I’ve been flirting with this “bottom” south of San Francisco. It took 20 questions to discover that he was from Iraq. He skillfully evaded all of my questions with vague responses, I even asked if he was from Persia, hoping to give him a safe way out. Finally I just asked, “Are you from Iraq?” We seemed to hit it off quite well online, and then he called, leaving a message asking if I’d join him at the Lone Star for a drink. I called him back and told him that I’d love to meet him somewhere where we could talk and get to know each other, but that I’m not really a bar person. A week went by and he called again, asking me if I’d like to join him at the Watergarden, a gay bathhouse in San Jose. “We don’t have to do anything.” Again, I returned his call and left a message with the same response, “You know, I’m not really a bar or bathhouse kind of homosexual. I’m probably more like your mother. And I’d prefer to get to know your upper half before being exposed to your lower half.” Well, I didn’t hear back from him.
I’ve been revisiting Brideshead Revisited. In high school it made such a deep impression on me, Charles and Sebastian’s deep intimacy, Charles’ detachment and longing. Like the older Charles Ryder, returning to the scene of his young love… Christian Huygen called me up last week. “Guess where I am?” I haven’t seen Christian in about 11 years. We went out, briefly, 15 years ago, but I wasn’t ready to be with him, and he had his own complications. We spent several days together last week, and it was like the intervening years hadn’t intervened at all, like we were continuing a conversation from 15 years ago. We both recognized it, like what drew us together in the first place was still firmly there, and all the successes and failures and heartaches of the decade and a half that had passed between us meant nothing.
I’m finding San Francisco bereft of men interested in intellectual or romantic life. It’s like being in the Children of Men. “It’s 2007. The last homosexual looking for a relationship died 10 years ago…” Seeing the brilliant and charming Christian jolted me a bit, too. There is hope, but I’m not finding it here. I have found one dreamy man in Denver that I just adore, but he lives in Denver. I would marry my Minneapolis musician this instant if he didn’t live in Minneapolis or already have a lover. Of my cyber boyfriends, my Philly psychologist is coming to visit in May, my Birmingham lawyer in June, and my italian art teacher in London in July. But I find no comfort in the prospect of these brief–if wildly fantastic and even sexually exhalting–encounters. I need a husband and I need one quick.
I even told my furry ward that I needed to be away from him for a while. Well, okay–AGAIN–but this time I mean it! There must be some term for falling in love with your patient. Or what happened to Patti Hearst. I need to be around mentally stable intellectually stimulating chubby hairy men. Should I start a reading group?
Sigh.
There’s a Guy in this old town
I’m tellin’ you a fact
He measures five feet up and down
And five feet front and back
He’s a Roly Poly Baby
Pleasin’ as they come
He’s a Roly Poly Baby
A Ton of Fun