Main | Monday, November 21, 2005

The Fucking

Sixth and last in a series dedicated to proving I am undatable.

To the best of my recollection, I was 12 years old when I had my first orgasm.

At that moment, I was fucking the 15 year old boy that lived up the street. He was lying face-down on the green shag carpet in his bedroom and he turned his head back at me to say, "What's the matter?" I said, "I don't know. But I want to stop. And I need to go home now."

That's a pattern I've been repeating for the past 30 years.

Seriously, I am Mister Hit It & Quit It. One per customer. Always accepting applications, but new applicants only, please. My lifelong interest in "strange" has been a problem, for the people I am dating, not surprisingly. In fact, I broke up with my last boyfriend, ten years ago, at a sex club, mostly because he wouldn't stop following me around, and it was ruining my prowl. (That night will definitely be in a future post.)

I've never really been in a monogamous relationship, even when I thought I was. Because even when I wasn't cheating, the other guy was. Sometimes, after things had fallen apart, I'd find out that my former boyfriend had just been having a wild ole' time on the side, while I had been chastely denying myself the same. My favorite example of this was how a Fort Lauderdale boyfriend used to accompany me to The Copa, with our friends, for a night of dancing. And somehow we'd always lose him at some point. And we'd split up and search the entire fucking Copa and never find him. Twenty years later, when I ran into him at a bar, he finally confessed to me that he'd been taking cabs to the nearby row of dirty bookstores, then returning to the Copa after a couple of hours to swear that he'd always been right there, in the corner, and that we'd walked past him a dozen times. It took ME nearly two decades to finally, FINALLY, realize that monogamy was an utterly false concept, imposed unnaturally by pietists as part of the entire grand religious "sin" extravaganza.

I don't think I know anybody today who has a completely physically monogamous relationship. My coupled friends range the gamut from "we only do threeways" to "only when he's out of town" to "anybody, anytime, anywhere". I think I've been in all three of those types of relationships.

I know what a lot of you are saying right now. You're saying "Oh, but Joe! MY relationship with MY boyfriend is COMPLETELY monogamous! We're deliriously happy with only fucking each other for the rest of our lives. Neither of us would dream of cheating!"

Which is, of course, bullshit. The overwhelming odds are that either one or the both of you has cheated, is cheating, or will cheat. And if you are part of that very small minority that is truly monogamous, I'd bet that one or the both of you wishes you weren't. As a commenter said in one of my earlier posts, "Would you rather have a cheating husband or an honest boyfriend?"

"Emotional monogamy" is what my friends now claim is what's most important to them. Well known as the As Long As He Comes Home At Night philosophy. Perhaps if I'd come to that conclusion many years ago, I wouldn't have been such a complete prick to some really great guys. Because I used to demand complete monogamy from the moment of the first date, seriously. If you dated somebody else between our first and second date, well then clearly you weren't all that into me, so move along.

But even when the penny finally dropped, I didn't handle it well. I once somberly told a new boyfriend, "I will never break a promise to you, because I will never make a promise to you." That was well received. Not.

As far as the hunt for strange, in one aspect at least, I know I have lots of company. Most of my friends have nodded in surprised self-recognition when I tell them that in a lot of instances, just having the other guy want me, is good enough for me. Often, I don't even want to go through with the actual fucking, once I'm sure that He Wants Me. The chase being more fun than the capture, and all that. Can I get an amen on that, my brothers?

And from the Department Of Supreme Irony comes the knowledge that now that I have finally sussed out that monogamy doesn't work, and that I'm going to be completely honest about my fucking when in a relationship, well ...now I'm just not all that interested in fucking OR relationships anymore, certainly not to the incessant degree the pursuit of both had previously consumed me. I think it was about five years ago that I was standing in a bar and had been struck with the realization that I hadn't bothered to make my bed or tidy my bedroom before I went out on the town, and that I really had just "gone out for a few drinks". My libido has crash landed on my karma.

To recap, fucking me means that I'm probably fucking other people too. On the upside, my middle-age libido crash means that it won't happen very often (dammit!), but when it does, you'll know it, I'll be truthful. However, honesty about fucking is SO not what most gay guys are ready for. They'd rather have a pretend-monogomous relationship. See why I'm alone?

(Previously: The Doing)

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