Originally I had planned today to be the swan song for Learning to Drive Stick. I assumed, wrongly, that I would have some amazing revelations about human behavior. About human sexuality. Instead, a year in, all I have are more questions than when I began. My base questions were simple, or in retrospect, simple. Can I, a lesbian of 12 years, a woman who didn’t even like penetrative sex with her female lovers and hadn’t had a remote inkling of a novel non fleeting interest in a man in 12 years, sustain enough of an interest in any one or more men to date them and have a sexually romantic relationship with them. Sure, I flirted with a few boys during that time, kissed a couple, but that was alcohol tinged fun, not cock fueled desire. So, I set out last December on a quest, one year to meet as many men as possible, stay open to the process and see what the universe had to offer. Boy, did the universe have plans.
In the first months it was very experimental. I did have a look at my dates as pawns in a game, in a way. Or perhaps it was all like a science project, controlled experiments. As much as I was open to the process, I was awkward, at best. I was having issues crossing the line and connecting beyond the sexual flirtation. No one was getting in. I was having a blast though, so, I assumed, again wrongly, that this would be the nature of the beast. I would meet and have laughs, maybe some hot make out sessions with beautiful men who looked too good to be true (i.e. Gavin Depp), and some douche bags who thought inviting their friends on a first date and hitting on the girl in the tight wife beater, smoking a cigarette outside, was a BRILLIANT and tactful move. I assumed I would have some good stories, nothing more, nothing less.
Then Brooklyn showed up. He came at me with a relentless desire. He was just leaving a marriage to the only woman he had ever been intimate to, the 3rd woman he had kissed, and in many ways, what should have been a short passionless affair, turned into a 12 year relationship. She was the first girl to pay attention to him. The first to fall in love with him. So, he stayed. Until he decided the fall previous to our meeting, that he was done. Fini. He saw me on Match, signed up specifically to meet me, only met me and fell into a fantasy. It turned out that we had been neighbors in Brooklyn, yet never known each other, and in many ways, our connection was one of soul mates, but it was forced, by him. It was filled with a teenage fervor, making out on the beach in winter, in a car for hours with the heat turned on, on the couch of a home I was house sitting and in between the stacks of bookstores. It was hot and fast. In the end I fell in love with the idea of love. Love wasn’t what I was expecting in the journey, so to see that it could be a real possibility in the journey was thrilling. We broke off our short affair because he was overwhelmed, a night of almost sex had him rethinking his entire life. He needed therapy to leave the relationship, not me.
I did also assume, again wrongly, that sex would be fairly easy to come by, seeing that I am an extremely attractive woman with an average slender build, some fashion sense and style, and a pretty good sense of humor. Sure, except I wasn’t getting laid. Start and stops, start and stops. Hot make outs in a mall after hours following an alcohol loaded evening of jazz resulted in our getting thrown out of said mall, but when we were alone later, excuses for why the young law student wasn’t ready. Dates that couldn’t make it close to first base and my desire to have someone “be a man” about it and show me that they wanted me, rather than my taking the first move as I have in all of my relationships in my past. It wasn’t happening. So, the dates continued, the weather warmed, and the experiments went from controlled to natural as I found 3 men in a few week period who redefined the game.
Type Geek started out his date late, nice, but not thrilling. Former lawyer talked my ear off on the phone in an argumentative debate that, at times, crossed into condescending and rude, but I went out with him anyway, only to realize that I was truly JUST going to use him for sex. He seemed to be my most promising route for a lay, since Type Geek hadn’t even kissed me at week 3 of dating. So, I slept with Former Lawyer on a Wednesday and had him begin a three-day stalking that covered him showing up at a grocery store he knew I was shopping at, show up outside my door, uninvited, assuming he would be invited in, at a time when I just wanted to sit in the tub and relax after a hard day. I gave him 2 hours at a local martini bar. He told me that I couldn’t possibly like electronic music because I liked serious musicians like Rush. I respected Rush, sure, but I LOVE trip hop, so fuck off. He told me he was being argumentative in order to make my arguments and opinions more precise. I told him I had to go, I had plans. Those plans were to get back in the tub, of course, but I would not see this man again. He had however, broken the mystical seal surrounding my pussy and suddenly the world opened up.
That evening I met Cooper Fiennes on-line, we chatted briefly,flirted, and agreed to meet for coffee after an appointment I had scheduled the next day. I also had a date with Type Geek later that evening. And so, the next morning, I arose for my meeting, met Cooper Fiennes in person, and tried to hold my shock when meeting him. He was handsome on-line, but he was HANDSOME and European, and sexy as HELL in person. We walked for hours, drank coffee and talked. I didn’t feel a huge spark, but I felt his interest. Suddenly I saw the time and realized that I had 2 hours to get home, shower, wax (just in case, although since our first kiss was initiated by me, I was only so hopeful of anything past 1st base on this date as well), and get back to the same location I was sitting, for a date with Type Geek. I made it 15 minutes late. He was, of course, 20 minutes late. By 1 am I was beginning to consider it fruitless. He wasn’t making a move, and so I decided one last attempt at making myself available would need to be tried. I followed him into his bedroom as he dug through his closet for some shoes, the ugliest shoes in creation apparently, and I purposefully laid myself out on his bed and began to pet his cat. And so, this is how Type Geek made his move, finally. This was one hell of a move, as well… it resulted in great sex, my getting off, and really good coffee in the morning. After going home and showering, I met Cooper Fiennes in the city for a late afternoon coffee.
That became my summer, juggling between these two insanely different men. Sex with Cooper Fiennes was fierce and passionate, often beginning in alcoves of buildings of on park benches. He could turn me on in 3 seconds by stroking the back of my neck and breathing on it until I was ready for another 4 hour escapade. With Type Geek, it was sweet and typical, but he didn’t let me in, I was intimate with him, but often felt detached. I was beginning to think that he might be one-dimensional. a few months in I realized that I had fallen in love with the idea of sex and my body in ways I hadn’t ever been able to in my life. I had two men that found me sexy, one that showed me how insatiably, and it was thrilling. I misdirected this emotion for a couple of weeks as it being about Cooper Fiennes in general, only to see that it wasn’t, after we stopped seeing each other because he had fallen in love with his best friend.
I was considering ending my affair with Type Geek at this time as well, I wasn’t feeling anything spectacular, and while he was a nice guy, I didn’t see much else. As I trolled the internet sites for more potential dates I realized that perhaps Type Geek was that guy that in comparison doesn’t show well, but underneath it all, if the focus is just on him, maybe he is a diamond in the rough. So, I actively decided that I would only see him for a while. That awhile is now 8 months. A month ago I realized that after falling in love with the idea of love, after falling in love with the reality of myself as a very sexual being, I had also, fallen in love. He is flawed, emotionally and physically. He is imperfect in many ways. I am a overcommunicator and he is a undercommunicator, and at times I feel like a chicken with my head cut off, cause I just don’t get him, but, I love him. He is multi layered and as delicious as a Mille-feuille. He isn’t my boyfriend, it’s no grand affair with fireworks and sex on street corners and in rental cars, but it’s true and honest and real. Real isn’t always sexy, it requires a lot of work.
So, a year in. My original question was answered early on, yes, I could successfully date and maintain a sexual relationship with a man. Then I wondered if I could fall in love, and I did. Then I began asking questions about the all of human nature, realizing that while we are such different creatures, especially in how we go about processing and handling our rich and varied emotional lives, we, men and women, essentially want similar things. The only two things I truly know for sure though, in all of this, is that women are indeed bat shit crazy, even me. Men are emotionally retarded, and if they aren’t, there is some red flag somewhere that you should look for. We will never be able to have total communication with anyone we are sexually and romantically involved with, because we see things through eyes clouded with our own needs, wants, past traumas, etc. Nothing will ever be perfect, but imperfection, in all its beauty, isn’t far from grasp, if you open your eyes to it.
I no longer consider myself a lesbian, but I don’t consider myself bi or straight. To some, straight makes more sense. To me, calling myself straight discounts and disrespects my knowledge, my history, my activism in the gay community. I know too much to be straight. I consider myself, because labels seem to be necessary in our day and age of necessary compartmentalization, queer. I’m left of center, as Suzanne Vega sang.
What next? I’m not sure. I have decided not to end the blog just yet, but I am taking a break until the new year. In January I will be back, and perhaps with a different direction to take it in. I am thankful for all of the support I have received over the last year from my readers and my editors at The New Gay, as well as the gifts of the universe and even all of the crazy boys I encountered along the way. Some have become lifelong friends, others I avoid on the street, and some, one, I bring with me into the new year, filled with possibility, filled with potential and filled with utter frustration that once again, a date may get canceled and I may not get laid, because he may end up stuck in another state today due to a snow storm that hit after he finished his business meeting. Sigh.
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