One gay man's romantic failures
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Writing yesterday about being able to begin life afresh as a young man with the accretions of insight, experience, self-awareness of later years brought affairs of the heart to mind. I can't say I learned nearly as much as I should've. Maybe you've been smarter? Sexual beauty blinded me, affection blinded me and when the two were linked together I probably couldn't have managed to walk out of an open door in a well-lit room.
I had a crush on the first guy who got me out of my clothes. Is this a hetero cliché or do many other queer boys do likewise? Rooted in little the hunger vanished easily enough. I'm grateful for that. We were good friends for years and did make love again a few years later.
The second crush can be more properly summed up as intermittent Hell that made me the star of my own interior soap opera. More of a clown than a star. When he deserted me for the final time little Richard grew up. Well at least I can claim to have been less of a sap.
Some of us grow up jaded without experience to justify it. Others (me) think of what are inelegantly called relationships as a series of ecstasies coated with fairy-sugar. Getting my psychic ass kicked repeatedly for two years was what I needed to get on and enjoy being a young gay man and not pine for what wasn't to be had.
While my mad, bad passion was elsewhere I did live for a short time with a lovely blonde young man. Running into m,b pash. I dumped the lbym. One of my few romantic sins. Not that it could've lasted long. The boy was nice to look at and very sweet. But there wasn't a large inventory above his soft blue eyes. Some guys would probably be happy enough with a lover as a pet. Surely I should've enjoyed my empty cutie more and left the other guy alone.
I stopped being in love with love. My next lover who was more than a nightly special was everything I'd have asked for if destiny had been taking special requests. Eventually it dissolved gracefully. Unnoticeably we were good friends: and not just. Don't you wish that were the norm?
Next came five years with a woman. When she left me I could blame only myself. I wasn't bad or mean. I've only told one person why we didn't manage to remain together. Maybe I'll confess it here. But not today.
The failure of my life with her left me feeling divorced from romance and sex. I didn't want another romantic entanglement. I regret that response more than any mistake I've made in my life.
The eerie part of those years is that I didn't spend them wishing I were having sex or looking for love. Without sex and love I was happy enough pursuing my hobbies, running my used bookshop.
One day I awoke from my erotic slumber. I felt and do feel that it was a huge error. What pleasures could I have had, people met and enjoyed? I'm a natural hermit: sex brings me out of myself.
Since my memories of those years are happy I've never been able to cast them in a framework I can understand properly. Sexual appetite was still there but my hand seemed less bothersome than a fleshly someone.
One night I got up in the middle of night for a glass of water. Looking out the kitchen window I saw two guys in the apartment across the way in a naked embrace. That hurt. Not having remembered it until I started typing this paragraph I don't want to overplay the pain. Later reinvigorated I did my best to make up for time lost via the web (Tim Berners-Lee somehow I suspect you didn't anticipate this).
Through the web I met the guy I live with now. Have for four years. Now I feel it should've been four months if not four days. I've built my own prison built of love, of pity.
So much for the power of insight and experience guiding you to a saner life.