Trusting

I have always trusted people. I have trusted my mother, my boyfriend, and my priest. My mother spent years trying to convince me that gay is bad. My boyfriend lied and cheated. My priest molested me.

My mother used subtle suggestions to convey her belief that it was wrong to be homosexual. She knew even before I did that I was gay and she thought she could turn me around by encouraging me to find a girlfriend, get married, have children. I tried my best to please her. I had a girlfriend throughout high school. Even my girlfriend knew I was gay before I did.

My boyfriend told me that he loved me and that we would be together forever. Perhaps, at some point during the relationship, he believed it. But when he was fucking me, knowing that he had been seeing his ex while we were apart, and knowing that he intended to end the relationship, he was being dishonest. It hurt me more that he came back for one more lousy fuck before dumping me than actually getting dumped.

My priest found ways to get close to me. He stroked my hair. He phoned me up for no reason at all. He hugged me a little too often. He brushed against me whenever he walked past me. He also engaged me in conversations about sex, presumably to "guide me." He asked me if I was gay and, if I was, he would "help me." He asked me to trust him and he would "teach me." I was one of the lucky ones. By the time he finally tried to take me in his arms and kiss me and fondle me, I was old enough to resist.

I have learned lessons. I have learned that I must be true to myself. I have learned that adults and other people who control and influence my life are not always correct. I have learned to trust my instincts.

But I will go on trusting. That is my fate. I will try to find a special guy to spend forever with. I will try to make that special guy happy. I will probably be hurt, but I will try my hardest not let my past interfere with my future. I will strive to be open to love.

All I ask is that he understands. Maybe that is asking too much. But that is what I need.

Healing

We stand in the bedroom, facing each other. You take my hands in yours and gaze into my eyes. I melt. The intensity is overwhelming and I look down, blushing. "What's the matter, sweetie?"

"Nervous, I guess." I grin sheepishly, embarrassed at my unease. "Not sure what to do."

"You're not a virgin. Why are you scared?"

"It was different before... with him." I try not to cry. Please don't let me ruin this moment, I silently pray.

"What do you mean, my love?"

I look at you, no longer able to hold back the tears. "He didn't like what we did together. He thought it was dirty and wrong." I look back down at the floor. You take me in your arms and I put my head on your shoulder.

"Aww, sweetie. I'm sorry he did that to you. I'm sorry you were hurt."

"He usually just pushed me onto my stomach and buried my head in the pillow." I laugh through the tears. "I just wanted him to kiss me and let me know that everything was alright." I sigh and try to stop crying. I don't want it to happen like this. I want this moment to be perfect. But instead, I am spoiling everything. "I wanted him to hold me afterward and tell me that he loved me. But he couldn't. He didn't love me when we were doing that. He thought he was disgracing me."

"He was a sick piece of shit. He should be shot for treating you like that." You take my chin in your hands and lift my face so that we are looking at each other again.

Again, I melt. "Sweetie, there is nothing wrong or dirty with what we're going to do. I want to show you how wonderful it can be when two men make love."

"But what should I do?"

"What would you like to do?" you say with a lecherous chuckle.

I smile through the tears and unbutton your shirt. You shrug it off and take me back into your arms. The feel of your warm, muscular chest against mine is exhilarating. "I love you, sweetheart."

You whisper in my ear, "This time it's all about you, sweetie. I want to show you how much I love you. I want to heal the wounds."

Undressing me is easy. I'm wearing nothing but a towel. I am fresh from the shower after my long flight. You give it a slight tug and it falls away. I bite my lip, nervous that you will not like my skinny twink body, but I can tell from the look on your face that you approve. My cock is so hard that it points to the ceiling. It is pressing against my tummy.

"Jump into bed," you say as you remove your jeans. You, too, are already hard. You slide on top of me and kiss me passionately. This is what I have always wanted. This is the way it is supposed to be.

Finding my voice

If I never spoke again, I would be perfectly happy. I hate the sound of my voice. Hate how it rings in my ears when I speak. Hate that my mother hated my "gay voice." That's why I write. Listen to me. Understand me. This is all I have to give.

Solace

I lie on the sofa, a little sad and lonely. I’m on my stomach with my back to the world. The door opens and it is you. Without saying a word, you come in and lie on top of me. You cover me like a blanket, your weight an anchour to reality. I drift off to sleep with you shielding me from the world.

Later, I wake up and I feel you reaching beneath me and I lift up just enough to allow you to undo my jeans. You lightly kiss the back of my neck, and then you rise up on your knees and lower your own jeans. You moisten your finger and massage me then you enter, slowly, softly, gently. You hold me tight. It is more an act of solace than one of sex. Soon, I feel you thrust more deeply and shudder as you finish, quietly, tenderly, with love.

Not a word has been spoken but volumes have been conveyed.

Devastating

I could so easily fall in love with you. I have already fallen in love with you. Deep and hard. I can’t sleep at night because I want you. I can’t sleep at night because I can never have you. Love is lovely. Unrequited love is devastatingly lovely.

Unrequited love is self-fulfilling – unnecessary to consummate because the impossibility of such a love has rendered the act superfluous to the pain and yearning, which is the very heart of such a love.

Love for the sake of love – agape. Thomas Jay Oord has defined agape as "an intentional response to promote well-being when responding to that which has generated ill-being.” Ill-being, being hurt by the one that you love. One that has ignored the love you have offered repeatedly, one who would use you and let you go.

One who is not worthy of the love you have to give, but one whom you can not stop loving. One who is inappropriate, who will never be the right one, but who might forever be the only one.

I can not protect my heart from such a love. I can only try to avoid the consequences.

It was wonderful, then it wasn't (8/31/09)

It was wonderful. I fell asleep alone, wishing he was with me. During the night, I was awakened by a warm body cuddled behind me and a familiar arm draped across my body. At first, I thought nothing of it and I grabbed his arm and hugged it closer to me. We had spent so much time together that it was more natural for him to be there than not. Slowly, it dawned on me that I should be alone. I shrieked with joy and wriggled around to face him.

He had flown all the way up here to be with me for just one day. How wonderful was that! I kissed every inch of his face and then let him know how much I appreciated his visit in the best way I knew how. I fell asleep in his arms, happy that he loved me enough to make the trip.

The next morning, we had breakfast on the deck. Marc gave mum a pasta maker and that was the last I saw of him all morning. I didn’t mind though. I was happy to see them having fun together.

In the afternoon, we went for a walk. Marc was quiet and I could tell there were things on his mind. He said it could wait until I was back in the city and he didn’t want to spoil the rest of my holiday. How could I let that go? I pressed until he finally opened up to me.

Marc is unsure of our relationship. He thinks it is unfair to me to be so serious at such a young age. He thinks I will resent being tied down to him. I tried to explain that, with his hours at the restaurant, I have plenty of time to be with friends and have my own full life. I have school and swimming, and I have my writing and my music.

I have no desire to be with anyone else. I don’t understand the need to be with multiple partners, especially since he fulfills me more than I had ever hoped for. It’s a dick and a hole. End-of-story. How is an infinite variety of cocks going to make me happier than I already am? I have no desire for meaningless sex with strangers. I want to be with someone I love and trust. I could never do the things we do together with someone to whom I was not emotionally connected.

And that’s the problem. Marc thinks I am too emotional. I am too deeply committed to a relationship he is sure will not last. He feels he is being sucked in and will only be hurt in the end.

He is afraid. This I know whether he admits it or not. He does not want the easy conversation with my mother. He does not want to fit in to my family. He does not want to find himself loving me and losing me.

What can I do? I have tried to convince him of my love and commitment, but he is so sure that this won’t work that he is going to sabotage it. I can see the axe falling and I have no choice but to wait and be massacred.

Good bye summer, Hello Fall

Good bye beach, good bye surfing, good bye dancing on the deck. Hello NYC, hello school, hello new friends and old.

Connections

Is it possible to find a true relationship on the internet? Can you really connect with someone on a meaningful level via twitter?

Two days ago, I would have said no. Today, as I sit here missing my friend, I feel I must reconsider.

Perhaps it is the safety one finds in anonymity. Perhaps it is the security of knowing that distance is insurmountable. I only know that while he is out of contact, I feel like I have lost someone dear.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the knowledge that he would be gone that allowed him to take liberties. Maybe he was just playing with me.

Me? I wanted to kiss him and hold him and gently rub his aching tummy.

I know I shouldn’t be such a weepy old thing. I’m sure he had more important things on his mind than his twitter buddy.

Good byes are so hard, so unsettling. I wanted so much more but what can you attain with words only? Cold, impersonal? No, not really. Satisfying? No, not really.

A Haiku for RP

I miss you today

More than I did yesterday

More than I can bear

The Canvas of Your Soul

I will start by reading the words of your poem with my lips. I will trace each letter with my tongue knowing your meaning from their flavour.

Then I will find the hourglass of your soul and sift the sand through my mouth. I will pluck the flowers gently with my teeth, and I will comprehend your tender years.

I will find your sin, hard and black, and taste the depth of your pain.

I will discover the phoenix and savour its beauty. I will trace each quill with my tongue, and delight in its sensual curves. I will take just a moment to nibble on what the tail feathers encompass.

My lips will journey down to where the ghosts reside, playful in their hidden lair. I will tickle each with my tongue, first the pink and then the blue, edging ever closer.

And when I have finished exploring the canvas of your skin, I will be yours and I will find what I love the most.

Him - A Love Letter

I want to wake up cuddled against him, feeling his warm breath on the back of my neck. I want to wriggle around until I face him, afraid that my breath is offensive, but not be allowed to free myself until he has thoroughly kissed me awake. I want to wake up to coffee and homemade blueberry muffins out on the deck, laughing and talking with him and my family and friends.

I want to run down to the beach and swim and surf. I want to lie in the hot sand next to him, his hand on my belly as we doze in the sunshine. I want to take the trolly into town for lunch, holding hands with him as we walk down the street. I want to go into the tourist shops and buy silly tee shirts and puka shell necklaces. I want to walk back home along the shore, stopping at the gay section of the beach where we can kiss and play with no fear of recrimination.

I want sit on the deck as the sun sets behind us, writing in my blog while he and mum prepare dinner. I want to hear them talking, realising that they are learning to love and respect each other. I want to see our neighbours crowding around our dinner table knowing that they accept my relationship with him. I want to get a little bit drunk on good red wine and play footsies with him under the table.

I want to cuddle on the couch with him watching an old movie on television as the rain patters on the deck outside. I want him to feed me chocolate and marshmallows and suck on his fingers as he places each morsel in my mouth

I want to go up to my room and climb into bed with him. I want to put my head on his shoulder and talk about the day until our desire overtakes us then I want him to tilt my face up to his and kiss me. I want to make love to him, passionate, yet giggling, because we have to be discreet in such a full house. I want to cuddle up to him, spent and happy from our day together. I want to fall asleep in his arms, safe from all of the harm that is in the world.

I want him to come back. I don’t want this summer to end.