A Party

Last night I went to a party at a friend’s place in the East Village. I’ve known her since I was four years old; our moms first met when they were pregnant with our respective younger brothers. I gave her chicken pox when we were kids — we were playing house, hiding under a blanket.

She recently moved to the East Village, and last night she threw a housewarming party. I decided I would stop by for a little bit, and then I’d head out to Barracuda to meet up with a friend or two. I’d got a haircut that evening, long overdue, so — freshly shorn — my self-confidence level was high.

I wound up staying at the party longer than I’d expected. I didn’t know anyone there except my friend, but after a while I got into a conversation with three other guys. I was getting slight gay-ish vibes from them, but I wasn’t totally sure. One of them was wearing black leather pants, and another one was sort of effeminate with artsy horn-rimmed glasses. They were talking about vegans, and they were making little jokes about it, like, “How long have you been a vegan?” or “Have you ever tried to not be a vegan?” or “Were you born a vegan? Is it nature or nurture?” So I tossed in my own: “Did other people know you were a vegan before you did?” They seemed to like that, and we hit it off.

One of them disappeared, leaving three of us to sit on the couch and chat. They started talking about San Francisco, and “taking advantage” of their visits there, and that made my inklings even stronger. So I managed to allude to my being gay in an offhand way. That did it — the credentials were established.

Eventually, another of the guys went off to call his boyfriend, leaving the remaining two of us to sit and chat. Like me, he was a gay Jewish lawyer. He was a nice guy, with a cute face, although he was a little femmy, with this overly refined, lilting, almost European sort of voice, which I don’t much go for. Still, we did some minor flirting, and I invited him to come out with me afterwards to meet up with my friends. He said he’d be glad to.

So we walked over to another friend’s place — also in the East Village. We decided to forgo Barracuda, since it was at the other end of town, and stuck to the East Village instead. We started off at Dick’s Bar — this little neighborhoody hole-in-the-wall with a pool table, like most places in the East Village. The guy and I were still being very friendly. At one point he went to get another drink, and my friend said to me, knowingly, with a smile on his face, “So, you’re going to go home with this guy, aren’t you.” I said I didn’t know, but probably not, because I didn’t want to lead the guy on.

After Dick’s Bar, we wound up at Wonderbar. At Wonderbar, despite my earlier statement, the flirtation continued. And then, all of a sudden, the guy and I were kissing. My poor friend was standing right there. We continued kissing, and I lost awareness of my friend. In other words, I turned into the type of guy I can’t stand.

Fortunately he didn’t seem to care. He apparently struck up a conversation with a group of women and wound up exchanging phone numbers with them. Go, him! As for the guy and I, I sat on his knee on a couch and we continued making out.

My friend went home, they announced last call, it was after 4 a.m., and the guy and I were still there. I was going to go back to the PATH train and come home, but he invited me to stay at his place in Brooklyn Heights. I decided, hey, why not.

So at 4:30 in the morning we made out in the back of a cab as it whooshed across the nearly empty Brooklyn Bridge, the lights of Manhattan receding behind us. It was so nice and romantic. Soon we were at his place.

He asked me if I was into smoking pot. I wasn’t. He asked if I minded if he smoked. I said no (although I really did mind, because I don’t like the smell too much). So he lit up a small one for himself.

Wonderfully comfortable bed, thick and cozy down comforter, warm naked body next to me. Mmmmmm.

Didn’t get much sleep, although we didn’t go very far sexually (that was his decision, and it was probably a good one). Mostly a bunch of kissing and rolling around.

I lost track of the decision process by which I wound up at his place. Somehow I went from not planning to go home with him to actually going home with him.

Today at around noon we went out to brunch and then walked down to the promenade that overlooks the East River and lower Manhattan.

You know what? The last time I’d been in Brooklyn Heights was on the afternoon of September 10. I was off from work that week, so I’d headed out there with a tour book and had walked the streets of Brooklyn Heights. I’d even walked along the promenade and had gazed out at the cluster of skyscrapers in lower Manhattan. And I hadn’t even noticed the Twin Towers on the final afternoon of their existence.

Walking around there again today, it didn’t feel like five months had passed.

Anyway — back to the guy. This is the part of the blog entry where I think too much.

At the bar, in the cab, and in his bed, he was throwing in all the little things that make me nervous, such as telling me all the specific things that are cute about me, and telling me he was glad that I’m single, and about wanting to save some things for “next time.” And he asked if I’d like to have dinner with him on Friday night. So I am. But… I mean, he does have a very cute face, with really nice eyes and teeth, but he’s not really whom I’d envision dating. And he wasn’t that great a kisser, and I wasn’t all that into his body, and… but he’s sweet, and smart, and… but still. I have an idea of what I want, and I’m going to keep looking until I find it.

But I’m learning to recognize that I think too much about these things, and that something can be enjoyable for what it is, rather than one step along a journey to marriage. After all, he’s a fellow gay Jewish lawyer, and a nice and smart guy, so he could turn out to be a friend. These types of people are worth meeting.

It’s just that when people get like this with me, I get scared.

On the other hand, the same thing happened with Wes, and that turned out not to be worth worrying about.

I was talking on the phone with a friend tonight about this situation, and he basically made the same points. Don’t worry about it, try not read too much into it, people get romantic and complimentary all the time in the heat of passion; relax, enjoy, and see where it takes you. People are certainly worth getting to know even if it’s not in a romantic capacity.

So this week is already filling out: I have dinner plans on Wednesday and dinner plans on Friday. Since the end of December, my social life has really been coming together. When given the choice on the weekend between staying in or going out, I’ve tried to choose the road less solitary. It provides more opportunities — or at least it provides more opportunities for opportunities.

And what have you got to lose?