Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Trying to stay present in my desires outside of the formulas I've come to expect

I hate that awkward moment of trying to find someone I'm not sure I'll recognize, so I'm glad Randy's coming over my house. I'll definitely recognize him at my front door. Randy's the guy I met at Blow Buddies, I mean I sucked his dick and then I found him and we chatted and he'd read Pulling Taffy, and then we talked a few more times over the phone and it was sexy and playful and deep and now he's here, see I thought he was taller than me but he's maybe a bit shorter, a cute hint of a pompadour in the front of his hair and big brown eyes and slightly chapped lips, we hug and kiss hello.

Even though it's 9 p.m., I haven't been out of the house, so we go for a walk – it’s cold and the streets are abandoned since it’s that exciting Christian holiday and we walk up to Polk Street where Randy says he had a silly job once, but he won't say where exactly, my guess is the Gap but it's not the Gap it's somewhere else. I can't think of anywhere else on Polk Street that would be as silly as the Gap, so I don't try any more gases. Then we walk up Bush and once we get up the hill I can tell I've walked too far and I'll regret it but we go over to the apartment where Randy lived for six months when he first moved to San Francisco in 1997 -- it's got a hilarious lobby, redone in the ‘70s I'm guessing, with crazy cobalt and gold fancy bathroom-type little square tiling on the back walls, some kind of bronze-colored metal paneling on the ceiling like heating vents in star shapes that reflect the lighting and then on one side are all of these green pothos plants like the ones I have in my bathroom, inset in the floor like they're planted but they're actually still in plastic containers. But it all looks lovely like some dream where you're swimming laps in a fountain and it doesn't feel weird until you wake up.

Back at my house, it's time for me to eat so I say it's your turn to talk more. Actually, he asks questions and then I talk even more. Like why I stopped turning tricks. I give the short answer to that one, which still takes quite a while -- because after 12 years, I didn't know what my sexuality was anymore; because I was sick of pulling off masculine realness; because after 12 years it was hard to spend so much energy pleasing the exact people that all of my work is against; but especially because it got to hard to negotiate being in so much pain and trying to act like everything was uncomplicated at the same time.

Then Randy wants to know whether I think I'm feminine, I say what do you think? He’s kind of trying to answer but I don't want to make him uncomfortable, so I say I'm definitely a queen. It's funny because sexually I guess I'm kind of masculine, but sometimes I can't tell how much of that is from being a hooker for 12 years, plus learning the norms of masculinity-obsessed gay sexual cultures, and how much of it is something that's me without all of that and I wonder if I'll ever know. But then I realize I want to know what Randy thinks again, whether he was going to say that he thought I was feminine, but instead I ask him if he thinks he's feminine, and he says that sometimes he's confused that things haven’t gotten better, like when someone says faggot on the street. I know what he means. I tell him about that guy outside of the Nob Hill Theatre that one time, the one who said you're really a faggot and I started cruising I mean even so far as rubbing his neck because I really couldn't figure out what was going on, at one point he pulled the front of my fly because my pants were undone.

Oh, I forgot to mention that when Randy first arrives we’re sitting on the sofa, and he accidentally knocks over my box of sewing threads, and when I reach over him to pick them up he says you must have planted that. I do like reaching over him, kind of in a hug, and then playing around a few times like when he's sitting on the back of the other sofa and I push him onto his back and pull his legs up in the air and make grunting sounds -- I like this physicality, but I can't tell whether he does. I don't think he minds it, but I'm not sure if he likes it either.

Later I ask him to sit on my lap and then I'm biting his neck a little and I get kind of hard so I say so, can you feel it? He says he can't feel it, so I put his hand there, oh. He says is this what happens after you eat? I say is it too much -- then why don't we switch places -- and then I sit in his lap and that feels nice too and is that his dick also, but then my back starts to hurt because I'm falling off the sofa so we switch again. I'm rubbing the back of his sweatshirt and making windshield wipers sounds, I say do you like those sounds? He says yes, but I'm not convinced, so instead I put my arms around him and all of this feels sweet and silly, which is how I like it. I'm sliding my hands under his sweatshirt but he says they’re too cold so I leave them on top of his shirt until they feel warm and then I try all the way underneath but he says that doesn't feel good, this is getting to be too much, oh okay and I pull back and he says he has to go.

It's not all the sudden like that, he already said that he had to go, this is his bedtime, he has to get up early to go to work. We hug goodbye, twice -- the first time feels connected but the second time is more just me because we're at the door and I always like more hugs like closure. I say make sure you tell me about the backrooms in Brussels, because that's where he's going for New Year's, and he says I will -- I say make sure to tell me all the details. I like when he asks me sexual questions all the sudden, it makes sense because that's how we met.

Then he leaves and I crash, I guess this shouldn't be surprising but somehow it overwhelms me anyway. I'm thinking about how in public sexual environments everything is so much clearer but the possibilities are only in the moment, sometimes not even that. I just want someone to play with, that's what I want -- play -- but I'm worried I was pushing his boundaries, I mean I’m trying to stay present in my desires outside of the formulas I've come to expect -- but then I get scared that I'm an aggressor -- it's that space of not knowing, maybe I'll have to get used to it.


Nabil said...

it's so scary being present and doing things you want! i worry about pushing people and making them uncomfortable sometimes, too.

yay for hanging out with randy! was it a date?

i am lying on the couch in my mother's house in arlington virginia, tonight i had dinner with my first girlfriend-- the first person i ever kissed-- and my first boyfriend-- the first person who ever called me his boyfriend. life is complicated. she said that i seem embodied tho-- i was surprised to hear that, i still think of myself as a disembodied brain, she is the one who has done aikido and spent all these years moving and learning physical playfulness and grace.

we talked about her parent who died last summer, it is so complicated the death of an abuser and mental illness and when the abuser suffers also.

if you were here i would sit in your lap and ask if you would sit in mine.



mattilda bernstein sycamore said...

Hi Nabil --

Lovely to hear from you all the way from Arlington -- when I did an event at George Mason, we went to this great vegan restaurant in Vienna, who knew?

Not a date I don't think -- just a fun time to hang out -- I'm not sure how I feel about dates anyway...

And yes, the death of an abusive parent, of course I know that one well...

See you in the new year, as they say...

Love --