confused... but that's nothing new

i don't know what's going on with me right now. some days i know just what i want; other days i'm clueless. sometimes i think i'm about done with this whole man-love thing, and other times i get caught up in it all over again when a good-looking guy catches my eye.

meeting the boy was incredible. of that i'm sure. i'm tempted to publish a detailed account of the visit, brag on him a little... but i'll just keep that to myself. let's just say it's very frustrating living so far apart, but i'm thankful for the few days we had together.

i'm basically being stood up for the second time in 2 days. today is by a friend; yesterday was also a friend, but i was meeting him to show him what sex with a man is like for the first time. he overslept, and i ended up just going home angry and frustrated and a little relieved. we've talked for the last 2 nights now about hooking up. the first time he overslept; the second we both had second thoughts about how smart it would be. i need to stop talking to that guy, he brings out a really raunchy side of me. when he found out i was in town, he said i had to come see him. he asked, "so... are we just gonna hang out, or...?" "well," i replied, "i was thinking i'd come down and have sex with you." "ok." he said. "i guess we could do that." for a "straight" guy, he agrees to messing around with guy pretty quickly.

i think i'm about done messing around with random guys. there are 2 guys i have my eye on right now that i know and am attracted to and am pretty sure are in the closet. other than that, i'm going to try to lay low. i got a text today from one of my hookups that started with "slurp!" who the fuck starts a message like that?! i'll tell you: an annoying queen, that's who. i'm over those kind of gays; it's no wonder gays are known for being so spiteful and distrusting of one another...

dad and i had lunch today. i think my parents suspect something, and i just want to say, "yes, it is what you think, thanks for NOT helping me for 8 years now and being too scared to care. thanks for putting off trying to help me for the past 7 months after my breakdown." why now? what changed that suddenly they're so concerned about me? what about when i sobbed uncontrollably for 2 hours in their arms and told them something was very wrong? what about when i wrote the lengthy letter detailing what they could do to help? no. they wait almost 8 months until after the 'damage' is done and then suddenly are there. dad tried to help today, he really did, but he can't even bring himself to say the word "gay" or "homosexual." i feel sorry for them, which is why it's better they don't know.

there are answers i want so badly right now. i just don't want to ask the questions. i know really where things are headed, i'm just unwilling to face most of that future. things are crashing in a lot of ways, and once again i feel isolated, alone, and confused. i want so much to be able to focus on other things, like school. the past few months would make a great novel or slow-paced movie, but i'm ready for it to be over. i want a new chapter to start.

i think i've officially gone gay... i'm listening to cher, watching will & grace, despising ugly people, obsessing about my looks and clothes, and 15 year old black kids are asking if i'm in the closet. ::attempts to slam the closet door shut and scuttle further into the depths of the darkness that is the sneaker-and-clothes-and-gays receptacle:: i haven't even been acting flamboyant, but someone used that word to describe me. i'm not sure there's anything i can do at this point.

i by-passed a really good "pay it forward" opportunity today... could have paid for a guy's test @ the clinic today, it was just 20 bucks. but i was shy and nervous, and he said he would just come back tomorrow and pay for it, he didn't have his wallet on him. (which begs the question why was he driving? but that's beside the point.) he was CUTE too! i am kicking myself for that one. i resolve to start taking chances, to go with my gut more, to stop thinking things to death, and just go with it. that could have a been a great experience. the next one might be too, but at least this time i'll know.

there's not much else to write, although my life has been exciting lately. just enjoying the summer, basking in the joy of the life of a professional student. going to see the guy i've been waiting for 5 months to meet next week... words cannot describe how excited i am. almost half a year! and what a half-year it's been.

"this is different kind of love song/dedicated to everyone"

the new york story will be coming up soon, i still only have the rough draft, which needs work, but i figured i'd get it off my computer.

the boy and the butterfly

sunny day in the park. rolling green hills around. rollicking children at play. shouts and thrilled screams emanate in all directions.

one little wide-eyed boy suddenly stops. winged magic flutters by him, carried by paper-thin wings and a gentle breeze.

intrigued, the boy follows, fascinated by the lightness of the creature's travel, the brilliant colors, the beating of the wings. the butterfly, nonplussed, continues on its journey. finding he cannot keep up with the beautiful thing, the boy begins to trot, eyes fixed on the radiant wings.

this cycle continues for a short while, the boy and the butterfly alternately increasing his own pace. the boy is running, hands eagerly outstretched in an attempt to capture the regal creature that, but for the change in speed, almost seems to be ignoring him.

finally, after a few minutes of zig-zag paths and stop-and-go pursuit, the boy catches the lovely. (or perhaps it allowed the boy to grasp it in his stubby hands. one can never be sure.) in breathless wonder, the boy slowly opens his clasped hands. what his little fingers reveal is completely worth the avid chase--the butterfly is just as perfect, just as magnificent, just as calm in his hands as it was in the air. the butterfly breezily opens and shuts its wings, displaying its underside and topside to the boy, as if putting on a show.

the boy is enraptured, completely engrossed in the beauty of the tiny creature cradled in his palm. for a moment, his world is wrapped up in this insect that he quite abruptly loves and somehow feels loves him in return. despite the butterfly's imperious stance, its devastating beauty, and rapturing beauty, there must have been a reason it flew low enough and slow enough to allow the boy to snatch is from its lofty perch on the wind.

yes, it must have been love...

with a flap of its wings, the butterfly is airborne. soaring, floating, it is quickly above the treeline. the little boy stands motionless, silent, hands still cupped around the memory of the most beautiful thing in his little world. a tiny tear escapes his eye... but a smile spreads across his face, because for a moment, that creature was in his hands, and it loved him back, loved him enough to be held quietly and be adored for the beauty it was.

moments later, the happiest boy in the world was back on the swing set, legs pumping, reaching new heights and thinking maybe, just maybe, he might one day fly after that beautiful thing...

maybe.

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ending the experiment

i really am a happy individual. these past few months have taken a toll on me, though. i am not happy with myself. there is no one else to blame when it comes down to it. don't get me wrong, there is very little i enjoy more than having my lips pressed against another man's, wrapping my arms around him, and feeling his warm body on mine. trust me. it's been an adventure, but at the same time it's been a total nightmare.

i have a condition. perhaps it's what people in nathaniel hawthorn's time referred to as "animal magnetism." perhaps it's what my siblings and i refer to as... well, replace the word "fly" with "freak" in "fly paper" and you'll see what i mean. either way, i seem to have the ability to attract the strangest people [whom i generally loathe] and repel the ones i adore. [the latter condition is most likely because i tend to smother.] every guy i have made out with was "not right" for me for one reason or another. usually it was because i discovered how much of a oddity they were a little too late. i feel like the patron saint of making out.

i'm a two-hit wonder. i have never been with a guy more than twice. (technically, i was with the one guy 3 times, but the first time was a brief make-out session.) i seem to hit my limit quickly. i can't take the physical contact without the intimacy. and also, they're usually scary-weird. also, the smells and such are a deterant.

i've pretty much decided to cut off communication with all of them. it's not going to be an easy thing for a "yes man" like me. but the experiment is over. i don't like this lifestyle, it's miserable. i want a "sure thing," or at least someone i'm attached to. is that too much to ask? i just want to be intimate with someone i actually like.

hopefully, i'll get my happiness back soon. i've spent entirely too much time and energy pursuing these guys that, in the end, were needy, desperate, and unfortunately unloved. [what does that say about me?] it's time to get back to what i do best...

frustrations and observations

-first up: the gym. i hate the goddam fucking gym so much. i hate the machines and the free weights and the guys (ESPECIALLY the guys) in it. i hate paying for it. i hate going to it. i hate working out at it. and i really hate that EVERY time i go, i come home with an injury, no matter how little or how much i do. i couldn't straighten my arm for almost a week (damn brachioradialis!) because of my back workout.

and yet, i will renew my monthly membership tomorrow... because i am your typical half-gay american white boy, and i want to look good. i hate this country.

-long story that i'm going to cut short: i ran into a friend of mine (a really good looking friend of mine) at the gym, and we were talking, and i mentioned my hatred of the gym, and he said, "really? i thought the gym was like church for gay guys." (a will & grace quote.) my heart stopped. i have talked to a mutual friend of ours about me and liking boys (and girls) and i was sure he had told him. after some not-so-covert questioning, i realized he was just making a joke. still... not funny.

-one of the blogs i follow featured this beauty [chris lebeau] and mentioned that he needs to get some sun because he is too white. i disagree. i think that american standards need to be reset. a deep tan does not mean someone is healthy or sexy. it just means they have more melanin spread around. there are six skin types (clinically speaking) and 3 of them are prone to sunburn and skin cancer. to tell these people they are not beautiful/attractive because they don't look dark like all the other model/porn stars is not only absurd and ridiculous, it's a threat to their health to demand that they go and get a tan. some people (like light blondes/redheads) almost CAN'T tan, and have a much higher risk of squamous cell carcinoma or melanoma. get real, people. appreciate the various hues of skin, and stop putting people at risk just so you can suit your fancy.

-my 4-month "anniversary" with the boy just passed. (don't worry, buddy, i didn't forget, there's some sappy package in the mail right now on its way to you...) i really don't know what else to say but wow. it's the strangest, most amazing relationship i've ever been in. it would take more than a few sentences to define... so we don't bother. we just are. and that's cool with us both.

here's to 4 more months, with hopes for a life-long friendship.

why i cut my hair

it happened again. i broke. we're talking the beginnings of a major meltdown. i lay curled up on the couch, focusing all my energy on stopping the coming storm. hours before, i had sat on that couch and politely watched as the man i had shared a bed with that night showed me pictures and videos of his other life as a drag queen, and all his drag queen friends. just prior to that, i found something on his privates that i am still not sure wasn't a wart. this was AFTER a night of romping about in the sack.

at that point, i was ready to swear off men forever. lying, cheating, slippery, egotistical bastards. fuck 'em all, and not in the good way. what kind of guy messes around with you and fails to tell you that he might have an STD? a selfish pig, that's what kind!

i was a little turned off and disturbed by the pictures and videos. just not my thing, men pretending to be women. we're men, damn it, that's what is attractive about us. i know some people will criticize me for being narrow minded, but i don't give a damn. that's how i see it.

i drove him home, gave him a peck on the cheek, and swore i'd never see him again.

so then, laying on the couch, it all started to hit me: who i had become, what i had done, how much of a whore i'd been without even having experienced 100% gay sex. i started to crash. silent sobs shook my body, and i covered my face with my hands. all i had ever wanted was love and affection, and i was trading it for this shit. i was becoming all i despised for a cheap thrill, to be big and bad like the guys i secretly envied. and i was not cut out for it.

i started to panic. there was no one around. it was late. most of my decent friends were in bed already. the one i texted told me to call him tomorrow. i started thinking back to the first breakdown--two hours of straight sobbing in my parent's arms. but now they were hours away, and i was alone in a big empty quiet house.

and then it hit me. i needed my daddy. it always comes back to that. time and time and time again, he is the stem of all of this. i need him so badly, and it's pretty much too late for that.

as this realization came over me, my sensible voice in my head said to me, "self, you can have your meltdown and become a heap of mess, or...

...you can cut your hair."

i calmed down. alright then, i would cut my hair.

clippers were all i needed. in the bathroom, i stripped naked. i used the smaller set of clippers to shave my beard. taking the bigger ones, i put on the 3/8" guard and ran it up the sides of my head, watching the thick brown hair fall to the floor. the buzz of the clippers blended with the vibrations of the blades against my head. i switched to a 1/2" guard and trimmed the top of my head, the denseness of the hair almost stopping the blades. i ran the trimmers over my head a few more times, catching the stray long hairs. i brushed the hair off and looked at myself...

naked. new. clean. a little bit of cut hair still remained on my shoulders and chest from where it had rained down. but i was no longer the weak little boy on the couch. i was someone else, someone new.

it took me a few days to realize why i needed to cut my hair.

i grew up poor. i never knew it. my parents lived very frugally. i thought we were royalty. my parents were proud people, respectable, smart. not college-educated entirely, but intelligent. because times were rough for us (mostly), Dad learned to cut our hair--my brothers and i. i remember it pretty clearly, a rarity for me. i would take off my shirt, sit down in a chair in the kitchen, and remain still while Dad took out the clippers and scissors. [i haven't quite figured out the scissors yet.] he would cut it the same way every time, so i had the same haircut for 20 years, until i learned to cut my own hair. he would use the clippers on the sides, and the scissors on the top. i remember the feeling of his fingers in my hair, carefully measuring how long each lock should be, and snipping my hair right above his thick fingers. i can still feeling the buzz and vibration of the clippers on my temporal and occipital bones. he would finish it off by sprinkling baby powder on my shoulders and brushing the hair off gently. i would then rush to find a mirror and proudly show Mom my new haircut from Dad. over the next week or so, he would fondly tease on a daily basis, "hey... lemme ask you something... who cut your hair?" i would laugh, knowing full well he was proud of his work and frugality.

as i look at my short hair now, i realize that those were the closest times me and Dad have ever had. sure we hug and kiss like normal families do, but i don't have memories of Dad touching me, holding me, cuddling with me, making sure i felt safe and protected. the most he ever lovingly touched me... was when he cut my hair.

and so, on nights when i feel alone, or depressed, or overwhelmed... i cut my hair.