7:50 p.m. - January 28, 2006
What happened to hiding my weaknesses?
Just off the phone with Kevin, who decided to meet me in Austin next week. Familiar anxieties are surfacing in this unfamiliar fuckbuddy territory I've been visiting since the conference a few weeks ago. Is Kevin my when-in-Texas-get-some-ass man? I don't know how to operate within these parameters - I don't even know what the parameters are. What I do know is that he is tremendously cute, I enjoy the time we spend together because he makes me laugh and forget my worries, and conversation always flows well. The trouble is the overwhelming sexual attraction I have towards him and his - reciprocity? I mean, when I see him I love running my hands over his body, or doing the bump and grind, sliding into his sweet ass - it's overwhelming physically and emotionally and it's too much. I wonder (worry?) why I can top him and love it while not really having an emotional attachment or investment in him, yet with A3 at the coital moment I'd wonder whether the man who molested me felt the same things I was feeling and then the would-be coital moment became a limp-dick hope. It is troubling to think I can separate the physical and emotional when all this time I've staunchly believed them to be united.
But it was I who mentioned Austin next week, and it would be a lie to think I did not hope or assume / expect / want Kevin to come up from Houston. I know what will happen between us and it sickens me to know that I, too, cannot rise above the urge for sexual gratification. Perhaps it is the newness of being desired that's thrown me off track? The first time I fucked him I realized what the term sweet ass finally meant, that lucious drawing-in or upsurge that reminds me of what it is like to dive into a heated pool on a cool day, and that's all I think about when I talk to Kevin. I'm using him and it feels awful, but if he's alright with that and so am I, what's the problem? The problem is that I ought to be a better person than that. It's confusing; these years I've been traversing the unknown homoplains and now I've arrived at this resting place only to find it's the same casual sex I've always abhorred, except this time I'm engaging in it and welcoming it?
Let's face it: I like to play with Kevin, but I wouldn't want to date him. I want a man who reads, who loves watching Shakespeare, who will let me help cook but not expect too much assistance, someone who enjoys working with his hands and long road trips. Kevin works for an airline for the travel benefits but doesn't travel much because he's tired of being in airplanes. He watches American Idol and is confused by Lost, so doesn't watch it. He reads the Advocate and another gay media magazine and books on horoscopes. He is high maintenance with the toiletries and dry-cleaned shirts befitting a princess, since he's too young yet to be called a queen. And for some reason he thinks I'm cute and funny when he could have anybody he wants, but I can't feel anything more than how delicious the globes of his ass feel in my hands, or the look on his face when we're having sex. I see an openness, an abandonment, a shedding of inhibitions in his face, all the things I want for myself in my real life that's kept neatly wrapped up and hidden. When I'm with Kevin I have the opportunity to let the inside out just a bit and I find I love it, I really do, but I'm scared of what I see. I want this, but I don't like how I am when I have it.
I don't want a fuckbuddy and I don't want to be the kind of man who has one. But damn, he has an incredible body and a sweet ass that makes my heart pound. Why do I make simple things difficult?
