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3:33 p.m. - April 17, 2003
Wry disclosure, fronting, I need to cover up and in this entry do it well
Leaving for Seattle later today and Iíll not think of Spec once between tonight and Monday.

It is important to establish goals.

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Last night was the first group session for the study and again, I struggled to be nonchalant and monolithic. I failed to be open-minded and judge-free off the bat, something that doesnít surprise me but I hadnít anticipated the vituperative nature of my reactions towards these Ė colleagues? fuck ups? strangers? Ė people. Five fairies, two undefined (myself in this category), one youíd-never-guess. They Ė the fluttery ones Ė bother me, and Iím ashamed to say so.

We were each encouraged to share our story just like at summer camp around the fire and I had none of that. I sat there and was cold literally and figuratively.

So far, thereís two of us who have the same intimacy problems Ė myself and the youíd-never-guess guy. I want to know why Iím like this and what I can do about it for what? So I can express the inner whore freely and play with bacchanal abandon, take my place in the bathhouse pantheon? Become a gym bunny and worry about my tan and biceps as I get ready to go to a bar or club to fluff my tail like a peacock? Laugh shrilly and rest a hand on someoneís shoulder and say Honey or Oh please with panache? I feel I have nothing in common with these people.

What do I want? I feel like Iíve missed the boat given gay sex will not figure prominently in the near- or distant future, so why worry about panic attacks midstream? I think itís the best deterrent to my woe-is-me-am-I-gay-or-bi-litany; canít have sex with a man easily, ergo climb up on that snotty I donít do that sick shit horse and ride off.

Itís not as easy as Iíd like it to be. Or definitive.

Lately Iíve spent a lot of time online at gay.com and while I interact very little with those people, Iíve been chatting with a few guys. I donít see myself reflected in them at all but I have to admit there are a few guys with whom Iíve had great conversations that donít begin with ďstats?Ē or ďhow hung.Ē I donít give myself or others a chance. What a surprise. I look for substance which makes me shake my head Ė come on, get a clue! - some sort of identification, perhaps bump into myself there. And it strikes me as sad to see all these guys putting on fronts and facades and making merry to cover up the abcesses. I guess I do that, too, in my own way.

Something I was going to write about in the other journal I may as well have here.

Last night we talked about male rape and I didnít identify with the fairy Ė wait, twink is the term Ė ones who went on about being raped. I identified with the youíd-never-know guy and as he was talking about his experience with it I felt such pathos I cried a little because I felt outraged and defiled for him. This man could say he had been raped not just as a child but by most of his sexual partners and I thought How awful, what a shame, how sad. I donít, I canít, I refuse to say that I had that kind of experience Ė see how I dislike the word Ė with Spec but I did. Six times when he took what he wanted and I couldnít stop him. I call it for what it is with others, but not for myself. I wonder why this is. Maybe thereís a fine line between excitement and fear and I navigated poorly or maybe I was weak and didnít fight enough. I think thatís bullshit. To take ownership, I think I teased Spec in the sense that I was always bargaining Ė yeah, Iíll give you head, but thatís all Ė but when heíd put his fingers inside and it would feel good, I would vacillate between saying no and encouraging him. Maybe he didnít know what I wanted because I didnít know myself. Wait Ė does it sound like Iím blaming myself and making excuses for him? Damn, thatís fucked up.

I felt guilty last night that this relationship of sorts with Spec failed because I didnít work at it, I took too much time to process (or not process, as is more accurate) my issues. I could say that I became tired of his hitting me as the final straw, but it wasnít that. I wanted to run away Ė and did. I wanted to tell myself I had a brief fling, checked things out, realized it wasnít for me. All lies, I know, because I can feel whatís inside. I had to get away because everything had risen to the surface, all this shit Iíve filed under ďWhen you have timeĒ made a mess underfoot, and really, because I wanted something more refined, something better. I always felt lucky to have him, that such a hot guy would be interested in me, be patient. I felt I didnít deserve him. Things were unbalanced. Yeah, Iím not hot, I donít get cruised, I donít have to fend off those seeking a feel or a phone number. But you know, Iím intelligent, Iím a nice guy, I have a wry sense of humor, I can fundamentally care for people and see beyond my ego and my own gratification. These things count somewhere, Iím sure they do. Thatís why I left, if Iím to be honest. Iíd rather be with a guy who likes me for me, who wonít use me as a gay foil to his straight-acting routine. Someone who wonít mind that Iím shy and inhibited. Someone who wonít say Iím the best you can ever get and make me believe that.

You know, I do believe that. I feel like I donít know myself sometimes.

 

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