I dreamed that I was at a club as the sun was falling Sunday night. I was invited there by the owners. One of whom sat the door and another was behind the bar. There was a full kitchen serving small dishes and a upper floor where people could rest and sit and have food. It was a gay club and this is important. I’m sitting at the door talking to my friend and people are walking in, hesitant, young. Some afraid to step in, some afraid they will be turned away, rejected here as they are rejected elsewhere. Snubbed here as they are snubbed elsewhere. But my friend smiles and nods and they are welcomed in. The club night is called Church. In walks a big burly guy, not bad looking but rough. And he turns to my friend and says “it’s a bit blasphemous to have a club called Church on Sunday.” My friend just shrugs and waves him in. But I can’t let it go. I say “We call it church because this is the place we are loved and accepted. Here we aren’t judged for who we love. Here we aren’t told we are monsters or unworthy. Here we are free. THIS is our church where we are free to worship as we please with those that please us.” My friend looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. Because I don’t generally confront people about their bullshit. Then he turns to the guy and says, “Yeah, what he said.” After sitting the door for awhile we go in and we have fun and dance. We are not the stereotype. We are not good dancers, but we are happy, enthusiastic and free. A young gentleman whom I am acquainted with slips his hand across my shoulder, his hand resting on my chest. I place my hand on his and say, “Hello, my love.” I say it impishly, playfully. But he pulls his hand back like I burned him. I turn around to see his shocked expression and I can’t help but laugh. My friend gives me a look and we smile and laugh as the young man disappears, fleeing. Whether from our laughter or the shock, I don’t know. My friend has the DJ put on a record and tells the room with a shake of the head and a the back of the hand to his forehead that He’s sorry but he had to. Then the beat of Gloria Gaynor, I will survive comes up and we groan and laugh and people get up from their seats and dance like silly happy fools. And then I wake.
something painful or happy
A notion or a story
a dream or a hope
Of depression and manic
Tell me it all, leave nothing out
Your every scar or rainbow on your soul
Just don’t leave me alone in silence
Or speak lies for want of bright words
There isn’t a thing in this world I would not do for the people I love. I know all too well how easy it is to lose them. The world is not forgiving. It takes and takes and you are considered fortunate to be the last person in your age group to be left standing. A dubious honor to be sure.
The older I get the more prized those that I love become, not because I love less people but because I find my love grows. It builds on itself. It spills out and touches more people than I ever imagined I could love. More people who I feel a kinship to. More people who I respect.
For all of that, someone who sees me as vital to their life eludes me. I find something to love in so many but I still feel alone. I think that is what galls me. I can’t be unique. There has to be someone searching as hard for me as I do for them, right?
Maybe that is the hardest lesson. No matter how much we want, how much we need, how much we strive, there is always going to be something we cannot achieve, cannot find, cannot help.
This doesn’t mean that we don’t endeavor. It just means that we need to accept that there is a chance that we will fail. And that’s OK too
I love you
I love you
I love you
I hear your voice…I love you
I see you smile…I love you
You retreat under your hoodie…I love you
You send me a picture of a baby Fenix fox…I love you
Your face lights up when you see me…I love you
You don’t think you want to hear it…I love you
You push me away…I love you
I can’t stop this…I love you
You are more amazing each day…I love you
We stop speaking each day…. I love you
I see your name… I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
Its been months, I just can’t stop.
I love you
Note: I regret posting this. Not because it is not true. But because I posted in a vulnerable moment without consideration of wider implications. I won’t pull it down. It scares me that it is up. I’m afraid of who will see it and what things they may conclude. So I’m afraid and as such it stays.
I dreamt that I met a beautiful woman, she was thin, slightly shorter than me, small, almost flat chest, elegant hands perfect for holding or kissing. She was smart and we talked about music. I kissed her and she was gentle at first, then more forceful. Her hair was soft and I ran my hands over her. Trailing the edge of fingernails over the lingerie, black lace she wore. So damn sexy. I moved to go down on her and found a surprise. A five inch cock. Thin and perfectly groomed. I looked up at her and could see the fear and trepidation in her eyes. Holding her eyes with mine I ran my tongue up the length of her surprise. I took her in my mouth, running my tongue against the softness, sucking and swirling. Replacing my mouth with my hand, I trailed kisses up her abdomen, paused to suck a tit, then kissed the small of her throat. I whispered to her, your beautiful. I remember having sex but not the rest of the specifics. I woke beside her, her ass snuggled down against me. I reach over an pinch a nipple. She turns to me and murmurs good morning and looking into her hazel eyes I am turned on. We have sex again. I ask her out to a real date. We go eat Italian. Then we are leaving the restaurant and as we exit, her in the crook of my arm, snuggled against me. I hear someone say something behind us, something like Faggots. Maybe they saw her lovely little Adam’s apple. A woman is who she is, a dick is what she has. Anyway, I’m enraged. I turn and ask, threateningly, did you say something? He swaggers over and says, I said Faggot. I say, Oh, I thought you said please stab me multiple times and leave me to bleed out in an alley. I pull a blade. He backs away, fear in his eyes. I turn back to my beautiful. She has fear in her eyes too. I put the blade away. I walk up to her and holding her hands, I say You are mine. I will protect you from every hurt as best I can. We walk off to the movie. That’s all I remember.
It’s odd what a honest conversation will get you when the blinders have been taken off. I tend to blame myself for awkwardness in a relationship. It is something I am working on. I apologize if I think I have offended and check with the other person. If they are being as open and honest as I’m trying to be then it’s good. If not, then it’s not great. So, sometimes game playing seems to me like a product of my making a misstep. That is how I interpret it. If the other person does not say that it wasn’t a misstep and lay it out for me, I’ll never really understand it. But once the blinders are off, I will see it immediately. The only reason I didn’t see it before was because it was my relationship. In others I can see the dance, each step that it takes, and how it will play out. If I’m paying attention. But in my relationships I can be blind. I try to follow my heart. Which is a good thing, but it can lead me down blind alleys.
I’ll never stop loving the person. I’ve never stopped loving any of those that I fell for. It’s just my nature. But it won’t rule me. The passion gets replaced by reason and a feeling of fondness. I will never be as blind with them again. Which is a shame. I rather like myself in full romantic fervor. And can we be friends? Maybe but not right away. Hit me up in six months or so. You can start at the associate level like everyone else.