Spinning Around...

We had always chatted about him DJing, but I had never actually seen him play before that night. Dim lights and cigarette smoke set the ambiance inside. As I saw him setting up near the DJ booth, he looked at me with his charcoal dark eyes and smiled in surprise. "So it seems you've come to see me play," he said with a wink. I didn't want to tell him that it had been by coincidence that I happened to be there that night. "Well, tell me what you think about the music afterward," he slid back onto the stool that faced the turning-boards.
From where I was seated, I had the perfect view of him. I watched in awe as he effortlessly changed tracks and CDs; his fingers seemed to move in complete synchrony and harmony to the tunes that seeped out of the speakers, giving a soundtrack to the smokiness of the room. He was one with the music; he bobbed his head to the lyrics, moving his body to the rhythm as well. It's as though he was oblivious of the fact that there were others in the room; it was as though he was playing to himself. I smiled as I watched him spin a CD on his index finger and gingerly slid it back into its protective case. That was when our eyes locked onto one another.
My heart beat as fast as the drums that played in the background. He gave me one of his cocky, but sexy half smiles, and lifted his glass of red wine. He took a sip and finished it off with a wink. In that moment, I imagined what it must be like to be with him... in his bedroom, even if it was for just one night. I started to wonder what kind of music would he be playing while we explored each other intimately and physically. Soft rock? Barry White? No, a bit too cliched I suppose. House music? I hope not... As I sat there, drinking him with my eyes, I zoned out everything and everyone around me. It was just me and him... The DJ.
When our eyes met for the third time that night, I knew they were beckoning me towards him. As I made my way to the DJ booth, my eyes never left his. His dark, almost black eyes, bore into mine with an intensity I had never felt for a while. As I approached him, he stood up and placed his left hand on my lower back, pulling me closer to him.
"So, how are you liking the music so far?" He whispered in my ear. As he spoke, I could feel his hot breath on my neck. The feeling sent tingles up and down my spine and I knew that at any moment I could melt right into him, right there and then. I wanted him to undress me with his light fingers; I was willing to let down my guard just for that night and not worry about the consequences that might happen the next day. I struggled to speak, but I managed to say that I was enjoying the music. If only he knew that I had enjoyed his touch far more.
Once 1 a.m. had rolled on by, I walked towards the glass door exit when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun around and saw him. In the dim light, his face and eyes seemed ethereal; he was beautiful. "I just couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye," he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on my cheek.
...And just like the records that he had spend the whole night spinning; he sent my head, and heart, in a tail-spin.

That Afternoon...

It was late December, a few days before New Year's. The walk on the Cornish was his idea, but I didn't mind; I was enjoying his company. With my hands deep inside the pockets of my jacket, we walked side by side; the hustle and bustle of the busy sea-side sidewalk all around us. Neither one of us spoke; however, I, for once, didn't find the silence to be so unsettling. As we passed the lighthouse, his white canvas laptop bag with the red-linings slung over his right shoulder; I moved towards the silver railing and leaned forward against it.
I've always enjoyed walks on the Cornish; although it had always been difficult to convince one of my friends to come down with me. They all thought it was a "Towney thing" to do, so I was glad to know that he enjoyed the walk as much as I did. He stood next to me, casually placing the bag on the ground between his legs, and gently crossing his arms over the railing that separated us from the sea below. Again no one spoke; both of our eyes focused on the horizon. Although it was December, the weather hadn't really turned cold yet; it was chilly, but manageable. In the distance, a few fishermen in their tiny rowboats were still casting their nets into the Mediterranean Sea; hoping to get one last catch before the sunset.
"If you could throw one thing in the sea, what would it be?" I asked him, it was more of a thought that I had spoken out-loud, but I was interested to know what he would answer.
"That's a random question, but I'm not really sure. You?"
"I'll throw away my cell-phone," I replied, toying with the device that lay in my right pocket.
He laughed. Even though we were surrounded by people, my ears registered his laugh only; it was as though there was no other sound but his laugh. "Why so?"
"I just think it's strange how obsessed we've become with having to know who's contacting us throughout the day. Like, why would I need to be reached at all times?"
He didn't reply and I didn't continue.
The sun cast its last rays, shading the sky in a fiery shade of orange. The waves splashed lazily against the rocks, spraying the locals that stood on the rocks, splashing in the shallow ends of the sea. A light breeze ruffled the leaves of the palm trees that lined the edges of the Cornish... And throughout all of that, I was watching him out of the corner of my eye. He had goosebumps all over his arms and he rubbed his hands over them; hoping to warm himself a little. The sun seemed to bathe him in a warm glow that made my heart-rate quicken a few beats faster. There was a simplicity in the way he looked and dressed that, to me, made him look beautiful. It was the way he carried himself that had drawn me to him; like a magnetic force. His white cheeks and the tip of his nose had turned a light shade of pink because of the cold; I fought the urge to wrap my arms around him and offer him warmth. I think it was at that moment, when neither of us spoke, that I started to fall in love with him. Even though cars passed, children screamed with giddy laughter, bits and pieces of people's conversations wafted around us; I felt as though, we were the only two people standing on that strip of the Cornish. All the sounds seemed to mesh together, creating the perfect symphony that described the emotions, feelings, and thoughts that were going through my head.
"Coffee! Coffee! It's good for your brain! Coffee! Coffee! It gives you power!"
The moment was over and I was brought back to the present. We both looked at each other and started to laugh.
Evening was well on its way and tiny stars started to dot the night's sky. A plane flew in the distance and I knew that in a few days, he would be leaving as well.
"What do you say we head back?" He suggested, zipping up the front of his gray windbreaker. I nodded and cast one last glance at the sea.
I followed him back to my car, all the while knowing that I'll always remember that afternoon with him...

Hungover You...

Through the smokey interior of the room, I saw him make his way towards me. He was wearing an almost translucent white button-down shirt that showed just a tad of his bronzed smooth chest and toned abs. His smile was sly and sexy; his eyes twinkled with mischief, the kind that is accentuated with the help of alcohol. He danced to the pulsating music that radiated from the speakers overhead. He pointed at me as he mouthed to the lyrics. I gave him one of my 'Come on over here' smiles, followed by a wink. He took the bait.
He sat next to me and I leaned forward; making sure I placed my hand on his knee. "So you enjoying yourself?" He asked me, his eyebrows shot upwards as I moved my hand up to his thigh; making it seem as though I was oblivious to what my hands were doing.
"Not really. This party is pretty lame. What are you thinking of doing afterward?" I rolled my eyes as one of the party-goers attempted a lame striptease. Thank God I had drank at least three glasses of wine before seeing that; there was no way I could have handled seeing that awful sight sober.
"I'm not sure. What are your plans?"
"It depends..."
"On what?"
"Whether or not it includes you..." The words coming out of my mouth were cheesy and corny; as though they were written for a horrible porno movie.
Cue in sex music.
He liked that answer because the smile on his face said it all. He brought his face closer to mine; our lips only centimeters apart. I smiled and pulled away. The party was lame; I needed to entertain myself and he would do just fine.
He was an acquaintance of mine and he had slept with half of my other acquaintances. I always knew he had a thing for me because I had always said No to his advances before; but I was willing to make an exception tonight. I was feeling down and dejected; I needed some release and he was the perfect outlet for it.
He stood up and danced to the music some more; moving his index finger over my chest, under my chin, and then placing it on my lips. I turned my face away - let's see how long this chase can last. That was when he grabbed me by my shoulders and roughly dragged me towards a secluded area. I never minded being rough-housed...
The hallway was dark, the only light that was supplied was courtesy of the street-lamp outside the window. He had me pinned against the wall, his hands exploring every inch of my body. I could feel his lips all over the nape of my neck; his breathing was heavy. His body crushed mine and my hands ran up and down his back; at times digging my nails into the thin fabric of his shirt. His lips searched hungrily for mine. My heart was beating wildly in my ribcage. It had been a while since I've acted this way; made-out with a guy I didn't know that well in an isolated area. It looked so shady and yet so sexy. Like the expert that I had heard that he was, he ran his hand under my black T-shirt, caressing my abdomen. I shivered at his touch, his hands were cold. With his other hand, he encircled it around my waist, pulling me closer to him. What am I doing? Do I want this to go further? The thoughts went through my head. But then I heard another voice, one that was saying that I was thinking too much, one that was telling me to just let go of my inhibitions and to enjoy the buzz of the alcohol and the moment I was experiencing with him.
"Let me fuck you Gerry," he slurred.
Gerry? Ugh...
I had suddenly lost interest; I was no longer in the mood. I put my hands roughly on his chest and pushed him off me.
"What's wrong habibi?"
I stared into his red-rimmed eyes and drool dripping off the side of his mouth. He looked and smelled like a Vodka bottle with arms. I shook my head and made my way back towards the party.
A few minutes later, I found myself drunkenly entering Bardo. The place was packed with bodies blocking the entrance. I forced myself inside. I never admit it to a lot of people, but I actually enjoy crowds. I like the feeling of being lost in a sea of people, our bodies moving as one, a collective mass and force - and if you're lucky, you can always have some stranger grab your ass!
Classy, I know.
He saw me entering Bardo. He waved me towards him; I was just glad I had found a familiar face at that point. He frowned when I approached his table. "Are you alright?" I can hear the concern in his voice. "I'm fine. Just a little tipsy, I had more drinks than I usually allow myself," I admitted. He nodded and stood up. "Here, take my seat," he offered. I declined at first, but he insisted. He then disappeared but returned after a minute with a bottle of water. "Here, you're going to need this," he handed me the ice-cold water. I gulped it down, enjoying the feel of the refreshing liquid; it was as though, I was washing away Buttons' sloppy kisses and Vodka breathe off me.
He was a Medical Doctor (MD); he was charming and a true gentleman. He kept talking to me saying that it would sober me up. He made me laugh and he ran his hand up and down my back, sending some thrills up my spine. His chocolate brown eyes were welcoming and sincere. My purpose for going to Bardo that night was to see whether I'd "accidentally" bump into Glasses and then a scary realization dawned upon me. I had acted the way I did because I was hurting; I was upset and didn't know how to express my frustrations. I was trying to mend a broken heart by acting like a complete idiot. I was feeling lonely; I wanted to feel desired and wanted, and that was exactly what Buttons had offered me - but it wasn't the way I wanted it to be... Not with him at least and not in some sketchy looking hallway that smelled musty and in a bad need of a cleaning.
I was still hung over Glasses... I thought that if I drowned my sorrows in alcohol and meaningless hook-ups I might feel better; I'd be able to move on and put him behind me. However, as I stared into MD's brown eyes, all thoughts about Glasses seemed so far away; I almost forgot why I was there in the first place, I couldn't care less if I did see Glasses or not.
"Listen Gary, I want you to message or miscall me the minute you get home. I want to make sure you get home safely," he said.
Later that night, once I was settled into my bed; I messaged him. In less than two minutes, my BlackBerry buzzed. He had replied. As I read his text, my head started to clear up. I was no longer hung over... In fact, I'd never felt more sober in my life.

Delete You...

Delete. Erase. Block. Remove.
How easy it sounds removing people from your electronic and communication portals these days; it got me wondering: Would it be that easy removing people from your real-life? It would be nice if, with a click of a button, one could erase another from his life; never having to contact them ever or see them again.
Maybe, as with the improvements in technology, we have evolved into specimen that can easily "remove" others from our lives. Could we have developed an ability to just 'forget' about those we once considered friends and loved ones? Perhaps we have created a 'mental switch' in our minds that automatically shuts and deletes people from our consciousness and memories.
"You have to remove him off your Facebook! Then you delete his number from your phone! Do you understand? You just have to!" My friend told me on the phone as I recently relayed to him my recent run-in with the usual boy-drama.
"Why do I have to delete him?" I asked.
"You just have to! It's the only way you can move on with your life," he replied with an exaggerated sigh; I think he felt as though he was talking to a five-year old.
As I sat in bed deleting every message he ever sent me (even though I later on found out I could have 'mass deleted' everything), I couldn't help but feel childish for doing that. Did by deleting a "Hey, want to have coffee?" message going to change the way things ended between us? Was it going to bring him back to me? No, it wasn't. But I decided to listen to my friends and continue with the task at hand.
"Whatever you do, don't read the messages! It'll just make you want to call him or text him again!" I could hear my friend's voice in the background - but I did read the messages. Every single one of them. I reread the 122 messages he had sent me in the past two months. I smiled at some of them because they were simply so lame, like this one: "Here I am trying to shit, but all that came out was a fart!"
Poetic, I know...
I would be lying if I said I didn't want to message him and be like, "Hey, this really was a misunderstanding. Let's just start over." But for some reason, something held me back. It was that 'mental block button' I think we acquired throughout the 90's.
After I had deleted his messages, I took a long deep sigh because I knew I had to do the hardest part next: I had to remove his contact info... and that included everything: cell number, e-mail address, and even birthday (yeah, I'm one of those people who takes their 'Contact Info' really seriously...)
Delete contact from Phone-book and SIM Card?
Yes.
Are you sure?
Yes.
Done.
It's like he never existed. In less than one hour, I had managed to remove him from my life - figuratively speaking, of course. For some reason, I didn't feel 'exhilarated' or 'liberated' as my friend described it would be. In fact, I felt immature and pathetic. I had spent an hour rummaging through my phone erasing text messages - how sad was that?
As I turned off the lamp on my bedside table, I stared at my cellphone. With its sleek black cover and shiny buttons, I wished my heart was programmed the same way my BlackBerry was. I doubted my BlackBerry felt hollow or empty after deleting everything about him like my heart did.
Right before I felt sleep making my eyes heavy, a thought crossed my mind and I couldn't help but smile. What if I didn't really delete him but sent him to my 'Recycling Bin' instead? I could always restore him, right? As memories of our time spent together came back to me as I drifted off to sleep, I realized that no matter how much I tried to rationalize things, the truth was evident: No matter how hard I might try to delete him from my life, he'll always hold a special place in my heart...

My Hands

You can tell when some people are either lying or nervous because they give off a sign; for some it may be a nervous giggle or laugh, for another it might be a twitching eye; but for me, it's my hands. I may pretend to be acting all calm and collected, but in fact, my hands would be all over the place; I would start to talk with the use of exaggerated hand gestures, flailing them around. Lately, I'd been trying my best to put some distance between me and Glasses; but, me being the idiot that I am, I decided to see him the past week. All throughout the time we were together, I tried my best to seem nonchalant, poised, and aloof about him; but my hands were telling another story.
For the past week, I had been doing all the things to keep him off my mind and when I thought I'd be alright seeing him again I found out how wrong I really was. My hands they start shaking with anticipation again and they don't seem to understand. Whatever peace of mind I had about him was shattered. My hands just don't seem to grasp the idea that I'd never be able to run my fingers through his hair; I'd never be able to trace the contours of his face with the tips of my fingertips; I'd never be able to cup his chin and bring his face close to mine for a kiss; I'd never be able to wipe away those tears from his face; I'd never get the chance to run my fingers up and down his back, feeling the thrill of knowing how close he is to me; and I'd never get to know what it must feel like to hold him tightly in my embrace.
My hands long to reach out to his; quietly trying to break the shield I had built around myself for so long. For you see, my hands only agree to hold his and they can't seem to let me go... But my hands will never get to hold his the way they want to. We touched, just once when he banged his hand, and once our skin met he pulled away as though he was burnt.
My hands wave to him goodbye, watching him embrace another; all the while knowing, they'll never get to touch him like his lover can.
My hands...
They just won't let me go....
My hands just don't seem to understand...
My hand only agrees to hold his hand...

You're My Drug...

Hey...
With that one little word in that simple text message all my resolve melted - I was hooked on him again. Every part of me urged me not to respond to that SMS, but like an addict, my cravings to see him... to be with him... took the best of me. I replied to the message, my body itching all over.
"Gary, don't see him. You know he's a jerk, he just calls you when he wants something. He knows what buttons to push..." My friends repeatedly told me, but I wouldn't listen - No... I didn't want to listen. It's like telling a cigarette smoker that smoking causes cancer; they know that, and yet they still smoke anyway. It's the same with me... I know he's bad for my heart, but I still go for him anyway.
"It's the last time I do this, I promise!" I said to my friends, knowing deep down that it was the farthest thing from the truth. I had made that promise the last ten times already... And I hadn't stuck to it then.
He strolled casually towards me, a sly sexy smile lingering on his lips, his hazel colored eyes twinkling behind the dark rimmed glasses he wore.... My heart was pounding frantically in my rib-cage, it felt as though I had snorted a line of cocaine. My hands were sweaty, butterflies nervously fluttered in the pit of my stomach... I was high on everything that he did and said, feeling as though I had just smoked a joint... Nervous about seeing him, yet feeling relieved to know that he had showed up.... He was a sugar-high I couldn't be without, making my head dizzy with child-like giddiness....
I'm drunk on him... and like alcohol he made my judgment hazy, making me want to say things I wouldn't normally say... My inhibitions low, I fight the temptation to run my fingers through his light brown hair... I become a slave to my habit, feigning for his attention... All the while thinking... He's my drug and I can't get enough of him...
When he's gone, I start to feel the withdrawal kicking in... My body - no... my heart - aches... I was crashing... Guilt and a sense of shame start to take place of the excitement and high I once felt only a few hours ago... Why had I done this? Why had I agreed to see him? I felt remorse, the same kind an individual who had been dieting for months suddenly found himself binge eating...
Like an addict, I always tell myself that I can quit whenever I wanted; however, I know that is not true... I can't quit loving him. The only way to stop this addiction is to go cold Turkey; it'll be like trying to quit smoking, I just stop it... Or maybe, I need love rehab... I'm no longer sure. But maybe a part of me enjoys the rush of feelings I get when I'm with him... I would rather feel 'something', then constantly feel 'numb'. Maybe I'm a masochist; I enjoy torturing myself, setting myself out for a heartbreak... Or maybe I'm just an idiot...
Whatever it may be... I just know that he's my drug...

The Tricky Question...

We've all been bombarded with tricky questions; ones that put us in a tight or difficult situation. Such as: "Do you like my new haircut?" You're thinking, "Um... no. You look like crap!" But instead you smile and say, "Are you kidding? I LOVE it! I'm surprised you haven't cut it like that ages ago!" Although you may "sugar-coat" your real opinion about certain issues, there are some topics its not as easy to cover up "nicely" with words... I know what I'm saying isn't new - it has been around for decades, but this one particular "tricky question" was brought to my attention this past weekend...
I met a guy - let's call him Curly - this past weekend for coffee. I'd met Curly once before and I had shelved him off as someone very young for me; however, we continued keeping in contact via the magic of Facebook and text. During our coffee date, the conversation flowed really easily up until Curly asked me a question which I had difficulty answering.
"Gary, when do you know you're in a relationship?"
I, for once, was actually having difficulty providing an answer. And the question really got me thinking... When does one know they are in a relationship? Is it after the first, second, or third date? Is it the first time you kiss? The first time you sleep together? The fact that Curly was staring deeply into my eyes expecting an answer didn't make things any easier for me. However, Curly took my silence as a sign that I wanted him to elaborate on his question. He cleared his throat and added, "Well, I've been 'seeing' this guy for two weeks now... We made out and everything... but I'm still not sure if we're dating or not. So, do you think we are?" There was such a naivety in the way he asked me the question, I felt as though he wanted me to say: "Yes Curly! You guys are dating!" But for some reason, I couldn't find myself sugar-coating this time... maybe it was because a little part of me was disappointed. It turned out Curly just wanted to see me because he wanted me to impart my "gay experience" as he called it.
"I think you're in a relationship when you guys agree to be exclusive; like in only see and be with each other," I replied. But then I thought about... How unromantic... How very "legal"... They don't show you in Hollywood Romantic movies the characters asking if they are "exclusive" or in a "relationship"... they just happen to know... I know there are no rules or guidelines for relationships, but for some reason, trying to figure out whether you're in a relationship in the gay world is much harder. It's like trying to decipher an ancient riddle... Are we or are we not dating? And I think trying to sugar-coat the answer to that question is not as easy as telling your friend a little white lie about the horrendous predicament her hair is in... You can always change your hairstyle (hair grows back), but its hard to mend a broken heart...
Feeling a little dejected and down... I was supposed to meet IT guy on the weekend too, but there was "unforeseen obstacles" in the way... So I was feeling a little pissy when I went to visit my grandmother (or Meme as I call her) on Sunday. I was pretty much sulking and huffing and puffing.
"What's wrong? Why making all these elephant noises?" Meme asked me. I couldn't exactly tell her I was upset because I'm gay and can't find a decent douche to go out with... I just told her that I was feeling a little lonely and that's when my Meme took me by the hand and dragged me to the hallway where she has a mirror.
"Two eyes, two ears, one nose, one mouth - open up... full set of teeth, two arms, and two legs... Everything seems to be in place, nothing missing. Don't tell me you're upset until you've lost either a limb or any other body part! There is nothing for you to be upset about!" She then swatted me playfully on the upper arm. I couldn't help but crack a little smile... Maybe because I knew my Meme was right. I really had no reason to be upset... Everyone feels lonely from time to time, but its not exactly a reason to get depressed about.
The following morning as I was getting ready to head out to work, I looked in the mirror and a tiny smile spread across my face. "Two ears... Two eyes... One nose... A mouth with a full set of teeth..."
I may not know when I'll find that special someone with whom I'll know we're in a relationship without having to ask him "Hey guy I've been with for a month now... Are we dating or what?", but I know he's out there somewhere... I've just got to keep a positive attitude and who knows... We'll meet someday...