August 16, 2011 § 11 Comments
Okay, this may get disgustingly sappy. I apologize if I make you puke. Seriously.
I was thinking the other day of things that make C different than other guys I’ve dated. I mean beyond the physical. Don’t get me wrong, I freaking LOVE sex. But it’s… well sex. It can mean something, and then it can just be a means to get off. Depends on what you want it to mean really. And the bottom line is no matter what words or feelings you attribute it to it is a physical, mutually satisfying (hopefully) thing. And if you don’t get it from someone else, well, you have other means at your disposal. In short sex is a physical thing that we attribute value to, or not. Funny how we bone, fuck and screw until the one we are serious about and then suddenly the language switches. Not for this boy. Let’s call a spade a shovel, fuck tact, If I use the words “make love” I really will puke. But intimacy can take different forms.
Last night it was hot (the weather that is). C was tired. I was tired. I’m stretched out so not one inch of skin is touching. Too fucking hot. I kicked Nelson out of the bedroom earlier. Nothing worse that cat fur sticking to you. Ewww. Nelson has an instant draw to anyone in the bed, he thinks cuddle time. We’ve tried keeping him out of the bedroom altogether, but shutting the door means no airflow in the apartment. So we just kick him out at night, usually requiring digging under the bed on hands and knees, C on one side me on the other as Nelson stubbornly sits right smack dab in the middle so the only way to get him out is to actually crawl under the bed, at such time in a flurry of cat fur and attitude he just leaves, leaving me to wriggle out from amongst the dust bunnies and cat fur tumbleweeds. Anyway, I digress.
So after a cool shower I am stretched out, Chris is laying there. Then he does it. He puts his and on my lower back and just rubs his thumb there. First time he did that I thought he was trying to test the waters, it was about 45 degrees and I was thinking “You’ve gotta be fucking shitting me,” because NO fucking way was sex gonna happen. But no. It’s just something he started doing. It’s something that is just weirdly him. A little piece of intimacy I find I wait for now. If it doesn’t happen I know something is going on. Usually just stupid shit that he will eventually spill with very little prodding, then just say “It doesn’t matter.” And it usually doesn’t once it’s out, and his hand is back. I don’t know if it is just that I bother to ask that makes him feel better, it’s not like he gets upset or unloads huge angsty monologues. “What’s up with you?”
“Might be layoffs next week.”
“No,just for a couple weeks. Fuck it, It doesn’t matter.” Then that’s it. Nothing solved, but suddenly it’s okay. His hand is on my back and he’s asleep in minutes.