Thursday night, I was under the sheets of a familiar gentleman who has been in my life for about five years named Dre. He invited me over to provide winter heat and of course I obliged. After the traveling, I met the best friend of his roommate the moment I'm at the door. To be honest, I've had encounters where I've met one too many of the roommates, which left a bad taste in my mouth, but that's another post. This situation was tolerable, plus we were too busy getting reacquainted.
As the intimacy began, licking my nipples (the right side is my spot), sucking, kissing, caressing from behind breathing onto the back of my neck, the hot, juicy details of sex too X-rated to share ... well at least for now ... (I can't give it all away on the first night ... or in this case first posting). However, what I will say is, I found myself working harder than usual to keep him up. At first, it was bruising to my ego, however I knew my skills weren't what was faltering. I also noticed his plea for me to relax. I was indeed in the mood, however, sex is still complicated. Being raped at seventeen, little did I know the traumatic experience still held precedence in my intimate relationships. I believe it's a thing about trust that drives this lack of ease during an easing moment. He caressed and acknowledged after attempting to relax me but I knew he was frustrated somewhat.
I also noticed my behavior being the opposite of what I was searching for. I kept grabbing for his dick when he was showing me affection. I don't know, maybe I have a hard time processing the very thing I sought after during the majority of my twenties. Could it be I've grown cynical? Or have I been so burned to the point I don't even feel it anymore? Is it possible that I've become emotionally detached? I've been experiencing my fair share of not wanting to deal with the stress of a relationship and the truth is as much as I would love to have love in my life, presently I can't with the constant building, breaking up, breaking down, finding pieces, super-gluing and then interviews over drinks and dinner and the annoying getting-to-know process. UGH! I see why they call this shit a "game" and living in Atlanta doesn't make it easier. Well, leave me on the bleachers and let me watch the players run by with no shirt on...sorry I digress...but you get the point.
My lack of intimacy.
It goes way deeper than anything I've written in books, blog posts, etc. I've never been in love. Yes, I've had encounters, lessons, rest stops and cameo appearances but never have I experienced having that can't-live-without-you hopeless romantic kind of love. I'm 29 with no long term experience. Lately this has been the theme, the topic of conversations over wine and MARY, of how someone like me has never been in love. Well, I always say, when you got the answer to that get back with me. Does it bother me? Yes. Many nights, I've cried over this, many nights I've placed myself in compromising positions to avoid this conversation, I wonder if I've never made love -- does that mean I'm a virgin still?
I cannot recall a time when I can say I've been touched and he actually stayed afterwards. I cannot recall anytime I've been told I love you without the strings attached or the effort growing inconsistent. Right now, even writing this, I'm realizing how much I've been cheated out of and even cheated myself out of.
These posts from here out are going to be graphic, to the point, intelligent yet sexy, a hard pill to swallow addressing how HIV plays a role in my life as a young, gifted, black gay man living in Atlanta, navigating through this city. This life is meant to be observed and I hope you're ready for this ride. Get your popcorn ready.
Until next time my loves...