*squeak*
The 'busy' motive doesn't completely cut it, of course. Somewhere along the way, the Closet lost its penchant for honesty: honest fear, honest excitement, honest trepidation, honest lust. Instead, I fell into the trap so many bloggers who get too conscious of their readership do, and tried to project the 'happy' face: devoid of fear, trepidation, excessive excitement, and (it must be said) lust. In an online conversation, Satori sighed and said, "No offense, but it's usually you under-30 somethings who go around starry-eyed with simplistic views of love and sex and matrimony." That's not to say that he's not a believer in all of the above himself - but perhaps he would define a more nuanced role for himself. And I've been doing the same for myself, I suppose. In the shadows. Away from the Closet, because somehow even that isn't very closed these days - and of course, that's all my doing, so no, I'm not really complaining or anything. I suppose I've been trying to deal with the fact that I'm all happy and domesticated, but still check-mark all of the above: fear, trepidation, excessive excitement and (again, it must be said) lust.
I'm a sucker for that Lust. *grin*
Lust for that cute gay academic with who I went dancing in San Diego one night after the conference, yakked 19 to the dozen about Obama, gay politics, doctoral programs and other scandalous tidbits that would make any self-respecting gay boy blush - and you could tell by the progressive ying around the two of us as the night went on and the conversation grew more... intense. A couple of drinks, some pretty sexy dancing, and a lovely lingering kiss before I said goodnight and disappeared a la Cinderella - only much later than midnight! *sigh*
Lust for that other cute young man I flirt with online, a senior at the university who grins o-so coquetishly at the camera with his shirt rolled up to his armpits to show off his fabulous abs! Surprise, surprise, he's actually intelligent, well-read, funny, and gets my craziness.
OK, and yes, I'll admit it: lust for that huge hunk of a Latino who doesn't get any jokes what-so-ever, probably doesn't even care (but then he doesn't have to, with a sculpted body like his!), and is simply in the mood for a fcuk. I'm not sure how long I can keep stringing him along with sleazy online sex-chats, instead of actually delivering the goods... but, I figure, as long as I can, that's good enough for me! *grin*
It feels terribly invigorating to admit to my lust here. I don't do guilt very well, I'm afraid. To tell the truth, I don't do guilt very often, either. :) But when I do, it's usually those quiet-and-alone moments lying in bed, followed by anxious soul-searching that lasts for a few minutes till a friend pours a bucket of cold reason on me. I'm not perfect. And I'm not asexual. (SO not asexual!) And just because I'm not a singleton anymore doesn't mean that I should stop feeling whatever I feel - fear, trepidation, lust, and all of the rest. I used to think that "growing up" meant you stop being naughty and become boring. I tried that for awhile. It made me cringe at the thought of coming here and admitting who/what I was and did. Instead, I realized that growing up means to reconcile both your stable relationship status and your naughty streak. There's a reason my guy is with me - he admits he loves me being crazy. And not being honest means stifling the craziness.
So where does that leave me, and the Closet? To put it fancily: in an enlightened state of being. *grin* I"m going to try to "grow up" from an under-30 something dimbulb to an under-30 something adult. Did I like my kiss in San Diego? Loved it. Do I enjoy flirting with the cute frat boy? Most definitely. Will I fantasize about hunky Latino Lover in bed? Umm...! Am I still in love with Irish Coffee? More than ever. :)
Does that make everything very complicated? As the song goes, I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose-garden! :)
No comments:
Post a Comment