Trying to stay afloat, when your head is held under water

The last time I posted, I was heading off to a few days in NYC, to be HOME during the anniversary of the attacks. I lived there then, 10 years ago. I was going to my office in Midtown Manhattan from Williamsburg, Brooklyn when that first plane hit. I didn’t see it happen on my walk from Grand Central to 46th and Madison. It was only when I got off the elevator that my coworker told me. The next several hours were spent huddled with upper management in a conference room that thankfully faced west, rather than south, while we watched the madness on TV. NYC is no longer home, in the primal core of my heart, it is, a place that I feel closer to my center than almost anywhere, but other than that, other than a gut feeling, it isn’t home.

It was an odd trip and feeding off the energy of NYC, my anxiety levels were sky high at moments, especially after having my camera break and a couple hours later, my cell phone stolen while trying to buy a new camera. I got home to a laptop that wouldn’t work, a dog that broke out in such dangerously outrageous hives that she had to be given iv shots of Steroids and Antihistamines. For several days the drugs continued. She’s allergic to atmospheric mold. The rain and the humidity, the continuing dampness that has fallen over the city, it hit her hard. A stoned dog is a funny dog though, as they look up at you with eyes that question why everyone, including you, look like a polka dotted cat in their eyes. Then my job, the restaurant, the owner has lost his mind. He took me aside and berated me and insulted me in a way I have never quite experienced. His reasons were flimsy at best, his excuses were centered around tables that weren’t even mine. He didn’t care. It was his need for power that prevailed in those moments. For the first time in years I cried at work, because of work. At 36, I am too old to work at a job , for an owner, who gets off on that type of behavior.

And this is why I have been quiet. I now have a phone, after much runaround from T Mobile and the NYC Police Department. I have a hive free dog after many hundreds of dollars. I have a lap top that with the costly addition of plug in keyboards and optical mice, works again, sort of. I have an unpaid internship in something I love and an evening job that I haven’t been able to replace due to the unfriendly job market. My boss’s new trick is sending me home super early, so I only make $20 or $30 dollars. I won’t be able to pay my bills this month and he will get off on having so much power to effect harm upon someone else’s life.

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Parisian Macarons, Hard Cock and Terry Gilliam

It’s funny, meeting someone in person whom you have been virtual friends with for over a year. Nearly 13 months of sexual tension and in person, we are comfortable pals, yet beyond that, perhaps not much else. Internet Skype boy was having a weekend of bad reactions to some new migraine meds which ironically were causing low drive issues. The irony does not sneak past me here. I wanted a weekend of unbridled carefree fucking after 11 months of loving someone who had low sex drive issues and low interest issues. Nonetheless, we did have sex on Friday night, but the first time you fuck anyone is odd, grooves not found, rhythms not synced, and so I extended my trip one more night, to see whether things could line up more.

In between my first and last night… Parisian Macarons from BisousCiao. in flavors like Sour Cherry, Champagne Cocktails from Bubble Lounge and strolls through the Bowery. Apple Cider from The Union Square Greenmarket, naps on $7,000 couches at The Conran Shop, viewings of Time Bandits, and jokes about how I have lost my NYC street cred after ten years away.

So, how was the sex, second go around? It’s different. It’s not Type Geek. I was detached, yet forced to be present because of the sensation of fucking someone much larger than your previous partner. We fucked, it was fine. It was the punctuation, the ending to my one-sided relationship with a man I loved who couldn’t give anything except the occasional dinner, concert or overnight snuggle. Until there was sex with someone else, there was always just going to be Type Geek in my rearview mirror. After Skype boy and I fucked, after he washed up and went to bed, I laid there. The only night I was unable to relax and sleep. I missed Type Geek, even the small amount that I had him, the small amount that snuck through without him seeing it cozy up to me. I couldn’t help but wonder, has he thought of me at all since he saw me last. Did he ever miss me or was I unable to imprint myself even that much on him. I know it isn’t a reflection on me, it is merely a reflection on him and his bigger deeper issues, but nonetheless, I feel the loss and miss the him that I knew in those dark quiet hours between dusk and dawn.

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An Italian Atheist and a non-identifying Jew walk into a Bar…

only the Jew was smart enough to see what was around him and duck, where as the Italian was too focused on himself to realize what hit him across the head.

This weekend could have been a wonderfully relaxing and tender weekend for two people who have had a challenging year, a way to unwind and reconnect. Instead, I’m heading down to NYC for two nights and two days of who knows what with Internet Skype guy. Sex could happen. Sex probably should happen, I deserve that from the universe. Actually, I deserve a full body massage and really good oral sex, then the best 8 hours of sleep ever. That is what I need.

Since my last post, Type Geek has come out with a new plan… utter disrespectful douche. If you insult her character she will no longer come… that is his theory. Although his other theory… if you ignore her, she will no longer cum, was pretty effective as well. I don’t want to get into what he said, but it sent me into such a fit of anger and how dare you’s that I almost walked the three miles to his house and slapped him across the face. In the end, he still wasn’t successful in making me hate him, just succesful in making me feel sorry for him. It’s quite sad at this point, his complete inability to connect to another human. I hope that someday he gets over what his ex did to him and feels more secure in who he is. For his own sake.

So, the chapter is ended. Is the book of Type Geek finished? Life is long, we shall never know. Perhaps I will reconnect in 20 years at an auction of mid century modern furniture… perhaps we are meant to be old together, but first, we need to grow old separately. Perhaps he just needs to grow first.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch… There is Bi-Coastal Foodie who is shuttling between Seattle and NYC, a foodie who actually admitted that he thinks I might be the better cook. (umm, of course) There was a photographer that lasted a few days, only to run at me wearing a giant red flag after I didn’t text him by a certain time about a potential cocktail. Key word…. potential, not, scheduled. Finally, there was a gentleman, Shellfish Guy who had hit on me months ago and I had told, that I wasn’t in the place because I was seeing someone else. He has continued to pursue me and I figure, hell, why not. So, that is where I am currently at.

This time around, how will I approach things differently? I’m not sure. This time it is a whole new game. I’m no longer wondering if it is possible for me to connect emotionally to a man, I obviously did. Now, maybe my lesson is that if you can’t be with the one you love, find another, then love the one you’re with. It might not be the same soul wrenching, powerful stuff that makes you JUST KNOW. But, maybe it can still be pretty good.

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Happy? Birthday to Me

My birthday is in a few days, and I am feeling far from celebratory. I felt like I was walking into 35 with much possibility, however, in the last 12 months I have lost 2 businesses, a condo, and a love that was unexpected. I’m walking into the new year in pain, with a visible limp. The weekend was supposed to be spent curled up, naked flesh against naked flesh, my nose in his neck, many hours of sleep,  many hours of making love, and the occasional moment of clothed dining. Instead, I have no plans.

The most solid option for doing something is a trip to NYC, which due to the marital and parental status of the majority of my NYC friends, means a stay with my Internet Skype artist guy. Now, don’t get me wrong, he has become a solid friend over the last year, we have surpassed our sex Skypes with conversation Skypes. He sent me a Valentine’s Day mix cd to help me get over my painful split and has offered more understanding than many of my other friends. So, what is the dilemma here? Sex. I’m still very much in love with Type Geek and Skype boy knows this. We spoke honestly about his expectations and assumptions and he said that he understands where I am.

So, where am I? Do I fuck him because Type Geek and I hadn’t had sex in so long and I do need to get laid? Who is that fair to? Is that what I really need, casual sex? Will that make me feel better?

Speaking of feeling better, I have a session with a new therapist next Monday. I’m looking forward to having someone I can vent to on a bi-weekly basis. Perhaps then, I will stop venting here.

I hope everyone out there is doing well. My thoughts are with you all.

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9 Years

I met my ex-fiance 9 years ago at Canteen on Mercer Street and Prince Street in SoHo. I was meeting up with some old friends for brunch who had come to town for Gay Pride. With them was a firecracker of a red-head. Busty and sardonic, great musical taste, art film geek who I didn’t even consider because it was impossible. She was impossibly cooler than I. You see, back then, 9 years ago, I didn’t know that I was as awesome as I am. I didn’t feel beautiful or sexy. I felt awkward and unworthy of the attention of any beautiful woman. I hid behind the camera lens that I used to capture the things I thought were beautiful. Photography is a great escape from reality, a great distancer. I spent most of my life as a voyeur, watching others live and love. By the end of Pride, Godard Lover (she was obsessed with À bout de souffle) had taken down my email and asked if she could drive down in a few weeks in order to film some natural gas tanks in my neighborhood getting imploded. It was during that trip that she asked me out. It was also during that trip that I finally had sex with a woman. Prior to that, I dated them, kissed them, made out in the corners of gay bars with them, but I hadn’t actually made love to one. The girl that I had always thought would be THE ONE and that looking back I still believe SHOULD have been THE ONE, well, our lives could never intersect as perfectly as they should have. So, it took from my first love, my beautiful Candy Necklace Girl at 17, until years later, at 25, to finally have a woman make love to me. I was petrified. I thought I would be horrible. Perhaps I was quaint and the awkwardness was charming, I apparently earned at least a passing score, because Godard Lover and I would spend my remaining time in NYC swapping out travel weekends with one of us staying with the other nearly every weekend in one city or the other.

The video of the implosion is not the same video that she shot that day. I found this video on YouTube while looking for the Implode Brooklyn t-shirts some screen-printers had made. I had one which I bought off the street that day. Later that day, while wearing the shirt, I sat in a park not far from Rob Morrow of Northern Exposure as he enjoyed the sunshine with his baby as he read the paper on a bench. He had one of his legs crossed over, ankle to knee and I remember that he was wearing moccasins, but that one had fallen off, so he sat there, with one shoe on, reading the paper, and I remember thinking how much I loved NYC for that. For those moments of imperfection. I miss that about NYC.

great line: happiness isnt happiness without a violin playing goat

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In all fairness…. a nod to Bastille Day

I know that I sometimes make it sound like I NEVER get laid. That isn’t entirely true. I get laid about once a week, UNLESS it is “THAT” week. What makes it seem so tragic for me is that I am seeing TWO men, so I am averaging every other week with each of them. Sex with Cooper Fiennes is ALWAYS hot. Sex with Type Geek has it’s surprising moments, however it had been taking a nose dive into boring routine married sex. Brushing teeth in the two bathrooms and doing our end of day grooming routines and then meeting in the bedroom. 99.9% of the time he was tucked in bed when I would join him a couple of minutes later. It made me feel like he was more inclined to go to bed than get busy. I guess he just isn’t a big initiator. I can be the initiator, but, I REALLY like when someone else takes charge.  Sigh. So, it’s been a sexually frustrating past month.

Last Monday I texted Cooper Fiennes asking if he would attend a Bastille Day soiree at a local bar/restaurant. The parties there are always quite fun and I thought it would be a great excuse to drink, flirt and dance. Do we really need excuses to do that?  Well, C.F. never responded to my request. It wasn’t vaguely put. I said, quite pointedly, that there was an event on Wednesday evening that I was attending, would he please be my date. I heard nothing Monday, nothing Tuesday. Tuesday evening I asked Type Geek to go with me. Now, Type Geek had been frustrating me because he kept canceling things and showing lack of interest. Or what I was feeling seemed like lack of interest. So, I left him a message stating that my feelings were getting hurt and I was growing more and more disappointed each time we made a plan and it was rain-checked or canceled. That I understood his job can be demanding, and that is more than acceptable, but that perhaps he needed to think out the validity of plans better BEFORE asking me to do something. After I said that, he suddenly became more affectionate and attentive. So, I gave him another chance and decided that I would see how things would turn out after the party, if he could attend. He eagerly said yes and we agreed to meet at the venue at 8 pm the next day.

The next day I had some training at my new job and had only a few hours to run home, deal with my pooch, and look fabulous. Since this wasn’t just any date night I wanted to look extra hot. I showered and did a quick, yet thorough, shave/wax combo and started to think about what I was going to wear. Inspiration hit when I found my charcoal colored tweed pencil skirt. Pencil skirt- check, white men’s button down- check, sheer black camisole and black bra and tanga panty-check, black garter belt with nude colored back seamed stockings-check check. Finished off with 4 inch vintage styled heels and hair up with red stained lips and dark eyes? Of course! Now, as I am running around getting ready, who calls me? None other than Cooper Fiennes. I didn’t answer it. I was annoyed. I did however check his voice mail. His message said that he knew we had plans tonight, but he didn’t know what was going on and that he really wanted to go for a jog, to let him know. I laughed out loud. I texted him back, still annoyed,” Go for your jog. We don’t have plans. I invited you and you didn’t respond therefore I made other plans. I don’t assume that we have plans just because I ask you to attend something with me. Have a good night. P.s. I look amazing, you should have responded.” A few minutes later I heard the text alert go off, ” YES! Next time I will respond. Have a great time tonight.” I think I am trying to distance myself a little, emotionally. That is for another post however.

At 8:15, because I am always late, I meet Type Geek outside the venue. If you have never worn a pencil skirt, let me tell you, maneuvering in/out of taxi cabs is difficult when the top half of your legs are bound so closely together. Type Geek smiled and obviously made a mental note of my outfit but refrained from saying anything. A half hour later, while at the downstairs bar, he finally told me how great I looked. I smirked and thanked him, then I let him in on the garter secret…by inching my skirt up a bit and running his hand along the top of the stocking. I know he has a stocking fetish, so this was done for his benefit. He didn’t shake his smile for the rest of the evening.

The event was fun, except for the obvious fail on their part to plan for the rain. They had anticipated French street fair style food carts outside with no food running from the kitchen. Unfortunately, it poured. My gluten issue left the single option of baguette sandwiches highly implausible, and after 2 strong cocktails, dinner was a necessity for both of us. We wandered out at 11 pm in search of something open in this godforsaken town. The reality of NOT living in NYC anymore means that dinner after 10 pm MOST nights is as impossible a find as is the holy grail. We did remember that there was a French Brassiere a few blocks away that served a late bar menu. Score! Beets and Frites and Croque Monsieur, Belgian beers and vodka cocktails, then a question, “So, do you want to go back to the party or should we go back to your place and get naked now?”  He quickly hailed a cab for his house.

Sex that night began in the kitchen and continued backing up through the hallway into his bedroom, shoes came off, pencil skirts pushed up, and suddenly we were behaving like people who are dating, not a married couple. The highlight of the evening… I got off. That doesn’t happen often. The plus for him? Besides my getting off? He got off twice in 5 minutes! Now, THAT is what I am talking about. Amazing how after a night of sex like that, you can sleep for only 3 hours but wake up incredibly refreshed.

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Facebook Relationship Status: It’s Complicated

Cooper Fiennes got a visit from his wife on Sunday. I mentioned this, right? That he is technically married? She left him for a myriad of her own reasons, mostly it seems, she just wasn’t in love with him the way he loved her. It wasn’t his decision and he misses her madly. We talked about his love for her one night while we were taking a break during sex. We both believe in the hearts ability to expand so that it loves multiple people over a lifetime. That love doesn’t cease to exist for someone merely because the relationship is now over, or the status is complicated. We believe that the more one loves, the more capable or love one is.

I don’t expect to hear from him for a few days. I believe he needs some time to mourn. She is moving to NYC, a dual citizen, she has that freedom. Her trip to see him on Sunday was one to discuss logistics such as the sale of the car, the financials, the signing of the divorce papers once one or both travel back to Barcelona. Their physical location makes the divorce harder because it needs to be filed in Spain. Each day he goes without the split being finalized, is a day he is unable to fully move on.

I made myself available in anyway that could be helpful. I told him that if he needed a friend later in the day, a lover, or just a silent fuck, let me know.  He texted me in the early evening letting me know that he had opted to play soccer for 3 hours in the heat after she left, that he was emotionally spent and exhausted and just without words, but that he would resurface soon. I’m not concerned. Our situation is one without the emotional complications of a traditional relationship. We merely are, what we are. Until that is an issue or complication, we are happily floating in our little sexually charged private world, away from the trappings of what if’s and if only’s.

I have been meeting a lot of divorcee’s this last 6 months. Are there more people getting divorced or is it just that I have hit the age group where people who married young are suddenly running for cover? Had I married my ex fiance, we would be divorced by now. She was a train wreck. thank god for small miracles.

This week’s web-syndicated post is running a day late due to technical issues with our syndicater www.thenewgay.net . They are back up and running smoothly now, so check them out for more great queer coverage!

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