Loving anyone ever, is never easy.
I’ve met and dated a handful of men over the past four months. You know the names: Luciano, Gregoire, Marc, Ross Ross, D. and Pup.
Not one has been easy. Not a single one. Nope. Not one.
I, of course, think I’m easy to date. I have a level head, carry myself well, I’m groomed.
What I don’t understand is the drama. “Drama” in the gay lexicon is known as “a whole lot of head games.”
Why do we approach a loving relationship as though we were playing chess. Why are those we love our adversaries? Why must there be a winner and a loser?
I’d rather sit in a sandbox with a lover and pretend we’re bulldozers, or live in the castles we make, or bury our bodies neck deep.
Love is play. Love is not a battlefield.
So,what happens when man proffers himself a gay man?
Evan, s very handsome young buck was wining and dining with me this night. Evan was straight. And he enjoyed meeting people and we enjoyed each other.
But that boy was straight.
Evan, a handsome buck, 6’1” , an open, good listeners and cute, is a guy I met in a bar in Charlotte. Evan is a man’s man: a buck whose job is to procreate.
Why would he settle for a doe, when he could rut with a buck?
Sometimes people keep showing up like pennies.
There’s one, and only one guy, that means Charlotte to me.
We have not had a “perfect” attraction. On the contrary. We’ve been “on” again and “off” again for three weeks. When we’re on we enjoy each other’s company; we say the same things; we love the textures of food and wine.
When we’re off, it’s bloodshed. When we argue we get positional. He’s a Taurus, stubborn and determined; I’m a Pisces, when confronted I simply swim upstream.
When we fight, we’re through with each other. “God-damnit,” I lob; “Fuck you,” he says.
And in five days we’re dining together.
Sometimes, I think, that people come together easily, and then fall apart when things get tough. But this one guy, it’s never been easy, but when we do come together, if we ever do come together, it will be out of respect for each other.
Not, n-o-t, because it was easy: but because it was meant to be despise our worst efforts.