The Dance of Intimacy, Part II

I spread out on the beach, feeling my body sink into the sand and relax under the sun. I was so exhausted I could barely speak. It was my first day in Maui during Christmas holidays with BC, and I desperately needed a day to unwind.

I watched BC run like a child, into the warm blue waters to dance with the waves. He explored the beach with a playful curiosity. He would come by a few times each hour to tell me what he discovered, and I wished I had the energy to explore with him. It wasn't until the next day that I got to join in his explorations and during the rest of the week we reconnected, as my stress released and I felt emotionally open again. I thought it had been worthwhile to be so busy. I was able to afford an airline package for both of us, so that we could enjoy a tropical vacation together. He was so much fun to be with.
_______________________

BC was already sprawled out on his living room floor on a foam mattress we used to watch movies. Normally we set up the mattress together like a choreographed ritual. I would get the stack of sheets, blankets and pillows he kept carefully folded in his closet for our makeshift bed, and throw the cover sheet across the mattress. While I hastily tucked the edges under, BC would tail me, tightening the folds and giving each corner a military tuck. BC was an oxymoron - an easy-going perfectionist. Somehow, his need to have everything perfectly in place never caused us stress or conflict. I liked it, because he could be counted on to have packed the first-aid kid, flashlight with extra batteries, and wet wipes for spills when we went camping. But his thoroughness made most tasks take longer than if I did them alone.

After the quilt was neatly in place, he arranged his five pillows carefully. Three would go underneath his head, another between his knees, and the extra long pillow would be placed under his feet. I found comfort in his disciplined habits - a safety in his predictability. BC could be trusted.

Exhausted, I undressed and sidled up to him under the duvet. He wanted to talk before we watched the movie, so he began telling me about his day and asking about mine.

Then he said, "We need to talk."

"Sure," I replied.

He looked me in the eyes and said, "Are you happy with our relationship?" I become alert, surprised by his question.

"Yes, of course. Ours is the most effortless relationship I've ever had. You know that."

He jumped in. "I'm not. I haven't been happy for a couple months," he said. "I'm not happy with the amount of sex we're having."

I nearly laughed, and immediately relaxed. It wasn't that serious. In fact, I felt flattered. I thanked him for telling me, and said it was only because I was working too much, and that this was about to change in the next couple of days. My term was nearly over. I reassured him that I found him very attractive, and that I was sorry it had caused him to feel rejected. The issue, I thought, was resolved and we watched the movie.

He ended our relationship the following week.
- end -

The Dance of Intimacy

I had my hands around his back and could feel the dampness of his sweat. It was awkward, because he was so tall. My hips rotated in a stationery position, mirroring him. He reminded me of a big, boyish teenager suddenly awakening to his sexuality. His closed eyes gave him a sweet, innocent look. Every now and again he would open his eyes, place his hand on the back of my head, and draw my mouth to his.

I was both turned on and embarrassed by our public display of attraction. I was afraid of looking sleazy, but also enjoyed feeling desired by him. We both loved to dance, but our styles were very different. I grew up on disco and electronic rhythms, so over the years had perfected a detached, indifferent mechanical trance - I moved like every other generic gay-boy.

But BC's dance was less polished. He moved his hips around in a stationary, circular motion. With his lanky legs bent deep at the knee, he rocked his pelvis back and forth to the beat. He reminded me of a straight boy used to dancing to rock, attempting to adjust his style to fit the repetition of disco. I found it difficult to move in sync with him for very long. I had to extricate myself every few minutes to dance on my own.

Afterward he said to me in a low, husky voice (his mouth brushing my ear), "That was so sexy. I"ve never danced like that with a man before."
_______________________

I met him on the first day of summer. It had been three years since my last relationship and I had just began to feel comfortable again being single. Dimly, I remembered having someone to enjoy the warm summer months with, and faintly missed the intimacy of sharing a sleeping bag in the forest or lying on a towel at the beach together. The twilight was turning to evening that day before summer, when taking my garbage out to the back alley, I paused. It was as though the world became vibrantly still for a moment. The summer grass, clear blue sky and orange azaleas saturated my senses. I breathed in the fragrant, warm air. And a knowing washed over me - I would have a companion this summer, with whom to share this summer.

We met at the Odyssey, on the dance floor. I noticed him because he radiated gentleness and an easy masculinity. Impulsively I swung in front of him, my back facing him, and moved slowly closer into him. I could feel the heat coming off his chest, just before he put his arms around me. We left soon after dancing, and emboldened by alcohol I unzipped his fly in the car. He quickly grew hard, long and thick. My thumb and middle finger barely touched each other as I gripped his shaft.

The next morning I awoke with my arms and legs around his tall, solid body. Again we had sex, then lay in bed talking. I asked him about himself, his family and upbringing. He surprised me with his openness and thoughtful answers.

It was already close to noon when we left my apartment. Since we were heading in the same direction BC offered to give me a ride to the beach where I wanted to write. During the drive he confessed to being bisexual, divorced and had recently dated a woman. He confided that he hadn't had a serious, nor monogamous relationship with a man before. He had several friends with whom he had regular, casual sex.

But, he added, he would like to try dating a man, because, "They're less demanding than women in relationships. You don't need to see each other all the time. It's more like buddies just getting together once in a while to have a good time." He removed his gaze from the road and looked me in the eyes.

Afterward, at the beach, BC's presence stayed with me. A part of him had gotten inside me and remained there. I was drawn to him even though I knew better than to date a bisexual man. Especially one with little experience in same sex relationships, and who clearly expressed his need for emotional detachment in one. It was a formula for heartbreak, and I didn"t have the stamina to deal with another one. I decided not to call him.

Arriving home that evening, the beeping dial tone indicated I had messages. The first was from BC - he had called me shortly after we parted that afternoon. Warmly, his message opened with, "I hope you enjoyed the beautiful summer day at the beach." He lengthened the word 'beautiful,' saying it like 'bee-ut-e-full.' He expressed his pleasure in meeting me and hoped we would get together soon.

I planned my approach. I'll be careful this time. I'll protect my heart. This time, I won't ignore the clear signals - he wants to casually date and isn't interested in a long-term relationship. I'll stay focussed on my goals and myself. I won't fall in love. So I waited until the next day to call him, and said I wouldn't be available until next weekend. He said, "I look forward to it," and I hung up. My heart danced.
_______________________

When a relationship ends, it's in those quiet, meditative moments that forgotten memories surface. While folding my clothes, still warm from the dryer, I found myself reliving the day we went to Lake Ann for a hike.

In a clearing, just off the forest trail, we paused to get our bearings. We had taken a wrong turn and were moving away from our destination of the mountain peak. There was a stillness in the moment; the song of birds and the waves of wind, rustling through the leaves, became intensified. We reached out to each other, as if to waltz. Pulling closer, we kissed, and soon found our shorts at our knees. Later that day we laid naked on a narrow rock shelf, overlooking the ocean. My hand tucked between his thighs, my head on his chest listening to his heart-beat. Inhaling his scent. Not knowing where our relationship was going, but wanting to be there.

Momentarily lost in the memory, I returned to my laundry. I used the t-shirt I was folding to wipe my eyes. I wondered how BC let go of these moments. So effortlessly.
_______________________

Screaming, we fled upstairs to the washroom and dashed inside. I threw my body against the door and locked it. My sisters held each other, terrified. My mother banged on the door, yelling at me in a drunken rage to open it. "No," I screamed, "You're going to hurt us." She began slamming her hip into the door, pushing with the force of her weight. I held my ground.

A few hours before we were cuddling next to her, eating Neopolitan ice cream while she read us The Velveteen Rabbit. I had felt safe and loved. Then she started drinking red wine.

We heard my mother collapse onto the floor, weeping like a child. "You don"t love me," she said in an eerie little girl"s voice. We were quiet, stunned into silence. "You don't want me," she cried, then began sobbing.

I spoke first, behind the door. "I love you mom, please don"t cry." Trying to comfort her.

After a few minutes she left to get herself another glass of red wine, downstairs. It was an hour before we cautiously unlocked the door and tiptoed to our rooms.

I learned that love and intimacy always ends in rejection and abandonment.
_______________________

Piles of binders, books and reams of paper covered every flat surface in my studio apartment. Every fall my workload increased threefold, but this year, I not only had my teaching duties, but company had taken off. At first I managed to keep most evenings and weekends free to get together with BC. But by October my work demanded most of my attention. I'd wake at seven a.m. and begin working, even before showering or a morning coffee. Often I'd be at my desk until ten in the evening.

Frequently I'd have a deadline to meet and have to cancel plans with BC. He appeared to not mind too much, although he said he would miss me. And he was often late or changed his plans, so it didn't seem to be a problem.

By November I was burned out from the constant demands of work. I'd get together with BC and be too tired to have sex. It felt like another demand on my energy. Although I knew he wanted to get together more often than we did, he was understanding. We went on a few weekend trips together, but I usually needed a day to relax before I could enjoy myself. The stress made me impatient with him.
_______________________

"Stone Angel," I named him, in my head. The morning sun lit Andrew's pale white skin and golden hair and made them gleam. Asleep on his back, I examined his chiseled face and body, as pliant and warm as marble. He reminded me of a young Robert Redford, But he didn't like to be touched. If I walked up and embraced him from behind, he would recoil and push me away. When we watched television together on the couch, and I put my arm around him, I was not allowed to caress. He didn't like to be called endearments, didn't want comments about his attractiveness, and asked me not to call him "cute." "Handsome" was acceptable.

Sex was a weekly privilege, routine and predictable. Work was his priority, and our relationship came somewhere after food, home chores, exercise, time alone, his family and JB (his cat). My heart got used to hurting, from his distance. When it was over it took me a few years to recover.

I promised myself never to be with another Andrew. But somehow, with CB, I found myself become the "Stone Angel. "

To be continued...

Classroom fantasies

I'm spending the next few days marking assignments. Yuck! As a student I thought being an instructor would be one of the easiest jobs I could think of. After all, they didn't have to do the assignments they gave us. But now that I am an instructor, I discovered it is very challenging. It's not difficult - it just requires a lot of time. First of all, it takes days to go through each assignment, is boring, you tend to see the same stuff all the time and have to sit in one place with your full attention. It involves no creativity and the worst thing - I don't learn anything new.

But the thing I've come to like least are the students. In my field, the students are very intelligent and high-maintenance. They demand my constant attention, e-mail me with stupid questions, are very nice and polite to my face but when they get to do an evaluation at the end of the class often write rude things.

True, it is only a small percentage of them, but it hurts when I put in so much time and effort.

When I was a student, I didn't expect the instructor or professor to hand-feed me information. I wasn't constantly at their office getting feedback on my work. I realized that it was up to me to learn, study, research, read their assignment instructions closely, do my best and get it done. I loved university and learning and found it very stimulating and fun. I can't remember not liking a teacher (okay, maybe a couple) and tended to always get along with them very well. I also made a decision at university not to do my classes to get the highest marks - instead my focus was on learning. But this group that I teach are very grade motivated. They often ask for one or two points more on the exams and assignments, which often ends up being less than 1% total different in their final grade.

I once lectured my students on "focussing on learning, rather than trying to get a great mark," and several of the students went and complained to the department head. The department head told me that, "We encourage our students to be grade-oriented, because it's what motivates them to do well." I don't get this method of learning - and I ended up with a GPA of 3.9 out of 4, and won several scholarships and awards.

There's always a couple of shit raisers in my classes, and I intentionally give them higher marks than they deserve, just to shut them up.

I decided I had enough of teaching at this institution and I sent a note to the department head telling her I wasn't returning next year. I've been there for five years, and the students seem to get more difficult each year. It's taken the joy out of it for me, so I'll apply somewhere else for next year.

Anyway, enough of that *rant.* Just needed to get it out of my system. Onto the good stuff...


On the rare occasion I've had a couple of students I've had major crushes on. In my last class, I had this incredibly handsome guy, who I'll call Troy. He's about 30ish, 5'11", wears one of those black hats like Eminen and lots of cool black clothing, and when I got a look at his big hands I saw a couple of rings, fortunately none of which were wedding rings. One of them around his thumb that looks like a chain (I've been looking for one of these for myself since then). He has these gorgeous eyes that look right into you. He exudes an animal sexuality. I immediately made a mental note to not look at him while lecturing. I'd lose my train of thought or perhaps end up looking at him too much.

At one of the breaks, I ended up talking with him, and found out he plans to move to NY and make it big there.

He didn't seem overly bright until I marked his first assignment. I kept checking to make sure it was his. It was the best assignment I'd ever received in 5 years. It was so methodically researched, well written, with references, and in-depth it blew me away. He must have worked hours on this paper. I gave him the first 100% I'd ever given. Even sexier, his paper had to do with body building. And it wasn't just because I found him hot. This put a whole different perspective on him for me. Now I found him not only gorgeous, but sharp as a whip. I started to notice his intensity, the way he'd look at me when I made a point he found particularly insightful. I found myself fantasizing about him and admiring him. When he e-mailed me, I did a google search on his name and e-mail address to see if there were any references to him on the web.

Have you ever done this? It's amazing what you'll find about people. But absolutely nothing came up. I wondered where he lived, so went to the yellowpages.ca. Nothing came up for Troy. He remained impermeable, a mystery.

I found it difficult to go near him, in case my desire was obvious. I had to stop myself from looking at his butt when he got up, or admiring his forearms. I actually got jerky around him. I noticed he maintained a respectful distance from me as well - maybe he sensed my attraction?

For his second assignment he handed in a Zip disk. When I was looking for his files, I saw a bunch of Excel files, and opened them up, wondering what they were. It appeared to be a calculation chart for investments. He tracks his family's investments - tens of thousands of dollars. Now he's rich too. Anyway, when he handed in his last assignment I finally got to find out where he lives, because he put his mailing address on the assignment. He lives in White Rock, a beautiful city an hour and a half away from Vancouver. So that's why I never found information about him.

He told me he missed the second to last class because, "Me and about 7 buddies rented a cabin out on Pender Island for the weekend, to celebrate his best friend's birthday." I immediately imagined all these guys together for a weekend, and wondered what their sleeping arrangements were, and imagined myself there... This fantasy flashed through my mind in about two seconds. He must have saw my thoughts in my eyes because then he clarified for me, "It was a large cabin with about 15 beds." My fantasy was quashed. I saw him drive off in a big black Yukon 4x4. Wow, whadda a guy. Maybe I ought to date someone intelligent for a change...

I once asked a fellow instructor if there were any rules around have sex with students. And believe it or not, there aren't! One year I actually had the opportunity. There was a handsome older guy in my class, who was clearly gay. Once he had graduated, I was out at one of the clubs and saw him out. He invited me back to his place with his boyfriend to have sex, but although I was tempted, it just seemed too weird. But as far as I know, he's been the only gay guy I've had in class. Well, there's always next term...

I've done enough procrastinating for today. Back to the books, and the gym.


PS: Thanks for the link and sweet comments, addaboy. You've got a place to stay if you ever visit Vancouver.

Oops, didn't mean to post that yet. It still needs work!

A new day

Welcome to my blog. I'm full of excitement and trepidation about starting this. Excitement, because I used to keep a journal a couple years ago and found it very powerful - as a way to reflect on where I'm at and where I'm going. It also juices my creativity. I had another site where I published a bunch of reflections and articles on another topic. But I'm full of trepidation because I've never published the honest truth about how "fucked up" I can be, and I'm concerned that someone may recognize who I am. I'm also worried about putting an email link because I'm not sure I want feedback. Unlike SoBlo, my Eastern Canadian counterpart, who loves the interaction, I don't want to open myself up to criticism. So, I'll try to change some of the details, names and stuff to try to keep as anonymous as possible.

What I find fascinating about blogs is that people discuss issues that are normally not talked about in polite company, unless it's a very close friend. But I've found it enormously helpful to read that other people go through similar experiences, issues and desires, so hopefully this one will also be helpful in this way to others. It'll also give me an outlet to express some of the stuff life brings (or more likely - the stuff I bring on myself).

So, who am I? I'd like to create a link for this, but haven't yet figured out how, so for now I'll place it here. I'm a 38 yr. old gay man, living in beautiful Vancouver, BC, Canada. I've lived here for about 11 years and love it. It's a beautiful city, and BC itself is incredible - all the beaches, oceans, mountains, islands and fascinating places to visit. I've never lived anywhere this long, and yet I never get bored of it because there's always something to discover. I hate the rain during winter, but at least there's rarely snow, and it doesn't get below zero.

I've got a masters degree, teach, and have my own small business, freelancing. I have to admit - I'm pretty good looking. My students guess that I'm 33 (unless they're just trying to get extra marks from me), I work out, tend to be muscular easily, and I think I've got that "hot factor that mid 30s guys have" to quote 'addaboy.' Unfortunately I have a very distinctive face that no one forgets, and I constantly get from strangers, "You look familiar - we must have met before." In some ways I have a 'generic face' - I look like a bit of everyone. So I'll have to figure out a way to show bits of myself without giving myself away. Once I can find my credit card to sign up for the advanced blogger.

I live outside of the gay mecca (the Westend) in Kitsilano (the Westside of Vancouver). I've got a nice house, with two floors, two bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, fireplace, patio, dishwasher, garage and in-suite laundry - pretty lucky to find here, where housing is at a premium. One problem - I've discovered I have absolutely no talent for interior decoration. I'm missing that gene, to quote someone (I can't remember who).

I thought I'd start with my bedroom. I've always wanted a gorgeous bedroom, with white sheets, a white comforter, making everything look pure and fresh. So I went out and bought everything white - even for my ensuite bathroom. Instead of looking pure, it ended up looking like my grandmother's house. Unfortunately I didn't realize that lace is "old lady." So I bought a new comforter, in natural tones, and now it looks like a college kid's dormitory room. I realize I have to paint the walls a different colour than white - this may be a project for the summer. But I keep making mistakes when it comes to my purchases. I guess there's a learning curve here. I'd be embarrassed to bring some a-list gay man over - I probably wouldn't hear from them again! I want it to look like some of the bed and breakfasts I've stayed at - but I don't have a clue where to start, unless I made research and interior decoration a major hobby and shopped all the time (which I hate to do).

I've been single now for three months, after a horrible ending to a relationship that reminds me of SoBlo's experience with Emm. If you haven't read it - do. It's a perfect description of how I felt. I was grieving intensely for a month, and by a month and a half my mind had cleared enough to realize that not seeing him again was the best decision I made. I ended it on New Year's Day. I'll tell you more about it as I go along. All the sordid, sexy details. Since then I've tried several coping strategies from no longer having him in my life, such as working myself to death, pornography, casual sex, partying, and now I feel like I'm coming out of those things somewhat. You'd think since it was my fourth relationship that ended that it becomes easier. Well, actually it was overall, but I don't think it's ever easy. Unless you're a cold-hearted, detached, selfish asshole who is incapable of commitment. Which he is, and which many people are, I guess. Of course, I ignored my initial caution when I met him - he told me clearly he's not into commitment, loves casual sex, with multiple partners, but damn - I was so attracted to him, and his 10-11" thick cock. Also, he is a nice guy.

I'd never seen such a huge cock before. I've always been with guys who are average, (7") like me. It was so big that it took me a while to learn how to manage it. At first I felt like I was choking on it, and not able to breathe. It was so thick that I couldn't even get my thumb and middle finger to touch when I put my grasp around it. His cock was thicker than my wrist! And man, he could get hard. I've seen some pornos where a huge guy has a hard time getting hard - they always look a bit soft. Not this guy. Let me name him - I'll call him BC for 'you know what.' BC would get so hard you couldn't point it horizontally without hurting him. Add to this he was an amazing lover - he made it his hobby. And he's bisexual - I'll never date another one of those. Add to this he is one of the nicest men I've ever met. Caring, sensitive, masculine, thoughtful (to a degree) and so on. It was hard to leave him.

Unfortunately BC wasn't very bright - but I tend to like sexy, attractive, dumb men who are good at construction, home repair and car mechanics. Totally the opposite to me. (Well, not the sexy, attractive part I hope). To be fair, I'm an idiot when it comes to home repair, and I have to work really hard to figure out where the oil goes in an engine. I still can't change my windshield wipers. From his perspective I probably seemed like a retard. But it was difficult to have a stimulating conversation. I always had to "dumb down" my comments and discussions. I was worried I'd give him a headache. One thing I miss is that he would tell me when to take my car in for an oil change and tune-up. He explained to me how to make my dishwasher work without flooding (the sprayer comes up through the middle, so don't place anything in its way). He'd take my stained laundry and discover how to get rid of the stains (I still don't know how he did that one).

Really, is there anything sexier than a guy that knows how to change a flat tire, or replace spark plugs, or get your car running when it's stopped?

Sure, I can instantly figure out computer applications, and computer hardware, but somehow that isn't sexy. It's geeky. Right 'Geekslut?'

I've been told that I should limit my blogs to 10 minutes a day, otherwise I'll get burned out. But let me give you a preview of all the shit I'll talk about. Just so you'll return. For some reason, I feel a need to do an essay about the experience of being "fucked" and "fucking." I've already started it - will finish it soon. I haven't ever seen an essay like that, and I think there's fascinating things to say. I'm very versatile, so I'll explain it from both points-of-view. And would like some of your points-of-view to add to my essay. E-mail me if you have anything to say. Also, I'll tell you my experiences in relationships (four at this point), my slutty encounters, including three-somes and group sex, what it's like for me to go to gay clubs and visiting the West End (scary - I get cruised alot), and about this hot guy at my straight gym who I've got a crush on, and I'm not sure if he's gay or straight. The usual, trashy, gay life which I love to read about, myself, on other gay blogs. It's such a relief to be able to discuss it openly.

Intertextual

PS - I know my website name may be irritating to some - but somehow it works for me. Here's a Webster definition: "The complex interrelationship between a text and other texts taken as basic to the creation or interpretation of the text." Huh?