Thursday, September 17, 2009

Remembered... Pleasure?, part two

I have started and re-written this second part of the story several times, trying to figure out how to portray the narrative. The emotions involved require more than just a straightforward telling of the facts, and yet, I don't want to gloss over the reality of the situation with beautiful words and imagery, so once again, here goes nothing...

The next day, I picked him up from a pool party the next day, ready to pick up where we left off, and he was drunk and high. He had gotten totally fucked up and was hitting on our mutual friends. He correctly interpreted my stony silence and apologized profusely. I told him in no uncertain terms that while i was totally interested in him, we could just chalk it up to a good weekend and leave it at that. He apologized.

A single, deep, long kiss in front of Eric's apartment building, an exhaled "I'm sorry, Daddy," and all was forgiven.

Another wonderful kiss, more deep sharing of confidences. A perfect cap on the weekend and as he disappeared into the airport that Tuesday, my heart was happy and full.

The following Tuesday was September 11, 2001, my second day on a new job. As I watched the first tower fall, my thoughts were of him, and how he would soon be on his way to work for a bank in a highrise in downtown Los Angeles. I called him and made him promise me that he would not go to work that day.

I guess it was 5 or 6 months later that I got a call late one evening... "Daddy? I just got gay-bashed!" He was calling me, crying, from the hospital. I did my best to console him. i told him I would fly out the next day, but he said that he would be ok. I insisted, saying that he needed someone to protect him, to watch over him. He started to get mad, yelling at me that I couldn't protect him, I was in DC and he was in LA and he was on his own. There wasn't really anything I could say.

I was too young and too infatuated and too in love with the idea of being in love to see that a long distance relationship with an tragically beautiful and emotionally needy man with Daddy issues who was living his life at a much lower price point than I was would never work. I found out that he pretty much exclusively dated thuggish, gangster-looking types, which in LA meant real gang-bangers. Although I looked mean, i am certainly not a gangster or a thug and he was used to the phsysical and emotional drama that such relationships bring. He often manufactured things to be pissed off with me about. He once called me and got mad at me because he had to masturbate because I wasn't there to fuck him when he wanted to get fucked. It was draining, but still, I hung in there.

Two straws broke the camel's back.

He called me once, his voice pregnant with guilt. "I went to a party last a couple of weeks ago. This dude was there, he kind of reminded me of you and he said I was cute. He had a limo, Daddy, and we drove around all night. I'm sorry Daddy, but now he's all up in my video!" My VERY first thought was what the fuck does all up in my video mean, but my heart knew what it meant and it was breaking. Although he didn't say it, he had almost certainly had sex with this guy, which wasn't the worst part. By mutual agreement, we had agreed not to discuss any "activities" we had been involved in to scratch that itch. What hurt was that he felt that he had to tell me about this particular one, which meant, that more than just a momentary itch was scratched.

I asked him what he meant by all up in his video and what he intended to do about it. He said he didn't know, but that he was sorry. Sorry for what, he wouldn't say. It was a couple of weeks before Valentine's day. I had already bought a ticket to visit him in LA and made all these arrangements. Two weeks later, he hit me up online and casually mentioned that he was going to Palm Springs for Valentine's Day weekend. I was FLOORED. I asked him about our plans and he said he thought I was only talking hypothetically. I reminded him that I had emailed him the confirmation. He totally blew me off. At that point I was pretty much done, even though I hung in there until that Labor Day

So much more happened than that in the two years that we were "together." What hurt the most was the realization that I was obviously more in love with him that he was with me. What did that say about me that I allowed myself to be blinded to a fact that was obvious to everyone else?

Thursday, September 3, 2009