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5:24 p.m. - May 13, 2003
I think about him and am ashamed to admit it
Been thinking often of Spec these past few days and it wasnít until last night that I realized this damned myopic nostalgia is gaining currency the closer I get to returning to Washington, D.C. More so than Palo Alto or Seattle, DC carries a lot of memories, and I guess Iím feeling sorry for myself. I know Iíll avoid the Metro station by the convention center with the little fountain where we talked for hours one night, when we talked about how I wasnít truly ready for a gay relationship, an understanding neither of us could accept and so the soap opera continued on. Or the time we were in Bethesda at the Cheesecake Factory and he told me of the guy he had been spending time with and I left the restaurant and he followed me all the way to the stop before Fort Totten and as he got up to leave I wanted to say Please stay with me until the end, I just want to think, Iím sorry, Iím sorry for over-reacting but I didnít say anything or move and that image of his back on the station platform hurt then and hurts still. Or that infernal Ė literally, in the DC heat and humidity Ė walk from Foggy Bottom all the way to Georgetown and I was soaked with sweat and so was he, and we sat at the canal and talked, and I tried to explain that everything Ė he, me Ė had been an experiment, a phase, and he said Do you know how that makes me feel? and we fought, argued, neither of us gaining ground when all along, I wanted to re-start the fairy tale like a tired carnival calliope. The time in the food court at Union Station when he used the I Love You sign and then the separate signs I Love You, and how mischievous his eyes and as much as I was mortified I was thrilled, and that's how my relationship with Ken was like. And the movies at Union Station, especially that time when we were supposed to meet outside his building and he didnít show Ė he was at the other entrance Ė and I wandered around looking for him and Iím certain I saw him and he saw me, but neither said anything. And how often last summer I sat and waited, hoping against hope that he would call, wanted him to want to see me, want to talk to me, and I'd rebuff him when he did. And the times he asked me to invite him over so we could sleep together and I was resistant though we both knew he would. And the trip through the Carolinas is something I will never forget, never. And the weekend trips to New York and West Virginia, Norfolk, the Eastern Shore. And the arguments, the fights. How he'd hit me when frustrated and I half understood, half didn't. It was me who instigated everything, I just couldnít chill and be at peace with things.

Itís been over a year since I broke up with Dana, and my heart doesnít ache when I think of her. I hope sheís happy pursuing her goals, is in a healthy relationship, is content. And itís been only a few months since I stopped talking to Spec and I ache like Iím gushing blood, a migraine. I miss his laugh and his little snorts, I miss his scent, that masculine mix of sweat and deodorant. I miss his ass and his cock, miss seeing him walk around naked and me being warm just thinking Heís mine. I miss the way heíd push my legs up and whisper, Do you want to get fucked? and sometimes it scared me, sometimes it would turn me on. And how loud Iíd get the times I wanted to have sex with him! Right out of a movie, sometimes, especially the time we went to Assateague and while on the hike it began to rain that warm water and we laughed and laughed and talked and I felt so alive.

All thatís gone now, you know? And I miss this, I miss knowing I once lived and let go, didnít know where I was going but didnít want to stop. I donít know if Iíll have this again and thatís something I have to come to terms with. How badly I want the doors broken down when really, all I have to do is muster the courage to open the doors myself.


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