I’m a Good Catch. Yet …

I’m A Good Catch. Yet…

I’m about to embark on my sixth book and fourth work of erotic gay romance, here having love in one’s life plays a pivotal role in the story’s plotline  The plotline really got to me as l completed a detailed outline, something l do for all my books before l actually sit down and write them, so much so that l, the author, and a realist by nature,  started crying. I realized that perhaps l write my books to fill a void in my own life. For as l am about to enter the seventh decade of my life in just a few months, l recognize the blunt truth that l’ve never experienced love, true, uncompromising, deep and abiding love with another man.

Sure there’s my ex, George, who l met when l was 25, and he 35. In the beginning it felt like love, but now l wonder if it was a third lust, a third hormones, and a third infatuation.  We stayed together for most of our respective lifetimes even after the sex dried up because we thought the same way on many planes (both of us are conservative thinkers)  and both were responsible to the other when it came to our shared financial commitments.  George was and remains the straightest gay guy l have ever met but that was also our nemesis, since he was the jock and l was the nerd.

I loved to travel; he hated flying and, yes, had a phobia about foreign food. I was the intellectual who loved collecting mechanical antiques which he thought were junk; he was the New York Mets fanatic, watching a game l thought was a bore. I tried to fight old age, went to the gym and watched my diet; he loved the 2-4-1 Entenmann sales and thought the only reason l went to the gym was to suck dick. I needed to get out to the bars on the weekend as a stress reliever from my crazy job, as a ego lifter and to try to get some dick in the baths and sex clubs; he preferred watching Andy Griffith and “Good Times” on TV Land. About the only mutual interest we shared was the love of our dogs.

Even now, nearly a year after finally breaking up though we speak on the phone almost everyday, ours continues to be a very, very rocky relationship. But, yes, l will “love” George, to the end since we have shared so much over the years – medical crises, family losses – even if we can no longer live together.

And in the decades that followed after we co-habitated and l was forced to live a sex life of deceit by default, (he never wanted to talk about IT yet neither of us wanted to call it quits – we had gotten too lazy) there were men who l felt something for, but l knew even then it wasn’t love.

There was Tony who l met when G and l would be up at our vacation place in PA’s Poconos. He was retired at 47 from construction though having lived and worked on Staten lsland l smelled Mob. I was already in my early forties when Tony and l first played around. Soon, Tony was urging me to leave G and live with him and that he would support me. Hey, Tony was a handsome, built like a brick shithouse of a guy, we had great sex, and l was flattered by his proposal. But I didn’t love Tony and career driven me was already climbing my corporate ladder to success so l didn’t need him for money.  It became obvious a few months later when Tony called George and told him everything that Tony had loved me deeply.  (The difference between deep love and deep hate is a hair.) That phone call almost ended G and l, but again because G was resistant to talk about it, my life of deceit and discretion continued.

l have had hundreds of sexual encounters, some shit, some okay, and a handful with some of the most handsome men one could imagine. I also developed my small stable of fuck buddies which went on for many years till l left New York in 2002. Luck and the fact l did not get into anal sex as a New Yorker living through the AIDS crisis no doubt saved my life. Remember, AIDS up until the mid nineties was a death sentence. The hottest men of my generation are six feet under.

But because of the restrictions on my solo social life – early on George, who should have married a woman and lead a str8 existence, lost interest in sex with me or anyone else but never wanted to talk about breaking up or about my indiscretions –   l  likely robbed myself of the opportunity to develop a long term relationship with another man on my wavelength since l skipped social venues for the shitholes designed for drive-by-sex.

To be sure, like most of us, l had my infatuations. Gil, arguably the handsomest man l ever had in my checkered gay career, l met down here in Florida. Already old enough to be my son, it was Gil who introduced me to Tina and forever after cemented its association in my mind of hot sex with a hot man. Only a disciplined person can overcome that powerful pull and so far l have policed myself, realizing that a drug that is psychologically addictive, unlike heroin or cocaine or even cigarettes and alcohol that have their psychological component but are first and foremost physically addictive, is the far greater Satan.

Now at this point in my life l have the good fortune to sport a coterie of good looking fuck buddies, again three out of five of them in their forties and old enough to be my son, who l enjoy and who enjoy me. But only one of them do l have a growing emotional tie to, which is becoming increasingly painful to me since we have both agreed neither wants another LTR, each having gone through our own respective Gay School of Hard Knocks,  and since l realize my feelings for him will never be reciprocated on the level of mutual lovers.

We have fucked around on almost a weekly basis going on three years, know about one another’s past lives and shortcomings all too well, have even used one another as confidants and father confessor; Jim has also sought my advice on personal and work issues as his “older brother.” And certainly we have had our romantic moments in bed, but when l’ve brought up moving on to a fuller relationship  – a friend with benefits, who knows –  the discussion goes nowhere. We severed ties for a few months  because of this impasse and after some bitter words were exchanged, but then he came back to me on Scruff and l welcomed him back, since how many FB’s who meet on a weekly basis as we did have sex as lustful and erotic as the first time we connected. And he seems to have gotten closer, yet …

But just the other day it hit me. Why am l selling myself short?  I’m a damn good catch, still a sexy fucker, masculine, HIV negative with no major health issues,  a great sex partner, intelligent, savvy, financially comfortable and looking for the same in another guy in his forties or fifties who leads a stable, rooted existence.

Just like Jim.

Plus since l have twenty or more years on him,  and G is my elder by a decade, his chances are excellent he will be my heir.

Finally  l got a reality check.  If Jim wanted more, Jim would have told me.  He certainly had many opportunities to do just that.  So rather than live in some prom girl fantasy, l accept the relationship for what it is – damn good sex – and play it out till either he or l or both of us decide to move on. While us gay boys are eternally optimistic, if love is not in the cards for me, so be it.

One damn thing I’m sure of.

I’m not alone.

 

 

 

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