The process of loving men are distinctions.
The evolving relationship by which Rodrigo now find ourselves has finally coalesced into distinctions: Curiosity, attraction, passion, and intimacy.
Our curiosity began on a dating app. Rodrigo was interested in my writing, so I sent him a link to my blog. Rather than reading it from the end, Rodrigo began reading it from the beginning. He wrote, “I think I’ve gotten to know you by reading what you’ve written. You’re a very talented writer and passionate man.”
Our attraction was launched over a Friday night dinner at Sea Level, an oyster bar/seafood restaurant in Charlotte. We sat at the bar and enjoyed dinner. Rodrigo is an agile 5’7″ tall, and a lean 140 pounds. But what attracted me to him were his eyes: almond-shaped and pupils surrounded by milk chocolate. His bright smile spread across his face when we laughed. And we laughed a lot. He often said that he was attracted to my laughing and smiling which highlighted my high cheekbones and strong jaw; but it was my eyes, blue, which also smiled when I smiled.
Our passion was ignited by the first kiss, in my car after dinner. It was a simple closed
mouth kiss, lacking any compromise. But the more frequent the dates, the more frequent the kisses. We have now kissed millions of times and it’s hard to believe that any of them were similar in any way. The flames of our passion were fueled by obstacles: buttons, snaps, zippers, shoulders, denim, and buckles.
Our intimacy is now the ease and comfort of understanding each others’ body. There’s still the passion, the obstacles; we still have attraction; our curiosity is seen by our wandering hands and lips.
There are distinct distinctions of loving men. The joy is in their discovery and the discovery of them together.
Prime Number: A natural number greater than 1 that has no positive divisors other than 1 and itself.
Last night Rodrigo and I escalated. We went further than we’d ever gone before. We hit that black ice and steered towards each other, feeling a definite sense of panic, but also a sense of relief to simply let go, and careen, silently, except for moans, towards an inevitable end. Not a crash, but more of an intersection. Last night we escalated.
trees, you know the road like the back of your hand, and then it happens, the skid, the loss of control, the giving up to happenstance, the thoughts of demolition, of crashing, flailing into an abutment, or rail, or, like Rodrigo and I, into each other.
crash. Like cymbals in a marching band or drums in a drum line. It’s a repetitive crash like an automatic weapon, which, when it ends, makes you sweat, exhausted, and, frankly, happy to be alive.
