But the manner in which he ended it, in such a mean way. "I'm just acting." It's even possible he didn't mean to be hurtful; there are lots of people out there who think 'being honest' is paramount, and don't seem to get that there are all sorts of ways to communicate honest facts and feelings. 'I'm trying, but I can't get into it' followed by a hug, at least that acknowledges the other guy, the warmth of being held softening the blow of sexual rejection. But after 60 seconds of him using the word 'acting' 4 times, - and he probably only shut up because of the stunned and hurt look on my face - it just wiped away all of the fun, and good feeling from the previous 2 times together. 60 seconds may not seem like a long time, but when you're sweaty, bent over, a cock suddenly pulled out of your mouth, it's your 3rd date, and the cock-owner goes on and on and on, while walking backwards away from you, it seems like forever.
And that's the killer. Memory. He robbed me of the good memory of both that first afternoon of quick sex, and the extremely wonderful 20-hour date 2 days later - that started with Simpsons and pizza, and cuddling, and really good kissing and groping and hugging and grabbing and the old-fashioned leading into the bedroom part. And when we walked around the West Village the next day, hanging out in an outdoor cafe, talking, seeming to really talk, it was, well, quite wonderful. No, I wasn't at 'this is the guy' yet - far from it. I'm old and/or wise enough to know better; I even stopped myself from thinking about the little incompatibility stuff - it was too early to worry, but already good enough to just go with it. But if he had found another way to communicate he wasn't into it, a way of expressing something that could have allowed me to keep the memory of meeting a nice guy who I had a nice time with, that's all I really wanted. It's funny, we even talked of our distaste for the 'pnp' scene - party and play. How some of those drugs might heighten the immediate experience, but often you don't remember the experience, or it's hazy and vague afterwards. What's sex without relishing it later? Whether it's his scent on you a few hours later, or the fun of telling a pal about it, or just lying in bed falling asleep alone, but still feeling like you're with someone?
One of the great things about our quick afternoon sex was coming home later, and having the message on my machine from him. You wouldn't believe the calm, beautiful smile that was on my face the rest of the night, and the next day, all day, at work. Remembering his mouth, his hands - great expressive hands, firm and soft at the same time. His smile. It wasn't a great smile, in and of itself; but it became a great smile when it was because of something I did, or said. Seeing it widen, the lips parting, the space between his teeth, his eyes light up, his body move forward, simply because I had called him 'puppy', or licked him in a funny place, or any of the stupid silly things you can do to get that wonderful smile form another person. I wish I could remember those parts as clearly as the ending.