Monday, July 26, 2010

And so am I.

He is going back to Southern Ontario tomorrow morning. I may not see him again – ever.

My perfectly formed soon-to-be hairy man will leave me tomorrow before I have an opportunity to claim him just by telling him that I want to be his and I want him to be mine – and I want to be completely equal with him in relationship.

Tonight I took him out on a “date”. Neither of us looked at it as such, but my heart was racing as we approached my car and we drove away in a way that I can only imagine a heart races on a first date. On the drive out, I kept on catching the glint of the moonlight in his eyes, and saw a broken purity that demanded discovery.

I was going to go out to one of the trail heads to practice my Astronomical stuff. Looking through the telescope – lining it up to distant stars, and remembering the ancient myths of the night sky.

It was going to be perfect.

And then tonight had to be a full moon. Which meant that the night sky was almost as bright as that of the day – allowing me to see very few constellations, and even fewer stars. Ursa Major, as exciting as it is, is not really that exciting when there are so many more incredible sights to be seen in the stars.

This forced us to talk. Which brought all the mystery of this man to light.

He self-deprecates in a way that I am familiar with, and I realized how truly unattractive it is for somebody not to love themselves. In a sad way he reminded me of me – he said things about how he makes relationships that I could only relate to. He was feeling the need to settle down just to calm down his life – but he loved the randomness of his current life structure – he just doesn’t want to move again, and lose his friends again. That moon glint in his eye on the ride up was incredibly telling.

That being said, he was 19 – and entirely unattractive in a way that only 19 year olds who are at a dramatic crossroads can be. He feigned wisdom in a way that I hope I never did at his age – showing an understanding of the nuanced reality of the world, but never quite being able to articulate his limited understanding. For a young man who seems to dance through life in a nearly bohemian manner, his lack of poetry was disappointing.

By the end of our 90 minute visit, I may have been exhausted of him. I couldn’t even listen to him give me “advice” on whether or not I should stay in Val Marie doing the best job in the world for a couple more months.

And yet tonight it took every ounce of strength that I had left in my exhausted little body to not turn around from walking down the hallway to my room, wrap him in my arms, tell his injured soul that everything was going to be ok just so that I could force myself through his barrier of pride and shame, and invite him to my room to cuddle, and talk about nothing for a few hours. I would listen to him give me advice, but actually be lost in his eyes, nodding when he stopped speaking, and nestling into his chest.

On the way back from the Astronomy site, we were talking about our senses. He said he is definitely a sight person. I admitted I was a touch person - I love the experience of touch. He said that my wife would appreciate that.

He is straight.

And so am I. In Val-Marie.


  1. He may not be so straight. He might just be feeling you out to determine which way you lean.
    It's difficult for me to encourage you to try something I never could at your age, but, frankly, if you're never going to see each other again, could there be much harm in finding out if he plays on our team? If he's cool and he doesn't, then so be it. He'll tell you in a kind and respectful way.
    I can't tell you how many times I had the opportunity to have a little innocent fun and didn't because I was too scared. Believe me, fear doesn't get you anywhere.
    Sometimes you have to balance being scared with taking a chance. You'll both win and lose, but at least you'll do it and even have fun in the process.
    Nice references to the early signs of an upcoming hairy chest. You are so much like me in this regard. I've been obsessed with hairy chests my entire life, recalling hairy chested neighbors, teachers, men on the street, singers, movie stars, etc. Nothing excites me more than a heavy five o'clock shadow (when the dude is freshly shaven); a great pair of sideburns; a manicured beard (not a chin strap, which are much too careful for my liking); and a luxurious hairy chest and stomach. Such wonderful symbols of masculinity. Aren't hairy men a think of beauty?
    Thanks for sharing.

  2. Oh Rick - I was so incredibly close to taking a chance before he left. I had the same thought as you - nothing lost, nothing gained. But I couldn't bring myself to do it, because I always assume (wrongly) that gay men who are interested in a relationship rather than just fooling around are comfortable enough with themselves to be gay.

    Though, I wonder what that presumption says of me.

    Much of me wishes I had the balls to make some sort of move last night. But he was nervous about something - I could tell. He was moving around a lot, active, almost jittery. I would hate to have put him in that awkward situation.

    But it would be so nice to say, just once, to somebody, "Damn you're sexy."

    And hairiness is a good thing.