Friday, April 23, 2004

bad trick
I'm still bummed out, the next morning. I stood there last night, across the street from his apartment, unlocking my bike, pausing to look back at the window box with flowers I had helped him plant only Monday afternoon. I thought of going back, to talk. But I felt dismissed, not just rejected. Why invest more emotional energy? Just go home.

Monday night at work I was in a great mood. Unexpectantly I had spent nearly 24 hours with this guy, and the part that just kept putting a smile on my face was just feeling that he's a good guy. Even if he wasn't the guy for me, I was just happy to have spent time with someone so genuinely nice, who seemed relaxed, even letting little vulnerabilities show. Sure, he's handsome, great little cuddly fuzzy body, and the most dizzying crotch aroma I'm sniffed in ages. But it was the easy affection, the pauses walking down the street to kiss, or to grab my head warmly, and the instinctual reaching for my hand, with a warm, firm grip. When I got home that night, a message of how he had enjoyed the day and night with me, giving me his work number, telling me to call so we could arrange seeing each other again. Nice way to end the day, eh?

We talked Tuesday, he had a pretty busy schedule for the week, but when I mentioned I'd be in his neighborhood Thursday evening, we arranged for me to come to his apartment late, for a stay-over. He even said he could go to work late, but couldn't take the day off again, of course. It made the days go by quickly. Mind you, I don't think I was getting carried away, I was just happy to have something to look forward to, and I wanted to just relax and see where this goes. Yesterday afternoon, Thursday, we spoke on the phone, everything set for getting together, and I went on about my day. I got there a little early, locked up my bike, and stared up at the flower boxes on his window sill. Only a minute or two later he gets there, nice hello kiss as he gently takes my hand, and we go inside for a minute. We go for a walk for me to get ice cream, and he's talking about his day, and this and that, and I'll admit I was sorta fading in and out of attentiveness, but still it was nice. The small little streets of the West Village made me feel like I'm on some wonderful spring vacation. We continued the conversation home, on the couch, a bit less clothing on.

We were kind of mindlessly touching and playing with each other's bodies, but eventually I got more aggressive, and pushed my cock into his mouth. He gobbled it up fine, and we're off and running. I don't even want to bother with the details at this point, I'm only writing to get this out of my head so I can move on, but let's just say we were working up a sweat. Parts of my body were getting achy from uncomfortable positions, but other parts were happy, giddy, panting - so it was cool. He was agressively pulling at my beard, and I was trying to hold off cumming so as to do it with him.

We're both standing in his livingroom, he moves away, grabs a bottle of water, takes a few gulps, comes back to me, our arms embraced as we are standing side by side, cocks flopping. I bend off, take a few slurps, and he pulls away. "This isn't working for me," he suddenly says. For a split second I think, OK, long day at work, we probably prolonged this too long, he's tired and can't cum. No problem. But he goes on. "I'm just acting, this is just an act, I'm not enjoying any of this." Ouch.

He moves away. I'm stunned. I'm speechless and stunned. I'm standing there, naked, as this hairy body with a flopping cock moves to the other side of the room, and I can't think what to say. I instinctively reach down for my boxers, and begin to dress. I'm just acting echoes in my head, and I begin to feel rejected, undesireable, out of place. I have to walk closer to him to get my shorts, as he sits on his couch , pull them on over my boxers, and for a moment I consider sitting next to him. But his eyes don't meet mine, he's looking at the floor, and I've seen this "the sex is over, have you left yet?" scenario before. Bad trick - go home. I go to the hall to get my boots, and I just sit there pulling them on, tying my laces. I glance back in his direction, he's still staring down, and while there is a bit of anger in me, it's mostly sadness, and I need to leave. I stand to grab my jacket and Troll cap, he comes over as I reach for the door. Standing behind me, not touching, he softly says "Take care."

On the street, I am tempted to yell something nasty into his open window, but I can't think of anything. And I don't want to be mean, even though I am standing there ready to cry, wondering why he was just so mean to me. Acting? Who asked you to act? I unlock the bike, all the thoughts of getting to know each other, sleepless yet cuddlingly good night together, silly stupid pet names, all that swirl around, and get lost in this growing anger. I turn and see the window boxes of flowers, again I consider going back, asking why he thought he had to do anything he didn't want to, but I figure he's made up his mind, he wanted me gone. So I go.

It's a beautiful night as I cross town riding my bike. The threat of rain, the smell of flowering trees, I think of my options. Various bars, but I know myself well enough that alcohol will only make these feelings worse, I need to get home, and stay there, and never ever go out again. Hell, I had planned on having a crummy summer, and this guy almost ruined that. Now I can get back on schedule.

Of course it won't be that easy. I know me, I'll struggle with this for awhile. What did I do wrong? Why didn't I see it coming? Why had I let my guard down? I don't want to think he's a bad guy, he probably isn't. He probably doesn't realize how hurtful it is to tell someone you're just acting, after 30 minutes of sweaty sex. Later last night, I'm on line, and I check email. A message from him. I hadn't noticed any mail before, I look at the time it was sent - only minutes after I left his apartment. He logged onto the sex website where we found each other, and sent a simple message. He'd given me his cell number, his home number, and his work number, but I guess the email address was too invasive. I'd given him mine before we even met, but he's used the sex website to respond. Something to the effect that he's 'sorry it didn't work out tonight.' Of course I pick apart the language, and get angry again. It wasn't merely that it didn't work out last night, clearly he's decided there's nothing more here for him. He's just talking about the sex, that we weren't compatible sexually; but I was going somewhere else, apparently. I was going to the place where I like someone, and you both figure out how to do the physical stuff that will make both of you happy. I guess he was just looking for the physical stuff first. And maybe only that.