I'd Rather Not

So I hooked up with this guy today who from what I could tell was probably certifiably crazy, and as someone who works in mental health I know crazy when I see it. Also, I am aware that it is Christmas and sure I should probably be more focused on family and shit, but unfortunately I woke up really horny. That being said, I'm not saying that he needed to be committed to an involuntary psychiatric unit, but he was definitely someone who has allowed his inner demons to rule his life.

Like he kept saying "kiss me" every five seconds and he kept needing reassurance that I was having a good time or wasn't nervous. Like I'm an adult and you are an adult, so if you want to kiss me feel free, I don't need a command and YOU don't need permission. If I didn't want to be there I would leave. But then the craziness began to escalate and he began telling me he loved me. And sure it was at this point that I should probably have had the wherewithal to get up and leave, but I had committed to getting fucked and there was no way I was leaving without an orgasm, I mean I did douche after all.

From the moment I walked into this guy's apartment I should have known something was up. He was in process of making eggs, put out a cheese platter, and offered me a glass of red wine at 8AM (which I accepted). I don't know about you, but I do not go through that much trouble for a perfect stranger who I only intend on having sex with. He also called me on the phone prior to me coming over, and I always get a little uneasy when people I plan on hooking up with call me. If we are only going to have sex I want to communicate as little as possible. I don't need me or you to gain unnecessary emotional attachments. I think everyone has a finite amount of baggage we are able to carry with us and I do not want to fill up on fuck bois.

In addition to his elaborate brunch spread he was also wearing a red "wife-beater" and under armour athletic trunks, and his wife-beater had a hole in one of the straps. He clearly had a really good body and he made sure to tell me almost immediately that he was on testosterone injections for no other reason than for greater muscle-mass and more pronounced veins. He then later confided in me that he had been taking unregulated steroids in an attempt to bulk up. This for me is a turn off. I am not in amazing shape by anyone's standards and I would rather have someone who looks natural and healthy than a body that is obviously trying too hard. I mean he didn't even need the testosterone for anything other than making himself feel better. It just speaks to a level of insecurity that I do not find sexy in a future partner, but is something I can live with if all we are doing is fucking.

Beyond the testosterone and former steroid use it was also obvious that this guy had had a few cosmetic procedures. That being said I do not think it was anything too invasive. It was pretty clear that his lips were enhanced as they were constantly in a pucker and his face had that taught leathery appearance. He said he was 39, but I'm not entirely certain that I believed him as the tonal quality of his voice spoke to someone much older.

As we sat there and chatted about life he continually asked me if he could ask me another question. Again, you are an adult and we are in a mutually agreed upon situation so if you feel compelled to ask me a question of a personal nature it's probably ok as you will have my asshole in your mouth shortly. It really doesn't get more personal than that, so if you want to ask me a question just ask, don't ask permission you aren't in kindergarten.

In the course of asking these personal questions he asked the two questions that I hate the most: "how many people have you slept with?" and "when did you last have sex/get fucked?" Neither one of these questions feels good to answer. They basically just bring up insecurities about being too slutty or too conservative and if I say I had sex yesterday is that going to turn a person on or turn a person off? And as a gay man oftentimes the answer you are going to get to the number question is "I don't know," so I'm not entirely sure why it continues to get asked.

They also make me feel really insecure about myself and how my answers to these questions are going to make the person I'm about to sleep with view me. I actually don't know my exact number, but I know at this current point it's around 100, but I usually just tell people that I've stopped keeping track because frankly, I think it's weird that I still know the ballpark estimate. I really think if two people are embarking on a sexual or romantic journey it's just easier to keep unimportant facts about our past in the past. Our numbers don't define us and they most certainly don't tell others anything about our sexual abilities or our personalities.

After this serious of unfortunate questions I was ready to move on to the main attraction and he even made that difficult. His dick was stubbornly not hard and he kept saying let's just cuddle, even though it was made pretty clear that I did not come over for a PG cuddle session. He also kept biting my upper lip when we kissed and it wasn't in a seductive nibble, he was legitimately biting my lip till it was on the cusp of bleeding. You know what isn't sexy? BLOOD, so knock it off Buddy.

Eventually I got him to stick it in and he was really batting a thousand. The rhythm was wrong, he was thrusting too hard, and was constantly looking for reassurance and telling me to tell he I liked this or wanted that. He didn't understand the mechanics, and he definitely did not know how to top someone taller than him. Eventually I got on top and came and he well, didn't. After we were done he insisted we cuddle and to add insult to injury he snored, and not even like a little snore it was full on sleep apnea snore to the point that I told him to see a doctor. Eventually, he fell asleep, so I threw on my clothes and helped myself to some of the cheese platter. I have a very real weakness for cheese. I then quietly said goodbye and lead myself out. I haven't blocked his number yet, but I fully intend on doing so if he incessantly hits me up.

"My Anxiety is Giving Me Anxiety"

I am not the world's calmest person by a long shot. I often make mountains out of molehills and my mind will take step one and race to step 100 in about 16 seconds. I also have the lovely habit of ruminating on past experiences and jump to the worst possible conclusions, even though outwardly I come across as severely optimistic. Unfortunately, this set of thoughts and behaviors does not bode well when I begin dating. I am that person who will send a text to a guy I'm seeing and need to check my phone every 7 seconds to see if a return text has been sent, and then if I do not receive a response in a fairly short window I often jump to "he must not be into me." This can be EXTREMELY exhausting. I don't mean to be this person, and I can't really help the churning that begins in my stomach or the heart palpitations or the wetness under my arms. If I could only turn my mind off for a little while and just enjoy the ride I would be oh so happy. I also understand that my anxiety can be great. It helps me to always be ready in a crisis and I am fiercely supportive and I'm pretty much always available (within reason).

As I recently became single (as of November, 2) I completely intended on remaining single for a little bit. I, of course, would casually date because it's fun and gives me something to fill my time, and you know, sex. A steady stream of sex is always appreciated, but I would rather pair sex with a few drinks or dinner, instead of a 5 minute Grindr convo. I began going on dates and it was pretty slim pickings. People were either dumb, boring, or just not a match. I mean I can pretty much carry on a conversation with anyone, but that doesn't mean that I want to. In addition to this there was also not really any of the sex happening. I mean if we are gonna have a bad date you should at least offer to have sex with me as a consolation, right?

Then one night I had plans to grab drinks with this guy that I had been talking to on Grindr on and off for a while. I must admit I was rather excited for the meeting. He physically was my type: tall, thin, pale skin, and dark hair, so I at least knew that he would be physically very attractive to me. And as it turned out we had a lot in common, seemed to have similar senses of humor and share common values. The first "date" lasted over 4 hours and ended with a 40 minute snogfest in my car. I felt like a high schooler. You know that feeling when you have an amazing first date and you feel light and happy and giddy and you just keep imagining what the future holds and you begin to write his name in all your notebooks??? Well it was kind of like that, but without the writing in notebooks.

At the end of that meeting we had already made tentative plans to hangout Saturday night to stay in and watch a movie. This was basically code for we are gonna hang and, to be blunt, fuck. He even made a statement that we didn't "have sex on the first date." He used the word date, so I thought that we were both on the same page. Over the next two days leading to our second meeting it became clear that he was not the world's most timely texter. Being a bad texter isn't a bad thing per se, but because of my anxiety it often leaves me with too much room for my own interpretation, which as I have already mentioned often ends in catastrophizing. As a side note psychcentral.com defines catastrophizing as an irrational thought a lot of us have in believing that something is far worse than it actually is. 

So as his texts became further and further apart I became less and less assured that we were going to meet for a second time. Finally, he responded and apologized for the lack of a prompt response without me having to mention anything. Apologies are always appreciated, however, they do not often abate my anxiety. We ironed out the final plans and agreed to meet at like 7. He then pushed it back to 730 and probably arrived at my house around 745. Normally someone running late would vex me to no end, but we were only hanging at my place, so there wasn't really a rush and he was communicative about his running late. 

We watched a slightly lack-luster film and ordered in Thai food, making out intermittently during the movie, and we even paused the film to fool around a few times. Everything about the evening was great. We seemed to have similar tastes in food, movies, and the sexual chemistry was unbelievable. I found him undeniably attractive. I don't think I stopped thinking about ripping his clothes off the entire time. He also found me really attractive and there's nothing better than seeing someone look at you with hunger in their eyes. Even the way we had sex was amazing, it was that balance between soft and hard, sweet and dirty. We just seemed so in sync. By the end of the night I was basically picking out the children we both never wanted's names. We kissed goodnight and he texted me when he got home about how much fun he had. I went to bed feeling confident that this was going to be a thing. 

As the weekend rolled on I would send text messages and he would continue to wait longer and longer to respond and at times would just "forget" to respond at all. He would always apologize for not responding or taking too long to respond, but he avoided texts that asked when we could hang out again and when we made plans to hangout later that week he cancelled and we rescheduled for Friday. I texted him Friday morning to check in as we hadn't texted for a few dates and he tried to cancel again or at least reported he had a lot of "errands" to run. I have no idea what errands a 25 year old man who lives at home with his family would need to run, but they seemed awfully important. 

I understand that people are busy and obviously have priorities, but I know this because I am also busy too. I hate when people act like they are the only busy people in the world. I want to respond with "I'm bust too, I just know how to keep my commitments so you don't notice." I work two jobs, have friends, family, and personal interests. I respect other people's time and I expect the same consideration. 

His text that he might have to cancel again was enough to throw me over the edge. His lack of timely texting had already been churning my anxiety and I just didn't know how to read him, and being left in the dark only intensified my catastrophizing. I knew that I was going to teeter off the edge and say something intense. I may not be the best communicator but I always communicate how I'm feeling. Once he said he might have to cancel again I reported that cancelling twice in a row was a bit much and I thought I was done. I ended the short back and forth responding to him saying that he had a good time with me with "It just seemed that you weren't all that interested with the cancelling and sporadic texting." Sure maybe a little aggressive for someone I had only been on two dates with, but I am nothing if not aggressive. I pretty much regretted it the second that I sent the text. I jumped to, could this be salvaged? Was the text too much? 

I mean we had such a great time, maybe differing communication styles weren't the end of the world, maybe we could still find a way past my aggressive texting?

I'm sure all of this sounds at least a little bizarre or intense to some of you, but this is how the mind of someone with anxiety works. We are always thinking and countering our thoughts and decisions. It leads to a lot of self-doubt. These ruminating thoughts about my choices to shut him down so quickly kept coming all weekend and into the following week. My anxiety was very high and eventually I decided I would just send a text apologizing for my abrupt response and see if he wanted to hang out again (if he didn't think I was insane). He responded later that night after I was already asleep and basically said that he had a great time, but wasn't looking for a relationship right now and didn't want to get me into something that wasn't going to meet my needs. All in all it was a very thoughtful message and it helped. I was glad that I made the effort to clarify things. I sent an open-ended response that if he ever changed his mind he had my number.

That was less than a week ago and honestly I don't expect anything to happen or change. It's also easier for my anxiety not to have expectations because let's face it expectations are often let down. This is only the latest instance where my anxiety hijacked my dating life and I am sure that it will not be the last. Everyone experiences anxiety to a certain degree, but most people do not experience a level of anxiety that can be disruptive to their lives. I, unfortunately, am in this subset of people. My anxiety isn't even that debilitating that I need medication for it. There have been moments where life circumstances occurred where medication has been helpful, but in this instance voicing my thoughts and feelings to him and my friends was enough to bring me down to earth. I often need to ask my friends in my fears and thoughts are rational and often they are, I just might be more intense and heightened than your average person.

During our second meeting I told him about this blog and he jokingly asked if he was going to wind up in the blog. I jokingly replied "probably not." Guess I was wrong...

"The Trouble with Love Is"

Thank you Love Actually and Kelly Clarkson for giving me the inspiration for the titular title of this post. I know that I have been away for a rather long period of time, but I have been busy continuing to complicate my life for the pleasure of nobody in particular. As it turns out being a whore is a lot less complicated than any other romantic endeavor I have yet experienced (and by whore I mean slut, I have not been traversing the New York Metro-area selling my sexual abilities for monetary gain, yet!). That all being said I recently ended a semi-long-term, semi-serious relationship with someone, let's just call him Frederick. I'm fairly certain he would be upset that I've given him the name of Frederick, but it's my blog and I can give him any name I damn well please. It has been about four weeks since I ended my relationship with Frederick and I know that he has read my blog, so I will be kind with my disparaging comments regarding his personality and the basic flaws of our connection. Primarily the shortcomings were that I was not sexually aroused by Frederick for the past several months and we only copulated once in, I believe, August. And now I am going to more explicitly discuss this in the event that he does read this because, well, I think knowledge of one's sexual short-comings is important. 

When we started dating there were two reasons that Frederick wanted to delay sexual intercourse. Those reasons consisted of my HIV positive status and Frederick's relative sexual inexperience. Frederick and I discussed his fear of intercourse with someone who was HIV positive and I did my best to abate his fears, but one needs to process things at his/her own pace. Frederick had also verbalized his anxieties that I would find his sexual abilities disappointing, and unfortunately this fear came to fruition. 

We had been dating for such a long time without having sex that I had kind of gotten comfortable without having to worry about it. I got used to being able to eat whatever I wanted and not have to douche every time we saw each other in an attempt to be perpetually prepared for anal sex. It was nice not to have this constant anxiety about when we were going to have sex or when he would be ready to have sex, so that when he was finally ready to have sex I was complacent to continue with the status quo. I think it was this waiting period that began his descent into the "friend zone" and future circumstances would only do more to further him to this destination. 

I mean I don't think I'm all that sexy, so I'm not sure how much room I have to complain, but he was probably the equivalent of Tommy Pickles from Rugrats on the sexometer. He had this way of perpetually self-doubting everything he did, like he always needed assurance from another party before making even trivial decisions. Self-doubt, as far as I'm concerned, is one of the least sexy traits on the planet and he oozed it. I understand that confidence isn't something that we are born with and insecurities are common, trust me I have tons, but finding self-worth and insight are part of being an adult. It is an intrinsic part of our journey into productive human beings, and I found it difficult to believe that someone who was so seemingly well-adjusted could have so little of it. A week after we broke up we met up, a drunken mistake on my part, and he gleefully proclaimed that he was cured of his doubtful trappings and was some majestically evolved creature. As a trained mental health professional I assured him that these misguided revelations were not only impossible, as the human condition is not capable of transforming so quickly, but also a dangerous miscalculation that once realized could be harmful. Of course I was drunk and intermittently balling about Hillary Clinton's demise, so it was nowhere near this eloquent, but you get the idea.

The other side of the sexual coin is me. I, for whatever reason, have what has actually been called by former lovers an "insatiable" sex drive. But as the sexless months wore on my sex drive changed from a flood to a stream to a leaky faucet. And for a while I was content in the tranquility of it (Sometimes it gets so bad that I literally cannot sit at a restaurant without eye-fucking every attractive guy, sometimes even woman, that enters the room. It can make even eating a meal exhausting.). Eventually, my lack of a sex drive made me unhappy. Without my sex drive I was really no longer me and I missed sex and I missed wanting sex and I missed having good sex, and I don't mean to say that some of the things we did were not good because Frederick was very dexterous, but there was never any passion. Even when we kissed it all just felt contrived. He lips almost seemed like two slugs squirming along my lips. There was never any determination or assertiveness in it. When we broke up I had some very honest things to tell him and I thought with all sincerity that he should go out and have some sex. I wholeheartedly believe that one should experience as much of the sexual realm as possible, obviously within certain personal limits. He often said that he did not know who he was as a sexual being and it really showed. It didn't even seem that he was all that interested in trying to be present with his sexuality. When I ended things he kept saying that I never allowed him to show me his sexual side, and perhaps I didn't but by the time he had gotten around to feeling comfortable showing me I was long gone. It takes a lot to keep me interested and compelled, and the waiting period wasn't suspenseful enough to keep me engaged. At the age of 30 I was not willing to date someone who needed sexually training wheels and unfortunately, at the age of 32 I don't think he should have needed them either.   

And now for the main event, the night that we actually attempted the deed. Maybe part of the problem was that I had been planning it. I had set a date in my mind that we were going to "do it." I think that I had built up so many expectations that the only way to successfully deal with my anxiety was to set a plan. So the day came and I made sure to do all my anal prep. I had determined that I would start out riding him to lessen his fears of inexperience. This way I would do most of the work and he could literally just enjoy the ride. However, I did not get an enjoyer, I got a bull. After insertion it became this tug of war where he was constantly bucking me with little to no cognizance of my rhythm. I attempted to anchor his legs with my arms, but he only fought harder. It was as though he had no knowledge of how cowgirl worked. Rhythms have to be in sync or he should have just laid there. It was so uncomfortable that I just had to get off, and not in the good way. 

Maybe we should have had more of a discussion about it. The majority of my friends thought that I should have given him another go in another position, but I think after this experience it just wasn't fixable. I have had enough sex to trust my gut and my gut would not allow me to desire him anymore. I think I may have held on for too long after this hoping that something would change that I would see him in a different light, but I was most likely diluting myself because I did not want to face the inevitable. At this point our lives had begun to entwine and I liked "our" life. I really loved some of his friends and I enjoyed having someone to spend my weekends with, eat Chinese food with, and watch my/our favorite shows with. But in the end common interests were not enough to keep us together. Desire and passion were missing, and they are central tenants of a romantic relationship. Without them we were basically just two very intimate friends. 

We now text fairly regularly, and I fear that this premature, or what I view as premature, continuing of bonds will lead to further harm. I'm that person that believes in a good amount of space after a break so we can stand back and know what we want and how we feel about the other person with romantic feelings aside, and I don't know that he is able to do that at this point. Who knows maybe I am not able to either. Alas, only times will tell.