Dating: March 2008 Archives

I've started typing this blog post at almost 4am, early Easter Sunday morning. This seems to be the only time I have to actually sit and blog nowadays, I've been ridiculously busy lately. My head hurts a little, probably from all the wine I drank today, yesterday I should say. I should be asleep right now but I know I haven't really blogged, blogged with y'all in a minute. We haven't talked in a while, me and you, my reading public. I value you guys more than you realize. Remember, if you see me on the street don't be afraid to come up and say "Hi." I realize that we all may not know each other personally, but some of the opinions, advice, and straight up fierce ballroom girl reads that we've shared over the past thirteen months have been more substantial in my life than those I've shared with people I've known for years. Anyway, thanks, keep the cards and letters coming.

Last Easter, Sunday, April 8th, 2007, I wrote a blog post entitled "Companionship. An Idea Resurrected", in which I spilled the beans that I was in a relationship. Oddly enough this Easter I find myself in the same situation, but with a different man, obviously, but for some of you not so different. I'll explain later. Like our Lord Jesus, companionship, a notion I thought was pretty much dead for me again has miraculously managed to rise again. It's Sunday now but I originally started this post last Friday (Good Friday) morning.

=====

I woke up early this Good Friday morning at about 7:30. It's not that I actually wake up that early on the regular, I just had to pee really bad. As I rose from my bed I saw him there asleep, curled up like a little shrimp (I know it's a bad simile, but it's accurate), I smiled. A few moments later when I came back to bed he scooted back into me, we spooned and fell back asleep. Looking at him I thought about all we'd been through to get to this moment and I silently thanked God for it all, the good and the bad. I also thanked God for all that Jesus had gone through on this day, thousands of years ago. A Good Friday indeed.

Last time we talked I was dating Mr. Bojangles, the dancer who was also a virgin, remember him? Well things didn't work out between us. It didn't end badly and he's a great guy, very nice, cute, comes from good stock. He's definitely the quote-unquote "perfect guy" on paper, he's just wasn't perfect for me. And who the fuck was I kidding, me and a virgin, c'mon, it was doomed before it started. Even with all that, sex itself, or in this case the lack thereof wasn't the deal breaking issue for us, well, rather me. Obviously I knew going in that we weren't having sex and I was cool with that, I mean, I guess we'd have sex someday, when we're ready, when he's ready, after a few moths or so, right? But like most twenty-something virgins, Mr. Bojangles seemed to vilify sex, like it was a bad thing and I actually felt uncomfortable talking about sex or being sexual around him. I'm a guy, I'm a sexual guy, I like sex, I talk about sex, I write about sex, I make sexual jokes sometimes, but I couldn't really do that around him. He just seemed so prudent at times. It made me uncomfortable. But even that wasn't the real reason why I broke things off with him. As nice as it was being with him just didn't feel right.

So, being with Mr. Bojangles wasn't right, being with '08 wasn't right, being with Winston wasn't right. As nice as all these guys were and as much as they all genuinely liked me, I broke it off with all of them. Why? I know why, I know exactly why. But I was afraid to say, afraid to write, but I know why. It's because I still have feelings for Pubby. As hard as that was for me to say, as embarrassing and humiliating as it is to say, especially after all the times we'd broken up and gotten back together and all the declarations I made, vowing to never speak to him again after the way he hurt me with his neglect and indecisiveness. I can't help it. I missed him. We had our bad times but when we're together it was great, like we were the only two people in the world, looking into his eyes and him looking in mine. Even after our thing was all over I thought often of him. Little did I know he was still thinking of me too.

//===> SIDE NOTE: If you're new and have no idea who Pubby is. The best way to get into our saga is to read the "Dating" section of the blog from January 9th, 2008 back to September 18th, 2007. he's all in there. I mean you ain't gotta read everything, just give it a liberal skim just to catch yourself up. <===//

It went down like this. Pubby and I had our final knock-down, drag-out argument via email and text message via text and email right before New Years. We said a lot of mean things to each other. That day, December 30th, 2007 I believe, I decided that I didn't wanna take this dysfunctional, one-sided, relationship-like thing we had into a New Year. Although I still had feelings for him, that day was the day those feelings started to fade. As usual, after our breakups he extended the option to me to remain friends and as usual after our breakups I didn't accept it because I figured that the best and fastest way to get him out of my system was to remove him from my life altogether. Besides, I wanted to be his man, not his friend, fuck that shit.

So for a few weeks we didn't talk and reluctantly, I was back on the dating scene, totally unhappy. He went back to his ex. A relationship which he has described as on and off, rocky and tumultuous for a good part of the few years they'd been together. Every so often he would text me and I'd text back. We had textual small talk, so to speak, which would usually end when one of us got bored and stopped the text chain. We even grew to having conversations as friends. Even though I was trying my best to be friendly, I still longed for Pubby. But I fell back because he was back with his ex. No matter how good you are and no matter how much you bring to the table, the one thing you can't fuck with is history, history, experiences and memories. I also figured that the reason why he basically chose his ex over me is because his ex is "that guy", I mean that's what they tell me.

Let me explain who "that guy" is. Pubby and I are total opposites, he likes to party, I like to stay home, he's a socialite, working the crowd, I'm a homebody, who'd rather chill with just me and my people, he wears Gucci, I wear the Gap. People like him and his ex are "that guy" and I'm "the other guy". We're your basic opposites attract story, like "The Odd Couple". He's the Felix Unger to my Oscar Madison. If this were "Sex And the City" I'd be the Aidan Shaw to his Carrie Bradshaw, which is hilarious because people call me "the black gay Carrie Bradshaw". But anyway, he's creme brulee and I'm "granola", as Samantha Jones would say. The thing about me though is that I'm perfectly happy being granola, Gap & Levi's, plain construction Timbs and all white Nikes, mid-priced retail guy. Shit, say what you want about granola, it's not the fanciest food in the world, you probably won't see it in the fancy haute cuisine magazines, but granola is solid, filling and healthy. Once you crack through the hard fancy shell of creme brulee all you're left with is some cheap-ass, glorified Jell-O pudding that will leave you hungry again in an hour.

Though I enjoy it in Pubby, and I think he looks great, I personally have no desire to be high fashion, socialite guy. I don't even like clubs and I can't stand being around all those shady, fake-ass people. It just makes me wanna run to the DJ booth, grab the mic and yell out: "Where all the real niggas at?" But I guess I'm just ghetto that way. I'd rather go out to Applebee's, TGIFridays, or BBQ's or even a nicer restaurant or even just a nice bar and just eat, drink and wild out with my people. Fuck pretenses and cliques and labels and shit, you know how much money those people spend on clothes, it's insane. I have much better ways to spend my hard earned money. Fuck Balenciaga and McQueen and Gucci and all them, I'd much rather have my dude look good naked than with all that label shit on. Who cares? Surprisingly, Pubby actually likes my outlook on things, he calls me practical, he says somebody has to be.

Like I said, Pubby's ex, like him is also "that guy", another creme brulee. I met him once, he seems nice enough, nothing against him, but that life's not for me. I also know that as cute as a secluded moonlight stroll on the granola side of town is for a creme brulee like Pubby, I also live in the real would and in the real world you don't often find creme brulee and granola served at the same restaurant. Jean Georges don't serve no damn granola and Applebees don't know what the a fuck creme brulee is. So where does that leave us? As much as he liked me, would he be truly comfortable having my unabashedly granola ass around his friends in their candy coated creme brulee world is the question. And as much as I liked him how much creme brulee could I stomach is my next question. So that's where we were left December 30th, breaking up for the third time, with him saying that we were incompatible and me telling him to go fuck himself for wasting my time. As time went on I accepted that even though a part of me still wanted him, that we were just too different for it to work and even though there was magic when we were alone, we couldn't lay up in bed forever. We had to face the world sometime.

One afternoon last month Pubby invited me to a friendly, catch up lunch with him. We dined at one of the restaurants inside the Metropolitan Museum Of Art. Since at that point I was technically over Pubby, newly dating Mr. Bojangles, I did something I'd never done. I went to that lunch with Pubby looking a total mess. I had some regular jeans on, my fucked up gray New Balance workout sneakers (I was going to the gym after lunch) and a hoodie that I paid $19.99 for at Modells. I was in need of a haircut and I had my glasses on. He'd never seen me so rough before, since Pubby was so fancy I always felt a need to impress him with my appearance, I mean at least as much as a hunk of granola possibly could. But at that point, his toothbrush was in the garbage and we were officially over, fuck the bullshit, who the fuck was he that I had to impress him, fuck that. He saw the real fuckin' me that day. The funny thing is that he never commented on my appearance. He was just happy to see me again, it'd been so long.

As we talked I could see the hurt in his eyes as he talked about the break up of him and his ex, the final nail in the coffin. He went on to tell me about the new guys he was seeing at the time. They sounded pretty wack to me, that shit wasn't gonna last, I know Pubby and I knew he wasn't really into those dudes like that. Filled with all the hope that the prospect of a new relationship brings I told him about Mr. Bojangles and he was equally as impressed. The defining moment of our meeting is when he turned to me, looked into my eyes and said something to the effect of:

"I know we've gone through a lot of shit but I've always thought that once I got my shit together and you got you shit together that somehow we'd end up together."

I always thought the same thing.

Fast forward to a few weeks later and here we are, together. Throwing caution to the wind and saying fuck the world and fuck everyone else who doesn't see it, bitches better open their eyes or get some fuckin' glasses or bifocals or contacts some shit. Although things have been going great, for us so far the going hasn't always been easy, especially for me. If you've been reading you'll know that Pubby hurt me real bad last time around. How will I know he won't hurt me again? I don't. (That's why I wrote this poem.) All I can do is trust him. Well I'm not just trusting in him blindly, I'm not that stupid. My trust is being built through his actions. Remember my relationship theory:

"If a man really wants to do something he will do it. Period."

I'm talking about effort. We're gy but we're also men and if a man wants you he's gonna make an effort toward you. Phone calls, text messages, dates, visits, show me you want me nigga. So far he's been on point, passing every test. I'm not sure what happened when we were apart but Pubby is like a different person now, like Damascus Road different. I even teased him and asked him whether he'd had a visit from the Ghost Of Christmas Future. He's so attentive and caring and real now, it's almost scary. The cynical faggot inside me perpetually asks the question of whether it's just a phase, but if I'm gonna be happy I can't give in to that.

Now I'm seeing past all the superficial shit. Sure he's still a party boy who likes fashion and labels, that's not gonna change and I'm cool with that, but he's also my dude that I can eat bad Chinese food with, on the bed, chillin, watching "John Tucker Must Die" (smile). He's opened up to me now. I get to see the Pubby that the world doesn't get to see. Behind the makeup, ponytails (smile), smoke and mirrors and I realized that we're not so totally different after all. I always thought that all that fierceness and indecision was just a defense mechanism anyway. It was. He told me that he's wanted to be with me for a while, but was fighting it tooth and nail, scared of opening up and being hurt again. He recently told me that he's stopped fighting. Call me crazy, call me a fool, but I'm happy. We'll see.

HAPPY EASTER!

==========
Playing In The Background...
"Fallin'"
by Alicia Keys
from the album "Songs In A-Minor"
and
"Clumsy"
by Fergie
from the album "The Dutchess"
and
"Trippin' (That's the Way Love Works)"
by Toni Braxton
from the album "Libra"
and
"Still Open"
by Syleena Johnson
from the album "Chapter 3 - The Flesh"
and
"Opposites Attract"
by Paula Abdul
from the album "Forever Your Girl"
and
"Bump What Ya Friends Say"
by Fantasia
from the album "Fantasia"
==========

==========
Today's Throwback Blog Post:
See, The Reason Why My Relationships Never Work Out Is… (Part 1)
Originally posted April 7th, 2007
==========

"The sex is just immaculate, from the back I get
Deeper and deeper, help ya reach the,
Climax that your man can't make,
Call him, tell him you'll be home real late..."
  -Notorious BIG
   from the song "One More Chance (remix)"

"How you like it baby? Uhh, from the front,
Uhh, from the back, give that ass a smack,
Bet your man won't do it like that,
Can't work the middle, plus his thing too little..."
  -Diddy
   from the song "No Time" with Lil' Kim

Late one night, two years ago, at two o'clock in the morning I was online IM-ing with this guy, let's call him Anderson. Anderson and I had been talking off and on sparingly via IM and telephone for about a year or so but for whatever reason had never actually met. We'd exchanged pictures and I was definitely attracted to him and I was pretty sure that the feeling was mutual. Our IM conversation that night turned sexual. As things were getting hot and heavy Anderson asked me to come see him. As badly as I wanted him I was having second thoughts due to the fact that it was already 2am and he was about an hour and a half away on the subway, but he was fine, I was horny, I didn't have to work until the afternoon the next day, so I thought, fuck it I'll go and I went.

I was so tired on the train that I missed my transfer stop, dozing in and out of sleep, the things we do for sex. You'd think that after missing my stop that I'd be deterred from my mission. But nope, not at all, common sense be damned, this was a sure thing. I have wanted to fuck this dude ever since the first time I saw him online and dammit we fuckin' tonight.

I finally get to his house and see him for the first time, he's fine, better than he looked in his pictures. I sat on his bed, I got comfortable and we stumbled through awkward small talk until he kissed me, shutting me the fuck up. Then it was on, the clothes somehow came off and I fucked him, longstroking from the back, watching my dick slide in and out of him, talking more shit than a porno movie. "Yeah, you like that?" "What's my name? What's my motherfuckin' name nigga?" "Who's dick is this?" "Who's ass is this?" "Who's ya daddy nigga?" "Is this what the fuck you been wantin' nigga?" "Tell me you love my shit nigga!" "Gimme that ass nigga!" All while he moaned my name, burying his head in his pillows. We ejaculated, we fell asleep. I woke up a few hours later so I could have enough time to get ready for work.

I called him later that day, no answer. The next day, no answer. No answer to my IM's online either. What the fuck? We have sex and now he doesn't wanna talk to me anymore. He's one of those faggots, the ones who can let a nigga fuck them and that's it. Aight, I see how it is. So after a few days I stopped calling, shit, fuck that, I'm not running after him, I already fucked him already so I guess I got I wanted, even though I really wanted to get to know him better. I still wondered why he didn't want to talk to me though, what had I done wrong? Dealing with men has taught me though that sometimes it's just better not to even ask why because you'll drive yourself crazy. I'm a man and I still have yet to figure men out. It's just best to take whatever good there is from a situation, put that in your pocket and move on, for your own sanity.

A few days after I decided not to even think about Anderson anymore and accept the nutt for what it was, he hits me up online, of course, once I'm over it and finally feeling somewhat okay about things, of course. He tried to make small talk and explained his behavior. He proceeded to tell me that he was actually talking to someone else at the time when we had sex and that he and that person were on the eve of becoming more serious. I was basically the last hoorah, the fireman stripper that the bride let fuck her the night before the wedding. He asked me whether we could be friends. I proceeded to cuss his ass out and tell him to never speak to me again. From then on I was hurt, I really liked Anderson. We talked on and off for like a year. I wanted to at least have a chance with him. Why did he do that to me, why did he just use me like that just to sow his last wild oats. Why didn't he tell me what the deal was? And who the fuck was this guy anyway? What made him so special that he could roll over from me and back to him? I know I did I good job in that bedroom, you can't fake that shit. What did he have that I didn't have? I guess him and his dude had a preexisting emotional connection. I just wish he hadn't used me for his cruel relationship experiment and had me get my feelings all involved.

A few months later I went out with a friend, who introduces me to his friend, let's call this friend Wayne. Me my friend and Wayne go to a party. On the way back home my friend falls asleep leaving me and Wayne awake. Wayne starts to talk to me, flirting with me in the most crass, vile and slightly drunkened way possible. There was not a damn thing attractive about Wayne, at least not to me, especially now with him drunk-ish and his breath smelling awful. He's flirting with me and I'm so not interested, yet he persists, fueled by an empty, overly ambitious, mind numbing, class, league, and caste unconscious bravado that only liquor can give. This dude was not only unattractive, disrespectful and inexplicably cocky, he was trying to fuck me. After I finished laughing and let him know that I was a top and that I'm not getting down like that. He let me know that he's on his way to his shorty's house as a segue into finding out where I live, as if I'm gonna tell him. He just doesn't stop. The next day after I told my friend what happened, about how his friend tried to pick me up, he let me know who Wayne's "shorty" was. I was the stripper, Anderson was the bride, and Wayne was the groom. Anderson stopped talking to my for Wayne's sorry ass! Is he serious, yuk! He must have gotten into his whole bad boy-ish, homo thug thing he had going. Whatever, good for them. If he liked it I loved it. By that time I was way over Anderson anyway. I just laughed and kept it moving.

About a week or two later I get an IM from Anderson. By this time I had a new screen name but somehow he found me. He apologized for all that had happened and wanted to make amends with me. I agreed, we exchanged numbers and then he called. He began to tell me about all the problems he was having with Wayne, as he didn't know that I knew who Wayne was yet, and I listened. Later in the convo I admitted that Wayne and I had met. He alluded to the fact that people say that he's too good for Wayne, almost in a way that made him sound ashamed of Wayne. He then asked me what I thought, but I'm way too much of a politician to answer questions like that. Then he told me that sometimes he wishes that he had chosen me over Wayne. I have to admit that statement did bring me some ill-gotten joy. If I were petty I would have told him how Wayne tried to pick me up that night a while back but I didn't, some things are better left unsaid. After that night Anderson and I became friends.

As time went on our friendship became stronger and stronger. We worked not to far from each other so there would some days here and there where we'd have lunch together. The main course served would always be Wayne and his latest caper. About how Wayne would cheat, or lie, or say something fucked up or any combination of the three. I never understood why Anderson let Wayne play him the way he did. Wayne would never let him have any friends. Wayne never liked for him to go anywhere without him. Wayne didn't even know about the lunches we had together. He let Wayne get in his head and totally fuck up his confidence. Anderson would always complain about how he looked, how he couldn't do this, couldn't do that, just negativity all the time. I wanted the old Anderson back.

I told Anderson that I would like to come out to his boyfriend, the two of us being friends, without disclosing our sexual history because at that point I felt totally platonic toward Anderson. My sexual feelings turned into feelings of friendship, brotherhood and now sorrow toward Anderson. I wanted to be able to take him out and have him chill with me and my friends and have some fun and not be stuck in the house waiting on Wayne all the time. I wanted him to see himself as beautiful, like I saw him. He told me that Wayne would never like the idea of us hanging out because I'm a top like he is. He would be afraid of us messing around behind his back.

It's like I knew him but I didn't know him anymore. This was not the person I had talked to and first met over a year ago. He was so empty, it's like Wayne had taken over his mind or something. I remember asking Anderson one day "Does Wayne hit you?" It was crazy, he was like a battered wife or something, a glutton for punishment, but why? Wayne ain't got shit? What was he getting out of this? It baffled me. Seeing someone who I was once so attracted to succumb to this made him so unattractive. Through it all Anderson would still flirt with me and still tell me that he should have chosen me. I would always counter, turning things around, bringing it right back to Wayne, saying things like "Would your husband like it if he heard you talking like that?" and "Does Wayne know you're talking to me?" Anderson would get so mad at me when I did that. But I had to show him how foolish he was.

A few months later Anderson texted me, getting at me hard on the sexual tip. I did my usual Wayne counter but it didn't work that day because Wayne was out of town. So I came over and we talked and I ended up fucking him. I fucked Anderson longer, harder, and rougher that I did the first time and it felt better than the first time. As I fucked Anderson I felt like I was fucking Wayne's sorry ass too. I was hurting him for how he hurt me all the times he hurt my friend, cheating on him, and saying all that fucked up shit, for how he tried to holla at me like I was some fuckin' bird-ass nigga. So yeah Wayne, fuck you, fuck you and now I'm fucking your boyfriend and he's loving it, saying my name, calling me daddy and all that.

After we finished having sex as we were putting our clothes on I was in the mirror, looking at myself, feeling like the motherfucking man when Anderson said to me. "Wow, it's been a long time since I've taken a dick that large. I hope Wayne doesn't notice. I may have to take a bath in some Epsom Salts before he gets back." After I questioned that statement he went on to tell me that Wayne's dick is small, I mean, not really small, but not really big either, but considerably smaller than mine, and smaller than most people would think, given his bravado, swagger, thug appeal, etc. Even I had to admit I thought that the brotha must have been packin', I mean after the bravado he put up when tried to talk to me and the way that he has Anderson's mind all fucked up, I just knew he was tearin' it up in the bedroom. That had to be why Anderson has stayed this long. Anderson went on to tell me that it has even caused problems in their relationship. It's not even that Anderson is dissatisfied with Wayne's size but it's that Wayne is dissatisfied with it himself. He's also super self-conscious about it. That explained a lot Wayne's behavior, the cheating, the belittling of Anderson, he wanted to feel like a "real man", and here's the root of it all, laying bare and exposed before me, to manipulate at my leisure. This made things even more sweet.

That wasn't the end of the sex-capades between me and Anderson, we met again and again once with him sucking my dick, and me fucking him again, we even snuck off and made out in a club bathroom once. Knowing that I could literally satisfy him in ways his man couldn't, hitting spots his man couldn't, was an amazing, euphoric feeling that last way beyond the last cumshot. Looking down at my phone and seeing text messages saying "I need that big ass dick again Daddy..." and hearing him say "He fucked me last night and I closed my eyes wishing it was you..." is an ego boost that can't be described. He had his head, he had his heart, but that ass was mine. Seeing them out together places, having Wayne say "Whaddup?" to me, thinking that we only know each other from the night he tried to talk to me, hoping I don't spill the beans to his boyfriend that he thinks I don't know, not knowing that I've been fucking his boyfriend all along, and even not seeing the sly wink his boyfriend gives to me as we talk, it was wrong. I was wrong, we all were wrong and using each other. Although it wasn't my only intention, I was using Anderson, my friend for sex, an ego boost. Anderson used me to make himself feel desirable and as a way to get back at Wayne, an ego boost, he also used me for sex. Wayne was using Anderson for validation, an ego boost, someone he could treat like shit and would still be there, someone he could pick up and put down at his leisure.

Anderson has never answered my question, what does Wayne have that I don't have? But as I said, sometimes it's just better not to even ask why because you'll drive yourself crazy. At this point I don't even care anymore because I don't want a romantic relationship with Anderson anymore, we're not even messing around anymore. All of this is in the past. I've just taken an evil solace in the fact that any time I look at Wayne for the rest of our lives I'll be able to say that "my dick is bigger than yours."

==========
Playing In The Background...
"One More Chance (remix)"
by Notorious BIG
from the album "Ready To Die"
and
"No Time" feat. Diddy
by Lil' Kim
from the album "Hard Core"
and
"Not Big"
by Lily Allen
from the album "Alright, Still"
and
"Taken"
by Cherish
from the album "Unappreciated"
and
"She Don't Have To Know"
by John Legend
from the album "Get Lifted"
and
"Wish U Was My Girl"
by Babyface
from the album "Face2Face"
==========

Now I realize that that's a very petty and shallow way to be, I totally realize that. It's a terrible thing way to be. But what's interesting to see is that no matter who, what, or how much we have, and how smart and evolved that we say we are, that we as humans, especially male humans that we are all still animals. At the end of the day the most important thing to almost every man, gay or straight is the size of his dick and the validation it gets or doesn't get him. It was important to me, Wayne was obsessed with it and I'm sure it's somewhat important to you.