Worlds & Time

Saturday, August 05, 2006

On Relationships (Not light reading)

If you're one of my relatives, be warned, this post has content that you may find objectionable. I don't know exactly why I'm including it, but I guess I'm just tired of not talking about it.

Thomas had a really interesting idea that he called the slut phase.

A gay man starts off, pretty much by default, closeted. And while it's not impossible to get action when you're closeted, it's not really easy either. There are "stages" of closetedness, I suppose, but in the first one, you haven't even admitted it to yourself, so pretty much no relationships.

After coming out, at least to yourself and perhaps a nightclub full of strangers, Thomas said that most gay men went through a slut phase where they basically slept with anything that moved. And, in the media, they do. Look at Queer as Folk. Brian is always in this phase. It's probably the most well documented period in gay life, after the coming out.

I pointed out that I never had. That I went directly from closeted to being nearly a monk. Then he would just say, "Just wait." Ah, but if he only knew.

After I came out to my parents (I never had really close friends in high school) that was it . . . no sex because I didn't know any other gay people. No interest in guys that weren't of my own age, so I rejected the older guys online.

Well, actually, strike that. The first person that I found that was my own age and gay was D. D was a nice guy, and we found each other out because we both liked spending to much time talking about the actors that we thought were good (and also pretty). I can't remember who finally said, "You know, I talking about guys because I'm gay" first, but I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and say that he did.

He was a year younger than me at the time. Perhaps sixteen. Maybe fifteen. And while I was totally unexperienced, he wasn't. He'd met a much older guy online, and when the guy came for a visit they spent three days solid in a hotel room together.

At the time D told me, I pulled away, which was stupid on my part. Now when I look back, I should have slept with him, but instead I just turned and pretty much ran away because I didn't know how I felt about what had happened (and I was terrified that he'd caught something). I don't really know what to feel about it now. On one hand, it's abuse, on the other hand, the guy didn't really rape him. D knew what he was doing, and now I sort of wish that I'd done the same thing. After all, it would have helped me get over my sex issues with someone that knew what they were doing, and it would have also have made me feel that at least someone out there cared about me.

I was depressed, and hey, at least the pedophiles pay attention to you, right?

Then came Rochester, where I developed a crush on someone that basically left me completely fucked up for years. I don't want to talk about that, because it's only been what . . . four years? Yes, I'm still fucked up by it.

Also, there was a night where Thomas once volunteered to be my wingman if I wanted to pursue a guy in a Marroon hoody (there was nothing but hotness under the hoody, incidentally). I don't really regret not taking that one. I told Thomas that it wasn't special enough to be my first time, and it wasn't.

So then Miami. It's my 21 birthday, and I'm getting desperate. The pedophiles have stopped emailing my account. I've never been laid. I'm not religious, and I don't have any proscription about sex and I'm even freaking out, and I'm still a virgin.

I met Adriano at work. He was not particularly interesting to me physically, but he was intellectual and interested in me. So, more because of numerology (don't ask) and desperate opportunity, it happened, finally.

He was also a mistake. Why? Because:

1. He was huge, and it was painful.

2. I lied about it being my first time.

The second part is what I really regret, although I think the first part has shaped my relationships more since then. I was either bored or in pain throughout the process (and, since I couldn't ask questions, worried about said pain). I really wish I wouldn't have lied. I'm going to point to Paul Monet and say he fucked up my first . . . er . . . encounter. I was going to add Becoming a Man to this post, but apparently MySpace doesn't carry stuff like that, but you can always look it up yourself.

There was also a guy in a white Passat in Miami, sometime after Adriano so casually let off a "So, my boyfriend will be home next week." Actually, I didn't really care so much about the boyfriend, although for a while I worried that being with him "wasn't special enough." And then I had to ask myself Did I need it? and the answer is Yes. So much for maroon hoody guy.

So what about the white Passat guy? He was proof of the old gay maxim, "Always buy the head drag queen a drink in a drag bar." I ended up on stage kissing someone, and the second cutest boy in the club ended up in a car with me. It was a good night, but I wouldn't let him take me home. He was sharing a hotel room, and that was that.

Miami was also where my profile pic was taken. I guess I hang out with the wrong crowd, I never have any pictures of myself except when I start begging people to take them. But the reason that my profile picture is my profile picture is because I was trying to figure out how to beat the security at the Winter Party, and this older guy started to hit on me. I told him nothing was going to happen, and then I lied about my "boyfriend" for a bit. I think he believed me. I don't know why.

So then I moved home to go back to school.

I think I've been to Pulse perhaps a half dozen times since I moved home. The guys that have hit on me, for the most part, are the ones that I'm least attracted to. It's embarrassing really, because my response is this is the class that I'm in? I rank this far down the ladder on the looks scale? Girls tell me I'm cute, and the clubs tell me that I might as well be a dead fish.

I picked up a guy at the foam party. That was a disaster. I thought I was going to get kicked out of the club for getting head on the dance floor (I wish I could have seen my face . . . priceless) and actually returning the favor.

But then, he had a birthmark in a bad place, which terrified me. And nothing happened. I seem to remember that he lied about his name, and I ended up checking his driver's liscense while he was in the bathroom. So yeah, disaster, and a battery of tests later at the doctors office.

Which brings us to here. And if you know me, you know that I was in a four week relationship that basically qualifies as a trainwreck. The guy has me blocked on MySpace, so I suppose I could speak more freely, but I won't. Maybe when those wounds aren't so fresh, I'll revisit that. Or if I ever feel vengeful.

So, total tally?

Two guys, more than just friends.

Three guys, head.

No real relationships during any of this.

So, where's my slut phase? I think that I'm right still, and Thomas is wrong. My standards are too high or I must be incapable of relationships, termporary or long term.

Which is depressing, again, and makes me regret the whole pedophile thing again.



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