Off the Cuff
And it was during the second quarter of my Carolina Panthers getting trounced - yes, I am this football loving gay guy, which, even with all of the tackling and contact and such, is still somewhat surprising to others - that I realized I was a bit jealous. Well, not jealous per say, but, well… there was some feeling there, and I rarely feel.
Robert had come over to watch the game with me, along with a crew of others. We have dated. Several times. We’re not good at dating. Not only dating each other, but dating in general. So we have settled into this relationship of occasional sex, some emotional connection, and constant flirtation when I’m in town. And when I come here, I come for months, so it could appear to the random spectator that we are, in fact, dating. Just last night, I invited him to a friend’s Halloween Party, and we were ‘caught’ by several making out. So that’s that.
And it was during the second quarter that I made some crack about him wearing the same clothes that he wore to this party last night, to which he replied “Oh yeah, I haven’t been home yet.” He continued with a somewhat cloaked, sanitized story of rough sex, a bit too rough, he said, with an old friend who was traveling through town.
He said this to me because he knows that he can tell me anything. I took a lot of shit, for instance, from friends when we dated last and it became known that he used, um, either morphine or methadone - that’s how judgmental I was, by the way; I can’t even remember the drug - in various forms, i.e. he would put small doses in tea, or snort an occasional line. I didn’t care, because we all have our things, but many of those who knew communicated to me in one way or another that they would never date someone with such a habit. I, on the other hand, was rather happy that he had eventually told me about it, and then even further down the road, felt comfortable with not locking himself in the bathroom to do it around me.
And it was during the second quarter that I was first amused, but then almost immediately perturbed, by this rough sex encounter. Why didn’t we just head back to the house and fuck? Or, not fuck, but fall asleep together? Neither one of us are good at that either, but unlike dating, we are good at doing this one together. His head. My chest. We like it. But we didn’t. We didn’t even have plans to. But then he has sex with this dude and it briefly pissed me off. Briefly.
It was during the second quarter that I realized he had made my emotions stir. That was a good feeling.
Robert had come over to watch the game with me, along with a crew of others. We have dated. Several times. We’re not good at dating. Not only dating each other, but dating in general. So we have settled into this relationship of occasional sex, some emotional connection, and constant flirtation when I’m in town. And when I come here, I come for months, so it could appear to the random spectator that we are, in fact, dating. Just last night, I invited him to a friend’s Halloween Party, and we were ‘caught’ by several making out. So that’s that.
And it was during the second quarter that I made some crack about him wearing the same clothes that he wore to this party last night, to which he replied “Oh yeah, I haven’t been home yet.” He continued with a somewhat cloaked, sanitized story of rough sex, a bit too rough, he said, with an old friend who was traveling through town.
He said this to me because he knows that he can tell me anything. I took a lot of shit, for instance, from friends when we dated last and it became known that he used, um, either morphine or methadone - that’s how judgmental I was, by the way; I can’t even remember the drug - in various forms, i.e. he would put small doses in tea, or snort an occasional line. I didn’t care, because we all have our things, but many of those who knew communicated to me in one way or another that they would never date someone with such a habit. I, on the other hand, was rather happy that he had eventually told me about it, and then even further down the road, felt comfortable with not locking himself in the bathroom to do it around me.
And it was during the second quarter that I was first amused, but then almost immediately perturbed, by this rough sex encounter. Why didn’t we just head back to the house and fuck? Or, not fuck, but fall asleep together? Neither one of us are good at that either, but unlike dating, we are good at doing this one together. His head. My chest. We like it. But we didn’t. We didn’t even have plans to. But then he has sex with this dude and it briefly pissed me off. Briefly.
It was during the second quarter that I realized he had made my emotions stir. That was a good feeling.