R.B. Winters's Blog: Rent (minus) Control, page 9
April 11, 2015
Side of Same
Yesterday was perfectly typical. A regular work day, an ordinary haircut at a shop Uptown, and in the evening drinks and dancing with the usual friends. Nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever. Possibly, so typical, this day and evening you might wish to call boring.
Then I met and took someone home. This is where a red flag should have come up to point out that nothing would be defined as regular, normal or ordinary for the rest of the evening. It started off simple. You see, this gentleman told me he was thirty-four…I pretended to believe him.
Then the actual naked activities began, which can really go either way as far as normal or terrifying. Penis business aside, this has to be the most unusual encounter I’ve had with another human being (in bed). First, he kept whispering things. Which was intended to be sexy, I think. I’m a little deaf, as in I don’t pay attention, but the whispers were so soft that I kept saying “what” in my nasal, glottal, way-too-loud for my body voice.
Whispers aside, everything was almost saved by the kissing. A good kisser is hands down a winner even if they’re bad at everything else. That was until he wanted me to breathe into his mouth. [Pause for reaction of WTF] That’s right. I apparently took home some sort of soul sucker who was hoping to wretch a soul from my body, yet the joke was on him as there’s nothing to withdraw.
At this point it was far later in the evening than was acceptable. Finally, I gave up, let him dry hump my leg a little before just rolling over to fall asleep. Not so much a fan of sleepovers, I got exactly what I don’t like when we woke this morning. I believe it was intended as a compliment, though I didn’t take it as intended: “How are you single? You’re a catch.” Why? Because I’m a bitter, obnoxious, person, that’s why I have friends, not lovers. Maybe that’s what I should have tattooed on me next.
Oh, but there was one final kicker as he was dressing to leave. He informed me that he was married. Gay married. I add the gay just so we are aware he’s not cheating on his wife, not that it would be any better, but in some small way it feels less horrible. He told me they were in the open relationship blah, blah thing. I ushered him out the door and thought to myself two things:
1. Have I run out of single people?
2. Thank baby Jesus I used my slutty alter ego’s name.
March 22, 2015
Forget to Forgive
Over the last twelve months I’ve stayed in semi-close contact with a few of my mom’s friends. One of which I’ve known since I was a little boy. She’s always been a colorful character and is safely deemed Mom’s best friend. She also has a relationship with my sister, and out of the blue, Sherrie, the bestie, sent me a text asking me to reconnect with Jami, my sister.
I had to think about my response before it could be sent. Not only because it requires a thoughtful answer but also to not come off as cold or callous.
The message received: “Just talked to Jamie. You two do have something in common!! You are both missing your mom. Please think about staying a family.”
This is a fair request, I suppose, but it irritates me and the answer I returned: ” I miss my mom but I’m in a good place. After my last encounter with Jami, I don’t want her in my life. That’s just how it is. I have a family, she’s just not part of it.”
Our very volatile falling out last summer left a bad taste in everyone’s mouths. At this point there’s nothing left to be angry about, but pretending the fences can be mended and things can resume is insanity. When we so clearly don’t function around each other, why add the stress and drama to life when it is possible to live happily apart?
As far as family, I have my dad and stepmom, but my network of friends is just as important and fills any holes that may have been left with the exit of my siblings. A therapist would probably disagree and anyone who is interested in the traditional family unit would probably scream at this concept, but if you never connected with your siblings in childhood is there any reason to engage them in adulthood? The answer for me is a simple no.
You’re Clean…or Not…
Most people who are sexually active get tested on a regular basis. Well, responsible people who are sexually active get tested. It’s just good sense. My habit is to do so in September and March, every six months, using my birthday and half-birthday as the reminder to take care of business.
This year however, things have changed and made getting a simple HIV test a huge challenge. My preference is to go to my doctor, have blood drawn and test for everything, instead of going to the free clinic. If you’re going to get tested, may as well test for everything while we’re at it, right? So, the changes. The Affordable Care Act, which I’m no fan of, royally screwed me as I’m a multi-state resident. Though my main residence is New York, my insurance is based in Maryland, meaning non of my doctors in the city will accept BlueCross from Maryland. This was a big, unpleasant surprise I first discovered at the dermatologist. Now I know it costs $420 for an office visit. Not exactly sure where they came up with the title, Affordable Care Act…
Rambling, sorry about that. So, since I can’t go to the doctor of my preference and I’m not in Maryland regularly I thought why not try one of these at home tests. Worst case scenario, it doesn’t work and I’m out fifty bucks. Stopping by the drug store, I picked up an OraQuick test, having done some online research on testing products, not that there’s a huge selection.
Compliments to the makers as it’s incredibly easy, though just as stressful as going to your doctor and waiting for the results. The results take only twenty minutes, but as with the doctor, you suddenly consider every negative option and are convinced you’re dying until the spit stick, much like a pregnancy test, shows one line and put you in the clean and clear zone.
The only part of the experience which was a little uncomfortable was the cashier at the drug store who more or less had eyes bugging out of her head while ringing me up. She was probably thinking, “Wow, how big a whore are you?” A valid question, but still, learn to control the judgement eyes.
If you can’t stomach the doctor’s office visit, are being punished by your insurance, or just want a quick and private way to check your status, I give the at home test a big thumbs up.
March 15, 2015
Date and Repeat
How do we know when we like someone? Actually, the better question is, how do we know when someone likes us?
The question comes up now as another guy bites the dust. After a lap around the Met, Google Guy sat in silence while I gnawed on a bagel and sipped at boiling hot coffee. As we left he said,
“The past few weeks have been fun, but can’t continue.”
“Us?” I asked, making sure we were on the same topic.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“Okay.”
Google Guy then gazed at me for a moment. Was he waiting for more? Should I throw the coffee and run?
“This is awkward,” Google Guy added.
“It’s fine, you’re just being honest.” Did that really come out of my mouth?
We departed, he for the train, me for the crepier two avenues over. Walking alone, I wondered why I didn’t have a bigger reaction. Google Guy wasn’t ‘the one,’ if that even exists, but is this what dating has boiled down to? We, and I’m generalizing the gay community from my own experiences, go on countless first dates with only a few that make it to a second. For those that make it to a second or third we then begin projecting huge expectations that always lead to disappointment. One person ends it and you arrive back at the beginning.
With this line of thinking I wonder if I am taking the wrong approach. Is it better to have a casual sexual relationship with someone you get along with, like Bullseye, knowing it will never go anywhere, or keep putting yourself through the cycle of date and repeat?
I don’t have the answer, but for now it’s back to the beginning and more first dates.
Kelly Clarkson says it in the perfect overly dramatic fashion here:
March 7, 2015
Take Your Positions, Please
This is the point in the conversation where I would warn you that I’m about to over-share…what else is new? Gay sex, that thing, there’s generally a top and a bottom. In some instances you get the vers guy that does both, which I’ve found generally leads to them being a bottom. Vers seems to be more of a cloaking device for a personal shame of being a bottom. I have no shame, clearly.
Having been a bottom pretty much my whole gay life, I found myself in a situation where I was going to be the top whether I liked it or not. Not being a quitter I figured why not go ahead and do it, I mean it’s been like six years since the last time. Maybe things have changed.
So, we did the sex. It was good. It was hard; Like a full on cardio workout that I’d failed to plan for and probably should have done some stretches after. But…there’s always a but, there was one small problem. See, I get really easily distracted and my mind starts to go down a new mental avenue. This happens all the time during sex, and as a bottom it’s incredibly easy to hide. Meaning when things begin to deflate on my end a hand and a rub can give the illusion that all is well, especially when it’s dark and the top is hard at work.
You see the dilemma. Deflating inside of someone is a killer to their ego. I should also probably be embarrassed, though I’m not, which is sort of odd. This problem has happened twice now and the mission is to find a way to concentrate on what’s happening at that moment. I can’t be the only guy this happens to. And if I am, how are you all so focused?! That or I’m secretly straight and have had no idea.
March 2, 2015
And here we are…
So it turns out to be true: Time will move us forward. Three-hundred and sixty-five days ago I was sure in my thinking that I’d be right here. That was correct. Who would be with me was incorrect. It’s been three-hundred and sixty-six days since the moment Mom passed away.
How odd it stills seems.
Rather than let the anniversary be a day of utter, uncomfortable sadness, my family, my gays, my straights and my B headed to Brooklyn. We drank, drank, drank and drank. Brunch, bar, bus. The order of the day’s events leading to the moment I requested.
In a park settled beneath the Brooklyn Bridge, white falling all around, the chill of the air bitter and cutting, this is where I wanted to come and say goodbye once more. This we did, but even in the moment when it’s easy to slip into the sad, it still turned out to be something rather happy. Surrounded by an amazing group of people, who had travelled across state and borough lines to lend their support; They were/are appreciated.
There is no changing the past and I’ll admit some of the sad has crept in today as I’m alone for the first time in five days. But the present is too good to not be a part of…and so we carry on.
Inappropriately appropriate:
February 19, 2015
Just say, “When.”
Usually dating involves meeting someone, liking this someone, having fun together, falling into a state of boredom or resentment and climaxing with a break-up. What happened with Bullseye did not in any way, shape or sexy form, follow the pattern of dating as it is known to the world.
Things ended in what I believe to be the most polite and civil way possible. It was my doing, mainly because everything must live within a box to save me from going mad. You see, Bullseye, as previously noted, is fresh out of a long-term dating situation. It is his right to play the field, enjoy his freedom and more or less get his dick wet as he sees fit.
In truth, the Universe and I have an emotionally charged relationship that borders comical and tragic. Had I met Bullseye two years ago I would have probably been less interested because he would not fit into the character type I needed for crafting a story. Meeting him now, I like him and would be interested in pursuing the always turbulent concept of dating. He’s more appealing because he doesn’t fit my mold type and thus is unlikely to turn into a storyline. Sounds like a waste of writing time, but in fact, it’s nice to have a person come along that hasn’t been provided by the Universe for nothing more than emotional terrorism. I mean, me terrorizing them and myself.
To be clear, I made the move to end things mainly because it was one foot in and one out. Bullseye is cute and nice and does all of those boyfriend things you want. On the flipside these things don’t mean what you want because in fact there is no commitment which makes you [me] a glorified fuck buddy. Which isn’t really what I’m going for at the moment.
So, I stepped away and maybe at some point we’ll be great friends who drink and laugh about this and that. For now, it’s me, the cat and whichever friends want to brave the frigid NYC streets to troll the bars.
January 25, 2015
Handouts and Germs
There are so many types of people in the world it seems crazy to define us as good or bad, nice or cruel, etc. Seeing that it’s impossible to classify everyone, for me at least, it has become normal to make assumptions about the majority of the population. In my mind, and this is probably heavily influenced by the city surrounding me, people are out to get whatever they can by doing the least amount of work possible.
Case and point: Last Sunday, meeting Bullseye for dinner we were approached by a random girl on the street.
Her claim: She needed $20 to get a bus ticket back to Jersey because her wallet and phone had been stolen.
If you have ever been approached then you know this is always the case. Male or female, the person has always just been robbed of at least their wallet and needs to get back to Jersey. Apparently, people from Jersey need to learn to hold onto their shit or stop coming into the city and asking us for favors. Just sayin’.
There was cash in my pocket, which is pretty rare, but I wasn’t about to hand anything over to a stranger. I’m sorry, I don’t trust people. In general, people are always trying to scam you. This girl, who mind you had a giant purse on her and was dressed pretty decent, didn’t look to be all that distraught. Bullseye doesn’t share my cynical city nature, crossing the street to an ATM and giving the random girl a twenty with the comment to “pay it forward.”
Shocked, stunned, whatever word you can tack on here. What’s the point of telling you this? I’ve been casually dating, and note I use dating very lightly as we are not in a relationship of any manner, for almost two months and I’ve wondered if the “nice” was genuine. In fact, Bullseye is an actual, real, live nice person. Made even more shocking because I have a tendency to chase off the nice guys and attract the d-bags.
Now we face the problem of universal calendar issues. First it was busy holiday schedules and general conflicts and I was sick right after we met in December. Then came January and Bullseye was sick, me being a huge germaphobe stayed away for about a week. Then as he gets better I’ve caught some nasty throat virus which is not only contagious but means I’m a super cranky, asshole because I can barely swallow and my neck feels like it’s been beaten with a bat.
Hopefully, a few sick days and bad timing don’t kill things.
January 20, 2015
Week 2-3: Fit or Bust
This week has been pretty decent in the gym. This statement being made based on the sourness I feel every morning climbing out of bed. My body hates my face right now.
This week also ends one fitness routine and begins another. As I mentioned, I use BodyBuilding.com because they have a great library of workouts. The routine I’ve switched two is more intense, some workouts hitting the two-hour mark with the daily cardio escalating to 30-40 minutes per session.
Though I didn’t want to pick this particular program, mainly because it has me doing between 5 and 7 sets per exercise, I selected it anyway. Why? Well, if I’m trying to change my body in just nine short weeks, being three weeks in, it’s go all out or stop.
I will admit I cheated on the wine front. It’s so delicious I couldn’t help myself. New week means a new opportunity to skip the wine. Though my intake on wine is a small fraction of what it usually would be and I’ve also cut my espresso habit in half.
Another day. Another selfie.
January 17, 2015
Week 1: No More Vino
The new year arrived and hopefuls packed the gyms. This is going to be the year they change their habits, drop the weight and become the person they always knew they could be…blah, blah, blah. I don’t make resolutions, mainly because as a cynic it seems an obvious setup for failure. So, when a fitness competition was announced by BodyBuilding.com, I figured it was worth attempting.
Going to the gym is already something I enjoy, it’s cheap therapy that doesn’t involve talking to an overpaid jerk. In order to make a personal change and compete in this body transformation competition, it’s more about setting some goals and pushing myself.
The goal: Gain 15 pounds of lean muscle. Which doesn’t sound like a lot, but I’m a fairly scrawny guy, so that’s a lot of weight to pack on in just twelve weeks. To achieve my goal it means stepping up my workouts and making a few dietary changes.
Wine: I love wine. In a big glass, in a small glass, really in any container that can then be pressed against my lips. I’ve technically already been bad and had a drink on two occasions, but still far less than usual…which is pretty much each and every day. Did I mention I love wine? We should make shirts or something.
I’ve also added a layer of public accountability. To prove you’re a real person and actually making progress it is required one submit photos on a weekly basis. I’m adding mine here and to Facebook. It’s a way to prove I’m not full of crap. Otherwise, I sound like all the other people bragging about their clean eating.
There’s no bragging here. All I want is sugar and a bottle of wine. Just another ten weeks!
Rent (minus) Control
- R.B. Winters's profile
- 6 followers
