Flickering Lights

Last night was… odd.

I spent the evening with the Piano Man. I met up with him after work and we went to see a play near Union Square — rather, a series of short plays, under the title “Unwrap Your Candy,” by Doug Wright, who also wrote the screenplay to the movie “Quills.” They weren’t very good, except for the last one. Satanic evil babies!

Actually, on our way to the theater, I saw Mike walking past Union Square with someone. I called out his name, but he was too far away and didn’t hear me.

After the plays, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. I didn’t get enough sleep this week, so I was pretty tired — which I told Piano Man — and I sort of wanted to go home — which I didn’t tell him. He suggested we walk around Union Square and get some coffee, or go hang out at his place up in Midtown (hint, hint). I wasn’t feeling too enthusiastic about either option, which I also didn’t tell him. What was wrong with me, I wondered? Why was I feeling so lackluster?

We wound up taking the subway up to Midtown, buying a box of Entenmann’s Soft-Baked Chocolate Chip Cookies, and going back to his place. We took off our jackets, in a nice anticipatory mood. Then he checked his messages. One of his friends from California called, saying that “something had happened.” He called the guy back, and it turned out that all that had happened was that the friend’s ex-boyfriend had called. Oh-kay then. Piano Man told him he had company, so they ended the call. We settled on the couch and started kissing.

Then the halogen lamp started flickering like crazy. The lamp is broken. So he got up, got a couple of candles, placed them on the coffee table and lit them, and put the halogen lamp on low.

We started kissing again. But the lamp was still flickering. So he got up and turned it off and came back.

This was all very annoying.

Finally we started making out again. In the past, he and I had only made out with clothes on, because he wanted to move slowly. This time, after making out for a while, he removed my Oxford shirt and then the white t-shirt underneath, and eventually I removed his as well. Shirtless!

I wasn’t feeling very attracted to his upper body.

Then he suggested we move to a place where there was more room: the bed. So we did.

In the candlelight, we went up to the bedroom, which is actually a big loft-like platform in the middle of the apartment, with Japanese shoji screens (paper walls) cordoning the room off from everything else.

We stood there and began kissing again.

And I just wasn’t feeling it.

I don’t know what it was. It all felt a little too intense. I started to get all antsy inside. I think he’s more into me than I’m into him. Something about him bothers me. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.

We lay on the bed, continuing to make out. He removed my socks, and it was too much — thoughts started going through my head. Okay. For whatever reason, I don’t want this to happen tonight. So I’m going to have to find a way to leave. I’m going to have to be semi-honest here, tell him that I’d like to move slowly and that I should probably go home. I mean, that’s the truth. It’s not the whole truth, but it’s still true.

We continued to make out for a while, and my brain was working overtime. I thought of spilling out all my thoughts and feelings about the situation to him, but I decided that would be A Bad Idea. I was proud that I was keeping my thoughts to myself, because it means I’ve learned something somewhere along the line. A few months ago I probably would have spilled out everything, thoughts and feelings all, thereby either freaking him out or offending him.

For some reason I really wanted to throw my clothes on and leave quickly. But I couldn’t. So I slowly, gradually pulled away, smiling and kissing him; slowly put my clothes back on, and lingered around for a bit; kissed him again; we said goodnight and I said I’d see him in a few days; and I left.

Okay, that’s the narrative.

So what the heck’s going on with me? Have I had so much casual sex that I can’t associate sex with intimacy? Or am I just simply afraid of the intimacy? Have I looked down upon other gay men who have this fear of intimacy, only to find out that I have the exact same problem?

Is it his body? Am I just not attracted to his body?

Or maybe the feeling was just too intense. Or his feelings were just too intense. Usually, after casual sex, I want to get out of there, because I feel guilty or we have no connection other than the sex or I just want to be alone. Here, if he and I actually have full sexual experience, I’m going to have to hang out afterwards and possibly sleep with him.

Part of me wants that intimacy. And part of me doesn’t.

And I still don’t know him well enough yet. We met and then went on two dates in a week, then we e-mailed throughout his two-week vacation, and last night was the second time I’d seen him since he came back. This was our fifth time hanging out together. That seems like a lot. But it didn’t feel like enough. I’m still not sure how I feel about him.

There’s a bit too much… domesticity? stability? gayness? in him. Thirty-six. Loves theater. Goes to the theater all the time, in fact. Has a tastefully decorated apartment. A bit too gay. Internalized homophobia here?

Could it just be that the chemistry just isn’t there for me?

Maybe I still need to explore. More than three years out of the closet and I still haven’t really been in a serious relationship.

I fear I’ll wind up 35 or 40 and single. I fear I’ll be one of those over-the-hill single gay guys who still hangs out at bars but nobody wants to talk with him because he’s too old. I will be that way because I’ll have arrested my development. I’ll have realized (or not realized) that I can’t deal with intimacy. That I really don’t want it after all.

Here’s a great guy, we seem to get along well and have lots in common and have nice, enjoyable, semi-domestic, semi-unexciting times together, and yet even he’s not the one for me?

Am I going to be a perpetual explorer? The rest of my life?

I suddenly desire to be free again. To be able to cruise and explore and find that right combination of compatibility and sexual attraction. Haven’t found it yet.

We were walking around Union Square last night and I kept looking at guys. I couldn’t help it. I always do it, and last night I did it too. There were so many attractive guys walking around. And they were more physically attractive than he was. I wanted them. One of the joys of living in an urban area is the abundance of cruisy material out there. I don’t want to give that up! It’s my right as a de facto New Yorker to cruise! I thought, oh no — if we become serious, will I not be able to do this anymore? Will I never be able to look for anyone else again?

One of the joys upon finally, finally coming out of the closet at 24 was being able, at last, to say yes to my sexuality, to enjoy the fun of cruising and checking guys out and anticipating fun times. I don’t want that to end. Do I? Or don’t I?

Maybe I shouldn’t worry about this. Maybe it’s okay to be feeling all this. Maybe it’s okay to want to move slowly with Piano Man.

Even sexually.

It’s just that I can’t figure out whether my desire to go slow — sexually — is because I’m not physically attracted to his body, or because I’m afraid of the sex-plus-intimacy combustible combination.

But it doesn’t matter. In the past, my bane has been my tendency to worry and to question myself. So this time I won’t question myself. I will own my feelings, respect them, validate them, and will try not to worry about what they mean.

Anyway, my parents are coming over to see my apartment this afternoon, and I have a novel to write.

Gee. Do you think I have any material?