Loving Men-Disappointment


I have done my best to avoid writing today.

I simply didn’t want to understand the cause of my pain. I didn’t want to cogitate its writing3authority. But I knew the second, from the hateful moment I realized that my sleep last night was going to be disturbed, I knew that today I’d be faced with another burden of understanding the folly of my ways.

And I’ve grown tired of understanding. Why can’t I simply experience attraction for another man, without some lousy lesson to be learned? Why can’t I simply stumble into the lap of another man, excuse myself, and be caught off-guard by his mischievous grin?bearded Why can’t I feel the weight of someone else’s foot crushing my toe, then feel an apologetic hand rest on my shoulder, and a smokey voice whisper into my ear, “excusez-moi, je ne vous avais pas vu.”

But no. I’ve always got to meet men whose interest borders on the absurd. It’s not me they want, but some fraction of me. Yes, they want to it terribly. And they’ll do everything they can to get it. What I don’t understand is how obvious they can be. These men won’t even begin to disguise their true intentions. They’re so cocksure and almighty that their need will be met, it’s not a consequence to them if it means that mine will not be satisfied.

I said goodbye to Artem and his money desires; now I must say goodbye to the Parisian.

All I want to do is kiss. The Parisian refuses. Though he comes to my hotel room, dines on bearded2my food, and eventually kicks off his shoes and hops into my bed, we lay next to each, without even the degree of intimacy a dozen sardines enjoy in an oiled aluminum tin!

We lay there, fully clothed, watching TV, or like last night, I was writing and he playfully text me, quietly interrupting my writing. But he wasn’t tenderly interrupting the attention I was giving to my writing to draw it back to his own (which would have been charming), no, he was prompting me, to write more of this or more of that. You see, he too has fallen for a part of me. Not perhaps as cold as money, yet something strange. He’s fallen for my writer’s persona. That persona, I’ve attempted to explain to him, is a professional persona. It’s my business self.

“But, I love what you write, everything that you write; I love your blog, it’s inspiring; butinbed more than all else, I love the bedtime stories you write for me,” he said last night. And then he continued, sounding like my editor, “And since you didn’t write me one yesterday, you’ve got to write me two tonight!”

But he wasn’t joking. He was dead-pan serious.

The Parisian wasn’t interested in sharing his physical affection with me. He didn’t want the emotional mess. What he did and continues to want are prurient stories which he can then fantasize with, fantasize about me, not the flesh and bone me, but some idyllic me, to masturbate to someone that doesn’t exist, all the while cordoning off true feelings and intimacy.

Maybe this is what courtship is like in the age of texts and Twitter.

6 thoughts on “Loving Men-Disappointment

  1. So you’re having the same trouble as I am?

    One only loves your money and that is all he’ll ever love. So there’s no point in trying with him, he’s lost and broken long ago.

    Then there’s another that just wants your stories, or skills that he lacks when all you want to be is loved?
    Intimacy in the key ingredient for bonding that so many people lack nowadays, and this is why I’ve given in to give up.

    There is no real love expressed in today’s world. They’ll always hunger, things; and using you for whatever it is they want instead of looking at what they have, and what’s inside that counts.
    Getting their rocks off, money and things are not what love is about.

    But what do I know when I crave not those things, but only: love. Love is the condition they’ll always lack because of their greed. So they will go to their grave not ever knowing what true love is.

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      1. Thanks.
        You will know when the time is right. But I think that you allow sex to cloud your judgement. Sex is your attraction to “young bucks” in your definition, however, most young bucks do not know what they want in life, as most of them are still searching for what it is they want in life.
        And usually devoid of love.

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  2. Then why look for the rose while blindfolded when you do have other options available to you? Or are these questions impossible to grasp?

    I had only one in life that meant everything to me. Everything.
    But that is only one and I shall not have another unless they seek me out of the wilderness of loves flowers.

    Some say: “it is not too late to have that again”, but they’ll never really know how hard it is to find that one flame again out of an ocean of people that’s too interested in themselves, their wants, needs, and all the while some may even cross your path: and then you see yourself just as empty as you were before meeting them.

    And so, I will no longer try. And I do this for the sake of myself, as well as those who have no real intentions for the pursuance of love when all they really know is sex.

    I feel that I am unworthy to know and ever having that again. So I await my doom, my time, as my flame flickers and is slowly diminished.

    And if I shall go before my flame is ready: so be it.

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    1. But isn’t life about living? Isn’t Life the gift we’re given and which we must use? I can’t accept your defeat. Yes, you may be old, but you’re so full of life experiences that it keep them within yourself until your flame dies would be, in a word, horrible. You’re an author, share what you have. Die empty, not full! With tremendous affection, Harlan

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