My date last night was perhaps the first proper date that I had ever had. We were meeting to see if we could sustain more than a moment of initial attraction. Isn’t that what a date is all about? I had been looking forward to it all week not least because I am so eager to get over the hesitant, unwilling Mr. NYC…should I start using his name rather than some acronym?
Whenever one is transitioning from one relationship to another it is almost impossible not to compare what was with what is on offer. So, in order to beat that particular demon we talked about last loves and expectations. Frankly it was wonderful to just be in the same room as a man who one found attractive rather than the constant yearning of the past 6 months. The more I sat with this strange new boy the more at ease I became and the more attractive he seemed to me. But unlike the last I would have to work a great deal harder to capture this butterfly.
For a start-I am not and will never be his physical type. If we have types…I suppose I may surpass types. I am the charismatic, art collecting, goat rearing, F150 driving, Vivienne Westwood wearing anomaly so getting to have dinner with me is just about me and who I am.
Of course he knew more about me than I him as my life is flayed all over the Internet. He looked at me with curious blue eyes. At times he was deliciously coy. This man/boy is incredibly well-educated with a compelling story and good connections. A bit deaf-or maybe I was mumbling. Our recent experiences with men have confused us. I urged him not to let these last encounters destroy what we love most about men…anyhow it is the very essence of jade that is peculiar to gay men and is as attractive to me as rat poison. It is true to say however that we are both a little bruised by recent loves, a little reticent. I want to meet men unfettered and with abandon. It is my aim.
He is a recent émigré to LA so enjoying all that the city has to offer. Irritatingly, unable to stop myself, I began a tirade against my adopted home and found myself saying things to him that I didn’t even believe anymore-it’s just easier to gripe about Los Angeles rather than take ownership of it.
Of course he is strikingly good looking…a willowy boy, tall, and slim like an 18th century romantic hero. An extraordinary gait. Floppy blond hair and the most beautiful nose. He drank one glass of white wine, which scarcely seemed to affect him at all. We ordered three courses because I knew that today I was going to go on a diet and start my gym training with David at Gold’s in Venice.
Rabbit good. Bratwurst bad. Cakes divine.
I have no idea if I will kiss his neck or sweep the blond hair out of his eyes. I have no idea if we will meet in Paris or drive to San Francisco on a whim but there’s a chance that we may and if we don’t, well…I know I made good choices tonight. Good for my brimming heart.
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