A DINNER DATE...

Yes, we did have dinner. [And no, none of the pictures remotely resemble us.] We were also going to a party afterwards, so I knew I was spending the night.

I had, as is probably clear by now, been through just about every scenario I thought possible: he wants it [me], he doesn't want it [me], I have made a huge mistake by assuming either one or the other... But by the time I had actually gotten my ducks in a row and headed out of town to the Silver Fox's cabin in the woods, I had really made my peace with just about anything, including nothing, happening. It was going to be good one way or the other. I really believed that.

I still do, because it was.

The one thing I was not prepared for was what happened. First of all, he was barefoot, wearing jeans and a T-shirt when I arrived; I was wearing enough layers for Arctic exploration, and it took me a while to get down to my basics, which still left me several layers ahead of him... while he continued to clean the bathroom even though I said that he had no need to do it on my account. When he turned his back to me to finish off wiping the sink, I saw with a palpable shock that he had the EARS, you know, the ones that are hard-wired in on the scaliest reptilian level of my brain. If I were just the tiniest bit more Catholic, or superstitious, I would say that was a sign. Had I really not noticed them before, or had I seen them without noticing my noticing them, and was that part of what made my heart stop when I first saw him?

Then he turned around and asked me point-blank whether I wanted to share his bed or whether he should get out the air mattress. In retrospect, I can see that this was merely politeness on his part, giving me an out if I wanted one, but at the time I had no idea what to make of it. "Well," I finally said, "that was direct." It was certainly a bit of a conversation stopper; I wasn't sure I wanted to answer the question without a little more input. So it hung in the air for a while. He protested that he hadn't meant what I obviously thought. And then -- I don't remember how we got from that to his asking how I had been, and my saying, "Up and down, mostly down, lately," but then he gave me a big hug.

Danger, Will Robinson! For months now, my entire emotional life has been packed into hugs. So that was bad enough. And then he put his face in my neck.

RED ALERT. RED ALERT.
The rest, as they say, is history.

And yes, that means just what you probably think it means...

So many of the things I worried about just fell by the wayside. I am stupidly but madly picky about taste and smell, and was really worried what I would do if that became a problem. It didn't. The things that did go wrong were all things I had never expected [how like life is that?], but none of them weigh that heavily in the balance, at least, not for me...

It was a close thing getting to dinner, and then to his "regular boyfriend's" party, where we had to make an appearance, apparently, and where I felt more awkward than I have in years. Not a social situation I have found myself in in a while, if ever: part trophy, part man of mystery, even part "relative" -- he made a recurring joke of that, which I rather enjoyed even if I didn't get it: the joke was something we shared, and no one else did. It also beat being named for what I was: the piece on the side... or maybe even just this week's piece on the side...

Here's the thing. It all moved more quickly than I would have thought possible. But... or rather and... I found out that I am in fact as queer as I thought I was, and that enough of the evening, night, and morning was delightful to make me feel that for all the considerable arguments against it, it was without question the right thing to do. Whether it has any future is another question entirely. And where it might go in future, if anywhere, is something of an imponderable. Almost a week later, and my nipples still feel as though they had been scraped off with a trowel and rather haphazardly glued back on. That's only the beginning...

There is apparently no end in sight to the confusion and miscommunication. Needless to say, I thought about him, and our time together, all the way back, trying to formulate what I wanted to say, because I knew I wanted to tell him something. And then, after my glass of wine and the decision not to do the work I had brought home to do and should have done, some of the things he said came back to me in a new light.

Now he may not have meant anything by it, but what gay man could be asked if he had an exercise regimen without feeling that his body had somehow been found... lacking? And what was I to make of the fact that when I said that I had found much of what he had said over the last few months confusing, he replied that he had had no preconceptions about my visit [so far so good] and wasn't even sure that I would excite him until we embraced? Well, at least I could take consolation in events having answered that question. He was rather pointed about implying I had to leave -- as though it wouldn't have occurred to me on my own -- and his phone call the following day in response to my rather mooning message on his machine bordered on the brusque. Well, I knew the next day was his day for his regular BF to come over to his place in town, and I did not mean to intrude. I had just wanted to say something.

But I am also one in what Aretha calls a pretty long "chain of fools." Whether I am the latest of his 1001 nights, Arabian or otherwise, or just the 101st Dalmatian, doesn't really matter. I think I have mentioned before that this guy is a one-man slut phase. And he is insanely busy; I know both from him and his regular boyfriend that they rarely have time for each other. That does not bode well for the guy on the third point of the triangle. And I know he's going out of town for a month quite soon. Well, no one, least of all myself, can say I wasn't warned. Or was that part of a plan? Am I being paranoid or just reasonably suspicious -- if there even is such a thing as reasonable suspicion?

To hell with it. He was sweet and sour, he was rough and gentle, he was wild and soothing, and I fell for him, hook, line, and sinker. That's where the real danger lies. The chips are going to fall where they may, whatever I do, whatever I say.

And here's what I say:

in most of life, and certainly in attraction, The Troll's Professor Principle applies: the meaning of the statement gets lost between the issuing mouth and the receiving ear; all you can really hear is what you expect [or, God forbid, WANT] to hear. So it's useless holding anything people say against them; they certainly didn't mean to say, and may not even have said, what you heard...
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