Sunday, Feb. 03, 2002 - 12:44 p.m.
Touch, Talk, Commitment
Pressing Deeper I had another massage from Will last Tuesday night. Boy, did I need that. Now that I’m working full-time, I can afford such pleasures again.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve jerked off remembering those first two body rubs!
Two things stood out. First, Will is a likeable fellow, and seems to like me. Two, sucking his dick while he jerked me off at the end of the massage was not as thrilling this time. That interested me. Not that I didn’t enjoy it: I certainly did. My orgasm was obliterative. But the sexual part of the experience was not nearly as exciting as the memory or the fantasy.
Intimate communication transpires between rubber and rubbee. It’s why I dislike making small-talk during a massage. The conversation detracts, gets in the way.
But eventually, the dynamic becomes like any erotic forcefield: you need to put words to it for the magic to go anywhere, to deepen.
A few years back, I attempted to extend what was happening on the massage table. At the end of a second erotic but non-sexual rub from a gay masseuse, with tears in his eyes he exclaimed “You have such a beautiful energy!” As I got dressed, we acknowledged we were attracted to one another. We hugged as I left his apartment; I could feel his big dick hardening against my thigh.
A few days later, after several lengthy phone chats during which he insisted he had never done this before—never put the moves on a client—I invited him over. We had sex on my couch: a commingling as if by rout, devoid of the “beautiful energy” that had characterized the massages.
The transition did not work.
As I consider this intriguing dynamic with Will, I often think back to that experiment with that other masseuse. As I left his apartment Tuesday night, I was tempted to make some overture, some assertion of interest beyond the deft caresses of his strong, horny hands. I did not speak up.
I was dressed; I’d paid him; I was about to leave. Will walked over to me and said it was great to see me again after all this time. He extended his hand towards me. I poked his flank, affectionately, then grabbed onto his paw and began squeezing it. He looked at me. All of a sudden I recalled that the last two times as I was leaving he had shook my hand; I had probably misinterpreted this gesture just now. Oops. But it did not matter; Will caressed back.
And then I left.
Relaxed, glowing, confused. Aware of Will’s touch having awakened another vague yearning.
For space for my tears with men, too.
Public Display
Joey and I went out to a gay bar Friday night; my first such venture in aeons. And I had such a good time! I don’t know what the difference was; I guess it must have been Joey’s superlatively good company.
It was a real mixed crowd out at this particular bar. There were only two young men of interest. One hot feller—looked to be a blend of East Indian and Asian—in tight tight blue jeans and tee-shirt. He stood in the same spot all night, impassively rooted. I couldn’t take my eyes off him; he cruised me back a few times.
And the other guy was also young and slim. He flitted around the club in trendy jeans and a loose sweater that showed off well-defined pecs. I couldn’t catch his eye, and assumed he was not interested; I was just about to point him out to Joey when the guy walked right up to me and said “hi”. Flattered and flabbergasted, I chatted with him for a few minutes—he was very friendly and chatty—before a song he loved came on and he rushed off to the dance floor with his friends. Soon after, Joey and I were ready to leave. I said goodbye to the young cutie, just off the dance floor, and he gave me a hug, then followed me as I walked away to pat my shoulder as a final farewell. I didn’t feel that enough had passed between us for me to offer my phone number; as Joey can attest, I was kicking myself as soon as we left the bar that I had not done so. Oh well.
Whenever I can steal Joey away from his lover, I would love to go back to that particular bar. Surprisingly, I had fun.
I felt sexy and light-hearted. Joey couldn’t get over my giddy, saucy string of one-liners after leaving the bar.
Yet another reminder that it’s silly for me to disavow, as I’ve been doing of late, the club scene or any other scene.
I think I need to get out more.
(If) Only (It Was That Easy To) Connect
Speaking of awareness, I am certainly cognizant of the near-absence of any new sexual relationships in my life since I moved here. I’m not sure what that’s about, but suspect a mixture of the sociological and the personal. Gay ghetto sociality is not big on ongoingness. But more important than that has been my own headspace, I think. I have been noticeably withdrawn for the past while.
However, there have been men whom I’ve been interested in. Notably, Tony. After our last get-together, he again dropped the ball. That bothered me; the potential for a sexy, stimulating connection of some kind or other was mutually palpable. But what can you do? I guess when it comes to men not following up on that kind of potential, I’m in a place where I refuse to mope. But yeah, it does bother me.
More recently, there’s been Trevor. I am not romantically interested in him, but the sex is fun and he’s a nice guy. I don’t get any “falling-in-love” vibes off him either, so I think it’s okay to just go with the flow. I invited him over to my place two or three weeks ago; I was dead tired that night, having just started my new job, and we didn’t really connect. Certainly, I was not the slightest bit interested in doing the nasty with him. He seemed fine with that, and after a couple hours of chit-chat he left.
Thus we had reached an interesting and rather crucial point on the gay male interpersonal continuum. We’d had sex three times; we’d met up for a forth time and no sex had occurred. What did that mean? Would Trevor assume I’d become bored of him and, hurt, disappear? That’s not how I felt, and that’s not what he’s done.
We’re going to a movie late this afternoon. Gosford Park I’m looking forward to seeing him. I have no idea whether we’ll have sex afterwards. In a very general sense, I’m open to it. But it’s fascinating to just want to see him, and play all the rest by ear.
This stage of the continuum is about simply going with the flow. The flow is based on realizing—a perpetually refreshing insight—that two men might actually enjoy one another for more than sex.
