Sunday, June 20, 2010

Bounce You On the Lap of Science (Move it to the beats of silence)

Part 1.

As it was our week to celebrate a year together, J. and I did it up in style. The gods of work schedules prevailed upon Fate to allow for a series of free nights, and made good use of them. Thursday we had a lovely evening in the park listening to some Malian blues as the sunset behind the skyline, and then we were off to the tattoo parlor to get J.'s sister a belated birthday present, where we decided we would get some tattoos ourselves. It will be fun, I think, to finally get my dark horse. A gay tramp stamp, I suppose, but I love the look of them on the twinky pornstars I jerk off to so regularly.

Last night we saw Fucking Men (playing at the Bailiwick) and loved it. A very well-structured script which moved quickly but allowed the silhouettes of the characters to stand in marked relief given how briefly they unfolded. (What it true of love may not be true of art: the swift blossoming, though it withers almost instantly, still imprints an intensity of truth.) Then it was off to dinner, which was a quick bicycle ride away (actually 7 miles away...w/e), where we indulged in some fine dining. J. was in the perfect throws of youthful exuberance and, as it always is, it was infectious. We drank and ate and enjoyed one another's undoubtedly obvious and silly grins. Our server said we were "adorable." (The proper adjective for love.)

Then it was up to dance, dance, dance our pants off. Something strange happened: J., up on the little stage, begins to dance with another boy. And I watch at first, and he watches me, and I smile at him, and I wink, and then I turn away. They danced together until the boy ran off with his friends. Unsure of my ease the evening was a bit touch and go, but I was fine: unbothered.

Perhaps it is the drugs, perhaps that I am preparing to quit smoking tomorrow, or perhaps that I was able to tell him I knew he lied to me without my voice-cracking, and maybe it was that though I didn't need to prove my assertion he still didn't push it; and maybe it was because I said, "I don't care" (which was a lie at the time); or maybe because I'd just seen a play about the silly pretensions of monogamy... It doesn't really matter why, but I was actually unbothered. I'd seen what was so scary when it was just a fear: him enjoying himself in the arms of another person, him touching another person. I didn't feel that emptying in my stomach which he once gave me occasion to feel; I didn't curl my lips into a sneer, I smiled.

And perhaps that he was bashful about it all afterward, needed to reassure me, and be reassured by me. And perhaps that he came when I blew him, and then thanked me for my tenderness when we fucked. And perhaps, too, because I actually trust him. Finally. Again, for the first time.

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