Tuesday, Nov. 04, 2003 - 5:31 p.m.
Outburst
A quick update. My most exciting news is that sweet AdamW is coming to visit! He arrives Friday, and will be here for a couple weeks. It’s going to be a lot of fun. His comment here— “I get to stay in his apartment for a few weeks, he gets to try and get in my pants. Everyone's a winner!”—cracks me up. He may come to regret that remark, eh? I am also pleased to announce that the “triggers” seem to have evaporated. Being alone in my apartment, falling asleep, spending quality time with Miles—none of these scenarios are causing me any sudden flashbacks or anxiety anymore, not for the past 2-3 weeks. It would seem that the acute phase of fucked-up-edness might be over. You have no idea how much better I feel crawling into bed alone at night, knowing that Diego’s not going to suddenly, magically, burst in and kill me.
When I took safety for granted, I never really tasted it. Having it wrenched away from me so suddenly and so violently in June, it’s taken a while for me to accept and realize that the danger was only momentary, that I’m safe now. Knowing this again is delicious, let me tell ya.
Miles and I are doing fabulously well again too. I initiated a big talk with him Sunday afternoon as we walked in the park for 3-4 hours. You know, it doesn’t seem to matter what the issue is between two people: open, undefended communication makes things better. Miles and I didn’t solve much, not in the sense that I am able to articulate what got fixed, or how. We simply talked about where we were at with the relationship, our concerns, doubts, insecurities. And the conversation loosened us both up, made us porous.
What a beautiful afternoon we made.
I noticed some things about myself as we walked and walked and walked, hand in hand, talking all the while. Opening up like this makes me horny. Horny doesn’t begin to cover what I felt, actually. I got sexual in that emotional way that, unusually, gets beneath lust. Miles was lucky it was so crisp out that day, or I’d have dragged him into the bushes in an instant.
One of the things I felt it important to touch base with him on again was the M-word, and Miles confirmed that he still feels the way he did when we last talked about it: he doesn’t care if I sleep with other guys, he just doesn’t want to know about it. Fair enough.
So as we finally emerged from the woods and back onto city streets, feeling so abundantly sexual, I noticed many cute guys out and about. I could barely distinguish my sensuous response to them from how I felt about Miles in that moment. I knew Miles and I were going to have a sexy time when we got back to my place, and I also knew the truth of my body: there was so much of what I was feeling that I wanted to express with him, and only with him, but at the same time I yearned to express other bits of it with the guy walking ahead of us, and him over across the street, and especially the bespectacled boy in the tight blue jeans at the candy store, who kept kneeling and bending over and swishing up and down the aisle of sweets in front of me.
When I feel extremely connected to one man, it often makes me want everyman. I think this is why it’s difficult for men to love me. Love me in that way.
Anyway, much later that night in bed, Miles—who’d already cum—was sucking my nipples and squeezing my balls as I brought myself off. It wasn’t long before I felt the moist spark ignite inside. “I’m cumming!” I exclaimed. “I’m cumming!” My pelvis lit up, my whole body spasmed, and it felt like an tickling laser of light was zooming its way out through my dick.
But wait. I wasn’t cumming. It felt like I was, but I wasn’t. I was jerking myself like a fiend, but where was the output? My genitals were on fire, but the fireworks remained inside, roiling and volcanic.
“I’m cumming!” I said again, confusedly, almost with a question mark.
Finally, twenty or thirty seconds on, or maybe even longer, I erupted. It was shattering.
It was as if I’d taken something new in, and stewed it more. As if some unnameable truth burst out.
