Re: my last entry. That little dating storm has quelled into a minor shower with only occasional electric activity. After the first night when he called me an English rose, and the next week where he told me he was thinking we would be friends, I thought things would probably just die out with Noah. I pretty much assumed we would probably not actually talk again, but I was wrong. He emailed me a few days later and asked me if I would go out for sushi with him.
The very same night, Carrie and I reunited after six months of not finding time to hang out together. We went to a little bar across from my apartment, fully intending only to hang out for a few hours, catch up, and then go home. In fact neither of us had more than $20 on us. We thought it would be an early evening. We were wrong.
We sat next to a guy who I have seen walking his dog at 3 a.m. in my neighborhood and he started to buy us drinks. Carrie was telling me to go for it, she wanted me to be interested in this guy since she has a boyfriend of a year and a half and needed to live vicariously. But when I got up to go to the bathroom, I came back and she was all over him. So I sat alone, ignored and unloved, and made the colossal mistake of making polite conversation with the fat, pock-marked Mexican guy sitting next to me. Within minutes he had invited me to eat dinner with his family. Within the hour he had somehow found a way to rub his hard-on on my leg. It had something to do with "How Deep is Your Love" and cutting in on me and the bar owner, who was trying to teach me to dance without leading. It was fucking disgusting, he said in a thick mexican drawl, "Yoo are turning mee on sooo much." I stormed away in disgust and practically ran to the end of the bar where there were some empty seats.
There was Yamil. I didn't see him at first, but he started to talk to me, he saved me from Pancho when he tried to come over and kiss me a few minutes later, he bought me a drink, had a great sarcastic tone in his voice, and anyway what happened was he asked me if he could take me out, I said yes, I gave him my number and we left. Much to Pancho's dismay, who called me a skank.
Anyway, by the next day (even though we had plans for sushi) I think I had pretty much given up hope on anything happening with Noah, who is so likable, I find it hard to describe. He is the sort of person whose personality could really make up for his looks, were he ugly, which he isn't. He exudes a sort of peaceful kindness that I can only aspire to; that's all I can say about it. When Noah found out my birthday was the next day he told me he wanted to take me out for dinner, and so after completely freaking out over his 41st floor incredible view of the city from his high rise we went. I ate sushi and it was so good. And Noah's company was so good.
We went back to his apartment and drank a bottle of wine, but all I could think about in my mind was that he had told me something about just being friends. I tried to leave at one point but he told me I didn't have to go. It was so confusing. Many things happened that night that fall squarely outside the friends category... the most memorable of which, for me, was when I was sitting looking out at the city through a wall made entirely of glass, and Noah came up behind me and engulfed me in this full body hug with his arms and legs around me. We just sat that way for a while, and it was so nice... I can't remember feeling so completely cared for.
But I'm not stupid enough to assume it was anything other than the wine, or the surrounding activities, or the moment. Which is really sad. We emailed a few times this week, and tried to make plans for last night, but didn't end up being able to overlap our schedules since mine is so fucking gay and busy right now.
This could all be so simple. Even the fact that I e-mailed Noah on Thursday night to tell him that I think he is awesome and he hasn't replied would only move me from extremely optimistic to moderately optimistic, if it were not for Yamil.
Okay. Yamil called me on Wednesday. This is where my mental illness comes into play. My thought process: Yamil is calling... I definitely like him... but I definitely want to date Noah... but Noah's not really a sure thing... and I don't have anything to do Friday night... so why not go out with Yamil, as cheap emotional insurance/another option?
So I did.
He took me to a nice Italian restaurant where we overindulged mightily in seafood. It was excellent, an Yamil was pretty excellent as well. I should mention that Yamil is 35 and this big, super-sexy Arab/Chilean guy... Jesus. H. Christ. Anyway, Yamil and I, as strange as it seems even to me, seem to be cut from the same cloth. We have the exact same type of sarcasm, and it is so nice to get someone like that. It was a situation where he knows all the games I play because he plays them too. It's a relief to be on the receiving end sometimes, with your eyes wide open, I think. He kept talking about where he was going to take me on our next date, and saying things like "You'll learn that about me." That shit is so overplayed, and I don't know why guys do that, and I don't know why I still allow it to make me feel good when they do.
Anyway, Yamil would would feed me crab legs and purposely get butter on my lip so he could reach over and wipe it off, and at the bar we went to after dinner, he ordered a chocolate martini for me so he could kiss me when I got cocoa on my chin. That sort of thing. Which is fun, as long as you want to feel like you're in a grade B romance movie, which I occasionally do and definitely did last night. I knew he'd be like that, and it definitely had an unattractive playboy element to it. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it was pretty clear that Yamil is someone who I, personally, would have a hard time ever actually dating. I could never trust him. But he kept kissing me- he kissed me when I came down from my apartment, and we kept kissing at all the stoplights, and in the bar, and when he took me back here and when he (eek) came back up to my apartment after. Don't worry. He tried to get me into my bed but I wouldn't do it.
I sort of wish I had never gotten involved in that situation at all, because here's the thing: the whole thing is cheap. The way we met, sitting at a bar at 1:45 a.m. on a Thursday night. The fact that he asked me my sexual fantasies after dating me for, oh, two hours (my response: "My current sexual fantasy is to be having sex every day. With the same person." True, so true. He told me that was the coolest response he had ever heard to that question). The fact that he tried so hard to get me to sleep with him, and just totally insulted my intelligence with these retarded ploys and the way he tried to talk me into it. I mean give me a fucking break. I'm only 24 but I'm 24 years old. I'm not completely retarded.
So, that was that. Yamil and I made out on my couch, and he sort of acted like a baby that he wasn't getting anywhere. After a while I sort of relented, I guess, not that I didn't want to, but guys who are aggressive like that tend to piss me off. He left and told me "definitely have to see you again," in this way that is so arrogant or cocky or alpha male or something that I wish I didn't find it sexy. But I did.
I guess I'll probably see him again.
Today, I feel ashamed of myself on a personal level. I mean... today I feel ashamed to myself. This stuff isn't want I want. I really like Noah and I don't really believe in dating more than one person at a time. I've been having this little war thinking about Noah today, thinking but we're not together... but we totally connected the other night... but he hasn't given me any indication he thinks anything is happening here... but I did... there's nothing wrong with dating someone else... etc. But whatever. I still feel like shit about it. So much so that I'm sort of hoping we don't talk again. I know Yamil will call again, call it a hunch, and I know I couldn't take him seriously.
So whatever.
It makes me sort of mad though, because Noah is someone... I guess the only thing I can say at this point is how easy it seems like it would be to take the El over there every day. I love easily, but he is sweet, and so disarming in a way I find hard to describe. All this made me realize why I fall in love: in a world where I have developed a seamless and deceptively strong guard, someone with whom it can just totally disappear is priceless and rare. I fall in love with people who let me be myself.
I guess I'm wondering now if I'm really ready to be with someone. The truth is that I don't know. The best feeling I've had in months, besides that bear hug with his body pressed against my back, was lying on my stomach on the floor in his totally empty apartment, looking out the window at all the city lights, with him lying there on his stomach, half beneath me, while I rubbed his back. It's those things that I want. Sex is played out. I miss touching someone in a familiar way and hearing contented, personal sighs. I fucking miss that.
© beotch at
10:19 a.m.
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