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.

The seasons are changing in Charlotte.

The days are getting shorter, which means the nights are getting longer.

I’m in a car driving to meet friends for dinner. One, Veronica is a bartender at my favorite watering hole. The other, Mark is a server at a swanky chop house in Charlotte.

Whenever I dine I can never eat all the food presented to me, so I always inquire if the restaurant has a “homeless program.” Often the answer is yes. Then I tell my server to please present my dinner to them.

I hate wasting food.

If everyone ate half of everything they’re presented in a restaurant, we could feed twice as many people.

The next time you dine out, please think of others less fortunate. Share your meal with those cold and hungry. Rather than full be satisfied: both in stomach and in spirit.

Gay or straight. Does it matter?

Last night was bizarre.

First it was a gay hooker followed by three straight, very pawy straight guys.

What a night!

I sent a car to go pick up the hooker.

“I’m a pay for play, guy.”

I don’t pay, I answered.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s play, anyway. “

”No, baby,” I said, “Get back in the car. “

And then I met three straight guys; gorgeous men; “rough trade” is what we call it.

Gay or straight, men are handsome.

Indeed.