plan on anything, other than coming out for a drink. I didn't have time for anything else anyway. I like spending time with you."

"Okay," I smiled, "not a problem." I like spending time with him as well.

"Besides" he said changing the subject, "I could read between the lines on those e-mails of yours."

"What do you mean?" I asked, not really sure if I had crossed any lines because I was so careful about not doing so.

"Just how you write. You don't say anything, but you do. You're so attentive."

"You mean how I write just to remind you about meetings?"

"Yeah, just to be nice, most people don't do that just because. You started doing that recently."

"Well," I mused, "it's true. I did want to make sure I saw you."

"I thought so," he said triumphantly.

"You got me."

After about an hour and a half, we decided it was time to go. He drove me back to my car on campus, and I kissed him goodnight. He kissed me back, deeply, passionately, longingly.

"Call me," he said, "my cell phone is my own, so you can leave any message you'd like."

"I prefer being discreet."

"Okay, but you can. I'm telling you that."

We then made tentative plans to see each other on Monday of next week, and then we parted ways. All in all, it was a good night. I would have loved more, but again, he is a friend first, everything else second. It was really fun hanging out, and with all the thick sexual tension, it was really interesting too. I enjoyed playing the game this way, and while I know I'll enjoy spending some time with him physically, this arrangement ain't half bad either. Funny thing that.

Trust

2007-02-21T12:42:00.000-08:00

My boyfriend and I spent a couple of hours discussing our current sexual freedoms again this last week. I've been thinking a lot lately about the potential move to parts unknown with him once he finds himself a permanent position somewhere. I've never been one who has been comfortable making major changes or otherwise delving far outside of my comfort zone. This is evident especially in the fact that after almost a full 12 years, I've not made it out of Reno. Even after all my college friends had left, even after meeting my boyfriend and having the opportunity to move to the Bay Area with him, I've stayed. Convinced him to stay (well, as long as he could until the visa expired).

And now, just when I've created a close network of contacts, just about the time that I'm the most comfortable that I've ever been, either in a place or in my own skin, I have to truly consider moving to some far away place. I've been troubled by this, but more so, I've been troubled that I have these feelings. I feel rather selfish, rather insensitive. My close friends have told me for years that it’s time to leave Reno, and for the most part, I understand why. My teaching job at the university is fine, but not spectacular. My home is quaint and nice, but not spectacular, and until this past year, all but a very limited number of my friends have moved on from this place, leaving me as the only holdout.

So, here I am, after 12 years in one city, finally considering moving away from this place. I never would have done this with anyone else. Thinking rather seriously on the topic, I probably wouldn't have moved with my first husband even if he had the hankering to do so. While there are lots of reasons that I won’t explore in print about why that is, I can pin the concept of trust down as my main motive. I never could trust him to be responsible, and from that, I never could trust that I would be safe in a place that I wasn't familiar. Of all the attributes that my boyfriend now engenders upon me, I have to say that trust is certainly one of the primary virtues that I bestow upon him. I trust him enough to consider moving out of this town that has been my home for my entire adult life up to this point. I trust him enough to talk to him about my concerns, and not suffer this emotional ambiguity stoically in silence. I trust him enough not to sabotage my relationship with him in order to keep the most important need in my life, reliability and stability.

I have never been one to talk much about my feelings. I’m not really very good at it actually. I’ve shared some important points with my very closest of friends, but it’s taken many years for various little pieces of my life to disseminate out. Only after knowing me for some time have they even been able to begun to piece together all the parts, and even then, I keep a significant part of my life to myself. This sounds rather amusing, especially as I write about my lack of being able to share on this blog. What’s different though is that I still have significant difficulty talking about my feelings and my life, but when I’m writing, a whole new world opens up for me. In this medium I can explore the very concepts, thoughts, dreams, desires, and deeds that I could never say, am viscerally uncomfortable saying. I talked about this point with my boyfriend too. I get locked up in my own sentences when I try to talk about the very things that I write here, the concepts, the desires and hopes. We do talk, and we talk well, but I’m never able to elucidate myself as thoroughly or as eloquently as I do when I’m typing. Some might argue with me, and those who I've talked to about my verbal failings generally strongly disagree, however the perceptions are my own, and there must be validity in that.

This is especially true when I'm talking about sex. I have this strong self-censoring mechanism that manifests when I'm talking about my own sexuality and sexual behavior. I'm not sure what it is, or how to get rid of it. I simply clam up, begin to stutter, and shut down when I'm even trying to be specific about my own sexuality. It's that visceral reaction, it just takes over. I'm so glad that I do have some outlet and that I can write about this, at the very least. I know why I do this, but I'm not sure I'm ready to share that yet, even for this blog.

In order to confront my trepidation and fear about leaving this place, and ultimately this network of sexual contacts that I have made for myself this past year, I brought up the topic with my boyfriend. I wasn't able to sleep while fretting about this, and after almost three full hours of tossing and turning in my bed, I called him in order to talk. Thankfully there is a nine hour time differential, and what was well into the middle of the night (almost morning) for me was the middle of the day and his lunch for him. It's a hell of a lot more convenient than waking him up in the middle of the night to talk about my issues when I can't sleep. When I have a difficult time with something that I know should or has to be done, my general approach is to jump in and tackle the situation. So I jumped in, and told him that I'm having conflicting and ambiguous feelings about moving.

He was really understanding about it, even after I talked to him about the two main reasons why I'm concerned; firstly being that I am really happy with stability (old news) and secondly being that I'm really not looking forward to leaving this sexual network of friends that I've established for myself. He was amazingly supportive, and I felt comfortable enough (with a little forcing of myself) to tell him about this sexual revolution of my and why I'm so afraid to leave it. While it seems that I've made a lot of progress in the past year (and I have), my behavior can't really be considered that progressive. I haven't just been picking up random people on the street and offering intimacy. I've lived here a long time, I've made a lot of friends that I've known for 3, 6, 12 years and it is these long time friends that I'm exploring with. I know them and trust them, I know that even if they're not interested I won't suddenly find myself at the middle of some gossip maelstrom. I know that if they are interested and things ultimately fizzle out, again, I won't be the subject of gossip mongering. While I should know that such things aren't terribly important, to me this concept of face and reputation are important to me. Moving somewhere else will force me to start from scratch, and I know that it will be many years before I will be comfortable enough with people who I find interesting (both physically, emotionally, and with the right maturity) to be able to explore this type of life again. I'm probably overestimating, but probably not that much. It's take time for me to trust any new interests, both for the reasons of propriety, and for reasons of health. It always takes time.

After me sharing this about myself, my boyfriend disclosed a little more himself regarding some of the activities that he's been engaged in, under the direction of a sexologist that he's been seeing that had been recommended by his doctor. He too has been exploring, a little more each time. And while he's apparently no where near comfortable yet (of course he isn't, that would be a miracle if it happened that fast), he says he's making progress. I'm so very happy for him. I just want him to be comfortable in his own skin, perhaps so he can be comfortable with mine.

I know he's making the effort, which again is why I'm allowing myself to do this move when it happens. I have reservations, yes, but I'm working on them now so that I'm much more confident when this actually happens. I trust him to make some of the important sacrifices, as will I. We'll do this together, we'll work together, we'll grow together. I trust him on this.

We both have a difficult time talking about sex. I've been forced to do so because my options were to talk, or end the relationship. He was in a more comfortable position, so he didn't have to talk, especially since he wasn't comfortable doing that anyway. So now I have him talking, I'm talking, and our relationship is getting stronger even though we're still not having sex and we're living 6000+ miles apart. Ain't human determination amazing? Despite our difficulties, despite our differences, we've developed a relationship that has deepened due to the trust we have in each other and with each other. I have faith that our relationship will get better because we're both working for a better union. I trust him implicitly, and apparently he has the same faith in me. Of course I don't know for sure, but I'm going to have to trust him on that too.

I think I can do that.

Simple Discovery

2007-02-18T21:41:00.001-08:00

I had a brief visit with SOF on Saturday. He came over to my place for a quick romp since we hadn't seen each other for the past ten days or so. It'll be at least another ten days before I see him again because he's heading out of town, so our only option was then.

He couldn't stay long because he was meeting up with friends to travel over the hill to the Bay Area, so we made a quickie of it. Of course, quickies with him are always immensely satisfying so it worked out. We boinked around for about an hour before it was time to split ways.

One of the more interesting things that have developed in our sexual relationship recently is the fact that he has suddenly found this new found love for rimming me. I can't complain, I'm generally a person who loves doing the deed, but is much less comfortable with having it done to me. We, however, have discovered something that we both love - me being rimmed by him. I can't explain it, the role reversal from most of my sexual relationships is interesting to say the least. From being a predominant top and aggressive with others, to me being a suppliant bottom for him has really shown me my own adaptability. I never realized that I was so versatile, even though I've always identified as such. It's nice to know that I do have such malleability, and perhaps I can export this sexual adaptability to general confidence - as I adapt to larger social contexts more frequently.

Tip Toes

2007-02-16T13:24:00.000-08:00

I stopped by Prof #2's office today, just to touch bases about last weekend. We haven't had much time to chat this past week, and I thought it might be important to just go ahead and check on him - to make sure that everything was alright. He was in a hurry to leave the last time, and he had seemed pretty freaked out. So after this past week, I wasn't sure if he had settled some of the major issues that he may have had by himself or if he needed to talk. Instead of letting him come to me, I decided I should stop by and check in on him. To mask the reason why I was stopping by, I had to invent some topic to review though. About halfway to his office, I figured out an idea.

I made it up the stairs to his office, but it was empty and I had to turn around. I met him as I was halfway down the stairs. He was walking up with and talking to his colleague, an office neighbor, and a friend of my boyfriend. She was very friendly, and I played the part with sociable interest, when my mind was set solely on checking in on Prof #2. After parting with her at her office, the prof showed me into his.

"Shut the door behind you," he said softly.

I was mostly interested in talking today and apparently he too was keen on talking about something, or more. To not seem presumptuous and completely lacking of grace, after greeting him with the conventional niceties, I brought up the various events and activities that had happened on campus this week. Now, because this sexual relationship with him had really progressed at light speed, we hadn't really established or developed a rapport about how we were going to go about this, and how comfortable he was interacting beyond the purely professional on terms that were not his own. Me not being a man who is comfortable with small talk, especially in a forum such as this where I'm not sure of my footing; I'll find myself at a loss of what to say and how to act appropriately for the situation. Again, it's a situation of comfortability. If I'm remotely comfortable, I'm fine. But if I'm really not sure of the situation, I falter quickly even as I'm struggling to stay afloat.

As I was talking, he interrupted me, "You look nice today."

When I'm really getting lost, mired up in the little voices in my head screaming RUN!, I switch to a new strategy and cut to the chase. In this case, my head wasn't screaming to run. Instead I simply lost my train of though. In both scenarios, I resort to saying what's exactly on my mind, blunt as it might be because otherwise I lose track of my intended point. This is especially true if I'm trying to juggle socially acceptable ways to express what I have on my mind; I get mired up in the process rather than the moment. Today, I ended up blurting out my ulterior motive because I wasn't sure what else to talk about.

"I just," I stammered as I was trying to decide whether I should say this as I was already saying it, "I just wanted to make sure that you were alright after last weekend." God, I can be such an idiot.

Apparently, it came off well though, because he seemed really happy that I asked. He even said so. He explained that he was mentally focusing on the point that he left without me getting off. "You must think I'm an insensitive prick," he said. I disagreed, explaining to him that I'm perfectly able to understand how disconcerting this whole experience must be for him, and that I hadn't even thought about it. (Which is true, by the way.) "I've never done this before!" he reiterated. "And I don't know what I'm doing! I mean. When you told me that I smelled like sex, I didn't even think about it, and what if I went home like that? And then showering and coming home with wet hair, I'm so glad it rained that day."

"Well, I have some experience with that."

Apparently between his inexperience, his nervousness, and his sudden urge to escape.

"Don't get me wrong," he clarified, "I'm really glad we can do this. I mean I had a much better Valentine's day with [my boyfriend]. I didn't have expectations because I was frustrated. We talked, we cuddled, it was great!"

"I'm glad."

"Well, we didn't have sex, but we haven't in 12 years, so..."

I shrugged.

"I'm glad I have you though, without you, I would be going crazy right now. I was going crazy."

"I know the feeling," I said, because I know all too well.

"I know you do, that's why this is so great, but I feel like such a jerk..."

"Don't worry, I'm glad you're okay. I was concerned about that. Don't worry about me, especially about the getting off thing. I didn't because I couldn't. I can't ever when I'm with somebody for the first time. That's just me."

"That really makes me feel better."

"Good, because it's true." I had more to say though, so I continued, "I want you to know something though, because I think we need to just say this stuff because it's important"

He looked at me questioningly.

"First," I said, while kneeling and resting my chin on the edge of his desk, "I've already said this, but it bears repeating. I don't have anything communicable, and I'm tested every three or so months."

"I was just tested too, a couple of weeks ago," he said, "and I haven't had sex with anyone else for years so you don't have to worry about me either."

"Ok, that's out of the way. Second, I want to be friends, nothing more. I think..."

He opened his mouth, and I stopped talking. He said, "Yeah, this can get complicated emotionally."

"Yeah," I said, "I think that we need to be clear that if we continue, that this is a sexual relationship and not an emotional one."

"That really makes me feel better. I'm glad you said that."

"Definitely. No matter what happens," I said, "I'm going back home to [my boyfriend]."

"I'm really glad you said that. I'm really relieved." He sat back in his chair. "I'm really relieved that I'm not the only one who can separate sexual relationships from emotional ones. I just thought that there was something wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you. I concur completely."

"That's great. But there seems like there's something so sneaky and wrong about this."

"You've said that before, what do you mean?"

"Well, we're having an affair!"

"You could look at it that way," I conceded, "but most affairs are emotional attachments, at least for one party. Right?"

"I suppose."

"Neither of us are emotionally attached. We're acting in a mutually advantageous way. Thus it's not necessarily an affair in the traditional sense."

"Why are we talking about this now? I don't want to talk about this now. Let's talk about something else."

"We need to talk about it now so that we can get it out of the way so we don't have to talk about it again."

"I guess so," he said, looking sullen. "I hope so."

And then I conceded that the time for this conversation was over. We could finish this up some other time. He had work to do, and so did I really - so I stood up.

"It is really good to see you," he said.

"Likewise," I grinned and gave him a mock curtsy. He came over, pecked me on the lips and I smiled at him before turning around and saying goodbye.

So, this is going to be interesting. We'll see how it turns out, and where it goes. He's obviously wrestling with demons, which I don't blame him for doing. I was too when I was first beginning to explore this new world of sexuality. I hope that he finds himself a place where he's comfortable, and I'm rather predisposed to hope that that place is further exploration with me, perhaps amongst others. I can share. In the meantime though, I'll hold his hand to help him if he needs it, and step back to give him room to breathe when he needs that too. This process is a very personal journey, and from my own experience, it'll take a bit of time before he's ready to step off the trail and jump into the icy blue of the waters yet unexplored. I'm glad I was there to guide him as his feet got wet though. We're both still tip toeing through this, but doing so has made this even more interesting.

We'll see when, and if, we will have more opportunities to explore. I'm willing to be patient through this, wherever it leads. I'm certainly going to join him if he offers future availability on his card. But how or when that will happen next, only time will tell.

Roses

2007-02-15T15:24:00.000-08:00

For Valentine's I unexpectedly received a potted bouquet of miniature roses from my boyfriend. We don't usually send flowers to each other though, because despite the cliched fact that they only have a limited time in this world before fading - this fine young gentleman (myself) don't need no more plants.

My thumb is so green, it practically glows with radioactive fervor. Give me a plant, and I must keep it happy, healthy and, well alive. I have no other options. I have so many plants in my house, it could almost be mistaken for a greenhouse or florist's shop.

So I was surprised to get the roses. I love them, but it's important for me to push them out of the house as quickly as possible. I have a place in mind to plant them, but it will be a month or so before it's safe to do that here because of the winter season. In the meantime though, I do have a lovely miniature rose bush in the house to remind me of my boyfriend's love. Awwww.

And that's pretty sweet.

Has it already been a year?

2007-02-12T13:06:00.000-08:00

I've always believed that the best sex is sex with a person that you are familar, comfortable, and trust. This past year has reinforced my belief, through practice, exploration, and patience. Having sex with close friends, I've finally found that I can let go, and be comfortable in the fact that even if I get a little freaky in bed, my buddy won't judge me or be strangely wary of my newfound predilictions. Well, that and I can do things I know he likes without having to think, wonder, or ask 'Do you like that?', 'what's that face for?', and 'am I hurting you'. I damn well know what he likes.

This is my current life. I have to say I have a great set-up right now. I have steady sex with a few people, mostly two, but I could put a third and now even perhaps a fourth person easily in there. I have good sex with these people. I have exploratory sex with other people who aren't my regular fuck buddies, but are friends nonetheless. I'm looking to expand my fuck buddy repertoire. Right now, I have an interesting and engaging sex life.

And I'm enjoying myself!

It's a long way from the monogomous (or celibate) man I was just a little over a year ago. My blog is almost a year old at this point, and it's time for me to look over what I've done, learned, and how I've grown and changed over this past year. Boy, how things have changed. I'm a much more confident man now than I was then. I had ideas of where I wanted this to go back then, but now I'm doing the things I set out to do. I'm no longer beating myself up for not being the person that I had always thought I should be, as defined by heterosexual norms. Emotionally, I'm a monogomous person being connecting strongly tete-a-tete. Sexually however, the game is completely different. I thrive sowing the wild oats, and I realize that I was sexually stunted when I engaged in my monogomous relationships. I have a diverse proclivities and one person can't meet my more carnal and exploratory needs. Multiple sexual partners meet most, if not all, of my needs and I'm a much less frustrated and insecure person through this.

As if security were rolled up in sexual activity.

My boyfriend and I are doing infinitely better. We're communicating better, getting along better, and understanding each other's perspective a bit more than we were then. When I started this blog a year ago, I was just a step away from leaving him. Now I have a hard time imagining my life without him, even though I am living more than 6000 miles from at the moment. I've come to a place in my life where I find, even though he lives a quarter of the way around the world, that I want to spend the rest of my life with him. I can imagine a future with this man, and the modifications that we've made in our relationship, although non-traditional in a heterosexual schema, work pretty well for the most part. There are still some bugs to work out, specifically trying to find a better compromise about our sex lives together, but that's happening too because we're both talking about our concerns rather than ignoring them.

Sure, he still has a hard time communicating about his personal sexual issues, but I'm doing much better - and with that I'm able to start the conversations rather than ignoring these things or sweeping them under the rug. I'm not perfect, and I too have my own difficulties communicating. This active approach though has been instructive and positive for both of us, athough it has its moments of intense emotional distress and disequilibrium. My relationship with my boyfriend has always had lots of good potential, and we both have stuck it out through some tough times. While we are still in the middle of a transition, it has begun. We are moving forward. We are sticking together. We are working towards a better understanding. We are stronger. We are both learning much about ourselves, and each other. We are staying together.

What a difference a year makes.

Who's the freak?

2007-02-11T10:57:00.000-08:00

I invited Prof #2 over for lunch yesterday, I was supposed to go to the San Francisco Bay Area, but the rain in Reno and the snow over the Sierra Nevada effectively nixed that idea. Driving over Donner Summit in the snow is not a terrible thing, I done it many scores of times; however if one can avoid it, then that is certainly the best bet. The pass definitely would have been slippery at best, and downright dangerous at worst. And as every driver in the world would put it, 'I'm not worried about my driving. It's the other drivers that scare me.' In this case, it's true. I was raised in and near the mountains. Snow driving is no big deal as long as you keep your head on and your wits about you, but you still can't count on the other crazy California drivers to do the same.

So instead, I made plans for home. Prof #2 has never been to the house even though my boyfriend and I have always meant to invite him and his partner over on many occasions. It had never worked out though, so yesterday was his first trip out. I didn't bring along his other half though. (Just to be fair though, I did invite them both for lunch, but the prof declined to pass the invitation along.)

So I made lunch, and for a while, we talked about work. Slowly but surely, however, the conversation drifted to more interesting things. "I hope I didn't make you late for your class," he said as he was finishing his soup.

"Nah," I responded, "They're used to me coming in early for help. I'm usually there a half hour in advance." After our kissing session on Thursday, I showed up to class with only five minutes to spare, and they were a bit anxious. "They'll have to learn to deal."

"It wasn't easy going back to my office to that student either," he said. "Besides the fact that I had a great time with you..."

"I did too!" I interrupted.

"But it was a long walk back to my office," he continued. "I had to adjust something in my pants that took a while to go down."

"I'm certainly glad that I had my sweater on. That would have been an interesting start to class otherwise!"

"Well, that and there was other evidence. My pants were pretty wet."

"What?"

"I leak. A lot. I had to pull my shirt out and go casual after lunch."

Wow, I thought. That's got to be some gasket there. I don't mind precum as long as it's not foul tasting. Actually, it can be pretty damned fantastic. So... "Oh," I said grinning, "That must have been terrible for you." I added, "I'm not much of a leaker. I have to be either really really excited, or I have to be fucked for some time before I develop any precum."

He raised his eyebrows at me, "Really?"

I realized that I was a bit more forthright than I planned at that moment. So I said nothing, while thinking 'What the hell did I just say?!'. There was silence.

"So!" I said cheerfully, changing the subject after the moment dragged a bit longer than I was comfortable. "I hoped you liked lunch. Let me take that for you," referring to his empty bowl of soup. 'Oh my god, I am a freak!' screamed in my head. I began to panic. Silently. Privately. What if he thinks I'm a freak? Yes, he obviously wants the same thing I do, but what if I was too forward? Am I supposed to say something? What am I supposed to do?

After the flash of panic crossed my face, I hadn't gotten up yet. He stood up, walked around the table, bent over and kissed me as I looked up at him. "Does that help?" he asked.

"Yes. Yes it does." I exhaled. I didn't realize I was holding my breath.

"Well, it was you or me," he said winking at me. "I guess this time it was my turn."

I smiled at him, still a bit mortified by what I had said. Not that this wasn't the setting, because it was. It's just that the moment was all wrong. Or it was perfect to break the ice and the formality. I'm not sure. It worked out well. Perhaps that's all that matters.

Moving on.

And we did, right towards the bedroom. He grabbed my hand as we began to move in that direction and kissed me again. He bending down slightly as I was on my toes. We continued kissing while moving, even as I backed into the bedroom door frame. We spent several minutes there, and I was quite enjoying running his hands through his thick black hair. I must have relaxed at one point, and come back down off my toes when he pulled back slightly.

"I'm sorry!" he said, and then he embraced me. "I didn't mean to back you against the door."

"You have nothing to worry about," I said, kissing him again. I'll let you know if I want something to change."

I was turned on. I loved his scent, his lips, the feel of his skin against my fingers. Perhaps it was because it was my first time with him, or perhaps it's because he's hot - Actually, it's definitely both. I pulled him toward the bed and on top of me. We continued to kiss passionately as we awkwardly ripped each other's clothes off, and then continued kissing for a goodly time longer.

While taking his pants off, I got my first look at his cock. This man has a huge cock. It seemed as thick as a beer can, and almost as long as Prof #1. I freaked out for a split second, all in my head, holy hell, how am I going to fit that anywhere? I then flashed to another thought, which kept insisting that he was a bottom, so I ignored the scared little voice.

During a moment of air, I looked at him. He had taken off his glasses, and with them off, he seemed much more dominant and masculine than he did with them on. Suddenly the Irish-Italian butch shown through as he kneeled over me, especially with that monster in view.

Just as I was about to say something, he beat me to it. "You're beautiful," he told me. "You're perfectly proportioned. You're absolutely beautiful."

"Now I know why I was intimidated by you," I said grinning.

"I don't know why you keep saying that," he said. "Why would you be intimidated by me?"

"Hmm. Probably because I always thought you were way out of my league."

"Why would you say that?"

"Well, besides a lot of things you would argue with me about, so I'm not going to mention them. Because." Specifically, I was really thinking about his partner of the past decade and the fact that he is just so nice... and moral. Looking back as I write this though, those are the exact same qualities that various friends and acquaintances pin on me come to think of it.

"Shut up," he commanded as we switched positions so that he flipped over and I was lying on top of him.

"Fine," I said, "I have two things to tell you," as I pinned his arms down so that he was securely underneath me. He looked at me quizzically. "First, I'm not fragile." He chuckled at that. "Second, I give as good as I get."

His eyebrows raised, "Is that a challenge?"

"You better believe it."

And we began to play in earnest. He was honest. He is a copious leaker. Gallons copious, although that may be just exaggerating it the slightest bit. I'm not exaggerating his size though, by the way.

As we romped around, apparently I continued grinning at him, that is between the times that I had my mouth on his cock, lips, nipples or ass.

"You're making me nervous!" he exclaimed.

"What, how?" I asked, confused.

"You keep grinning, it makes me self-conscious."

"Oh, I do that when I'm nervous, or happy. Right now I'm both." I assembled a deadpan face, "I can be serious if you'd like."

"No, No!" he said, laughing. "That's not what I meant. You're just so beautiful. You're like an Adonis. Somebody should sculpt you or take a sample of your genetic code for an ark or something."

Now I again, was the self-conscious one, suddenly aware of and willing to debate all of my physical imperfections. I swallowed my response, however and replied, "Um, thanks." To prevent further talk and to prevent further embarrassment from both of our own obvious sense of insecurity, I kissed him again, forcefully while simultaneously grinding my body against his. He responded well to that stimulus.

We ended up fucking each other. He fucked me first, and even with his huge cock, I took it like a trooper. I told him I wasn't fragile, so I had to live up to my statement. It didn't take long of my fucking him before he came all over himself. I was so turned on, I ended up licking the cum off his stomach. I kissed him again, testing him just a bit, to see where his limits were. He was game.

"You fucked me!" he said, astonished.

"So did you!"

"Once I start getting fucked, I cum almost immediately. I have no stamina for that."

"I'm like that too, most of the time. That's why I let you fuck me first." I then added, "I take it you're not generally a bottom."

"No, I'm almost always a top."

"Funny, so am I!" with most people. I didn't say that last part, it wasn't the proper context. I've already learned my lesson about blurting out things. "I'm generally pretty versatile though. I enjoy giving it just the tiniest bit more than getting it." Suddenly, I thought of something else. "I didn't hurt you did I?" I wasn't sure because I didn't do anything too crazy, not knowing him well enough to take risks or liberties, but for someone who isn't normally a bottom, even a little bit can be too much.

"No, you were fine."

"I'm not really terribly large enough to hurt you too much," I said, referring to my modest 6 incher.

"I think you have the largest dick that I've ever let fuck me. Besides, you're not small, you're pretty thick yourself."

Privately, I thought it was a crock of bullshit, but hey, a compliment is a complement - and it's important to pass the joy around. "Well, you are the proud owner of one of the largest and most beautiful cocks I've ever seen."

"Stop," he quipped, "You're embarrassing me."

So I pulled him on top of me and kissed him some more, mashing the slick stuff between both of us.

"Let's see if we could do that again, shall we?" I asked.

"I have to go." He said beginning to sit up.

"Really?" and I kissed him again. "Are you sure?" I laid him back down and continued kissing him.

"I didn't need a lot of convincing," he said, his voice muffled as he kissed my face. "But I really have to go."

"No you don't, we can do this again in a half hour... just enough time for you to recharge."

"I can't. I got out of the house because I said I have to work, so I should go to my office to get that done."

"Or not. You can say you did though."

"This is so fifties" He lamented, sighing.

"What do you mean?" I asked, not understanding the reference.

"It's like, 1950, and I'm sneaking out of the house to have an affair."

"Well, you don't have to sneak. You could try walking. It's so much less cloak and dagger."

"It's not funny. I don't have a relationship with [my partner] like you do with [your boyfriend]. I can't tell him what I'm doing. He would freak out."

"I promise I won't tell."

He looked at me.

"No, really. I understand. I also promise I won't give him an opportunity to figure it out," I said. "It'll all be strictly professional."

"We do have the perfect alibi, don't we?" he stated more than asked. "We work together, we do social stuff together, I worked with [your boyfriend] for I don't know how long."

"Well, if you really have to go, you should shower."

"What? Why?" he asked, obviously confused.

"You smell like sex."

"No I don't."

"You have cum smashed into your stomach and the scent of me all over you. You need to shower."

"Really?"

"Yes!" I pulled him up and towards the master bath.

"I'm really not good at this." he shook his head, "I've never done this before!"

"Well, I'll help you practice."

"I haven't showered with anybody for I don't know how long."

"Not even with [your partner]?" I asked, astonished.

"Nope, we stopped doing that years ago."

"No time to start like the present!"

So I soaped him off. And brought him back to full attention. I started teasing his cock a little more, to see how far I could get with him.

"No, no, no. I've got to go."

So I let him. He seemed like he was in a post-coital shock, and his only option was to escape. I understood that, I've been there, especially when I was first starting this sexual exploration a year ago. Because of that I wanted to encourage him to enjoy himself, but at the same time validate his need to sort this all out. So I helped him find his clothes and showed him to the door. As I was showing him out, we regressed to small talk, he was suddenly obviously very nervous.

"This is all so freaky," he blurted out. "It's so strange. I had a good time with you, but..."

"I understand. I enjoyed myself too," I said. "I'll see you sooner than later. We have to talk about the student project for Tuesday."

"Sure. Okay."

"You know you're way back from here?" I asked.

"I'll find my way back."

And we said goodbye.

An hour and a half later I got a call from him. "I'm sorry I was a freak," he said.

I should have said, 'No problem, you were fine!' but I didn't. I told him, "No problem, everybody get a little overwhelmed."

"I didn't mean to rush out like that. I had a really good time with you, and I didn't want you to think I didn't. This is all so new to me."

"It's okay," I tried to reassure him, "sometimes people act a little freaky when they get nervous. I did too. No worries."

"I didn't pick up that," he said. "You seemed fine."

"Oh, well, I cover it up well."

"Apparently."

I told him that I hoped to see him soon, but I didn't want to seem too eager, especially since he was still trying to digest his choices and what we had just done. I can handle it, I've been there, but he apparently needs some time to think it through. Perhaps a lot of time, I won't know until he's ready, whenever that is. I'll just be patient to see where it goes.

I did have a really good time with him though. Besides all the initial nervousness, we clicked well together. We had a good time in bed together, and with a little time and practice, I get the feeling that if we continue to engage then we'll find ourselves a whole slew of fun. We are also vaguely similar in our general lives, although the specifics are different. We're both scifi nuts, even if he's more of a tv viewer than I am. He likes to quote lines. I like to pretend I only vaguely know of the series, even if it's my favorite. We both are born teachers, and we both have a passion for queer activism.

So we'll see where this goes. While it was not necessarily a rough start, it was ... eventful. Being freaky, in all connotations, is certainly enough to keep me interested.

Eventful Week

2007-02-08T14:33:00.000-08:00

This week has been an interesting one! On Tuesday, I spent some quality time with SOF and then afterwards, I ended up kissing Prof #2. On Wednesday, I spent a couple of hours with Prof #1. Today, I spent a lot more time kissing Prof #2 in my office just after we had lunch together.

Yeah. That. I think I've found a new friend. Well, a new friend found in an old friendly relationship. I like this guy, and current indications forecast that we're both going to be well entrenched in the 'we're very alike' way, and not in the 'I'm in love' way.

Excellent.

He's nice, funny, engaging, interesting, cute, and relatively near my age.

Woo Hoo!

Our second kissing session was significantly more passionate. I almost missed the beginning of my class because I wasn't paying attention to the time. When I realized what time it was, I kissed him even more, cutting it very close. It was rather stimulating, to say the least. Thankfully I was wearing a baggy sweater, so that when I walked into my class, the evidence of my actions just prior was discretely concealed.

So, we'll see what happens next. I'm not sure how far it'll go yet, and I know that my first time with him will lead to a lot of trembling. My personal goal is to see if I can get through that. I don't have any definitive plans with him yet, but I think that once something does happen, regardless of my own quirks, it'll certainly be fun!

I am such a nerd

2007-02-07T11:30:00.000-08:00

Or a slut. Probably both. Definitely both.

I kissed a professor last night. Not Prof #1, not SOF, not CFAD. I work with him in several committees throughout our campus gay activism, and I've known him for awhile because he used to work with my boyfriend. That is, until my boyfriend left for Europe.

We went to a meeting, then afterwards the two of us went out for a beer to talk about activism stuff. Truly. That was my intent. His too, I'm sure. After a half hour and most of one beer in me though, I started to lose inhibition. (It's the Asian blood, it doesn't take much to saturate on alcohol.) At which time I told him he was cute.

The conversation then turned away from work and towards the more personal. We talked about our boyfriends. We talked about how we are in similar situations, because our boyfriends aren't terribly sexual (in his case) or not at all (um, that's me). He touched my leg, I touched his. It went on for a couple of hours. Later some students showed up at the bar, and they were quite clearly watching us, so it was time to leave. It's a small town, and an even smaller university, so it's important to not give fodder for gossip. As we were driving home, he shared that he was really happy to spend time with me tonight. I agreed, telling him that I enjoyed his company. He put his hand on my leg. I hesitated, then put my hand on his.

I suddenly had no idea what to talk about. I didn't know what to say. What do you say when this happens. I'm exploring, but I'm still so god damned new at this. We drove back to my car on campus and we talked about doing this again. I looked at him. He looked back. Silence. I debated about whether or not I should kiss him and if I should ask. He beat me to it and asked. We kissed. Softly, gently, intensely. We kissed again.

I had to wait a moment before I could get out of the car. As I did, I didn't know what to say - suddenly I was mute again. He asked me to call him. I assured him I would, and suggested plans for lunch on Friday. I then acted awkward. Well, I think I did. I seriously suddenly had nothing to say. That and I had a throbbing erection that I felt I suddenly needed to hide. God I feel so giddy and high school What is that? I'm not usually like this. I wasn't like this last weekend with Mr. Handsome from the Bay Area. I'm attracted to this prof, definitely, but I didn't want to be weird. So what did I do? I acted weird. I was suddenly self-conscious and to me, it seemed conspicuously so.

Brilliant.

We'll see if he thinks I'm an idiot after this.

I am such a nerd.

And to top it off, I realize as I'm driving away, two of our students are sitting on the step of the women's dorm, with stadium seats to our little display, kiss, awkward exit, good-bye, all of it. There goes being discreet.

Here's to hoping that they weren't paying attention.

Aversion

2007-02-06T15:27:00.000-08:00

I've been avoiding my former employer these past couple of months. He's called back a couple of times after our conversation in November, but I just don't feel comfortable talking with him. I might be exploring my sexual boundaries, but I'm not ready to cross very specific boundaries - and one of those include being placed on his pegboard. And he's made it very clear that I'm interesting to him.

He has quite the reputation of getting around. And while that in itself is not so much of a problem (because now I certainly have no room to talk), I know most of the people he's slept with. Now that too isn't so much of a problem, because I definitely don't mind sleeping with friends, but it all seems too close to home. That and if I sleep with him, then I have the potential of sleeping with half of Reno. I would just be another notch on that pegboard, another conquest that he'd would have no interest in pursuing. Now, I like having regular sex with friends, not one-night stands. I'm not looking for a relationship with anyone (other than my boyfriend), but I'm also not looking to be completely shallow either. I'm more comfortable with the relationship level in between coupledom and strangers. I'm comfortable with the fuckbuddy level, no more, no less.

Whatever, this is me, and my life. I better damn well do what I like, not what I'm pressured into. Yeah, I do have this awkward, difficult, strange, unusual relationship with my boyfriend, but that was a choice that I wanted to make. Sleeping with my former employer because he and I are both randy despite my misgivings doesn't seem so noble, somehow.

So when he calls, I defer to the fact that I'm busy. I don't have time to fool around (with him), I have to work. It is the beginning of the semester. I have classes to teach and supervise. Weekends are swamped. I'm out of town, or catching up on the housecleaning, or visiting with friends. I've got a million other things to do.

He's hot, but he knows it. And he's getting older. There are a million other opportunities (well, in Reno, 70 or so viable opportunities), and besides, if everybody knows what he's up to, it is easily inferred that if I engage with him, then there will be scuttlebutt about me being with him. I don't need that kind of attention. Keep all this on the down-low. Keeps my options more open that way, people won't be afraid of associating with me because of open gossip, nor will they be daunted by the string of lovers. Both concerns have had their fair share of play in my mind about him.

Out of sight, out of mind, eh? What a double standard! Funny that.

I ain't the chatty type

2007-02-05T22:25:00.000-08:00

So when does text chatting cross the line and turn into phone sex? And why am I so uncomfortable with both? I don't mind flirting, over the phone, text, or (now more so) in person, but actual phone or text sex... not so okay with that. It's not that I think that such behavior is wrong; I just don't like to do it.

Being that I like the real thing so much, why not have fun with this extension? Honestly, I have no clue. I get turned on by reading gay stories, but sexual talk over the phone live just doesn't appeal to me. Strangely complicated creature I am. I've never enjoyed IM chatting either, which makes sense thematically. This lack of enthusiasm for naughty communication takes me a notch down from being a juicy sexually liberated deviant (not in a bad way) and trots me straight back toward the realm of vanilla, but it's just something at which I've never been interested. (Could refer to my sex life as vanilla? Probably, in some circles.)

Back to my distaste of explicit texting, case in point, yesterday SOF texted me, to which I began chatting nonchalantly:

SOF: Did u have a good weekend?

Tildar: I had my mother here [various random chat], but it was nice nonetheless. You?

SOF: Not so bad. Exercised. Sure enjoyed being w u last wk and would enjoy seeing u very soon. What's in store for u this wk?

Tildar: Same as last and for the next 15 weeks. But tuesday looks good.

SOF: Ah! Well, it looks good for me too. Should be home by 430 or 5. Shall we plan a get together at my place?

Tildar: Absolutely

SOF then became amorous, and I let myself play along for a bit.

SOF: Kewl. I have some major issues with your ass that need addressing in great depth... so to speak ;)

Tildar: Well then. Perhaps we should address your concerns then

SOF: Oh MIGHT we, m'lad?? That does my heart much good. God, I love flirting w u almost as much as fucking u, baby...

I then was decidedly uncomfortable. No good reason why. I was alone in my own house, but I just don't like sexual banter when I'm not engaging. I'm kinda quiet in bed most of the time, if albeit active (I've never been much of a talker, moaner, grunter, etc. None of that 'give it to me!' stuff). The other person can talk all he wants, it's generally pretty hot when they do, I just don't chime in. However, when I'm not actually being sexual, I'm really uninterested in taking the talk to a place that I can't be at that moment.

Tildar: Keep your strength, you'll need it

SOF: Oh yeah. Want to have quick phone sex now or wait for real thing? I can step out. You make me get wild in an instant!

Tildar: Save that strength of yours for the real thing

I was shutting him down, but he took it to be playful. That's certainly a better outcome then offending him. Thankfully he wasn't upset at my short answers. At least, it didn't seem so.

SOF: OK. Will still jo in a lil while in ur honor. Sleep will. Let's talk tues morn and look forward to ur company that afternoon.

And then we texted our good-byes. I'm going to enjoy seeing him tomorrow, but text chat, phone chat, it all seems so icky. Perhaps it's because at that moment, I feel like we are sneaking around. I mean, we have done our sneaking, but it's exciting in the moment. At these other times, it just feels... dirty. I can't really explain it.

It'll be interesting to see how I sort this one out if I ever try. I'm not too concerned about this particular quirk though, I have bigger things to be concerned about and more important things to try to change in myself. Being uncomfortable with phone and text chat is so far off the back burner, I haven't even looked at the recipe yet. Perhaps one day I'll get to it - if it ever becomes something important to consider.

Time to Dilly Dally

2007-02-04T13:31:00.000-08:00

After exploring the joys of being fucked on Tuesday, on Wednesday I did a little fucking of my own. Grinding into the prof is my specialty, and one that we both have a lot of joy performing. For some reason even the intended quickies last much longer than planned, and instead of the hour and a half that I had allocated, I ended up doubling my time.

Not that that's a problem or anything. Twice the time means twice the fucking - or is it once? We both only came once, and there wasn't much time dilly dallying. As I was thrusting into him, I thought about how I wanted that feeling to last forever, there is nothing quite like having sex with a man who you know how to pleasure. That pleasure is all the more heightened when you know he likes being fucked, evidenced by his giant erection bouncing around in open air, or against my stomach, each clap of his heavy thick cock against my skin timed to those thrusts.

He had prepared some poppers, but neither of us used them, we were having too much fun to break up the rhythm to stop and bother with extraneous things. As I folded him over and over again over the bed, I did my best to connect against his prostate with my cock in as many ways as I possibly could. Inhaling poppers would have shifted my focus back towards myself, and that would have been distracting and selfish. I wanted to hear him moan and beg for it, and from what I was already doing, my wish was being fulfilled.

Pulling out with a POP! and pushing back in, I churned him up something good. The feeling of his ass on my cock was beyond good, beyond fantastic, it was quite literally explosive. Much of my struggle in that two hours of actual fucking was trying not to cum. Usually I have a rhythm that I can settle into, keeping myself as hard as a rock, but not worrying about pulling the trigger too soon. This past Wednesday I had no such safety, and it made me all the more inventive as I man-handled him into different positions in order to resist anything too premature. Miraculously, I was successful up until the time we where both ready, him quivering and quibbling incoherently from the experience.

That was a job well done! I ended up collapsing afterwards on top of him, he too had already sprawled out across his bed from exhaustion. We drifted off to sleep together for about a half an hour before I realized what the time was. I had to get home since it was already after 10:00 p.m. I had a long day at work the next day, and it just wouldn't do (either for our specifically defined relationship or for my own sense of boundaries) if I came into work the next day wearing the same clothing.

Redoubling my effort to come back to some sense of alertness, so as to at least make the drive home, I bid him goodbye. I had spent much more time with him than we both had planned, and now it was the time to stop dilly dallying so that I could go home. I shrugged off the fatigue, kissed him goodbye as he lie in his bed, sleep taking him again almost immediately as I made my way out the bedroom door. I let myself out into the cold dry winter night, the pain of inhaling the freezing air waking me up more than I already had been. I drove home with the windows down, the cold wind keeping my mind clear albeit chilled. I later crawled into my own warm bed and I must have fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow because I remember nothing until my alarm woke me the next morning.

I had tuckered myself out. And while I know that happens to many of us men, I'm so happy that am able to do this. That I've allowed myself do do this. That I have wonderful men with whom I can do this. Right now, life is rather grand.

Holy! Mother of....

2007-02-01T19:37:00.000-08:00

On Tuesday before heading off to some post-work responsibilities with students, I made a quick trip to go see SOF. While wrestling with him a bit on the bed, I gripped his erection, suddenly realizing just how thick it was. Compared to my own, it's the same length, but his diameter is much, much greater.

Think zucchini, not cucumber.

"Does that really fit in me?" I asked rhetorically. "Jesus, are you sure you haven't been getting thicker?"

He shrugged, he didn't seem to think so.

Taken aback, I imagined just how much I have to dilate to let that monster can in me. And I enjoy it. And I'm not broken. Now that's some kind of miracle. Not bad for an Asian guy who is 5'4" and 122 pounds.

He treats me well. He knows how to go for the poke, without causing me searing pain. Quite the opposite, he fits better then anybody else by whom I've ever been fucked. With him, I beg for deeper, harder, faster, longer. Am I sure I'm not a total bottom? Oh yeah, I love fucking other men. Am I still sure? Definitely, with most other guys, I can only take so much before hopping off and telling them to turn over for my go. Even if we flip-flop again, I'm going to fuck your brains out; nicely, gently at first, then you better hold on while I pivot on your prostate until you start calling upon the gods in esurient joy.

But this is not me, this is him and I'm the one who is voracious.

Does size not matter? Is it really the motion of the ocean? Who cares. I love being fucked by him. I couldn't ever imagine fucking him.

I'm his bottom, and we both quite like it just like that. Ain't life grand?

Action Packed Weekend

2007-01-31T11:08:00.000-08:00

This last weekend was rather entertaining and there was a bit of fun mixed in as well. I headed off to the Bay Area to visit myfairy drag mothers, who were hosting a white trash themed party. Now, political correctness aside, this shindig was a celebration of boxed wine, tasty but crappy-for-your-health snacks, frightening dishes of spam, and extremely tacky props.

He had a bit of fun together, and unlike the last time I saw them, I was more relaxed this time and I could actually enjoy myself. I was less stressed about the triad emotional potentials that I had so blown out of proportion this last May. This time, I knew where my boundaries and limits were in general. I'm more comfortable with my body and my sexuality, and I'm also more comfortable with my personal limitations. The little screwy thingys that I know will happen don't stress me out anymore. I know that if I probably won't cum when I'm playing for the first time with somebody, or if it had been a long time. I don't have to be embarrassed about this. More importantly though, I've learned where my own moral compass is, and I am no longer torn between what I want to do and what I feel like I should be doing.

I have no other friends like these particular friends. While outstandingly successful professionals, they also engage in simple fun without fear of their projected maturity levels. Freud would be proud, they love low-brow jokes, anal jokes, sexual jokes, the sky's the limit. When I was in my first couple of years of college, as I was developing my emerging sexuality, I used to engage in jokes with the quality and content that these boys still do. They aren't embarrassed about it, and while I learned to be embarrassed by my own behavior because of the friends that I had made many years ago in college, they apparently had different friends. I love them and appreciate the freedom that they have, and when I'm with them, I'm still learning to let go and actually have fun with the sexual jokes. I've spent the past 12 years self-censoring, now I have the opportunity to let go and be perverse - I just need get comfortable saying random things.

If only I lived closer to more people who believed the same, rather than in Reno where false propriety reigns.

Ah well, it was nice not having to be concerned about the little voices of morality for a weekend. On Saturday morning after a lovely hot tub soak in the morning sun, we dabbled with each other a bit, explored some more intense sex than we had before, although I couldn't finish myself off.

While we were still setting up for the party, one of my drag mother's close friends showed up a bit early. He's a very handsome man, almost exactly my height, older than me, and I thought, completely out of my league. I had met him a couple of years before, but I had kept my distance. When I'm smitten, my most common reaction is to clam up. Disappear. Be busy doing other things. However, I didn't have most of those choices available to me this time since I was helping to set up and with how few of us were there at the time, to disappear or clam up would have just been rude. So I didn't, and we talked. And talked. And talked some more.

We talked about his life, my life, his ex, my boyfriend.

The party came along, and while we both separated long enough to mingle, we continued talking. I was fascinated by him, not just physically, but he was just so damned interesting. I felt this connection. I realized that we could easily be fast friends. I wanted something to happen, but simultaneously, I didn't. At 10 o'clock, he apparently had to go home and asked me to walk him out. I did, and he kissed me. I kissed back. I was impressed.

I really did want him. But it was obvious that it wasn't going to happen that night, so I held him. I held him for a long moment. Then something came over me and I did something frightfully forward and probably inappropriate, I put my hands down his pants.

I regretted it almost immediately. He didn't protest, but while I was interested in more, I wasn't interested in specifically that. I realized I had just cheapened everything that had happened thus far. I'm still learning those boundaries, and timing, and appropriate behavior. God, sometimes it's just so much easier to be distant and safe than to take risks.

The next morning, my drag mothers were interested in what had happened. Politely, they weren't pushing, but hoped I'd share. While soaking in the hot tub in the morning sunlight again, I told them. I was interested in this person, but wasn't sure if anything would happen. We left the subject a that. Except when I would bring him up again, and again.... I guess I was smitten.

Before I left, my two hosts and I dabbled a bit more together. I was more relaxed this time, and could fully enjoy myself. I had a lot of pent up sexual energy to squeeze out of me, and you know what - it's nice to have friends you can just fuck around with. People are all so prudish about sex in real life, if we could all just let go and enjoy ourselves without oppressing ourselves. Sexual liberty is so fantastic, it's too bad that even I can't make a clean break from societal limitations. Do what feels good amongst consenting adults. It doesn't make you a slut, it doesn't cheapen relationships, it makes them more interesting. Sex develops deeper connections and creates a greater sense of closeness and trust. Keep that damn jealousy and possessiveness out of the equation, and wow, it's all so fantastic!

Now, if only the world could be like that - it'd be a much happier place in which to live. Unfortunately, we've got what we've got, and I have to learn to navigate it as it is, drama, uncertainty, novelty and paradigm. Once I'm through all that however, and I've seen some very tempting and satisfying pockets of smooth seas thus far, I think I'll really find myself - and the place where I belong.

Bygones

2007-01-25T17:28:00.000-08:00

I heard an interesting, if unsubstantiated, rumor today. A friend from college days long ago, now considered quite the passing acquaintance, called me up at work. I hadn't heard from her in at least the past three years, but out of the blue she calls and leaves a message with my student worker. Call her back. It's important.

Hmm. Well, that kind of message seems dire enough to call her back, so I stepped out of my office and called her on my cell.

Since I haven't heard from her in such a long time, I asked her if everything was all right.

"Yes," she says gleefully, "but you won't believe what I just found out."

Um, I thought, this can't be good. I'm being called up by a person who hasn't called me in three years, and suddenly she's calling me all conspiratorial. Well, if she thought it was that important to let me know, then I might as well know. I'm actually kinda worried that she found my blog, and now wants to gloat in the discovery.

"What's up?" I ask.

"I have some juicy gossip for you."

Whew, it's not about me. I relax for a second as she starts talking. Apparently it's too important to say howdy or all, because she just dives in. As she's talking, I'm imagining all of my old friends from that group, many whom I've lost relatively recently because I've learned that cat-fighting from within is way too exhausting to continue trying to mediate. I was the mediator, the glue, for a long time for this old college group, and I've grown tired of trying to help everybody stick together. So I let go, and several have grown distant in the process - from each other, and from me.

"Well," she said, continuing on, "I have this friend..."

Oh hell, I thought, where is this going?

She started describing this friend of hers who works with this other person. As she described this other person, I suddenly realized who she was talking about.

My ex-husband.

I interrupt my acquaintance, "[My ex-husband]?" I ask, referring to his name.

"YES!" she shouts.

"What about him?" I ask. I shouldn't have. I should have said, thanks, but I don't need to talk about him. However, I do talk to my ex about once or twice a week, and something seemed up, because my acquaintance wouldn't have called if this were a simple 'three degrees of separation' issue. I immediately felt guilty, but hell, I was in it now.

She was happy to continue, "Well, as my friend described him, she said that he has this 19 year old boyfriend, and he has his Ph-D, and he's a geologist. I was like, 'is that [the ex]?', and she was 'like yeah, how do you know!' Oh, I knew," she said confidently. "I knew it was him."

"You mean 19 year old now?" I asked, confused. I was 19 when I met my ex, so I was a bit confused if we were talking present or past.

"Uh huh," she gloated, "apparently he's dating another 19 year old. I knew it was him!"

"That's interesting," I said simply. There was no point in giving her more food for fodder. Yes, it was interesting, but giving more information, whether surprise, dismay, or concern to this gossiper was only adding fuel to the fire. Anyway, she kept talking, while I digested this information a little more.

"What do you think?" she prodded.

"It's um, interesting. But what about you? What have you been up to these past few years." I thought changing the subject would be a long-shot, but she fell for it, happy to talk about herself.

After hanging up, I thought about calling up my ex to ask about a boyfriend. Since I do talk to him regularly, I thought that if it were true, he'd tell me. Not that it's my business, even if we do talk. But then I thought about it more deeply, it's not my business. I don't need to call him over this. True or not, it's up for him to tell me, not some busybody. Besides, that's what the busybody wants to do, stir up trouble. She's known for that. My close friends and I have a long history with her, I shall not forget that anytime soon.

So I say. Whatever. Rumors are just that, and in this case, the whole apparent point was stir up old and buried feelings, hoping that those feelings still stung. This person knows I still love my ex (well, at least she knew that at the point when we dropped communication). All these old friends know just how difficult it was for me to leave him. Telling me that my ex has somebody else (especially focusing on the fact that he's Asian and 19, especially enforcing and reiterating over and over that this other person looks like me only younger, especially when they have no idea if I'm still talking to my ex or not) is rather rude and unfeeling. What was the whole the point of the exercise, anyway?

From her conversation, her tone, and her persistence, it was apparently to hurt me, and perhaps, on the way, drag my ex into these silly little games too if I weren't grown up enough to leave him out of this. I almost fell for it.

Now I remember why I stopped talking to her.

Another Lazy Sunday

2007-01-22T18:39:00.000-08:00

As always, sex often comes in batches for me. I'm still not quite sure why there are times where I'm hypersexualized and then periods where I'm not. It seems that I tend not to space out my sexual activity, it always seems to bunch up in nodes. A more even pace doesn't seem to work well, but perhaps it's just because of my class schedule getting in the way. I guess it really doesn't matter, as long as I continue to enjoy what I'm doing.

SOF stopped by my place yesterday. I had spent some of the morning finally unpacking after taking most of the week to settle back into life in Reno, as well as try to kick off the jetlag. I haven't entirely been successful with the latter, and I'm still feeling tired around 8 or 9 o'clock. I'm still waking up at 5:30 a.m. or so, but hey, being a morning person isn't so bad. It'd do me a lot of good if I could make myself get up when I wake up, but I also haven't been terribly successful with that either.

So when SOF showed up at 12:30, it had felt as if it were early dinner time already. Not such a terribly bad thing for sex, but afterwards I was wiped out. Thankfully with SOF I'm a total bottom, so while it's not necessarily less work to bottom when having sex, I don't always have to think about being aerobic and simultaneously keeping an erection the entire time. I can go up or down as I like, bouncing around on a cock in various different ways.

God, I love versatility sometimes. It's so much less stressful than having to perform similarly time after time.

Now that I've written that, I feel that I must insist that the title of this entry is lazy Sunday, not lazy sex partner. There, now that that's settled.

Still, I had my ankles over my shoulders for much of the time, so I was rather relaxed...

After we finished, he rubbed his fingers lightly across my back and mentioned how relaxing that was for him. I certainly raised no objections. While not every visit allows me to be so relaxed and tranquil, this one was so. He didn't seem to mind. It was nice to just let go and be a little lazy.

As I am today. I'm too tired to write in much detail, other than that we had a rather good time together. And that's already been established. So, I continue the theme, to my own indulgence.

Welcome Home

2007-01-21T09:49:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I stopped by to see Prof #1 at his place. I hadn't engaged in any sexual activity since my explorative foray at L'Impact. It's been awhile (at least from my perspective).

So it was nice to stop by and see someone who was most certainly interested in some cock action, without all the bells and whistles of talk to get in the way. Talking I do well, I think my writing shows that to some extent, but sometimes it's time to put away the words and just fuck.

That time was yesterday.

So without much ado, we ended up fucking on his leisure chair. I've not had sex on a chair quite like that before, and I'm not sure why not. The position was perfect, I could easily piston underneath him, and he's tall enough that he was comfortably spread out over me as his knees hooked perfectly over the edge of the plush armrests. This led to a good hour or so session of raw fucking before we tired, then switched places so that he could fuck me, and then finally moved to the bed to complete our time together as I finished fucking him.

I must say, on the chair, over the chair, off the chair, hanging off the chair... there are so many permutations. It was all quite wonderful. Almost too wonderful. At first, when I was sitting on the chair and he had spread eagled over it, lowering his ass onto my cock, the position of me rubbing directly against his prostate had us both almost cumming too soon. We had to stop and start, stop and start, just so that we didn't finish before we practically had gotten started.

Perhaps it was the fact that I hadn't had sex in two weeks. Perhaps it was other things. Who cares? It was a lovely welcome home, regardless.

No matter, it was rather fun to have him pull off of me so I could suck on his cock, then have him sit back down on me again as he ground his hips into mine.

The only real difficulty is that I'm a bit shorter, so me trying to straddle the chair was a bit more difficult since I barely fit across it. I really was sprawled across that thing as he fucked me. I'm sure that brought him much pleasure and joy.

It sure appeared so. It certainly did for me. That seems to have made two of us.

Preparing for "The Burn"

2007-01-19T18:48:00.000-08:00

Just bought my Burning Man ticket. Apparently tickets are pretty popular this year. In the first hour, they sold out of their first 10,000 tickets and by day two, they sold out of the next 10,000. Whew, that was fast.

I'm headed over there in September with my closest friends, the ones in North Carolina. I've been twice before, but they've never been - so we have a lot of work to do to prepare them for this very unusual, very non-traditional, very explorative, very expressionist event.

It's going to be so much fun out there on the playa!

I'm so excited!

Realizations and Resolutions

2007-01-17T15:48:00.000-08:00

The last month all too quickly evaporated but I've made it back home with a little more perspective than when I left.

I realize that I've been a bit too ga-ga over students. While I never actively pursued either of the two I had a private crush on, I need to ensure that I do not act inappropriately. Ever. This means drawing a more solid and bright line for myself, perhaps by creating further checks and balances for myself. I never want to cross the line, it would be unprofessional at minimum and at worst, dangerous for me and for them. I privately thought about doing so, and I'm now more wary of myself for it.

I realize that I can cruise and be successful at it. Random hookups are possible, if still a bit frightening. This can also be dangerous, but if I follow some common sense and keep my head on my shoulders, then engaging in such activities can be fun and exciting. I need to allow myself more exploration of this.

I realize that my sexual proclivities are expanding, now that I am actually allowing myself to explore the very things that I was too afraid, shy, embarrassed or insecure to explore. I understand that I can take this exploration as fast or as slow as I need to go for myself, but must be careful to ensure my own mental health and safety, whilst simultaneously not dampening this new explorative spirit.

I realize that I too have to go to counseling. It's not all about my boyfriend. We have to do this together, although we still are separated. We can only change for the better when we try to change ourselves, rather than each other. We just have to go for it.

And from all of this, we'll see what happens next.

Complications

2007-01-16T15:07:00.000-08:00

The final week of my European vacation went rather smoothly, all things considered. My boyfriend and I did end up discussing my sudden reluctance to engage with him, even though we had had the big blow-up a couple of weeks ago. He did try to make some advances, albeit half-heartedly, but I wasn't responding well to those advances. I realize my contradiction, and I spent a lot of time mulling over just what was going on.

I realize that when I haven't been intimate with my boyfriend for some time, I crave physical closeness with him, but once I get to a point where I have to make a scene to try to engage that closeness, afterwards I feel spent and a little dirty. It's as if I muddied my hands making dirt pies as a child would, and while there is great expectation and consternation getting the recipe just right, the end result is just dirt, no matter how pretty it looks. Similarly, I feel the emotional frustration of being brought to such a state of emotional turmoil. And when it's all over and we've yelled and cried and hugged and talked, I'm reminded that sex with my boyfriend is simply bad, and no matter how much crying and talking and yelling we do, it will still be bad. I don't want to go through this with him again, I don't want to hurt him, and be hurt by him.

Still, from the worst soil, things will grow if given enough love and attention. My love for him has not waned, and I do eventually come to a point where I desire him so much that I risk the argument and the misunderstanding... only to be reminded again why we are not intimate in the first place. And yet, fertile soil has still been furrowed. My boyfriend and I have moved forward toward a direction of true compromise. We have seen a doctor together, he has committed to real work. I have committed to help him through this.

I am no fool. This continues to be difficult work. I delude myself in no large way. However, I have faith that we will come to some sort of arrangement where we can find intimacy with each other. I have faith that we can discover mutually satisfying intimacy with each other. I understand faith is a form of delusion, but a delusion in which I will allow myself some solace.

Everyday we were in Rome we spent at least 7-10 hours walking, taking advantage of all the available sunlight. On day four, we enjoyed a long walk though the ancient Roman forum, where we ended up spending 9 hours simply touring and peering into the ancient ruins there. Being there, parts of which were walked over 2000 years ago, really puts the briefness of a human life into perspective. We don't have a lot of time on this world, and with what little time we do have, we should do some little bit to ensure our own happiness and that of those in our keeping. (To do so beyond is also fantastic, but I've spent my life trying to make others happy at my own expense. It's time to think a little of myself, and of my significant other.

After we made it back to our little room, we settled down to watch Marie Antoinette, which I had brought with me. We had just watched several scenes where Louis XVI spurned Marie Antoinette repeatedly during their marriage, apparently for years. Exactly at that point, at the conclusion of the scene where she tries to engage him and he shivers from her cold feet, my boyfriend's mother called. He, very upset, demanded (in French, of course) why she had called and why she was bothering us at the late hour. He concluded the call and plopped back down on the bed, telling me to continue the film as he was clearly stewing in anger over her perceived intrusion.

There was something more obviously bothering him, but we had to settle things one at a time. So I stopped the film.

"Why are you so upset?" I asked.

"I'm not upset!" He exclaimed.

"Uh huh," I was obviously unconvinced "Right. That's why you're not acting upset."

"I'm not! Why are you on my back? Why do you always defend the other person?"

I was confronted him. Acting nice in this situation would do no good. I had to get him unbalanced, otherwise he'd never allow himself to feel any other emotions other than anger, and then he'd bury that in logic, and then we'd get nowhere. "I don't always defend the other person, unless you start acting like an asshole. Why are you acting like such an asshole?"

And that got us going. For about a half an hour, we volleyed back and forth until we were both spinning in circles. This was getting us nowhere. I pulled my last resort card. "I'm ready to get up and walk out this door right now. I don't want to do that. However, if we can talk reasonably about this, then I will stay."

I really did feel like walking out, but it was too unfamiliar of a place for me to safely do that, so while I was partially bluffing, I would have to follow through with that bluff if he called it. While having an ulterior motive, I too was beginning to become emotionally wrapped up in the argument, and then we really would be nowhere. It was time to start making this more constructive.

"Why did you treat your mother like that on the phone?" I asked, bringing the conversation back to the beginning.

"Because she's intrusive," he spat. "She shouldn't be calling so late."

"It's not that late. It's only 7:00."

"Yes, but we came here to get away from her. I don't want to talk to her."

"I understand that, but she's lonely. She wanted to talk. It's not so bad to listen to her talk about her day, she obviously wasn't demanding anything of you other than that."

"How do you know that?" He asked incredulously.

"I may not be able to speak French very well," I responded, "but you know me well enough to know that I understand much of it just fine. I know from what you were saying, she was just talking about her day."

"Yes," he sighed, "but she is so annoying."

"Maybe, but you could be nice to her a little bit. Then you wouldn't feel so shitty after basically hanging up on her after yelling at her. If you took ten minutes, played nice, and then hung up, you'd feel a hell of a lot better about these kinds of calls. It's when you act like an ass, you feel like an ass. It's kind of self-reinforcing."

He agreed, and decided to call her back. After about 15 minutes, he was finished. He felt better, she apparently felt better. We all felt better.

Apparently, after my brutal honesty, he felt brave enough to begin some of his own on me. It was only fair. He began by mentioning that I wasn't that responsive to his recent overtures of intimacy.

"I know," I said, "and you're right."

Even so, he needed to explain (and I don't blame him for it), "The other night, when I ran my fingers across your ass, you didn't respond to that... and when I fondled you last night, you didn't do anything about that either... and even this morning, when I did something I almost never do, I tried to suck you, and you stopped me."

"I know," I paused. "It's complicated."

"After that long argument I've really been trying, but you're not responding. I'm not sure how to feel or what to do. Be honest with me, what is going on?"

"I don't want to hurt your feelings."

"Don't worry about that, just tell me."

I took a breath. "Well..." I inhaled again. I had to just spit this out. "Sex with you is just bad." I couldn't look at him.

I knew he had these big eyes as I said that, I could just imagine his lower lip trembling. I was going to cry, and me, being a bastard, was going to make him cry too. After all this, after all the demands I made, I'm avoiding him… and then I tell him why. I am a bastard.

"You don't want to be rejected again," he lifted my chin so that I'd look him in the eyes. "Is that it?"

I looked at him, taken a bit off guard.

"I think I understand," he said softly. "If we try again, and if I reject you again… you don't want to go through that. I understand. Rejection is your worst fear, and you've experienced that over and over again with me, you are now trying to avoid it."

"Um, that makes sense," I said lamely, stunned.

Here I was blaming myself, and there he was blaming himself. While better than pointing fingers at each other, it still wouldn't get us very far.

"I hesitate to say this," he began after a long silence between us, "but sometimes I wish you would just accept that we can have what you think is bad sex. It's good sex for me, and I don't know if I can ever meet your standards."

"What?"

"Look," he stared into my eyes, "I'm trying my best. I know you are trying too, but you and I both too often want to give up on this. I want to let it go. But neither of us can. There has to be some middle."

That's true, I thought, but I don't want to commit to being satisfied with a terrible sex life, even if we can meet these needs elsewhere. It's important for me to have a good physical relationship with my partner, even if rarely. I've compromised on the rarely, and lately have accepted never. I need this to change, but I'm also reinforcing the lack of sex because it is so bad.

Damn this circular reasoning, hypocrisy, and self-generated bindings!

Besides, he's right. We both have to work at this. And yes, it is difficult (that continues to be the understatement of this relationship).

"We've worked too hard for us to let this go be the wayside," I said. "You're right. We have to figure something out. How we can do this, I have no idea. Seriously, I would like to you to explore your sexuality, perhaps if you practiced, you might get better... you might be able to work out some of your phobias, if you did this in concert with counseling. That might work." What the hell, we can try anything at this point.

"You know I can't do that," he said, dismissing the idea immediately.

"No, really think about it," I said. "Look, you're right. I'm avoiding sex with you even after this whole big scene a week ago (and really beyond that, the past three years). Having sex with you is like having sex with a virgin. I have to tell you how to do this, how do to that. Put your hand here, put your mouth there. Whatever. That's not so much fun for me. And I know it's not fun for you either. It kind of defeats the point."

He nodded.

"So," I continued, "maybe if you practice a bit with others who aren't so important, then you can work out what exactly you like to do, what exactly you can do, and perhaps even get better or get through some things you are otherwise uncomfortable with."

He looked at me. There was silence. He did, however, look like he was considering the idea.

"Look. You will be working with your doctor while you're doing this, right?"

He nodded.

"And you'll be working with a counselor, right?"

He nodded again.

"And you can work with me too. I will not be judging you. I will not be jealous of or for you. I am going to support you through this. And I'm not being completely altruistic either. Far from it, my stake in this is that you become comfortable enough with your body that I can have access to it at some point."

He laughed at that statement. And we talked about it. After a good hour or so of further discussion, he was actually even open to the idea. I think that after he broke through the fear that I was going to be somehow ultimately judgmental of him having relationships with other people, just as when he was afraid to tell me that he had invited men over for his voyeuristic affairs, he was actually open to the idea of exploring.

That, in itself, was a breakthrough. Hallelujah.

So we'll see what happens. I've been able to explore my sexuality, he should be able to do the same. He just needs to break through his phobias to be able to do so. That's why I do want him to work though his doctor and counselor. If he can break through and conquer his unfounded fears of HIV, then he ultimately can allow himself to be touched by others; ultimately, by me (especially because I'm disease-free). And he knows I will always be honest with him about my condition, regardless of whether or not my condition changes.

He will hopefully be able to penetrate his disgust of the human condition of sweat, saliva, and cum and be able to enjoy the things that make sex so wonderful. Of course, there is delineation between what is appropriate and relatively safe, and what is inappropriate and foolhardy when sexually exploring with strangers, friends, or one's partner. But again, that's why it is so important for the two of us to be working through this in concert, and simultaneously with a doctor and counselor. Perhaps, then the two of us can meet in some more appropriate middle that works for our mutual delight.

And now I have to find myself a counselor too.

It's only fair.

L'Impact

2007-01-07T04:31:00.000-08:00

My first foray into the seedy sexclub scene was at L'Impact last night. After a leisurely dinner with my boyfriend, his mother, and a long-time Macedonian friend of his, we walked my boyfriend's mother down the street back to her home and the remaining three of us went out for a some drinks in the neighborhood. My boyfriend didn't intend to stay out long with us, and he encouraged me to stay with his friend so he could show me a bit of Paris nightlife. Before he left us to fend for ourselves though, we stopped at Open Cafe, where they apparently don't serve either Jagermeister, Tanqueray nor Hefeweizen. Of course, these things are German, British, and German respectively, so I am more prone to understanding why these wouldn't be served. Instead, I settled on some random gin and tonic, although I knew that the consequences might be dire, mostly for reasons of the impending hang-over.

My boyfriend knows that I have a mild crush on his Macedonian friend. We've known each other a long time, even if at the level of acquaintances mostly. We've hosted him at our home in Reno, showed him around Tahoe, and we've met up with him every time we've come to Paris. Each time, I do a relatively private "awwww" over him, and my boyfriend knows it. He was very aware of this when we decided to go out for drinks with him this night, because he knew that the purpose for this Macedonian was to find some random later to hook up with.

As we left, he said, "If you to do something together, I won't mind. Whatever you do, just be safe."

Well, I really had no intention of being inappropriate with my boyfriend's friend. Especially if he knew who I was doing. That leads to awkward conversations and engagements later, and is simply crossing a line that I have drawn in the sand for myself. Perhaps if he didn't know about it, it wouldn't be so awkward. So I intended to be proprietous with this guy, cute and adorable as he might be.

So we chatted and we watched the bustle of gay Parisian nightlife from a little table on the sidewalk outside of Open Cafe. It was well after 12:30 a.m. and the streets were filled with all sorts of people, but in particular, lots and lots of French clones. Caucasian shaved headed men who wear jeans and military jackets. The look is hard to pull off, and only a few men look hot like that, but hey, fashion is fashion. And we are in Paris...

Mr. Macedonian and I bided adieu to my boyfriend, and then we started walking towards a bar he hand in mind. As we walked, we talked about him. I had a bit of gin in me, so I was more comfortable asking intimate questions. He had a bit of beer in him, and wine from dinner, so he was apparently more comfortable answering those questions. He's in a long term relationship, but he is well known by my boyfriend that he likes to play the field. Tonight's hunt was further evidence supporting this. I asked him about it. He shared with me his perspective, which was mostly generalized towards not wishing to limit his options.

We made it to the bar, called Cox, but I was less than impressed. It was filled with the aforementioned clones, and I was highly aware that I looked nothing like the rest of the clientele. That in itself didn't matter too much, but I found no eye candy either, and perhaps wanted to find a bar were there were at least some people more near my age.

Mr. Macedonian thought about another bar that I think was called Les Marrioniers, but as we turned the corner and found all the blue lights blanketing the wall and overhang, we also found a line of people that went around the corner as they waited for entry. We looked at each other. "I don't want to wait for that.

So we walked to another bar just down the block that was a bit more mixed, but I don't remember the name.

While there and grabbing a beer for each of us, we talked a bit about my boyfriend since they've known each other for over the past ten years. He was mildly aware of my boyfriend's phobias and uncertainty about sex and relationships, and I was careful not to enlighten him any more than he already was. Instead, I was looking for his perspective about who he thought my boyfriend was and perhaps even some evidence about why he is who he is today. Mr. Macedonian was uncertain, stating that my boyfriend has always been such since he has known him, and in the past exhibited even more reserved behaviors. He has been able to get my boyfriend out at times, trying to expose him to gay life of Paris over the years, but my boyfriend has always been very uncomfortable with these types of experiences. He was also very surprised that my boyfriend had found me and held on, since my boyfriend had been so frightened of relationships in the past.

Women then started showing up, and we took that as a cue to exit. We tried Les Marrioniers again, but the line was still abysmal. So we started wandering. He talked about C.U.D, asking what it meant. I didn't realize that it was an acronym, and explained what cud means in english. That was rather a lovely experience. After that conversation, it blessedly shifted to other bars and scenes that are available in Paris. He began talking about L'Impact and Le Deep, both sex clubs. I said I had never gone to anything like that before. "Are you interested?" he asked. I hemmed and hawed for a couple of seconds, but then thought, what the hell? In for a penny, in for a pound.

"Sure! Let's go." Let's go to L'Impact. The action is better because you have to take off your clothes. The scene is pretty relaxed and the guys aren't so pretensious. Fine, I said, heart racing. What the hell. What the hell am I getting myself into?

We walked past a police station and stopped.

"Is this where we're going?" I asked.

"No, but I thought I would show you this bar. This is C.U.D."

"Oh, it's an acronym. I have no idea what that means."

We walked on, and made it to this little nondescript door. You had to ring a bell to gain entrance. We rang. Nothing happened. We rang again. Nothing.

"I guess we're not what they're looking for," I joked while looking up at the closed-circuit camera in the doorway.

Immediately we heard muffled talking behind the door and we were admitted.

"Est-que vous avez ete ici avant?" asked the attendant.

"Oui, pour moi, mais pas pour mon ami ici," said Mr. Macedonianan.

"Non." I said, the French word that I am most comfortable with.

So, in stilted english, the attendant asked, "Where are you from? London?"

"The United States."

"Ah, well, you know you have to take off your clothes here."

"Yes, that's fine."

"D'accord," he gave us number bracelets and a bag. We went though the plastic drapes and into the bar. There was a changing area obviously set around various kegs, in full view of the bar, where there were a gaggle of naked men sitting, talking, and drinking.

Again, in for a penny, in for a pound. As we were getting undressed, I joked with MrMacedonianan about seeing a lot more of him than I was expecting. Then, naked save our shoes and socks, we walked up to the bar to order another round of beers. This bar had an even more limited selection of beer, and the one that I eventually got was rather not to my liking. No problem. I had had way too much anyway.

We ambled downstairs into thcruisingng area, where the ceilings and walls were made of old brick with arched brick doorways in each of the subroom entrances. The whole place had a wine cellar feel to it, other than the fact that the place was chock-full of naked men engaged in a myriad of different acts of debauchery. Ah, now I was nervous as hell. It was interesting, but holy shit, I had imagined these places, but I had never actually seen one in person. The groans and sounds of sex were all around us, and MrMacedonianan and I walked through it so that we could get our bearings. We were the only two holding beers.

After the walkthrough, and the underground arena was pretty extensive, we decided to go back up to finish our beer. Well, he did. I put mine back on the counter. I was done before I started. When he finished we went downstairs again, and split company.

I walked towards the back, and while the whole place was dim, it was still well lit enough so that I could see what was going on and who was around me. I expected not to be too interesting in others, because I was the only asian in the place... and I ran into a very dark black man. Of course, I have round eyes, so sometimes it's hard for others to tell what I am, other than they often assume I'm not white... and they're only half right. Other than that though, there were nothing but caucasians everywhere. Hmm, I thought, one can only see what might happen. I passed a bed where two men were getting fucked, each head to head while the men behind them where inhaling poppers. Immediately I thought that there would be none of that for me, because that's a great way to lose my inhibition enough to get myself into real trouble. I moved on.

I walked under a stairway where there were several men having all sorts of oral sex, and as I walked by, somebody grabbed my nipples. I turned, looked, saw that he wasn't my type, smiled, and moved on. Another stroked my backside, and I again looked, and moved on. I rounded a corner and entered a room with several gloryholes. The room had a very dim red glow to it, and it was hard to see who was around me at first until my eyes adjusted. I saw more configurations of men, one who was bracing the wall as another fucked him, and I had more encounters with men who seemed mildly interested.

My confidence grew, I wasn't so odd here after all. Or perhaps I was, but it seemed to be more of an asset.

As I rounded another corner, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was one of the men who had indicated interest in the red room. Having more confidence, but more than my fair share of alcohol in me, I was half erect, but could not get much more than that. He bent down and began to suck my cock. I leaned back against a wall and let him. As I enjoyed the feeling of having myself serviced, another man came up close to watch us. He put his hand out and brushed it against the side of my abdomen. He was really quite nice looking, and I responded in kind. He came closer. I reached for his cock while I was still being sucked by the other man. He got even closer, and I could smell the faint scent of his cologne, which indicates just how close he got because of the smell of sweat and sex that permeated the whole underground.

He began to kiss me. I hesitated at first knowing that I tasted like alcohol. He seemed to hesitate too, but it seemed to be more from uncertainty about how I would respond. Soon however, we both realized that it was quite pleasant, and we engaged more fervently. The guy sucking on me must have decided that I was otherwise more engaged and left the two of us to continue.

And continue we did, we ended up spending the next four hours together, although I was at less than peak performance because of the alcohol in my system. I had a very difficult time keeping an erection even though my newfound friend really wanted me to fuck him. I couldn't respond to that because of the half erection, but we found other things to do instead. He teased me because of my strong American accent, and I found his English to be rather good, even though in a very, very thick French accent. At some point we ended up exchanging names.

MMacedonianan friend ran into me a couple of times, seemed interested, then when he realized just who I was, smiled and turned away. Our truce with each other still stood. Late into the night, he stopped me as I was walking by and said that he would be leaving, but he was worried about me making it home safely. I told him not to worry, I'd find my way home alright. "I don't want to be responsible for losing you," he said. "You won't," I responded. "I'll be fine."

Several times, my newfound friend and I were interrupted by other men who wanted to get in on the action with us, but mostly we ended up spending the evening together. He kept telling me I was "fantastic" and I really appreciated his attention because he knew what he was doing too. I had some trouble swallowing his cock because uncut men are rare in the states, and while I had seen foreskin before, I had never actually put one in my mouth before. It is certainly different sucking on an uncut cock than it is sucking on a cut one, and all around me were uncut cocks. I think I was the only one there that night who was circumcised. I managed though, and was apparently pretty successful.

Afterwards, coming up from downstairs to get some fresh air for the last time, he said, "I would like, very much, to see you again sometime."

"Well, I'm only in Paris for two more days." I didn't tell him that I would be back for two days in a week, after my trip to Rome. I wasn't quite so sure about giving my personal information away to someone I just met, even if my tongue was halfway up his ass at one point. He decided to give me his email address, and I thought, what the hell, why not respond in kind.

We both got dressed and exited together, me not quite sure of my bearings. He walked me to an intersection, pointed the direction, and told me how to get to Rue Rambuteau. He kissed me on the street, thanked me for a wonderful evening and we both headed out on our way.

It was a rather nice evening. I made it home, showered to get the smell of smoke and sex off of me, and then headed to bed. It was six in the morning. That was going to be a hell of a thing to explain to my boyfriend when he woke up.

Displays of Affection

2007-01-04T21:47:00.000-08:00

Life has settled down here a bit in the past two days. My boyfriend has been expressing more affection than he usually would, especially in public. He's always been pretty affectionate, but he'd drop the behavior at the slightest sign of risk or public provocation.

Yes, I know that it's important to keep safe, but I do like to hold his hand outside sometimes, and not just in the Castro district of San Francisco. Here though, he's readily grabbed my hand on his own, in the safe districts of Paris such as Le Marais, but further into the districts where it's less common and might bring ridicule, even if not outright danger. He talks about the various regions and their safety level as we walk, and we both decide to let go if the situations merit. However, it's still nice to be able to simply walk with my boyfriend in hand as we stroll through the streets of Paris.

I've been even more surprised at how much he wants to kiss me, again, in public. It's not the over-affectionate and intimate kisses that would call for a room, and perhaps, a towelette afterwards. They're just simple pecks on the lips. Parisians kiss both cheeks in public, often into the air while your cheeks rub against each other, at least that's what friends and acquaintances do. Kisses on lips, the relatively demur kind, are limited to lovers. I'm less active about initiating such displays of affection, and in this arena, I am the one who is more cautious about engaging in such behavior. My boyfriend, however, has also been initiating these displays of affection as well, in the streets and in restaurants. It's even been commented on by friends on how unusual that is for him. Certainly it is, but I'm happy for it, even if I must then stretch my comfort levels.

We both have to grow, and we both can if we allow ourselves to do so.

The Doctor

2007-01-02T18:49:00.000-08:00

Yesterday afternoon on the 2nd of January my boyfriend and I had an appointment to see a doctor who has an office in Le Marais. Unlike in the US, you can get a next day appointment and don't have to wait four to six weeks for one like we do in Reno. Also, this doctor was one that my boyfriend was familiar, although it had been ten years since he had seen him. He used to see this doctor for HIV testing often, and they had conversations about how it was impossible for him to get HIV when he wasn't actually sexually active, so he had some rapport, and that was important. Still, my boyfriend was nervous, and wasn't sure what exactly he wanted to talk about. Over lunch that afternoon, we talked about the visit later that afternoon and what both of our expectations were of it.

I was mostly interested in a referral from the doctor because I'm not completely convinced that this is truly a physical issue for my boyfriend. Evidence suggests that he's not asexual although we long fell back upon that as an explanation. Instead, he seems to be normally sexual, even if on the low interest side. This sexuality is strong enough to drive him to continue engaging in voyeuristic activities, such as the ones he had for the past couple of months, so it is present. If he were asexual, he wouldn't be doing those things.

My boyfriend, however, was more concerned in how the conversation might look, and was wondering if there were things that could be prescribed that might increase his sex drive. I shook my head, I'm pretty sure there aren't. If there were, pharmaceuticals would make a killing, but aphrodisiacs are generally snake oil or only in one's head anyway. He asked about Viagra. I said no, Viagra that will help a person stay erect once that person is excited, but if you have too much in the way in your head you get muddled, and then it won't help you either. Then he said surely Cialis will. I told him that I'm pretty sure that they both are the same thing.

We agreed that we'd find out during the appointment. In the meantime, we talked about the 'Mother' that seems to have so much control over my boyfriend. He struggles with his live mother, and then this archetypical Mother which seems to have planted itself firmly in his head. The archetype apparently is the one that's so difficult to deal with because he never gets away from it, and while the live one can be difficult, at least he can walk away from her if he needs to. With the live one in close proximity, however, she and the archetype both seemed to have re-taken control over his life. I had a suspicion that that was going to happen when he moved back to Paris. There are so many things that he's afraid of, including and especially losing his real mother. Of course he has that fear, we all do, unfortunately his has become so debilitating that it has taken control of his behavior with not only her, but the rest of his life, including me.

But we both knew that already.

Hopefully the doctor could tell us something new. He's apparently a gay Londoner who has integrated himself into Paris. In Reno, gay doctors are all but invisible. Actually, they are invisible. I'm pretty well connected, and I don't know of a single gay general practitioner in Reno. And I've been looking a long time because I need to find one for myself. Straight doctors simply don't understand the issues involved in gay relationships in general in terms of applications to health, and it's especially poorly fitting when trying to honestly discuss the concerns involved with having an open relationship. They always want to focus on the sexually transmitted diseases, specifically HIV, and yes, while those issues are important, there are many other important things as well that they completely neglect. Including general physical health, psychological health, and other unique issues that are specifically important to gay men.

I find that I avoid my doctor at home, even though I'm the honest no fear type when it comes to talking about my health, anal or otherwise, because I'm sick of getting 'that look' from my doctor, and every other doctor I've met when trying to find a new practitioner.

Back to the doctor in Paris, however. Unlike offices in the US that are expansive, the doctor here had little more than an extended closet which consisted of two rooms. A waiting room and a patient intake room - which included a small but functional patient bed. In the waiting room, there were Robbie Williams cd's strewn about the end table, which I found rather funny. The two of us waited for about 15 minutes in the waiting room alone after he had let us into the office, since he was on the telephone with what seemed to be another client. He then offered us a seat in the intake room, but unfortunately there were only two chairs. My boyfriend and the doctor sat on those, and I chose a little step stool that he had stored under the patient bed to perch on, instead of opting for the patient bed itself. I noticed that he was wearing these flair suede pants and a tight sweater, something a doctor would never wear in the states. France is so fashion conscious, it's, um, distracting. As was the fact that the doctor took at least 7 calls in the 40 minutes that we were there to see him. I gather a small office comes without a secretary.

After the doctor asked about the reason for the visit, my boyfriend began to talk. Initially nervous, he soon shrugged that off and began to tell his story. The doctor then looked at me. "Is that your take too?" I concurred, although I reiterated that this sexual differential was not a new development and that my boyfriend's sex drive seemed to be low-normal, but that the struggle seemed to come from his head, not from any actual physical limitations.

We also talked about what we've been doing to cope in the past year, or rather, more specifically, mostly what I've been doing. "I should think so," the doctor said without skipping a beat, "If you don't find some sexual outlet, you probably would have ended the relationship long ago. I'm surprised that you've lasted this long together after what you both have talked about."

I looked at my boyfriend in a bit of shock. I was expecting some reproach or even a question to my boyfriend how he felt about the fact that I was sleeping with other people. He looked back at me, one eyebrow raised.

"I gather that you must have more patience than most," he looked at me. I nodded, not quite sure how to respond. "In fact, after about four years," the doctor continued, "sex usually diminishes in couples, but since the two of you seems never to have really had a good sexual relationship in the first place, it's important that you establish one now. We'll see what we can do."

"You've tried testosterone, and that didn't work," he said referred to a statement my boyfriend had made earlier during our recount of our relationship. "And you need something to control your anxiety. I shouldn't recommend this, but have you tried ecstasy? That would lower your inhibitions."

We looked at each other. "No!" we said simultaneously.

"Well I'm not supposed to recommend that, but you wanted me to indicate something that would lower you inhibitions." The doctor, shrugged, "Aphrodisiacs are non-existent, and Viagra or Cialis only will keep you erect, but if the problem isn't there, and I gather it's not, then you need something specifically to lower those inhibitions of yours. That seems to be your problem."

We continued looking at each other, and we both started laughing. "We've tried poppers," I said, but that didn't help much either.

"No, I would think not."

"But other things," my boyfriend added, "I've never tried any other drugs, and nor has he" in reference to me.

I piped up. "The U.S. is pretty hard on such things anyway. Did you know that you can go to prison longer for drug use than for murder over there?"

"That's why I'm in France," said the doctor, "You can find anything you want in Britain too."

"Huh." My boyfriend and I looked at each other again. We laughed again. "What about other things?" I asked.

"I can prescribe Xanax." He reached for a prescription tablet. "It can be a downer or speedy, depending on the person, but it may help you relax a bit. It will take some time to work though. Prozac can be too much of a depressant, and you don't need that." He then went on about other psychotropic drugs that probably wouldn't help at this point, but might be options later depending on how the initial prescription turned out. "In the meantime, I want to see you both in ten days. Will you still be here then?" he asked, referring to me.

"And don't forget to call the psychologist," he continued, "He's pretty good, but if he doesn't work out he can refer you to someone else who will be better for you. It'd probably be better if you started right away, so that he can meet the both of you so that you can both guide him in the direction you want to go with this before you leave again, and [your boyfriend] begins to work in earnest."

"Are you alright?" I asked as we were exiting the building. "How do you feel about seeing him?" in reference to the doctor. "What do you think about this, is it what you were expecting?" I've learned that my boyfriend likes lots of ancillary support questions, and although difficult for me because I feel like I'm coddling him, it seems to work in a positive way, so I do it regardless of my own private reservations. He assented that this visit was good, and although this visit hadn't necessarily solved anything (did either of us really think it would in one stroke?), it was a good start. I agreed, and thanked him for moving forward with this. I know that it's hard for him to confront these issues, especially because they are so wrapped up in his self-esteem and self-worth... but he's doing it anyway. And this visit for him was really for me. I have no allusions otherwise, and I really do appreciate that he's willing to put his pride aside so that perhaps we can build a better relationship. That takes a lot of committment to do what my boyfriend did, and I most certainly appreciate it.

Resolutions

2006-12-31T23:24:00.000-08:00

Last night my boyfriend and I walked to the Jardin du Carrousel too watch a simple and obstructed view of fireworks that took place over the Avenue des Champs-Elysees and over by the Eiffel Tower. Unfortunately we didn't know that Paris hadn't planned an official celebration this year, and we stood with thousands who also didn't seem to get the memo this year.

Still, it was lovely to stand in the warm damp night, the low ceiling of clouds rushing past, lit up delicately by the city lights. We had walked from the
Theatre du Chatelet (accents dropped because of ascii difficulties) after watching a late play, Candide which featured Lambert Wilson as Voltaire, amongst other characters.

After such an emotional, frustrating, and difficult evening the night before my boyfriend and I decided to try again. After engaging in our respective emotional outbursts, I know I had gotten the frustration out of my system and was willing to put it behind me, although simultaneously I had set up some guidelines on how we were going to deal with this in the near future - which I planned on enforcing. My boyfriend too seemed to have recovered, and was also similarly resolute on what the next few steps would be regarding his sexuality, for both the long and short term. We aren't kidding ourselves. We both know that this is going to continue to be a long and difficult road to travel, individually and together. However, we want to do this together. We have chosen to continue together, so 'try we must' as some wise little creature said in an iconic film.

Part of that included trying to engage each other sexually, even if limitedly and with significant trepidation on both his and my part. Guiding my boyfriend is like guiding a virgin. He knows what to do theoretically, but has no idea how to execute. Even though he has tried before. It hasn't changed. He's still the same. He doesn't know how to touch, is afraid of hurting me (physically and emotionally) and is generally recalcitrant. He is torn, he wants to try but he doesn't... and the internal struggle continues to rage within him.

So in this as in the past, I have to get though the revulsion of talking and literally hand-holding him though every step. I feel as if I were guiding a child when trying to have sex with him, which rather bothers me because of the obvious associations and rational implications. But simultaneously I have to guide him though these steps and actions, because he freezes and withdraws if I do not. 'Put your hand here, and try kissing me there.' 'You can bite me gently on the shoulder if you want' 'Is that alright if I do that?' It seriously is like guiding a virgin, I'm not going to write child again because I'm rather repulsed by that.

I had to put his hand on my penis, and put his fingers directly on my ass. He didn't want to do either, although he was generally less appalled by holding my cock. He was alright with me masturbating him, although he didn't want me to suck him. I managed to do so, although it didn't last very long before he pulled me off of him. There was no way I could get him to reciprocate, no matter how I tried. He simply wanted to stick his cock in my ass, no foreplay... just do that and be done with it. But that is not sex, that is something completely different, and I, as understanding as I might me, need more than that. I love him, but he has a small penis, and I can barely feel it when he does it, and I find little pleasure in it. There is no pain, but there is not much else either.

He honestly tried to do what I indicated - for a moment, then he decided he was done and turned around to lay on his back. Basically signaling he was done trying. And that was that. I clutched him for the next half hour. Neither of us cried, which was some sort of miracle; and then we got about the business of the day, cleaning up for the move out of the short rental apartment and back in with his mother for the next two days before we get to move into the apartment we own on Rue Rambuteau.

As we were cleaning up the previous apartment he stopped me at one point and said, "I really appreciate it when you guide me like that. I need help, and when you're telling me what I should do, that really helps me get through all the cerebral stuff that's going on in my head that's telling me to stop."

"That's difficult for me," I told him in all seriousness. "I feel like I'm treating you like a child, and that is very awkward. But I know that it helps you."

"I know. I don't know why I can't do it myself," he paused, and sighed. "The voices in my head just keep telling me 'No. NO!" but I have to ignore them. You guiding me helps me ignore them for a little while, but then the thoughts in my head just become overwhelming and I can't ignore them any longer. I have to stop. I'm sorry."

"I know it's difficult for you. It's difficult for both of us, make no mistake. I'm struggling though this as you are. But I'm willing to try and I'm glad that you are now too. I really am glad."

"Thank you for being patient with me," he hugged me.

"I'm only going to be patient if you keep trying. I know that this current arrangement will only be for the next couple of weeks, then you'll be free of me when I go back to the U.S., but you can't stop then." I looked at him gravely, "You have to go to a psychologist, doctor or counselor when I leave... perferably starting well before I leave."

"I've thought about that. I have an idea who I might try to see. There is this gay doctor on the block who also speaks English... This is not Reno, there are lots of gay doctors here, and I think I know one that might be able to help."

"Good. Let's meet him together. Is that all right?"

"I think so."

"Then we have something else to look forward to!"

Much later, as we were standing in the Jardin du Carroussel watching the limited fireworks over the Champs-Elysees, my boyfriend looked at me after the clock had struck midnight, "Bonne annee! 2007 is going to be a year with a lot of new changes."

"2006 was a year with difficulty," I said, "2007 will bring more. But we're going to face them together!"

"Absolutely. I will do that with you. I can do that with you!"

"Good. I look forward to what 2007 will bring both of us."

And we rang in the new year that resolution and with a kiss. May 2007 bring us all happiness and prosperity.

The other shoe drops

2006-12-30T17:46:00.000-08:00

When things have been going well for such a long time with the boyfriend, there are times when the stars seem to fall out of the sky. Early this afternoon, after walking around the Marais and then going to a movie, we both headed back to the apartment because the weather was miserable and walking around outside was just too much work. I forget how close people get to each other in the cities. I was bumped into over and over again as I walked through the street with my boyfriend and many a person snagged themselves on my umbrella, which I find amazing because I held it so close to me. It wasn't like I was swinging it around recklessly, but still, person after person managed to bump into it and me in the simple process of walking by. Even when we moved to the street to walk to avoid the narrow sidewalks, people still managed to bump.

I honestly don't get it.

I finally grabbed my boyfriend's hand, regardless of the safety (and thankfully the Marais is relatively safe for a gay couple in Paris) and the fact that the two of us together became a larger organism helped a little bit. Suddenly people weren't trying to walk between us, but my outside shoulder continued to be subject to quite the beating. For some reason, my boyfriend, who is significantly taller at his 6'1" didn't seem to have that problem. I finally became pretty cavalier about the whole thing, I stopped feeling bad when the other pedestrians snagged their jackets, shoulders and hair on my umbrella. Served them right if they were careless enough to walk that close, especially since I was expending so much energy trying to pay attention.

We made it home, and both of us decided to take a nap. It had been a short night for him, and although it had been a longer night for me as I had slept through the night to slough off the jetlag, I was still experiencing a bit of jetlag anyway. A nap would do me good. I woke up to my boyfriend being amorous, and while surprised, I was delighted. I try really hard not to expect too much, especially since it generally turns out badly when he tries. When I say generally, I mean always, and when he tries, I mean the 4-5 times in the past three years. I don't know why I thought that this would turn out any differently. Because it didn't.

He had climbed on top of me and started kissing me. I kissed back. He fondled me and pulled my legs up so that I was straddling him even though I was the one on my back. I complied because it felt nice and I pressed my face into his shoulders, inhaling him as I tasted his skin. Suddenly he stopped kissing me and pulled away. I let out a big sigh and that cued me to realized that he was done. I turned over, realized that it was truly over again, and immediately curled into a fetal position. He turned over too and faced the wall.

I retreated into the blankets, humiliated that I had let this go so far, especially when I knew better, but my hopes had spurred me on. I really was less humiliated, and more frustrated, but those two emotions as well as consternation, anger, resignation, all those things washed over me. He turned around, he wanted to talk. Sure. Why not. What is there to lose?

"I don't know why you have to be so intense. Couldn't you be softer?" he asked. "You were biting me," he said, and continued with several more admonitions that I had apparently transgressed. "And I started thinking about the lube, and do we need a condom, and..."

And there, the wave of sadness just passed through me. This is again a trust issue. He assigns blame, doesn't trust, and I was just frustrated enough to take it. "Fine," I said. "I understand. This is my fault. I get it. I was too rough, I was too fast, I was too intense, and you fear that I have something." I started crying, inconsolably.

"No, it's not that," he said. "Well, yes it is. But I'm not blaming you. Can't you see this is me and not you? Why do you always have to make this about you?"

"You are blaming me. It's my fault, you say, because I'm rough, fast, and intense. If it weren't for those things, everything would be fine - right?"

"No." He jockeyed, "This is my problem."

"Yes," I interrupted, "but you're saying that what I was doing was the cause for you to stop, because you were uncomfortable by it and the implications. Therefore you were blaming me for being noncompliant to your needs and desires."

"No, I'm not doing that."

"Well, then if I hadn't engaged in those things, would you have stopped?"

"No."

"So, because I did, you stopped. Right?"

"Yes."

"Then my behavior is obviously the target reason for your change of behavior. Logically, you're reasoning, if I didn't do these things that made you uncomfortable (things that normal people engage in when they're being intimate), then you would have continued, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's blame." I said frantically, "Your attributing reasons for your discomfort and decision to discontinue to my behavior. That's blame."

"Maybe," he said. "But I don't see why you take it so personally."

"How can I not!" I cried. "This is about you and me. There is nobody else in this room. It's just us. The issue here lies with either you, or me, or with both of us. And you just so happen to drop the reasons for your lack of sexual interest in me on my behavior and how I interact with you."

"I'm not doing that," said, completely offended. "I know that these are my problems."

"Well take responsibility! Don't just point fingers at me and say because 'you were doing this' and 'you were doing that' that I'm not interested in you anymore. Stop overanalyzing everything." I poked him on his forehead. "Shut this off. Stop letting this get in the way. Start trusting me. Start feeling. Stop building that wall. Stop using all these thoughts of 'what will I get from him' as a shield. You don't let me in. You don't let me know what you're feeling. You don't let me past the protective shield that is the part of you that is human. You don't let me help you."

"I do let you help me. I just can't stop thinking about what might happen." He was specifically referring to his fear of HIV. "And this is my mother's fault, I'm so afraid of offending her, and now I'm transferring that to you, and I stop myself from engaging with you because I'm afraid of how you will react." We then had a long segue about how his mother had caused him the grief and the uncertainty that he has in general, and how it has made him second guess everything in his life.

"Your mother is not in this room." I said, in all seriousness. "It's you and me. Nobody else. Just us."

"I want this to be right, but I'm afraid of what you will think and afraid that you'll think that this isn't right. This has always been difficult for me, and you know that. I don't understand why you think that this would be perfect the first time after two years." He took a breath, and looked at me like a dejected puppy. "I want this to work so that we have a future and but I just can't seem to let anything go."

"Sex is not a commodity," I said. He asked me what I meant. "Sex is about the moment. It's about the present. It's about two people who love each other and want to share something with each other. It's not a commodity to be traded or sold. It's not to be used as something that can be bartered for something in the future, goods, affection, love or otherwise. Nor is it something that should be used to atone for the past. You have to be in the moment, otherwise it becomes a good. It becomes a commodity. We live in a world that is filled with future and past, but sex is the one thing that can be experienced in the present. In the here and now. It makes us alive, it makes us feel alive. If you weigh it down with all that other baggage, it no longer has any real meaning. It gets stuck in your head. That's what it's doing now with you. You've attributed value to it that has become bigger than the thing itself, and it stops you from actually engaging in it. You've given it a crutch, and now you don't even now what it is or how to feel it. I know I sound all postmodern about this, but we do live in a postmodern world."

"I want you to do something." I said, "It's going to be further burden on you."

"What," he asked.

"We need to compromise. I can't keep doing this. I love you, but I cannot stay with someone who cannot be intimate with me. I want you to see a doctor or a counselor. I want you to fix this. If you do that, I will be there with you to help you."

"You just want me to change?" he implored, "You know I can't change. This is too hard. I've tried for so very long. Do you expect me to just suddenly be perfect and be able to be sexual with you?"

"No. But I have high hopes. I know it. I've been patient and loving and supportive for three years. I stopped last year because we just stopped talking about it and basically started ignoring it. I can do that for you. I can continue to be loving and supportive and help you through this. I just want you to try. I don't want you to ignore this anymore. I don't expect you to be perfect, but I do expect and demand that you try. If you don't then there will be consequences. That consequence is that I will leave you. I cannot do this forever. I love you. More than you give me credit for, but I cannot grow old living as if I were your brother. We are not brothers. You've made me out to be the brother you never had, but I am your partner, not your brother. I need more than what we have now. It is not asking too much. It is asking for everything. I know that."

"Yeah," he sobbed. "You might be right."

"Maybe, maybe not. But we have to try. We can't ignore this any longer. That's why I've always been honest with you about what I'm doing. I have to be a sexual person, I can not not be. I almost died when I was trying to be celibate with you. I never want to got there again. I will not let myself get so wrapped up in you or in anybody else that I'm willing to hurt myself over it. I can't afford to do that, and I will not allow myself to be so co-dependent again."

"You know," he said, "I got online while in my apartment by myself for that week, and while I did I had three guys come over. I didn't touch any of them and I didn't let any of them touch me, but this one guy, he leaked a lot and I completely freaked out. I made him wash his hands even though he didn't touch me and I didn't want to touch the sink because I was afraid I might get some precum on my hands..." He further elucidated is other experiences.

"And you freak out about me. I know. This is why I want you to see a counselor. Honestly, this has also been somewhat good for me. I'm becoming more confident with men than I ever have been before. It's been educational."

"Really?" He sounded suspicious and saddened.

"Yes. On the way here, I did something I've never done before. I met a guy while at the Dallas airport."

"Where? How?"

"In the Admiral's Club. A guy hit on me. I reciprocated."

"Where did you do that?"

"In the bathroom."

"How old was he?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Well, the guys I met were in their 30's"

"He seemed like he was in his early 30's and he was from London."

"What did you do?"

"That's none of your business."

"Why?" He was offended.

"Because you only want to know so that you can feel better about yourself and also figure out whether I was in your safety zone."

"Did you have oral sex?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I just do."

"Fine, we had oral sex."

"Did he come in your mouth?"

"That too is none of your business."

"You should tell me."

"Why? If I told you he did not, then you would be fearful because I sucked him and he sucked me. If I told you he did, then you would be fearful about that too. There is no difference. HIV is difficult to spread through oral sex. It should make no difference."

"It just does."

"I'm not going to tell you. You aren't ready for either answer."
"Besides," I said, changing the subject, "you lied to me."

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did. I asked you several times, over the phone and once while here already, are you exploring. You said no.

"You asked if I was sucking or fucking, and I didn't do either of those things, so I answered honestly."

"No, I asked you if you were exploring. And besides the point, even if I hadn't asked you that specific question (and I did), you still said no. And in the gist of the question, you knew the answer. Don't play semantics with me. You were exploring. I'm not mad at you. I just want you to be honest with me. I'm honest with you, I talk to you openly, unless you're trying to hurt yourself with the question (and even then I am honest about how I'm answering the question with you). I don't omit, unless I tell you I'm doing so. You don't trust me, and how can I trust you if you do these things without being honest about them? Especially when you know that I'm happy for you... which is besides the point."

"You're right. I'm sorry. And I'm tired. I want to go to bed."

And that's where the conversation ended. I started writing here, and he's sleeping. It's 4 in the morning, and I've been typing for the past two or more hours. I don't really know. I'm not sure how we're going to move forward, but we're going to have to do so. Somehow. If this is going to work, we're going to have to figure it out relatively soon. Not right now, and not right away, but soon. We haven't figured it out yet, so I'm not sure about this hope for a miracle, but I hold out some hope anyway.

Achievement ideology.... if you try hard enough....

I know that it's a false and misleading schema, but I hold out some glimmer, some hope. The second shoe has dropped, and all we have left is the floor bottom. If that falls out too, then we've got nothing. So there's nothing to lose. I've found out that I can live alone and be perfectly capable, if saddened by his absence. I'm not clinging to him from that fear anymore. I want to make this work for the two of us, but I am no longer beholden. We will have to see where this goes. But this is going to happen on a two way street, this is not just a oneway anymore.

okay, I lied.

2006-12-28T14:28:00.000-08:00

Just after I finished the last post, I headed off to the restroom to go about my normal business. On the way out, I caught the eye of a man in his thirties sitting near the exit door. I looked at him, he looked at me and I continued walking. Well, I remembered a cue about cruising and as I walked away, I turned to look back at him through the corner of my eye. He was still looking.

Now I've never done this before. All the experience with sex that I have, it's all been with people I know. I'm damn good at what I do, but only if I know the person. Cruising is way outside of my comfort zone. But I took my last paragraph in the previous posting to heart, and decided to sit down where I could see him. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Nothing was probably going to come of it anyway.

He was still looking.

So I nonchalantly pulled out my notebook computer and powered up. If he was really interested, I'd make him do the work. This was my first time. (Have I mentioned that before?) He kept looking, and he even got up and switched seats so that he had a direct view, instead of having to turn his head. He got up, nodded his head toward the bathroom, and walked behind a wall where I couldn't see. I still had all my luggage with me and my computer out, so I thought about it for a moment, and decided to put my stuff away. But I took awhile, on purpose.

He came back. Sat down, and basically stared at me while trying to be inconspicuous.

I put my bags in order, and stood up. I walked around another wall. He was waiting for me. We made eye contact, I smiled. He smiled back. I headed towards the restrooms. Since I'm in the Admiral's Club at the terminal, the restrooms are relatively vacant. There's a steady trickle of people going in and out, but there are large swath's of time where there is no one else, and you're by yourself. I walked in, and he waited. I saddled myself up to a stall, the one in the far back... and he eventually found his way in. He stood next to me. He was erect.

I wasn't so much. I was god damned nervous I was.

I looked at him though and smiled. He smiled back. When the room was clear of people, we made our way into the disabled stall, where there was plenty of room. Since the restroom is in the club, the stalls were completely enclosed. No feet to show under the partitions. I locked the door, and quietly, but firmly, he grabbed me and kissed me. I kissed back. Nervous or not, I know how to do that. He fumbled around my clothes, both of us trying to be quiet while still locking tongues. He made for my belt. I grabbed his neck. He loosened my belt. I undid the top button of his shirt. I finally had to turn around to take off my sport jacket and long coat to hang it up, and he chuckled... then stopped himself realizing the noise.

I turned back to him, and he released my semi-hard cock from my jeans. I wasn't going to get much harder. Not with being nervous as hell and jacking off five times last night, having saved up from the trip to Tahoe. Still, I tried my best. He got on his knees to suck me, futilely trying to stimulate more. I grinned sheepishly, shrugged my shoulders and pulled him back up, kissing him again. He ravaged my mouth, pushing his tongue in deep, but without overwhelming me. He knew how to kiss. I nibbled on his lips, which drove him further, and he held me hard against himself.

Grabbing his hair while he kissed me further, I took control, demonstrating my talents. I pulled away, his lips pursed, waiting for more as I knelt down and undid his belt buckle. His cock was long, about 7 inches, but thin... perfect for sucking on. It wasn't so wide that I'd choke on it. I can handled deep, it's the width down my throat that is hard to take. I sucked him, and he was rock hard. He pushed my face onto his cock, and I took it like an expert. (Oh, when has it ever been a good thing to be an expert cock sucker?) All the while I struggled not to make noise because men were going in and out of the restroom, completing legitimate business. I eventually pulled off, tasting copious amounts of precum, and switched places.

He again tried to get me hard, but I started trembling so hard that I had to stop him. He looked at me and grinned, and I mouthed, "I've never done this before!" He grinned harder, and kissed me again. I got down to suck him again, pulling at his balls and fingering him slightly. When I pulled my hand off of him, he put it back, obviously liking what I was doing. I continued to suck him, and my nose was filled with his pubic hair.

He bent down and whispered that he was about to cum, and then he pushed my head as far as it would go down and came in my mouth. I pulled off of him, and I kissed him again. He asked if I wanted to cum, but I said no, being way too nervous to be able to even keep my half erection.

He smiled, handed me my sport jacket, and got zipped up with me. Just a that moment, several men walked into the restroom, and we waited inside the stall for the room to clear out. We whispered to each other, finding out that he was going to London as I was going to Paris. He was disappointed, he wanted to play further in the plane. That would have been interesting, if albeit even more dangerous. As we were waiting, an announcement came over the intercom that his plane was beginning to board, so there was even more of an incentive to get out of there quickly. The game turned into an attempt to get out of the stall without coming out together and without people noticing that there were two men in that stall. When there were only two men left at the sink, we agreed that he'd make a break for it, but he'd wait for me when I left. As he left, his luggage got stuck in the door, and I pushed the door further open, hoping I didn't get caught as I did so. 40 seconds later or so, I too ran for it, just stopping to wash my hands and rinse out my mouth.

He was waiting in the aisle near the elevator entrance of the club, and we exchanged brief pleasantries. I found out he was a banker who lived in London, although he was an American. I told him what I did, but then he had to go, because his plane had been boarding for several minutes by that point. We bid each other goodbye, and I went to sit down, since I had another 45 minutes before my plane would board.

So, I guess you get what you wish for, or what you are willing to try.... Now if I could only control that nervousness. But practice makes perfect.

The laments of an aiport waitress

2006-12-28T12:11:00.000-08:00

So here I am sitting here in Dallas on a 5 and half hour layover.

Zip Di Dee Do Da.

When I landed from Reno, I was so excited to get off that cramped plane that I up and walked away from my wallet. Halfway up the jet ramp I realized that I had left it laying on the seat, and I turned around to go attempt to retrieve it. I half expected it to be gone, since I was in the middle of the plane when I debarked. After everyone else was off, they let me back on, and low and behold, there it was! A $20 bill still poking out the top.

Talk about an incentive to take. God, I'm an idiot!

I then had a simple lunch where the waitress flirted incessantly with me. I gather that it's her job to be nice and being pleasant probably ups the chances of a good tip, but there are limits! I'm used to having women act in various inappropriate ways around me, but I still find it disconcerting when these things happen. At school, I chalk it up to the teacher-student relationship. As a person with perceived authority, there are an usual number of students (particularly of the female variety) either develop crushes on an instructor (i.e. me) or try to manipulate the instructor using various verbal and physical subtleties (and sometimes, not so subtleties). In other words, I get more than my fair share of experience with women flirting with me. With most of these women, I'm able to immediately signal my lack of availability, but a few are either more persistent than usual, or just more dense than usual. Regardless, it has become all in a day's work.

Here, at the airport, it's a bit of a different story. I don't believe that there is the implicit authority differential as there is in a student-teacher relationship, and I still have a fair share of women be very forward with me. I don't want to quash them, especially because I'm happy that they are forward (even if we both end up being embarrassed by the incident). Women have been socialized to be submissive and non-aggressive, especially when pursuing potential relationships. While the glass ceiling is cracking, it's still a bit of work for a young woman to push the envelope, and I hate doing anything to diminish any self-confidence that they exhibit. (Of course, I give myself too much credit when I write that. As if I have any long term affect on other people in such a brief exchange. These behaviors are often purely transitory.)

So here I am, returning pleasantries to this young woman because, well, to do otherwise would be rude. All the tell-tale signs are there, the constant attention. The leaning forward, the touching of my shoulder, the giggling. Oh, jesus, the giggling. Does it ever stop?! I can't wait to get out of there. She asks me where I'm from. I tell her the truth. Reno. Hoping that the knowledge that I'm from nowhere near here might help her diffuse her interest. Nothing doing. Finally she walks away, I have some peace. I can eat my salad. Just in case though, I pull out my book The Quotable Atheist. so that I can hold it up and pretend to be more interested in the book than in anything else. That, and in God Country such as Texas, anything lauding Atheism should scatter the locals like light with roaches. It kind of works, she comes back less

She comes back at one point to leave the check, and I pretend to be engrossed in my book. Staring at it fervently, forcing myself to read every line, distinctly, so I won't be distracted enough to look up, and then somehow accidentally, catch her gaze. I am a prisoner at this little two seater table with only a silver plastic fork and knife as my defensive weapons, in a restaurant in the middle of the D terminal in the Dallas airport. Looking around furtively to see if she is gone using my brand new peripheral vision (did I mention that I had lasik surgery preformed two weeks ago?), I find her helping other customers on the other side of the restaurant. I plan to pay the bill in cash and leave. I open up the bill flap, and on a napkin next to the bill is her number! I look around again, much less subtly this time, find her still with customers, so I pay the money and skedaddle as fast as I can.

I hope that she can handle it better than I can.

Oh why, oh why does this never happen to me with cute men my own age? When it does happen with guys, why is it always old men? Why is it rare regardless? Yeah, I'm still uncomfortable when I get this kind of attention from women, but it still happens. With men though, I don't have the chance to be uncomfortable because opportunities so rarely present themselves. Sure, ratio of straight women to gay men is much higher, but even with that knowledge, the incidence of interesting behavior still doesn't pan out to expectations.

Damn.

Ah well, not that I know what I'm doing anyway.

I did see a really cute guy, who looked a bit like a young Greg Kinnear in the terminal shuttles today. He was scruffily dressed, was adorable, and we ended up exiting at the same terminal gate. After accidentally running into him (not literally, unfortunately) several times in the next half hour, I found him cuter and cuter. Did I do anything about it? Hell no! This is Dallas. I might get hanged here. In the airport. Off a jet engine. But what I don't try, I understand I'll never accomplish. Not that I had much to do, even if I had struck up a conversation. Although I did have 5 hours to spare, one never knows what might happen in 5 hours. I know I'll never know at this point with him. He was adorable though, in the everyday-guy boy-next-door sort of way. Mr. I Don't Even Know Your Name.

Now I know how the waitress feels.

Sigh.

Wind and Fire

2006-12-27T20:12:00.000-08:00

I'm back from a mostly relaxing, but strangely harrowing week in Tahoe. Everything was dandy until last night, when a storm blew in to the Truckee Meadows and Tahoe region, kicking up 100+ mph winds over the mountain summits and dropping several inches of snow by morning. All night we heard loud thuds as pinecones the size of pineapples crashed on to the roof like bombs, then the rattle-tattle as they rolled off. The waves at lakeshore were phenomenal, I've never seen waves that high at Tahoe. The dock, hidden behind the trees in the picture, was consistently washed over by the whitecaps. While the wind was whipping at the lake, it was doing so in the valley below too.

Simultaneous to all this, while watching the news I find out that there's a 400+ acre grassfire less than a block away from my house. It started when an electrical transformer was blown over in the wind and blew up in a field just over the hill from where I live. I'm pretty impotent in the blizzard, so I haven't much to do at that point except for fret and pace. I realized that I didn't have any of my neighbor's numbers with me, and low and behold when I attempt to look them up through the phonebook and online, each and every one of them is unlisted. All the while listening to conflicting reports of mandatory and voluntary evacuations of the homes at my block.

The emotional frustration is almost beyond words.

As soon as I made it back home today, I gathered all the telephone numbers for the next trip, which starts tomorrow. When I finished finding the numbers, I then went from house to house, checking in on all the neighbors to see how they were doing. Everyone had their own story to tell, since the fire literally came within 100 feet of the housing development before the rain put it out.

As I was driving in, I took some pictures of the aftermath. This one is from over my neighbor's fence, looking out from my front yard.
Switching tracks, the cabin stay overall however, was lovely. We had a great time together, watching movies, playing games, shopping, and generally just hanging out together. I love spending time with my closest college friends, and while the stay was short for me because I'm heading to Europe tomorrow morning, I've got the next three weeks to look forward to as well. Paris and Rome, here I come!

Off to the wild blue yonder

2006-12-21T15:22:00.000-08:00

I'm off to Lake Tahoe for a lovely Christmas cabinside on the lake shore with my close friends, specifically the ones who had moved to North Carolina.

Before heading out though, I spent a little time with both SOF and Prof #1, separately, of course. While in Tahoe, I haven't decided if I want to do anything interesting or not. Probably not. Simply hanging out with close friends listening to Christmas music, drinking alcohol, playing Carcassonne, and watching porn seems quite enough for me.

My closest friend "Betty", whom I've known since my first day of college some 12 years ago has apparently become quite fixated on gay pornography after I shared with her a sample of it on my iPod during Thanksgiving in North Carolina. Apparently she likes the "intensity" and the "aggressivity" of it, which apparently one doesn't see in heterosexual pornography.

True.

I've seen a bit of gay porn that doesn't express those fine qualities, but she hasn't seen that. And I don't put the crappy shit on my iPod. I keep the good stuff for that. But it doesn't come without risks. While on a plane a few weeks ago I pulled out that iPod in order to watch something simple. Like "Mission Impossible III". I turn on the pod to the movies file in order to choose my selection. I know I have to be kinda sneaky about it because of the file names I have to scroll through in order to get to my selection, file names including "Fuckholes 4", "Plow me" and "Arschficken". But instead of opening up to the files, the iPod goes directly to video, the last one I saw the night before... of two men fucking over a log.

Swell.

Stop. Stop! Make it stop!

That was some frantic attempt. I slapped the iPod against my lap, face down, pushing buttons to turn it off. Thank god no one was looking, and thankfully the pod is on ear buttons, and not open volume. That would have been fun. Probably would have gotten myself kicked off the plane. I still looked guilty as hell, I'm surprised no one called me on the look on my face alone.

Now, I have an 11 hour flight to Europe in five days. I wonder how much time I can get away with holing myself up in the cabin restroom with that iPod without drawing too much attention. Perhaps I shouldn't even consider it. In the meantime, Betty asked me to bring more samples of interesting material for our cabin stay. So I loaded up my notebook, and we'll see if she finds anything interesting that she can take back to her home life. That'll sure spice up her marriage.

Rejected?

2006-12-17T12:53:00.000-08:00

I am such a dunce when it comes to meeting new people. I'm very comfortable with people I know, and quite confident once I have an idea about who they are. But with new people, I'm still clueless.

I met this really nice guy who is about my age at 31, interesting, attractive, and engaging a couple of months ago. A couple of weeks ago, I ran into him again, and I suggested that we meet up for coffee sometime. He wanted to do it after Christmas, but because I'm going to Europe, he changed his mind and thought we should have coffee relatively soon instead.

So okay, he seems interested.

So we planned for the following Thursday. We met up and had a great time, such a great time in fact that it seemed to be heading somewhere. I however, not wanting to lead him on by withholding important information such as 'I'm in a relationship, but looking for casual sex', told him such. It was probably too much information all at once. Now I didn't give him that statement all in one sentence. Not even all within the same hour of conversation, but it boiled down to pretty much that. Once he ascertained it was pretty much that though, he seemed genuinely surprised, then awkward... then I became awkward, and things just spiraled down from there.

We parted relatively well, but I still felt awkward and while he did initiate a pretty firm hug to say goodbye, the whole situation felt odd. I was in a way rejected, although not directly. I told him he was attractive and I was interested, but he didn't seem to reciprocate.

Perhaps I spoiled the milk by giving too much all at once. He probably didn't need to know I was in a relationship unless things were going to go into a sexual direction. I however wanted to be direct and aggressive in my attempt to forego the passive pursuee role that I often play in these sorts of situations.

That's life though. I've never done this before, been aggressive, asked somebody out, and taken such risks. Now, I've taken my first risk, didn't know where the limits where, and jumped way too far over the line. While it's sad because this person does seem quite interesting, I gotta learn from the mistakes and move on. Try again, then try again. I should have been doing this 10 years ago, but I was way too damn insecure with myself to even consider it. Now I realize that the insecurity is truly my own manifestation, and when I am rejected, it's not the end of the world. I can try again.

And still, there's always hope that I may recover from this little fall. He may still be interested if I stop acting like a freak, and start acting naturally. We'll see. And if he's not, then again... try again with somebody else who seems interesting.

An Unusual Relationship

2006-12-12T17:54:00.000-08:00

I had an amazing Sunday evening of sex with SOF last week. The turn of conversation was even more interesting, although it has given me some food for thought. It was my turn to invite him to my place, and he showed up just after the sun set. Things quickly progressed into me being fucked over at both ends, much to my delight. And while I'm usually very relaxed and receptive to his cock, this time I was up for quite a pounding, being much more relaxed then usual. Round and round we went until I literally saw stars. We came at the same time, the first volley of my own cum hitting the wall behind my head, the rest mixing with his pooled across my chest and stomach. Out of breath, he collapsed onto my chest, and my cum smeared across the skin between the two of us.

Later, as the cum dried in spattered sheets across the hair on my stomach, we talked about the fact that I might be moving to parts unknown within the next year.

"I don't know what I'm going to do when you leave. It'd be awkward explaining traveling to see you," he said while running his hands through my hair, gently tugging the crusty points of the dried semen.

"Awkward for both of us," I agreed.

"I can't imagine not seeing you though. You're perfect; this is perfect. Just the way it is," he said, still tugging.

I was silent, but nodded my head.

He continued, "[My partner] and I never have sex. I mean, he's the person I want to be with, but you - you are are the person I want to be with. I can't imagine not being able to have sex with you. We've been friends for almost 10 years, and during all that time, I never knew what I was missing."

I looked up at him, "It's strange how relationships develop. How they evolve and how they change. Ours has certainly changed over the years."

He smiled fondly, "Well," he paused, now I don't want to let you go. The strange part is that I love [my partner], and I plan on being with him the rest of my life, but I also can't imagine losing you."

"Well, I care about you too," I said, "but if it's time for me to go, then I have to go. Reno has only so much for me, and I've stayed here too long. [My boyfriend] might end up anywhere, and I've for the first time been okay with the uncertainty of doing something new. I've never been able to be like that, to feel that before. You know that I've always been to afraid to take those kinds of risks."

"I know," he said, then paused again, "I don't want this to sound weird, but you're like the son I never had. I care about you very much. I want to know that you're safe and that you're happy. If you move away, I won't be able to watch over you. I know you don't like people to care for you, you're so god damned independent, but still, you're my friend, and although I know that you're making the decision that is for the best, I just want to be selfish and keep you here."

"Well, not to minimize what you just said or anything," I said, sitting up because the whole issue about me being like a son to him is weird in a creepy sort of way, especially because we have a sexual relationship, "but that is a bit weird. I don't think of you as a daddy, and I've not let you act like one either."

"I know," he sighed. "I know. Didn't I just tell you that you're 'god damned independent'? Look, I know that we would not work well as a couple. We're too different people and you won't let me, or anybody for that matter, take care of you. And I'm perfectly happy with [my partner]. But still, we have an unusual relationship, and while it is different, secret, and to be perfectly honest, very hot, and I care about you. I'm going to be heartbroken to see you go."

"I know," I said, laying back down as he continued to tousle with the hair on my stomach. "It going to be a significant change for all of us. Me. You. [My boyfriend]. Everybody." I sat back up again. "But it's a minimum of 9 months away, we have plenty of time to figure this through."

"True," he said. "In the meantime, let me look at your hot body again."

And after that we cleaned up. He is a sweet man, who does try to do things for me that I won't let him do. I think he secretly wished he could be like a "daddy" to me, but there's no way I would let him. He's right. I am way too damned independant. I never want to be in that kind of position, and while some may revel in being treated to various things, I make sure I make my own way. I am beholden to no one. I refuse to be bound to any person through favors or gifts. I'm also not interested in transitioning to a subservient role, intended, implied or otherwise though the standard 'daddy-son' relationship that can often manifest in cross-generational relationships. I know that he would never intend that, but roles, implied or not, can often evolve to follow traditional pathways if allowed to evolve in such a way. Well, as traditional as a cross-generational gay sexual relationship can be when the older man is a top and the younger man is a bottom. It's just easy to fall into such things if one allows it.

And simply, I have never liked anything to ever be easy. Never.

It hurts to sit up!

2006-12-11T21:22:00.000-08:00

All this sexual tension and energy has really got me going. I spent an afternoon with Prof #1 on Saturday, and a fine ol' time we had. I was a bit hung over from the party I hosted at my place the night before, but that didn't stop me. I needed to fuck somebody, and the prof was more than obliging.

I swear I'm not just using him for his body. It might be the other way 'round though, he keeps taking pictures. They had better not end up on craigslist.

While condoms aren't all that convenient, they sure are important and I went though several of them that evening. In and out, in and out, switch to oral, back to fucking, rest, oral again, then resume fucking. On and on it went until we were both exhausted and dizzy. I showed up at 2:30 in the afternoon, and by the time I left that evening, marathon the whole way, it was a little past 10.

While I may have written as if it were a chore, it certainly wasn't and my abs were sore from fucking him for at least 3 to 4 of the hours I was there. So was my cock, but that's another story. I played pure top this time, ensuring that his ass was as sore as my stomach muscles felt, because it's only right to return the favor. While the prof and I like to explore odd positions from time to time, sometimes the classics have their own reward.

Now, if only this were enough.

Lines in the Sand

2006-12-10T12:57:00.000-08:00

Now that I'm truly beginning to wallow in this ideology shift of mine, I'm beginning to consider crossing 'the big' limits that I've long established for myself, now that I've taken the route towards sexual freedom and expression. The problem is, I'm actually forcing myself to think about these limits, versus just jumping over them willy nilly.

Of course, I'm convincing myself that at the very least, considering my plans and thinking about the consequences is the higher ground and by doing such, I don't succumb to dirty old man status. The fact that I'm relating these things together, however, doesn't bode well.

The boy I met in September continues to be mildly interesting, but he is more of a mental novelty than anything else. I continue to see him often through my political and social circles, but I've stopped fixating on him long ago. I met a new young man, the one I mentioned I danced with at the end of my "6000 word essay" as my friend Betty gently put it, and since then have seen him at a few other social outings, including a party I had at my house on Friday. September boy was there too, mind you, and again, while cute, I have moved on - especially because he's way too young for me at 19 years old.

This other boy, however, I had been led to believe was at least 21 because of seeing him at the bar. Poof. After talking with him to get to know him better, I find out that he too is actually only 19, and he had snuck in to the bar that night. Swell. I'm fixated on another 19 year old Freshman - a boy a decade my junior. I've never been attracted to younger men before! What the hell is happening to me! Seems that in this case, the rumor mill says that he's interested too, although he's wary because I have a boyfriend.

Don't blame him. I would be too.

Question is though, should I move forward? Should I try? Or should I again take a step back, and not cross that line drawn in the sand. Sure I drew that line myself, but he is a student, yet not mine. Will he ever be a student of mine? Probably not, he's a criminal justice and international affairs major and I'm in the sciences...

I'm tempted. Thankfully the semester is over. He's going home to Las Vegas and I'm heading off to Europe. I have five weeks to cool off. That should be about enough time, right?

Ever Supportive

2006-12-08T11:21:00.000-08:00

While chatting with my boyfriend in France, I brought up the conversations I've been having lately with various people about being overly wordy especially since it was fresh in my mind having written about it yesterday. He had a pretty pragmatic response to the situation.

"Fuck them. They're jealous because they're not as intelligent."

Now that is a typically French response if I dare say so.

Desperate Attempt

2006-12-07T17:17:00.000-08:00

The past week has been rather interesting. I've not been busy engaging in random carnal activities, I've been rather inactive in that department. It doesn't mean that the opportunity hasn't presented itself though. During the past three months, I've really started to take another look at my life, trying to get a handle on my shyness, figure out reasons for self-imposed limits, and really break down the walls that I've put up in order to purposely make myself unapproachable.

Ever since puberty, I've always been afraid of what other people think about me. Will I be accepted or will I be rejected? Will I fit in? If I know I won't fit in, how do I successfully avoid rejection? In my adulthood, I was living out the fear that had begun around puberty when suddenly, we all figured out that I wasn't like all the others. Wrong skin color, wrong religion, steeped in poverty, and too smart for my own good. I ended up being isolated for the rest of my public education. I learned how to avoid getting close to people, how to avoid standing out too much. How to avoid being singled out. But to do that, I needed to assess quickly what others were thinking, or at least make my best guess. I got pretty good at it, although I kept applying it in a fashion that would ensure my isolation. I reveled in being a nerd, reveled in being a goody-to-shoes, reveled in my private smugness that at least I was better than everyone else.

Then came college, and the realization that I knew nothing. In that, I blossomed soaking up new ideas, engaging myself in new cultures, meeting new people, and suddenly, inexplicably, becoming popular. And during that sudden popularity, I privately obsessed that I would lose it. Quickly. Publicly. Humiliatingly. To prevent that perceived hell, I consolidated my friends, pushing the people that I felt I couldn't trust to arm's length, and strengthening my ties with those that I already felt closest. To ensure my own safety net, I became two different people. For the few that I was truly close with, I was known as effervescent, loyal, sentimental, multiple shades of silly, and rather crude in humor. To all others, I was perceived as empathetic, caring, intelligent, and simultaneously distant. I would listen to concerns, do what I could to help, but never let them in to my life. The acquaintances were skewed towards listening to others, never sharing myself.

Over the next 10 years, I let very few people in beyond that wall of professionalism that I so carefully constructed. In all honesty, there were only four people since my sophomore year of college, if I don't count my current boyfriend. I was still led by fear of losing the ones I loved most, and I wasn't emotionally ready to trust anyone I hadn't established relationships that weathered the test of time. The three I let in were only after years of proximity, and then, only after they continued to push to be let in further, and I accepted with great reluctance. The sudden rejection during puberty was still a festering wound in both my conscious and subconscious, and I hadn't grown up enough to let it go. I let my childhood fears control my life.

Over the past two years I began to let down my guard, and shrug off the woe-is-me attitude. I haven't changed so much as I am still slow to let people in, and there have been many a person who's attempted a friendship that I've let slip by the wayside. I'm slow to trust, and slower to act upon it. Yet even that is slipping because I realize that I'm my own worst enemy. While the shyness is still there, it's mostly now manifesting itself as uncertainty.

Especially in the cruising world.

I've talked about how I refuse to do the anonymous thing in my blog. I still stand by that proclamation, I probably always will. I've limited my sexual activity to friends, not always from within the closest circle, but people I've assessed as 'safe' nonetheless. If I have the slightest doubt about trust or accessibility, I steer as far away as I can, continuing the professional air, not allowing them or myself to get close. I've always been terrible at figuring out when I'm being hit on by men. With women, I figure it out quickly. With men, I'm generally clueless unless they're being unabashedly obvious. And obvious men are rare and with those who I'm not sure about, I'm clueless about to do when an opportunity comes along.

The big change began in September, when I found myself attracted to a student. While I nipped pursuit of those feelings in the bud quickly, it got me thinking about the value of taking risks. I've been so safe these past several decades, that I've neglected my own desires and potential. I broke out of being safe when my boyfriend and I decided to allow for an open relationship to deal with his asexuality. I broke out of being safe when I reestablished a long dormant sexual network and added a couple of old friends to the matrix. I'm breaking out of being safe by finally finding my own confidence.

I've also had several conversations with various people about my general unapproachability and virtual sterility once they get past a certain stage with me. I am well known for having a big heart and always being available for those in need, being helpful and expedient, polite and friendly. I ensure that goals are met and potentials reached. But past that professional facade, I gave up nothing. I built a wall to expansive heights, letting none of these people in. I've often been told that I would be an excellent counselor, because I can make people comfortable with sharing their lives with me and working through their personal issues and problems, and simultaneously be silent about my own opinions.

Through these recent conversations, I've been told that I use 'big words' in my everyday speech. Apparently I college talk everywhere I go. While I am very quick to explain a word that someone doesn't understand, I have difficulty speaking (or writing for that matter) in everyday conversational English. I know I do this to some extent, for a long time talking to my mother was hell, because she'd understand half of what I was saying and then literally cry, proclaiming that I was 'talking too big for my britches'. I've since learned to speak at a different level, which is definitively easier when I switch back to my native accent, a rural hybrid dialect very distinctive to the American South and lower Midwest. Mom seems to be happier when I drop the Colorado accent in favor of the native one, regardless of the words I choose to use.

Another pattern I was made aware of that I never thought about before was my tendency to explain words or concepts that came up in conversations that I "knew" weren't universally understood by the group. If I saw there was an odd person out who didn't know something, I would launch into a long explanation about what the word means, where it comes from, and examples of how it might be used elsewhere. Recently, I was in the middle of something quite like that when the person, a friend that I've let in closer than I let most, stopped me and said, "You know, I'm smart too, I know generally what it means, even if I don't know the specifics. You don't have to explain everything!" That and my tendency, he explained, to 'prove' I know what they're talking about by contextualizing whatever it is they just said and introducing esoteric subtleties of the topic in, as he said, a "desperate attempt to look smart".

That hurt. Because he was right.

I'm insecure. So I find security in what I know. So I try to know everything. And if I don't know something, I avoid it. People, topics, sports. That's why I get so damned overwhelmed and tired at parties. I try way too damned hard to be noticed. I try way too damned hard at being intelligent. I try way too damned hard at maintaining my own perceived reputation. The confidence I projected was a facade for the insecurity that I wallowed. I look confident because I carefully tailor my experiences and settings to ensure that I will look that way. We all do it, but I'm not going to let that be a cop-out for continuing accept what I am. I can be better in a more holistic way. I can grow. I can like myself for who I am, and not for what I think others will think of me. I can let others in, and not be afraid of being rejected. We're all rejected from time to time, and we're all accepted by various people from time to time. I can never know how it's going to be unless I really try.

How strange it is to come to this realization, not over friendship or family, nor was it education or profession. Ultimately, I realized this over sex. My desire to open up my sex life beyond the safe people that I knew would accept my advances because they were truly the initiators. It was all over a boy - whom I will not pursue.

Just because I won't pursue him, doesn't mean though that I've limited my options. Nor have I thrown up my hands and cried, "woe is me!". I've decided to be confident. Better said than done, and it's scary as hell. But it's working.

After really taking all these past few months and conversations to heart, after pursuing this issue over and over again with the folks who I never really allowed to know me, after pursing this issue with those who have never really known me for years, I began to step over the line that I had drawn for myself. I no longer want to be safe and boring.

And that's were I often found myself for the past two weeks. I was crossing lines. A young man that I met at a party on Saturday seemed interested. I talked to him, not about classes, nor his aspirations, nor what he does for a living and how that ties in with his education. I talked to him about alcohol, and his friends, and my friends, and the fact that I'm home alone - and what might come of that. He seemed interested, he wanted to go out for drinks, he was under 21. He wanted to do it at my place.

Wasn't quite ready for that.

So I politely declined, and changed the subject. Then later moved on. That night I went out dancing with a large contingent of the group. I've done this before countless times, but this time, instead of sticking to the group while dancing I ventured out. Found a boy. No older than 21. Didn't mean for it to happen that way, but he was cute - and he danced with me. Closer and closer he got until he was really dancing with me. Soon, after initial contact, his hands were in places that I wasn't prepared for. I got scared, moved back - and he followed and did it again. I allowed him to continue, and tentatively, I reciprocated limitedly by holding his waist and caressing his back. He was into it, and we had a good time.

I called it a night first, and I went home alone. I just met him for gosh sakes. I'm not that confident yet.

Caveat - he is a student in a club I advise, although it was my first night meeting him.

Oh jesus.

On Sunday I went out to dinner and a movie with a long time friend, who is closer than many, but still at arm's length. He often teases in sexually suggestive ways, and I generally smile and laugh, but have rarely reciprocated. That night, I egged him on. And I dared him to put his money where his mouth is. I think he thinks I was teasing.

On Tuesday, I had another dinner and a movie with another friend whom I've known even longer. I was 19 to his 14 years when I met him. We've worked together in gay activism for the past 10 years, but I've never even thought of being inappropriate with him during all the years that I've known him. I knew he was quite sexually active all this time, and especially in the early years, and I've advised him and supported him through all of it, staying professional. It's honestly never dawned on me to think or do otherwise with him. On Tuesday, it dawned on me. I teased him. He teased back. Sexual tension increased. After dinner we had drinks at The Patio listening and commenting to each other about the people singing badly at Karaoke night. I drove him home. He gave me a big hug and insisted we do this again soon. I went home alone.

I'm developing my confidence, not reinforcing my sluttiness.

It's all about priorities though change is in the air now that my ideology has shifted. It's amazing what letting people in a little bit will do. It's even more amazing when there is mutual sexual tension. It feels great, boosts the confidence I'm developing and, to understate, it is really interesting. Now rejection may happen sooner or later, that will be the steep learning curve. I've spent my whole adult life setting up and carefully managing situations so that I wouldn't have feel or experience rejection on any level, and now I'm getting ready to set up situations where I put myself out on some pretty tenuous limbs.

This is going to be interesting.

Down South

2006-11-23T21:10:00.000-08:00

I'm in North Carolina for the Thanksgiving holiday. I landed in Raleigh, NC (rhymes with dolly, not alley I've now been told over and over again) and immediately took a trip south to Sunset Beach at the southern coastal tip of the state. After a day of friends and friends' family, we're taking the trip back up to the northern corner of the state through a sightseeing route of museums, aquariums, and of course, shopping.

I'm in North Carolina with my closest friends from college, whom I've known for over the past 11 years. We literally started college together, living in the same dorm, and ever since, have been bonded together. They both know all about my very active life and have been substantially supportive of me as I transition(ed) from a person who was uncertain about his potential to the self assured and better adjusted person who can actively engage his sexuality.

Well, I do keep telling myself that.

As we reminisce on the past and evaluate the present, we all have changed so very much from the idealist naive bundles of energy and nerves that we were as Freshmen in college to embittered jaded hulks of exhaustion that we have become almost 12 years later. Somehow, through that transition, we have developed deeper, more meaningful relationships with each other and have certainly come closer together emotionally over the years. Back in college, we were subjected forced proximity. Now, our friendship and continued reliance on each other is by choice and habit, and both are integral to my life. They are my family, and even though there is no blood relation between the three of us, I am more loyal and devoted to them than I am to blood.

My loyalty to blood is legendary, so that's really saying something.

And while we have changed so significantly over the years through aspirations, political identity, differential education, acceptance and tolerance of others, acceptance of self, self-confidence, and choices of association - we are still bound to each other. It means so much to be known as 'family' to them, as they are for me. While my self-confidence is generally more defined and solid in general, I'm always concerned if I presume too much with them, and am so delighted when I'm reminded of their affections and respect for me. These are the warm fuzzy feelings that are so embarrassing by being simultaneously too egotistical and humbling to mention.

Sentimentality over such things; I revel in it.

We're all still young and we're all still trying to figure out what we want to do with the rest of our lives. We three have all settled into our careers, and all three of us are looking at the great beyond and discussing with each other, "It would be better if..." and "I should be doing that versus this instead". Strangely, we are all simultaneously standing on the precipice, just a hands-breadth away from the choice that will change our careers, change our lives. I think that it won't be the too distant future when the three of us will muster up the courage to jump into something new, but none of us dare jump alone. We just have to clasp our hands, count to ten out loud, and then say "Jump!"

The former employer

2006-11-23T16:34:00.000-08:00

Today I got a call from an employer I had years ago. We've kept in touch over the years for professional purposes. When he needed various documents written up quickly when his office was overwhelmed, I was often available to do them, even at peak times. I may be busy in my office, but a little extra cash in my pocket from consulting work was always welcome.

I used to work for him when I was between the ages of 18-22 doing counseling work. Back then he used to hit on me rather conspicuously, but while I worked for him I never let the relationship go beyond the professional because:

1. I worked for him, and I was way too much of a naive prude to allow that to even be a consideration,

2. I was in a relationship, and again I was a naive prude,

3. He was in a relationship, and did I mention I was a prude back then?

I've come to expect calls from him around holiday seasons because his office gets a bit overwhelmed from holiday reveler offenders, and at exactly the same time, I have more time off because of my career in education. It works well.

So I wasn't too surprised yesterday when I got a call from him. Thanksgiving is today and most of the United States gets a four day weekend. That means that a lot of inappropriate drinking behavior begins, and the police rev up their tickets and citations for drunk driving and doubly unfortunately, domestic violence incidents. This means that the old office that I used to work at becomes very busy in a short time, and they need to make sure that their plates are clean of previous client cases before the new influx of clients come through the door.

When my former employer called however, this conversation seemed different. He was taking about his life and the various goings on in his world - which is not unusual because we are old friends and we have known each other for over the past ten years. But there seemed to be something else in his voice. As the conversation progressed, we did talk about the various projects that he'd like me to take on in the next week or so, but he also wanted to talk about my house. He hasn't seen my home since I'd bought one, and he was keenly interested in visiting throughout the conversation. I inquired about his boyfriend, whom he's had an on-and-off relationship with for the past 8 years or so.

He explained that his relationship was satisfactory, but he was looking for more.

"I'm missing something," he explained, pausing for a second, "I would like to explore myself and my personal life more."

I asked him what he meant.

"Well," another pause, "You know [My boyfriend] and I live separately. I stay at his place two to three days a week and then I stay at my place on the off days. He rarely comes to my place. You know he likes being at his home with his family more."

His other half is Latino, who as one may describe as culturally typical, has a much closer nuclear family bond, where the extended family all live together under the same roof. In this case, he, his mother, his brother and his sister-in-law all live together, and they prefer to do so. (Personally, I would go stark-crazy.)

My former employer continued, "And I like my private space, I need my private space. This works for us so I can do my thing."

"And what thing is that?" I asked.

Internally I was excited, but I was cautious. I've been attracted to this man physically for years, but even if I have learned to transgress societal limitations about sex, others haven't necessarily had that epiphany. Also, I needed to assess that exactly what he was stating. Was he making a general statement, or was he opening a door?

"To be myself," he said quickly. "[My boyfriend] wouldn't like it though."

Hmm, I thought, I know what you want now. "Have you talked to him about this?"

"No, I don't think he'd take it well."

He continued on, talking about various other things that he wants to do with his life, and the steps that he's taking to meet the goals he's developing for himself.

"Well, you have a lot going for you," I said. You have a great house, your own business - which makes you a very comfortable living, good friends, a loving family, a great body..." I trailed off.

"Yeah!" He said animatedly, gushing out "I'd like to show it to you sometime."

That cinched it, he was attempting to open a door to a sexual encounter. If I were as dense as lead (and I can be sometimes) I wouldn't have been able to miss that. Now I needed to somehow make sure that he is looking for something casual. I couldn't determine whether or not he is interested for the long-term, but it's too soon to try to cross that bridge anyway. Besides, I think we both need to figure out if it works for us if we are to pursue this.

And then I realized that I was overanalyzing again. Damn that predilection!

So I let all of that go and said, "Well, we'll see what happens. Call me when I get back from North Carolina." (I'm heading off to see my closest friends for Thanksgiving this year and I won't be back until Monday.)

"Oh," he said, sounding coy at first - then he gained confidence. "I will. Don't you worry about that."

I have plenty to worry about. Whether or not he will call me later, I'm not too concerned about that. Whether or not I will take him up on his advances when he does call, now that's the question.