New York, One Gay Date At A Time

Check Please

I’ve never understood how boys can make their lives seem so dull. I went on just such a date. I actually had to text a friend to call. So I could leave, be rescued. I did it by running to the bathroom, excusing myself so I could wash my hands three times in a row. That’s when I put out multiple SOS signals.

I mean, he was just dull. I thought of asking for the check mid sentence, I just kept on smiling and found nothing he had to say interesting. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t even make an effort to smile, not once.

Then again, during our brief time together I found out that this was his first official day in New York, that he had just recently come in from Idaho, yes Idaho. I welcomed him to this great city, yet I could smell, tell, feel that he was frightened of the skyscrapers and the people whizzing by at lightning speed. I did try my best to put him at ease. I remember my first day, I was overwhelmed, I needed to grow into my New York legs.

I can’t understand why he chose to go on a blind date for his first day in the city. He kept on telling me that he felt he was in Pittsburgh. That the sushi place we went to reminded him of Pittsburgh. I understand this sense of nostalgia, frankly I can’t remember how I spent my first few days in this city, I know I did a lot of walking. I also know that I hit my job, the second or third day, I liked here. I was also paying insanely high rent, that I couldn’t stop paying. These are all memories I have. Dating was not even on my concept list.

I understand the need to meet people, yet going on a blind date, on the day you arrive in New York, might not be that good idea. Especially if you don’t have too much to say or compare the town to Pittsburgh.

A Relationship at the Speed of TV

It takes time to trust. There I said it. I must be smitten and struck down and cursed by the gay gods. I know I’ll be limp like a wet noodle for the rest of this post. Yet it’s the truth. Once trust is broken once trust is lost, there, it goes, poof. It’s so difficult to build back up.

That said a relationship takes time. I know it seems like movie stars have their public relations people get through the muck of starting a relationship. I mean TomKat didn’t date; they just, well, hit the tabloids. They didn’t have to deal with the awkwardness of getting to know each other because their publicists put together talking point memos.

We, the normal folk who only pretend to have publicists, must endure the building of a relationship, the many steps to getting to know someone. The awkward stages and silences that ensue in real life, like the moment one finds out that your soon to be lover likes Japanese pickles. I don’t know why, but I’ve heard that it’s a turn off to some men. Then again there is the confession that the datee is a dog lover, while the dater is a cat lover. There can of course be no compromise in this situation so a quick and painful brake up is best for both parties.

The big moments, such as meeting the parents for the first time and thinking that an ill placed joke will end the relationship forever. Now those are the moments that build trust, because frankly if my lover could put up with my parents, he would be a keeper.

In any case, my publicist is on vacation and I don’t have the talking points memo in front of me. I’m flying blind and bombing quickly. If only I had Tom Cruise to rescue me, much like the way he rescued that chick from that flying thingy or sword throwing guy.

Now that’s a real relationship, built instantly like Seneca Coffee, meant to sort of taste like coffee, yet isn’t. So that said, instant relationships are the way to go, until I get a publicist and get a better brand of Coffee.

I mean I won’t have to trust that it’s real because I’ll know it is, the TV told me.

It’s a Date, not Marriage

I want to scream that every once in a while. Because all my straight co-workers are talking about getting hitched and the magazine sends out flowers when there’s a birth, because frankly, I haven’t been on a date in ages, and when I do, the boy wants to propose, or simply thinks I will. I don’t know which is worse. So there I ranted.

I used to be that way, equate dating and boyfriends automatically (like a Pez dispenser) turning into marriage and 2.1 children. That I would put too much into the moment. Now I’m the opposite. I sigh and simply move on, having dated my fare share of losers and dimwits i.e. actors/models/dancers. I’m not too excited about trying too hard, even though I do get excited when someone shows interest. Then they don’t call and I shrug it off instantly. Moving on to Mr. Next.

Every once in a while I’ll ask a boy out, most of the time they’ll turn me down or/worse try to latch onto me. I never find that balance. This all happens on one date, or not even on the date, on the pre-date. We put too much stock into that one moment, that anticipation of the moment. It’s like watching that Angelina Jolie interview on CNN a while back, so much anticipation, yet once seen a total let down.

Compared to my straight co-workers who are commiserating marriage and children and a "suburban", I don’t know any gay men in my age range that are in a real relationship that even considers marriage. They are in fake relationships, mimicking that of a faux fur coat at best, it might look like Mink or Chinchilla, yet it just doesn’t feel right.

They cheat on each other and go to the same bars and I’m left wondering, when the hell did gay men become so insecure, then I realize, in the same moment, always. Because frankly between New York (the city itself is forever young) and the fact that we can’t actually get married we are a society of vibrant young things.

So I just want to say for posterities sake, just to have it in the universe, If we go on a first date, I have no desire to marry you, just then and there, in that moment. First we need to get through the first date and maybe a few others. Serial monogamy would be nice even. Serial dating might be a step up from a one night stands.

So yes, a first date is not marriage. Just thought I’d share that memo with the gay world. 

The Puppy Dog Boyfriend

I’ve seen this gorgeous guy around; he’s always waiting, waiting for a friend, waiting for someone to talk to him. He’s tall, unusually so. About six foot four which makes him a hunk in my book, I’ve seen him pass through many relationships, because that’s what I do, watch. I always notice the cute guys. I’ve seen him on a few dates even. His body doesn’t move too much, it’s quite submissive; his head is always hunched down a bit. For a man so tall, it’s cute, yet endearing, yet turns him into a cuddly Labrador Retriever.

I tired talking to him, yet I seem to catch him at all the wrong times, when he’s waiting for a friend or lover, or trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. He has a great smile so I’ve always wanted to have a real conversation with him, yet I don’t seem to hold his attention.

I know friends that have called their boyfriends or significant others puppy. This endearing term, seems quite telling. I don’t know if it’s for me.

During my dark days of Celexa crashing, I found myself wanting to follow and be lead and to stay close to someone, yet now, for various reasons, I don’t want that anymore. I like the equality of a partner. I don’t mind someone that has strong opinions, if not, I relish them.

I’ve seen hunky puppy boyfriend (for lack of a better name) bounce around HK from boy to boy, I’ve seen the looks on their faces as they’ve become board. I wonder what holds him back. I wonder what keeps him from showing himself; I wonder what keeps him from experiencing and asserting his masculinity.

I’ll probably never know.

I’ve Seen You Around

I’m a bar fly from way back, when I first stepped foot on Manhattan island, simply put, over the years, I’ve watched people come to New York, rise, burn out and resurface, I’ve done my own share of transforming. I’ve watched people turn fabulous then run to Nebraska tail between their legs.

Yet one thing is for sure, the more years I add to my New York experience the more I see the same people around. The ones that have stuck through the thin and thick of New York, it’s sort of become a club without a real membership, yet everyone who’s hung in there. Who’ve survived New York cities bitching temper, we sort of recognize each other accomplishments.

As new bars open I see the same folks, so hot, some not, some with a little thinning hair, I don’t have lots of peoples phone numbers, “I’ve seen them around” we know each other by face, not by name. We know each other by drunken reputation and faux labels, we’ve been drinking once, we’ve slept together once, we know each other, we are connected in that strange way. In the strange way that only this town, this town can connect.

After all I call New York, the biggest small town in America for a reason.

The Insecure Man

One of the things about being stressed out all the time, is that I succumb to my carnal need to satisfy indiscretion … i.e. I get horny. There I said it. I mentioned the H word.

I actually get taken over by a pretty face. Which has been happening less and less (as I become smarter about boys), so I get myself into odd situations, especially with blond men that are dumb as a brick, now if these blond “dumb as a brick” men have Eastern European accents, I’m putty in the knees.

So I invited a boy over that I shouldn’t have. He ended up exposing himself to one of my roommates and following him back to his room. Making unwanted advances and trying to seduce him with his hotness.

When I heard about this the next day, I was totally mortified. I’ve never been in this position before. I’ve always controlled my tricks, some have asked about my roommates. The most inexperienced ones have asked. “So do you fuck your roommates?” I politely say “no”. In my head I’m thinking, “hell no, how revolting”. This question is always leading. I understand immediately that the guy is trying to figure out what’s going on within himself. I remember how tough it was, the process of coming out and how much self confidence it took. How many questions I had.

The night before, because he spent the night, for some reason he decided to expose himself to my roommate at about six am, an odd hour for an odd person I guess, (not my roommate, he had a paper due).

Yet making that choice, well it was before the choice, because he couldn’t put words together, he couldn’t tell me what he wanted. All those questions that gay men ask each other, he couldn’t bring himself to verbalize his need and want. Instead he lay silent and let me do all the work in a very tender self concourse almost infantile way (he was 26 people).

In case he left, never to be seen again, to the island of lost men and tricks and place of memories long had. (Yes I took some of that from sex in the city). In any case, I’ve come to realize that the person I want, the man I will eventually call my partner, needs to be a person that can clearing tell me what he wants. I’m not a mind reader; I’m simply, unequivocally me.

Bar Hustlers

At a nameless bar in Hells Kitchen I couldn’t help but notice two beautiful men come in. They walked tall and proud, one blond and chiseled, greatly effected by distance beauty, also greatly affected by his own beauty.

Soon they were joined by one truly ugly man, not that there is anything wrong about the pairing, but these two men, the beautiful ones – simply seemed way to into a man that didn’t quite seem to be a person that they would normally be into. I don’t know how to phrase this; they simply looked awkward, like waiters lined up to be tipped. They didn’t seem interested in what the man had to say, they just seemed to hang on his every word, as if he were a Greek God, a virtuoso, a young man that only these two wily vixens could actually see. For these two beautiful men had the ability to seem him as he was twenty years ago, not old fat, balding and dingy. 

The blond one is a bit aloof, every once in a while he looks away; I used one such opportunity to talk to him. I knew the scenario wasn’t quite on the up and up. Yet I couldn’t resist. I was also a bit drunk so that helped with my courage. I wanted to see how he would react.

I was shooed away, instantly, informed by the blond one. “I’m busy with my friend.” I squirreled away tail between my legs.

I went on to a new interest, talked to some friends but still watched as the three of them left arm in arm, fat and ugly in the middle.

Sometimes men will stand by me at a bar, these are usually wealthy men in suits, they pay for a drink in a methodical fashion: first they take out a wad of bills, it’s usually thick and lined with twenties, never in a wallet, neither in a money clip, just a wad of bills. When the bartender hands them change, they carefully line up the bills – all the presidents faces in the same direction, all the bills in order. I have watched this process unfold many many times. I don’t know if these men think, I can be bought or if they’re simply being way more anal retentive then any poor person could ever conceive.

I’ve also seen this behavior at restaurants; it often comes from the most unassuming man at the table. Instantly without warning a wad of hundreds is produced, to the glee and shock of the table.

Or maybe it’s a signal – stating that someone is looking to buy their youth back.

Check Me Out

Every once in a while. Someone checks me out, makes an eye for me, looks up and down– they look good, I look back, I don’t know if this is me interpreting their look. Or simply that I stick out every once in while. I mean this phenomenon mostly happens when I’m dressed to go out or dressed to stand out, my edges are no longer rough and I want to get noticed. So people notice me. It’s a strange little phenomenon. I’ve underdressed drastically so I don’t stick out actually.

Sometimes the guys look. This happened on the train a while ago. Actually, when I was reading a book and was deeply engrossed in it. I didn’t make any eye contact what so ever. He spit at me as he left the train. Almost hit my face and said “damn fagots” as he left.

Just recently a guy was showing of his behind (I don’t know why I’ve been encountering men like this recently) I took a quick peak; he started licking his lips in a sultry fashion. As he stepped off the train and as the doors closed as the train pulled out of the station. He flipped me off and screamed and cursed at me for being gay.

A long time ago, I’ll never forget this moment. A man rode across the car from me. He rose and a gun slipped out and thud on the floor of the subway car. I didn’t startle. I have too much New York experience to startle. I looked around and all was safe. The man quickly scooped up the gun and hunched over, he picked it up like he was scooping up a lost wallet. No one seemed to notice, yet a soft quiet descended on the people around me. A few minutes passed. About a minute actually I got up and moved away. Never showing emotion on my face or the true reason for my move, others followed to safety, some got off the car all together. Two stops away I left the train. Went about my day as though nothing happened.

These odd little moments have made up my New York experience and nothing phases me.

The Subway Date

I picked up a man on the Subway, or he picked me up. That is debatable.

At that time I have to confess I had a few nips of vodka. In any case I couldn’t resist, when the guy wanted to talk to me. First he was hot, had a great vintage leather coat on and was wearing jean chaps and an amber necklace. The jean chaps exposed the upper part of a very nice moon. He looked like he belonged to the Doors.

His speech cracked and waved, his words fired like a cannon but said to little. I was on my way to diner with some good friends. He wanted to tag along. I called ahead to warn them and prepare.

Over diner he shared stories about cats, apparently he live on the Upper West Side and took care of a “harem” of rescued animals. He reached over and assured my friend that he had a psychic connection to him; my other friend was gazed deeply into his brown eyes and was informed that he was smitten. By who I don’t know, but the word smitten was uttered and totally part of the conversation.

I do have to admit my sadistic temperament of actually inviting him along because of pure entertainment value. That is important to note.

He also mentioned he was a “renaissance man” yet begged us not to call him that. He spouted off all the projects he was working on from opera to dance, yet no one knew what they were. At the table was someone well versed in the goings on of theater, no one really knew what was going on.

I gave him my number and knew very well he would never call. He assured me that he needed to attend to his menagerie of faithful pets, “that I’ve neglected for two whole days.” That’s when we parted company and I went home, to sleep off my intoxication.

Juggling Men

I don’t think I can ever master the art of dating multiple men. I don’t think I even want to. I guess one of the reasons I’ve held off even trying to date is because I don’t want to deal with the inevitable moment. I call it the “why doesn’t he call me moment”. I’m a really confident, quite assertive person. For some reason when I like someone that goes instantly out the window.

I turn to putty and I can’t help wondering when the boy will call. That’s when insecurity raises its ugly head and I just can’t seem to get my head from out of the sand.

Besides I’m a really busy person. I can’t really deal with juggling men, I’m also no good at it, I’ve done it before. I’ve had up to five going at the same time, yet I don’t ever seem to get what I want, the minute I need a flow chart to keep track of what’s going on, I loose interest. I can’t develop interest in even one of the five guys and the relationship doesn’t work. I guess this is the moment, I’ve realized, for me, dating multiple men is not a good thing.

I’ve seen lots of guys; go on more then one date in an evening. I’ve done that before actually. I’ve met a guy in the afternoon for coffee, then a guy in the evening for dinner. With the guy that I’ve been more interested in, getting the evening slot.

Yet not once has this strategy turned into a long term relationship. So now I’d much rather take it easy. I’d much rather go on a date with one guy I’m really interested in, then many guys at the same time. There I said it. I’m waiting. Although mind you, that moment might change really really quickly, if the guy I gave my number to last night, actually calls.

I’ve also had guys tell me, much later, when I’ve given them my number and they haven’t called. That they’ve explained and need to justify that decision, with the phrase, “I didn’t call you because I thought I could really have a relationship with you.” That phenomenon is to be explored another time.