When I reign, it pours.

(Sunday follow up to Friday/Saturday.)

Something is freakin’ up with me. For a guy with more body issues than Men’s Health, I am feeling pretty confident this week. I am garnering all sorts of unsolicited attention and in the dating game have switched from hunter to prey. I don’t get it, but I am not complaining. And I fear to examine it too closely lest it vanish for the scrutiny. (I'm sure there is some Heisenberg corollary to this somewhere.)

So, with the assistance of my friends Robert, Kevin, Shawn, and Jack (Daniels), I was the flame(r) to the hairy moths in the Powerhouse. And the object of attraction for [Anonymous Public Figure]. APF left me a message before I could even get home from the bar. And called me first thing in the morning and left a message (I try not to be vertical before 10:00 A.M. on Sunday if I can help it.) asking if he could bring me breakfast in bed.

Now while I clearly have a history of falling for any flattery, two phone calls in an eight hour period and an offer for breakfast in bed before a first date sort of sends Robbie into warning mode.

I agreed to meet him for breakfast at Squat and Gobble (the one in the Castro), which is one of the best places to be whenever it is sunny or warm enough for breakfast outside. There is also the sidewalk parade and the likelihood of seeing friends and acquaintances. True enough, we both saw many, many friends and acquaintances, but surprisingly no one overlapped. Robert has been pushing this relationship (relationship? I’ve known him for nine hours!) as we are great matches for social circles, interests, abilities, and most of all, protocol. I just want to have coffee with a guy first, then maybe go on a date, and then take it from there. Then again, compared to Robert’s love life, I have the pace of a glacier.

We had pleasant conversation during brunch, and he stroked my thigh and my hand and all of that and it was quite a nice time. He then asked if we could go for a walk, which considering the weather was an excellent idea. As we started up the hill he asked if we could have a kissing date. First time I have been asked as such and I agreed. I did establish that I already had plans to meet Robert in the afternoon and had to get a variety of designs done before going out with Lance to Sundance (all true). I also established that I was pretty atypical for a SF gay guy in that I don’t really kiss or kiss-plus on a breakfast/first date. I know, very Brenda circa 90210. But he was very interested in dating, and I was uncertain, so I wanted to take my time.

“You didn’t have any trouble kissing last night.”
Hooking up in a bar, and in place like the Powerhouse no less, is a very different thing. This felt like bringing a U-haul on a first date. I merely replied, “That was at one o’clock in a bar and Jack Daniels was involved.”

The walk we went on was to his car, in which he drove us to his house. While I would have preferred more conversation, we made out for about an hour. Which was very nice and sensual and felt long overdue. However, I still wasn’t in the zone yet with this guy, and kept the program to PG-13. However what buttons he had access to were sufficiently pushed. And he had all sorts of pining gazes and sexual flattery that I was very much feeling wooed.

I had to wrap it up to meet Robert downtown, and we eventually said our goodbyes. I walked home as he lives just at the top of the hill. He will be out of town for work for about a week, which gives us some pondering time. Clearly, this train is headed for Boyfriendburgh, and I am wondering if I need to get off (bad choice of words) at the next stop. Academically, dating APF would be all well and good, impending fatherhood with unbalanced co-parent notwithstanding. But so far, I am just not feeling it. And as I have truly loved seldom but crushed often, the fact that I am not excited about the train ride should be warning enough.

I took muni and a cab up to Nob Hill to meet Robert at the antique car show in the park, have a little bubbly and nibblies, and catch up. The Sunday was perfect for the park, and I could not have been happier lounging with Robert and the Kiwis (Lance and Barney).


A good time was had by all.

And the warm weather and the sunshine brought the park into full bloom.



Sundance Saloon was also an interesting end to an interesting weekend. Like last week, with so many people and so many of them friends, I felt like the beau of the ball. Handsome men begged for dances, bought me drinks, held me close, and expressed their sweet somethings (these were not nothings). Is it any wonder I am a regular?

While Matt did not make an appearance, there were other romantic storylines unfolding. I danced repeatedly and platonically affectionately with an ex, a first-dater, and ships in the night. But also, there was the dramatic return of the dramatic storylines of A, B, and C.

While I have distanced myself from the far too handsome A, and I have tried to avoid him as the black hole of attention, he is wheedling himself back into my good graces and into my arms, if only for a dance. It’s not that I have neither will power nor self-respect, it’s just that I don’t have enough force from either to escape his gravitational pull.

Something is going on with him which seems to be vexing and complexing him. I got the idea that at least one issue was with his equally hard-bodied and (by all indications) hetero-married and curiously constant companion. I am trying to resist my caretaker instincts with this one. I have been drawn in and discarded before. Not that I ever learn. Always giving and forgiving.

While perplexed by A, vexed, B was a non-issue really. He seems much more friendly with me now. I wonder if his previous distancing was because he sensed my ridiculous long-term crush, and now has sensed its absence. Unfortunately, his renewed kindness is sort of bringing it back. Le sigh.

Far more dangerous was the rekindled interest in C. Rekindled is not a strong enough word. If there were a single verb to describe dumping a pint of lighter fluid on candle flame, it would be that-ed. I have seen him out and about—street corners, grocery stores (is that a banana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?), bars, etc.—and he continues to be his flirty self. I am a big flirt too so I can take that with a grain of salt, or rather the salt lick it requires. But in fact the rendezvous on the street was sufficiently intense as to evoke poetry (never to be posted here—I may have no shame but I do have pride). I have never seen eyes such as his by the rainlight. And the vision of which blurred the memory of all else of the occasion. The fresh rain smell of his rainlight eyes was remarkable to me—that such synesthesia could be the cause of such amnesia.

While the train of APF may be headed to Boyfriendburgh, for C this train of thought will lead only to Madness. (Population: me.)

Sunday night we danced. And shadowed. (example of the shadow) And sappy as it sounds, his shadows are almost that—dimly dark, weightless, graceful, dangerous, and ethereal. And sexy as hell. Chatting with others in the corner later, C said, “I never said ‘no’ to Wilson.”

I must have looked incredulous for he followed up with “I never said ‘no’ to you.”

“Then I must not have been asking the right questions.” I drawled.

I thought a bit and said, “Now that we have established that you won’t say ‘no’ to me, I have another question.”

This is the first time I have seen the façade crack. Under any circumstance. His expression, always a mixture of sultry, inviting, and mischievous, transformed in a blink and his eyes registered an honest expression—of honest anxiety, bordering on fear. Unconsciously or not, he considered our past and our present, and realized at this very moment he should not be playing the game.

“At dancing!” He clarified. “I never say ‘no’ to you for dancing.”

“Oh, the qualifier. That has come much too late.”

The question in question popped to my mind immediately in my usual witty, flirty, humorous pattern, meant for the benefit of an audience as well as my advancement. But just as I started to give it voice, I was struck dumb. Dear God, it wasn’t a joke at all. It suddenly and surprisingly occurred to me that I would mean it.

I didn’t want a yes, per se. I would not expect a yes and a yes would be illogical and untimely and irrational and crazy. But I meant it, and if he said "yes," I felt a calm in realizing that, yes, I would too.

My next thought was a line which has stuck with me from all those hard-boiled detective Travis McGee books my brother loved: When your luck is running, push it.

Expecting nothing. Wanting nothing. Perfectly content just to ask. To have lived my life and said these words, and at the time mean them. That was more than enough.

I looked him in the eye, spoke his name, and asked him to marry me.