SO MUCH FOR FEATHERS...

OK, the Silver Fox is back. Which is a good thing, but a hard thing as well. Because the first words out of his electronic mouth were: my work schedule, blah blah blah, my steady squeeze, blah blah blah, we'll have to work things [i.e., me] in around the edges, blah blah blah. "Thrill of hope," my ass. It's been plucked, gutted, and packaged frozen. What a rude awakening...
So the dream-time is over, and we are back to dealing with the reality that while this guy is incredibly hot and still blows me away just by doing the simplest of things [like eventually answering e-mail], he is committed to a multitude of other things besides me. Before me -- before I even show up on his radar. And while I would gladly give up just about anything should he care to throw me a bone, he is throwing no bones. Not to mention not jumping any bones.
I am so pathetic.
Here's the problem. I can't live on one night a month. At least not on one night a month and the prospect of nothing more in the foreseeable future. That is to say, I'll have to until something better [more... available?] comes along, but I am really in the market for someone who can spend at least some of his time focusing on me. Is that so much to ask?
So it's time to put the Phantom Fox out to pasture.


God, it sure felt like it at the time. And probably would again.
If we only didn't have to wait so long...
We're back to the "I'm fucked" mantra, I'm afraid.

By the end of the second beer, I was aware of several things:

OK, so he was mind-blowingly beautiful. It may have something to do with the fact that he's almost twenty years younger than I am -- even his partner (still on the West Coast) is twelve years younger than I am...
OK, so it had a lot to do with the fact that he's under forty. On top of everything else, there's all the added fantasy thrill of cradle-robbing...
I have filed this information away to add to my checklist. It either shows me what I really respond to, or just adds another @#$%-ing layer of possibility.
GREAT. Just what I need: another type of Mr. Right.

OK, I admit it, I would have rolled over and played alive. But he didn't. [And why should he?] Why does no one I like ever come on to me? What is the vibe I put out that only attracts people I don't find attractive?
Lessons from the above:

So this partnered thing is also a bummer, even if it isn't a nasty, self-defeating pattern. And even if 3/4 of all gay relationships are "open," who wants to be the "other woman"? Not this little red hen. Not for long, anyway.

And there's no putting it on anyone else. And here's the thing -- it's not even really about sex at all. Yes, it starts there, but it's what happens after that initial signal gets picked up on my antennae that's completely overpowering. It's that Titanic Girl throwing her weight around; she throws what's left of my mind permanently off-kilter. Some days I am just such a mess of emotional pulls this way and that, that I can't imagine why no one tells me to go away and come back when I can get my act together. I mean, surely at some point my inability to think about anything but finding another heart to hold will become so obvious that I will no longer be able to maintain the fiction that I am holding down two jobs and casting about for spare work...
When did my "skin" and my heart become so closely entwined? I mean, I find there is as good as no difference at all between my responding to someone's looks or stance or story or way of speaking and this emotional free-for-all zone that passes for a blood pump. I mean, I know that it was precisely this combination of attraction and affection that I had always feared, but who knew it had such claws?
About this time last year, when I was wrestling with the eruption of the desires that I had kept under wraps for so long, or rather, failing to wrestle them into anything resembling submission, [ah, submission!] what I said to my poor, long-suffering wife was that if I actually met in the flesh any of these people to whom I was over-reacting on-line, I might just burst into flame.

Talk about thirty years of "control" taking its revenge...
Now I would be the first to admit that love is blind. I have been blind in one way or another for the better part of a year. When it comes to the Silver Fox, for instance, I have been blind, deaf and dumb for some six months. But it's a strange blindness, that certainly sees the outward appearance for what it is, but invests it with all the inward qualities that most speak to me. Whether or not they are really there is another question...
Not that I mean to bash the poor Fox. He has been incredibly generous, gentle, and sweet -- there's just the teeny-weeny problem that he is also completely up-front about how little I can expect from him in the Big Picture. So he's also being honest, where lying would be so easy. Rack up another point for the Fox. Really, I grant him lots of points. Gold stars even... now, if I could just get him to trade some of them in for time together...
Some days I wonder if I shouldn't just stay in bed...
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viva la slut phase! just be safe.
ReplyDeletefabulous blog btw.
C-Guy:
ReplyDeleteThanks for the vote of confidence.
Someone should have some.
T