Friday, August 28, 2015

Justin Bieber - "What Do You Mean?"

I haven’t had a bed in weeks. I am beginning to wonder if this is why I feel so unstable as of late, so unmoored in some ways.

There was a bedbug problem. Welcome to New York. The bed got thrown out, the exterminator came a few times. I have been sleeping on the couch since, which is fine and not that big a deal, but I have felt slightly crazier than usual these past few weeks and perhaps it actually has to do with a bed, that not having my little nest to return to each night has me frantically flapping my wings, a lost bird, wondering where my nest has gone to.

The wings are flapping though. All of a sudden, I have reached an absolutely restless moment at my job, something I predicted would happen at the end of the summer. Prediction proved correct. I am plotting steps on how to either get involved in a different job within this same agency that I like a lot, or, failing that, going elsewhere. The hunt begins. It never ended. To live in New York is to be engaged in a constant predatory hunt for that next thing, that next step, something else, something better. Even once you get your name in lights, you’re looking for how can you get a bigger sign, a brighter sign, an LED sign.

There is that. There is also that guy, that beautiful, beautiful guy. He makes me feel nervous, awkward, and wildly insecure. I like him so much and I am scared of how likely it is to end in disaster, because of how gorgeous he is, how smart he is, and probably most of all how he is my co-worker. I make the best life choices, in case you didn’t know that about me already.

We hung out a few nights ago at a bar by my house. When we parted ways afterwards, we made out on the street corner. Kissing him is the greatest high for me lately. I get positively ecstatic. It’s the joy of getting something you wanted so, so bad, of finally getting to taste the thing you had been so hungry for. I told him that I wished I had a bed to invite him back to. He told me he wished the same.

So, yes, I’m getting a bed immediately. Or actually probably not, because I am insanely broke and this next paycheck is going toward rent and my trip to New Orleans. So I might be sleeping on a couch until mid-September. But I need to figure out a way to not make that happen because this fling might not extend until then and I want so bad to roll around with this person in my bed which I have yet to acquire.

There are other things going on, so many other things, a best friend leaving, generalized stress and panic among friends, work drama, parties, so many parties, and life, this glorious, messy project of being alive and finding your way in the world, of trying to at least.

Monday, August 24, 2015

Carly Rae Jepsen - "Run Away With Me"


There are few better feelings than finally getting to kiss a crush, that guy that you’ve been flirting with for weeks awkwardly, and who you’ve finally ended up on a dancefloor with together and you guys are close and staring at each other, and you can feel it about to happen, there’s that leaning in that happens, that moment of indecision where things could go either way, and you can feel it so close, about to happen, and then, magically, iit does. I honestly can’t think of a better feeling in this world. Children of the world, I have this message for you: dreams do come true!

He’s a co-worker of mine. I met him a few weeks ago when we were both here late at night working on the same project. We took a break to go grab a drink nearby and chatted. Ever since, I have been so smitten with this guy, have been so excited about working on this project particularly because it meant I would get to interact with him more.

I had a house party this past weekend and invited him over to it. We hung out for a bit there and then I couldn’t wait to leave my own party, to go out with him. Luckily, my roommate let me abandon our house and all the people still in it so I could go out with this guy to Spectrum. Shirts came off as they often to do in the muggy sauna that is the Spectrum in the summer and we danced around. And then that kiss happened! That kiss! I had been wanting that for weeks. I wasn’t sure it would ever come, thought that this would be another unrealized crush, a beautiful guy that I would lust over for a time, nothing coming of it. But things turned out differently this time around. This time around, the story took a happier ending. The kiss turned into more and more. We made out all over Spectrum.

We left together at some point, five something in the morning, both intending to go to our respective homes. But walking away together, we made out more. He invited me back to his house. We took a car there. He scaled his fire escape because he had forgotten his keys and tried to wake up his roommate. It was all too cute. I couldn’t believe my luck, that this was all happening. In his bed, we made out and cuddled and fell asleep. I left early in the morning, he still passed out, me hungry and too awake to stay in bed, too happy with life.

Monday, August 3, 2015

Riis Beach

The sun had just set, a beautiful sunset, dark orange globe seen over Jamaica Bay as we approached the bridge taking us home from the beach. I was riding in the back of a bus with many of my friends, having spent a lovely day at the beach, drinking, swimming, listening to music, flirting. There was a point in the day where I was bobbing in the ocean, skinny dipping near these other two guys. The three of us starting making it, rubbing our dicks against each other under cover of the ocean, our skin sliding against each other, saltwater between us. It was a really sexy moment. I recalled this. I was also getting texts from a different cute guy I met at the beach on this bus ride home. I recalled meeting him. I recalled sitting next to this still other guy with beautiful feet and an even more beautiful smile. I thought of all these things and they made me want something else.

I was surrounded by cute gay couples sleeping on each other’s shoulders. The seat ahead of me. The seat to the left of me. The seat diagonally across from me. It made me happy to see my friends so happy, to have that comfort with another person, to have a person to share their exhaustion with, someone that they would go home with.

I have been having more sex in the past month that I have probably had in the last year. The snowball effect is in full effect. Sex and the confidence I have from it is attracting more and more sex, attracting more and more cute boys. And yet, as much as I enjoy these moments with other guys, what I am seeking out in all of those moments is not sex but is something that might lead to this, that might lead to me having some cute boyfriend that I could sleep against on a bus ride home as dusk settles over Brooklyn streets, that might lead to something shared, that might lead to love.

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

summer forever

Another weekend of partying too hard, of enjoying what it is to be alive and in warm weather. Another summer weekend. It all blurred together, one big party that stretched from Friday evening to Sunday evening, paused only briefly each night for a few hours of sleep. Friday night involved one of the sexiest moments in recent memory, a threesome with a friend and this real-life Tarzan. That night blurred well into Saturday. I woke up, did some work, drank some wine to ease the hangover, and soon it was time for more partying, more fun. Fell asleep around 7, got two hours of sleep, then went to meet a good friend from college to head to the beach. At Riis Beach, there was drinking, swimming, talking, and looking at boys. It was a beautiful day, a beautiful weekend.

I flirted with this boy sitting with us and we exchanged looks on the bus ride home, exchanged info. Summer forever! I shouted this at least once on the beach. Probably a few times. There is no time like this in New York, no time where there is more fun to be had, more beauty to interact with, more life to live. May it last forever!

Friday, July 24, 2015

Disclosure - "Bang That"

Last night, I learned that the writer and I actually did not have chemistry. Yes, I wanted us to because he’s so fucking sexy and cool, but you either click or you don’t. You either stay up til 3 in the morning, laughing easily, polishing off two bottles of wine, smoking outside your window, and talking all night, or you don’t.

And last night, clicking with someone else allowed me to see this, allowed me to just how little clicking was happening with the writer. Around midnight, I was texted out of the blue by this guy that I had hit on months ago on Scruff, this guy that I had tried many times to get to hang out with me. He said he wanted to make out.

He came over. We fooled around. It was easy, natural. Touching him didn’t feel awkward. There was no thinking behind the act, no trying to know what should be done. It was just doing what felt right. After, we sat in my bed and drank glass after glass after glass of wine, just talking, getting to know each other, and laughing a lot. We had the same sense of humor and it was all just so incredibly easy, the conversation. It threw into stark relief just how much effort had been required with the writer to try to get the conversation even somewhat close to this natural flow. Being with this guy allowed to feel much better about it not working out with the writer. I had been a bit bummed about it, thought I had somehow fumbled the ball. I had wanted to make this person my boyfriend so bad just because he was sexy and cool, and was all too willing to overlook our lack of chemistry. It was some gift that this person texted me last night and allowed to put all of this in perspective.

We talked for hours, drank all the wine in my house. We went to bed around three. He spent the night and we cuddled. This morning, I kept setting my alarm for later and later, wanting to lie in bed with him for as long as possible. We walked out together, still joking, still laughing.

Thursday, July 23, 2015

oil and water

We were making out on his couch. I had lifted up his shirt, kissed his chest. I unbuttoned his pants. I kissed him some more. And then I stopped. I put my shoes on, told him that I had to go. “Oil and water,” I may have said. I was out the door insanely fast and heard him mutter a slightly confused, “See you around.”

And with that, my dreams of a romance with this beautiful man that I have hung out with a few times came to an end.

Once back home, in my bed, I wondered how that had gone so wrong wrong, how that date had gone downhill so quickly, wondered if we had some different day instead whether things would have played out differently. I replayed the events, the things said.

I met him at a nearby restaurant last night where he was eating dinner and had a beer with him while he finished his meal. The conversation was slightly awkward, filled with occasional silences that stretched for a couple beats too long. I told him I had finished his book, that I liked it, but that one of the characters was really offensive. That was where things definitely started to take a turn. He said he didn’t want to talk about it. We talked about other things. We talked about Vegas, about Martha’s Vineyard.

We walked back to his house, sat at his kitchen table, drank whiskeys on the rocks, talked about Stephen King and Raymond Carver. The conversation had finally picked up steam and gained a natural energy. He’s beautiful. I kept looking at his green eyes, his big black pupils. He joked about the awkwardness earlier, said we’re kind of like oil and water. I agreed and asked why that was. Neither of us had an answer for why we had a hard time clicking, both of us liking each other, and yet the important thing, some natural chemistry missing. He said with a smile that we’re not going to be life partners. I laughed and said Nope. Given that the conversation was about how nothing was probably going to come out of the two of us hanging out, it was all incredibly jovial and friendly.

Later, when we cuddled on his couch and started to make out, I couldn’t get into it. As sexy as this person, as smart as he is, knowing that what I wanted, a romance, wasn’t going to happen with this guy, I couldn’t continue to kiss him. Sparks weren’t there. Water had been poured all over the matches.

Walking out his door, down his stairs, out his front door, down the block, I kept wondering if it wasn’t too late to turn around, to go back and have sex with him and just enjoy the situation for whatever it was. I didn’t. I had left. Things would be impossibly awkward now. Everything just happened so quickly, so wrongly. I fucked up again and again. I kicked myself the whole way home, wondering why it is that I’m so awkward all the time, why it is I lack the natural social skills of banter that most other human beings seem to have effortlessly. But it is what it is. You can’t force things. The connection is either there or it’s not. And it makes zero sense often why or why it’s not there. On paper, I should be crazy about this person - tall, beautiful, smart, funny, successful - and yet when I was with him I would sometimes have trouble talking to him. When I was with him, I didn’t have the overwhelming desire to rip off his clothes. I just wanted to sit at his kitchen table and drink with him and talk about writers and drugs and life.

He has beautiful hands. I thought of them in bed as I looked at Grindr, briefly wanting something to fill this void I felt, someone to validate me, to make me temporarily forget my self-loathing. What I wanted though wasn’t there. I am not going to find it in pictures of spread assholes and Sups. What I wanted, what I want still, is connection.

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Vegas, baby! Vegas!

I spent this past weekend in Vegas. It is now Tuesday afternoon and I am just starting to feel recovered, just starting to feel like I again have a fully functioning brain, not fried by sun, booze, and lack of sleep. I arrived back in New York around 6 A.M. on a redeye that I barely slept on, took a quick two hour nap at home, and then shuffled through my workday, counting down the hours and minutes until I could go home and get some sleep.

We flew out on Friday morning, had lunch at Lotus of Siam, and then discovered that the same random strip mall off the Strip housing this Thai restaurant also had a couple gay bars, a transsexual bar, and a couple of gay bathhouses. We did a bar crawl through them and the partying never really stopped from that point for the next three days save for a few hours of sleep each night. 

The whole purpose of the trip had been to see Mariah Carey perform, which we did and which was amazing. Really, really good. The peak of the concert for me was when she performed “We Belong Together.” I had forgotten what an amazing song it was and how important a role it played in my life during various heartbroken moments, moments when I thought the same thoughts as the song, singing the chorus as loud as I could, imagining that if only this person could understand, that it was so clear we belonged together, that we, that I, could be happy. And so all of those moments, of anguish, heartbreak, and lovesickness, they came all washing back over me in this theater at Caeser’s Palace. I was deep in my feelings and Mariah’s voice was the vehicle carrying me, zooming from place to place, feeling to feeling, memory to memory.

From there, we continued our tour of the dive bars of Vegas, hitting up Charlie’s, from which I was 86’d - the first time in my life I have ever been officially 86’d from a bar. The bouncer barged into the bathroom stall I was in, caught me sniffing something, started yelling at me, and chased me out of the bar. From there, we went to another divey gay bar in another random strip mall, before heading to the transexual bar, before heading to the bathhouse. It was a night spent hurtling along the edges of Vegas, exploring all of these fun places. At some point in the early morning, we left the bathhouse and headed back to the hotel.

A few hours of sleep later, we had to check out. We spent the day at a gay pool party, lounging in chairs, and looking at attractive men in cute swimwear until it was time for our flight to take off.

I played a lot of roulette while in Vegas, too much. The trick is knowing when to walk away. It’s a life lesson and yes, it cost me a few hundred dollars to learn the lesson, and whether or not it will stick is another matter entirely. The lesson is this: Leave the table when you are ahead. Know that winning doesn’t last forever. Leave while there are still chips in front of you. It’s all a matter of intuition, timing, and suppressing the voice in your head that says to keep going, that the good times will last forever. It won’t. Move tables. Walk away.

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Baltimore Vows

I spent this past weekend in Baltimore attending my cousin’s wedding. There were the questions from aunts and uncles about when I’d be getting married, since just about every year it seems like I attend the wedding of a younger cousin. I’d be lying if I said that the same thought doesn’t goes through my own head during these times also, but of course I don’t say the answer I’m thinking when asked. Instead, I laugh and joke, “Probably never.” And then an uncle will talk about he misses his single days, telling me to enjoy it.

But the real answer, the thing I don’t tell them, is this: I don’t know when, or even if, I’ll ever get married. It’s certainly not happening anytime soon, since usually some long-term serious relationship precedes getting married, which I am definitely not in right now. Most days, I think that I’d like to get married some day, but honestly I don’t know if it’s in the cards for me. There are some single, older people in my family and they seem a little defeated and I fear that that may be my future. But I don’t want it to be. My second greatest fear (after death obviously) is looking defeated, that life won, that dreams weren’t realized, that not everything was done that could have been.

It’s what I fear a lot. The fear is much bigger than the thought that I may be single my whole life, that I won’t settle down with someone. That’s a piece of the fear certainly, but a piece that comes in and out of play. Sometimes, it’s not even a piece at all. The fear is broader than that - it’s the fear that I’m not doing with my life everything I should be, the fear that I am not utilizing my talents, the fear that I’m not writing, the fear that I’m not at the best job I could be doing, the fear that I’m not making as much money as I’d like to, the fear that I am either falling short or that I already have, that it might already be past tense - that I fell short.

Seeing this guy that I have seen a few times lately, this beautiful man, is also bringing these thoughts to the fore just because he is so successful and makes a living doing his creative pursuits. He makes me want to write more, want to do everything more. I have been writing a bit more. I want to make some videos soon after this weekend in Vegas coming up. There are lot of little projects on my mind, things I have been meaning to do, things that I am going to start making time to do. We’ve got one go-around here. I don’t want to be in my fifties and having younger relatives look at me as if I have been defeated by life at some future family gathering. I don’t want to look in the mirror and see that myself.

We rode back from Baltimore on the Bolt Bus, our seat not even entirely attached to the bus, jolting back and forth with each acceleration, with each brake. I thought about these things some more, but more so I thought about getting a burrito. I slept a lot. I was incredibly hungover. Story of my life (so far). Changes coming soon.

Thursday, July 9, 2015

"Number One Dance Song in Heaven" - Sparks

Afterwards, getting off his bed to wipe the cum from my chest, I said, “Um, so I have a big crush on you, just an FYI.”

“You have no filter,” he said. We kissed and cleaned ourselves off.

We had met up for drinks earlier in the evening at Daddy’s, a couple blocks from his house. We talked about our weekends and then I ranted about trash cans. There was a DJ playing music. A song was played that I really liked, that was really familiar, but I couldn’t identify it, had no clue who sang it. Shazam failed me, unable to identify it over bar chatter. Ask the DJ, he said. And out of some weird shame of not being as musically knowledgable as I want to be, I said I couldn’t. He, because he is a really cool dude that is that worthy of having a crush on, went and asked the DJ for me.

“Number One Dance Song in Heaven” by Sparks.

Back at his house, we drank vodka over his kitchen table and listened to music. Eventually he leaned over the table and kissed me, at which point we made our way to that earlier referenced bed.

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Don Julian & The Larks - "Where I'm Comin' From"

We talked about technology and erotic desire, about their intersection. Even in an era of streaming video, of easily accessible HD porn right on our phones, we like still images, photographs. We speculated that it’s probably because we came of age in an era before fast computers, before broadband Internet. There was speculation about what this younger generation gets turned on by, whether still images have the same effect on them.

And then we went into his bedroom, turned on by the talk. He gave me a shirt to wear, something someone in a gym would wear. It was a prop, a costume. He told me the scene. I was to be Batman. I would be working out in the gym when suddenly I’d be surrounded by five guys, bad guys, and they’d punch me again and again in the stomach. It’s his fetish, punching someone in the stomach, this superhero role play. It had been about a year since I last saw him.

Afterwards, he asked me if he had hurt me. I told him no, that I’m tough. He complimented me on my v-lines, saying that, yes, I am tough.

Summer, never end. We talked about that also, before the punching, before the talk about technology and porn and sex. We talked about how amazing summer is and the type of life and feeling that is enabled by warm weather, by being able to simply stroll, to walk all the way across town if you feel like it, a city rediscovered, a self rediscovered.