primal fear
When I think about it, I can recall two people that fundamentally shaped my ability to trust others. The first of these was a charismatic college roommate who utilized innuendo, gossip, and personal history to turn my entire freshman dorm against me. I suddenly found myself shunned by those with whom I thought I had developed awkward new friendships. The remainder of my freshman and sophomore years were spent friendless, an outcast, branded a pervert, a psycho, and, of all things, a Satanist. I subsequently moved to California to make a fresh start of things but found my social life not surprisingly hampered by an unwillingness to trust anyone whom I had not already known my entire life.
The second individual to influence me in such a manner was S., the first gay man for whom I fell hard. Since moving back to the East Coast and rediscovering the comfort of high school friends, I had begun the process of gradually lowering my guard. S. was the first homosexual whom I actually found attractive. He was the first male to apparently return my feelings. He was the first person to speak of a future with me. And over pizza, he was the first cock to dump me claiming that he had merely become caught up in playing 'a role.' He quite literally changed overnight and in the process thoroughly shook my confidence in my own ability to assess the character and motivations of others.
It was a reiteration of my college lesson only under even more galling and painful circumstances. One day is all it takes for people to change entirely. You can never know how much of a person is simply a comfortable fiction you have constructed for yourself. Trust will inevitably lead to disappointment and betrayal.
I think my brief relationship with S., along with the slightly uncomfortable temperature of my bedroom last night, played a significant role in inspiring this morning's nightmare.
He went to take a shower and everything changed.
It had all been going so well. D. and I had found some mountain resort for a brief getaway. The place was a little more crowded than was ideal, but the predominately older patrons did little to bother us. D. and I exchanged wrapped presents, placing them beneath a Christmas tree that included additions from my mother, who was doing her best to appear supportive of our relationship. At one point, we picked up a couple of old friends from my college freshman dorm and hung around with them; I remember giving one of the fellows a neck massage as he drove us around town. Somehow, D. and I even ended up dabbling a bit in drugs, sharing a syringe of some narcotic. Mostly though, we confined ourselves to the hotel room and the usual blur of chatting, holding each other, and, of course, having a lot of sex.
He went to take a shower and everything changed.
He left a note for me on the bed while he cleaned up after our latest activities. It was written in his usual precise and elegant fashion, replete with exotic word choices, including a few previously unknown to me. As often seems to be the case, the message, despite the stylistic flourishes, was rather blunt:
"...We have had sex four times today; the last two have been rather blah..."
The note, left on the bed for me to read, was a break-up letter in which he announced he was no longer satisfied by our relationship. I was stunned, confused, and crying by the time he emerged from the bathroom. His response to my tears was equally unexpected - he sort of laughed them off.
He went to take a shower and everything changed.
His entire demeanor was different. He carried himself with more confidence. He wore a smug grin and sneered at my sniveling. Perhaps because I could not imagine D.'s face making such cruel expressions, he looked strangely like J., the ex-best friend for whom I carried a torch over the course of several years. His voice had also changed noticeably. As though speaking down to a child, he explained to me that he had adopted the quiet, understated manner of speaking to accompany the role he had chosen to play - that of a shy, gentle, insecure person whom I would find attractive (although he did not explain why his real voice showed the hint of a Bronx accent). He told me that he had read my journal and from it he had fabricated a persona I would find desirable. Then, all very matter-of-fact, he informed me that he had grown tired of me.
And that was that.
I was angry, but too hurt and confused to take out my anger on him. Instead, I struggled to understand what had taken place and where the person with whom I had fallen in love had gone. He smiled and tossed out glib answers to my questions, even as he packed and unceremoniously left our hotel room. I followed him to the parking lot, still seeking understanding but finding none. Somehow, I could not accept the fact that everything I thought he was had been revealed as a lie, a ruse, a ploy for sex. I was just another "trick." Nothing made sense. It had felt real. In my mind, I ran through our innumerable hours of conversation and continued to dredge up quotes, tidbits, promises, details. He told me they were all lies.
I was devastated. I wandered back to the hotel room and looked at the presents still wrapped beneath the tree. A realization dawned on me and I hurriedly dialed his cell phone. No more than five minutes had passed since his departure after my last series of questions for him. I could hear the amusement in his voice when he answered, apparently entertained by how much difficulty I was having accepting things.
"I just remembered..." I began, now allowing myself to become angry with him, "...that we had unprotected sex, you fuck!"
"Yeah... And we shot up that sodium together," he responded, referring to our earlier dalliances with drugs.
He went to take a shower and everything changed.
I woke up terrified.
The second individual to influence me in such a manner was S., the first gay man for whom I fell hard. Since moving back to the East Coast and rediscovering the comfort of high school friends, I had begun the process of gradually lowering my guard. S. was the first homosexual whom I actually found attractive. He was the first male to apparently return my feelings. He was the first person to speak of a future with me. And over pizza, he was the first cock to dump me claiming that he had merely become caught up in playing 'a role.' He quite literally changed overnight and in the process thoroughly shook my confidence in my own ability to assess the character and motivations of others.
It was a reiteration of my college lesson only under even more galling and painful circumstances. One day is all it takes for people to change entirely. You can never know how much of a person is simply a comfortable fiction you have constructed for yourself. Trust will inevitably lead to disappointment and betrayal.
I think my brief relationship with S., along with the slightly uncomfortable temperature of my bedroom last night, played a significant role in inspiring this morning's nightmare.
He went to take a shower and everything changed.
It had all been going so well. D. and I had found some mountain resort for a brief getaway. The place was a little more crowded than was ideal, but the predominately older patrons did little to bother us. D. and I exchanged wrapped presents, placing them beneath a Christmas tree that included additions from my mother, who was doing her best to appear supportive of our relationship. At one point, we picked up a couple of old friends from my college freshman dorm and hung around with them; I remember giving one of the fellows a neck massage as he drove us around town. Somehow, D. and I even ended up dabbling a bit in drugs, sharing a syringe of some narcotic. Mostly though, we confined ourselves to the hotel room and the usual blur of chatting, holding each other, and, of course, having a lot of sex.
He went to take a shower and everything changed.
He left a note for me on the bed while he cleaned up after our latest activities. It was written in his usual precise and elegant fashion, replete with exotic word choices, including a few previously unknown to me. As often seems to be the case, the message, despite the stylistic flourishes, was rather blunt:
"...We have had sex four times today; the last two have been rather blah..."
The note, left on the bed for me to read, was a break-up letter in which he announced he was no longer satisfied by our relationship. I was stunned, confused, and crying by the time he emerged from the bathroom. His response to my tears was equally unexpected - he sort of laughed them off.
He went to take a shower and everything changed.
His entire demeanor was different. He carried himself with more confidence. He wore a smug grin and sneered at my sniveling. Perhaps because I could not imagine D.'s face making such cruel expressions, he looked strangely like J., the ex-best friend for whom I carried a torch over the course of several years. His voice had also changed noticeably. As though speaking down to a child, he explained to me that he had adopted the quiet, understated manner of speaking to accompany the role he had chosen to play - that of a shy, gentle, insecure person whom I would find attractive (although he did not explain why his real voice showed the hint of a Bronx accent). He told me that he had read my journal and from it he had fabricated a persona I would find desirable. Then, all very matter-of-fact, he informed me that he had grown tired of me.
And that was that.
I was angry, but too hurt and confused to take out my anger on him. Instead, I struggled to understand what had taken place and where the person with whom I had fallen in love had gone. He smiled and tossed out glib answers to my questions, even as he packed and unceremoniously left our hotel room. I followed him to the parking lot, still seeking understanding but finding none. Somehow, I could not accept the fact that everything I thought he was had been revealed as a lie, a ruse, a ploy for sex. I was just another "trick." Nothing made sense. It had felt real. In my mind, I ran through our innumerable hours of conversation and continued to dredge up quotes, tidbits, promises, details. He told me they were all lies.
I was devastated. I wandered back to the hotel room and looked at the presents still wrapped beneath the tree. A realization dawned on me and I hurriedly dialed his cell phone. No more than five minutes had passed since his departure after my last series of questions for him. I could hear the amusement in his voice when he answered, apparently entertained by how much difficulty I was having accepting things.
"I just remembered..." I began, now allowing myself to become angry with him, "...that we had unprotected sex, you fuck!"
"Yeah... And we shot up that sodium together," he responded, referring to our earlier dalliances with drugs.
He went to take a shower and everything changed.
I woke up terrified.