Monthly Archives: October 2009

In the half-light, I could see the smirk

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In_the_half_light_I_could_see_the_smirk

He tried, on the internet, to find a film in original language, bless him, even though I tried to explain that they did not have original language films on a Sunday any more.  They used to do it at the Odeon, near the Duomo but stopped it a year or so ago.  I guess not enough people went.

But he tried anyway and for that I was happy.  He had said he wanted to see the new film Julie & Julia, with Meryl Streep.  I told him that we could go and watch it anyway, even if it was in Italian.  In fact, I insisted we did as I knew how much he wanted it.  My Italian is improving, at least my understanding of it, mainly because I have less choice now and, although we speak almost exclusively English when we’re together, when we meet his friends or, in general, Italian is spoken much more often in my hearing.

We had had a rather lazy Sunday morning, including a quick trip downstairs to the nice café for breakfast followed by a quick trip round the supermarket for some essential items (including wine).  The clocks had gone back and so, effectively we had the extra hour – although, after so many days/nights like this, I was completely shattered and needed about 3 extra hours!

He was going to lunch with friends and then to see a flat that was, apparently, rather small but had a terrace and was on the top floor and, much more importantly for him, was 3 minutes from work.  This is not so important right now but the first three months of the year it is, as he works from about 8 a.m. until 10 p.m. every day.

I went home to spend some time with the dogs.  They are being a little neglected right this moment and so, when I’m home we go for longer walks and I play with them more.  Still, this week I have to spend some nights at home, which fact I still have to tell him.

We agreed that we would meet at the cinema. Before that I googled the film and got the synopsis and watched clips so that I would have a good idea of what the film was about.  It is more difficult to understand if I don’t really know the subject.  It looked a funny film.  I Skyped FfI who explained that Julia Childs was very famous in America – a sort of Fanny Craddock, I suppose.

So, when we met, I already had a good idea and could remember some of the clips.  We had quite good seats.  I did follow quite a lot of the film.  There were a couple of bits where I really didn’t quite get it but not so many and there was only one bit that I had to check with him afterwards – although I had got the gist of it after all.

Good film.  One of those feel-good films and one that I now want to see in English, to get all the nuances.  But I do think that he liked the fact that I went with him.  I hope so.  It’s all part of the strengthening of the relationship.  He also wants to see it in English.  At the end of all this, he’s speaking in English to me partly because he wants to improve his pronunciation and general command of English (although he is already very, very good).

On that subject (but see the bit about the bar, below), we went out on Saturday night to an Indian restaurant (The Dhaba, Via Castaldi 22) which has to be the best Indian restaurant I have been to in Milan.  Superb food and excellent service although, for those of you from the UK, a little expensive.

Whilst we were chatting over dinner I found that he doesn’t eat red meat – or, at least, not unless it’s minced up (ragù (Bolognese sauce to my English readers), sausages, etc.).  This would be a bit of a problem with Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding then?  Hmmm.  That’s a bit like really loving ice-cream and being told that you may never be able to have it again!  But he did tell me some funny stories of when he was a kid.  He still makes me laugh and I really like that.

Afterwards we went to a bar nearby (the corner of Castaldi and Via Settala) where a friend of a friend was having some special evening.  AfL, the friend, was there with her friend M.  AfL is married to an English guy and has lived in London for 5 years.  F asks me, when they have gone to the bar for another drink, if his pronunciation of English is better than AfL.  I tell him yes, of course.  It does help that it is the truth but he is immensely pleased with this.  He tries so hard to talk with a more English accent, bless.

I leave them to go and do the dogs.  I text him when I am almost back home and he tells me he is coming to pick me up in a taxi (as we had agreed).  In the taxi, on the way back to his place, he tells me that AfL (who will be staying with him next weekend) thought I was really nice.  This is good.  One should always be the best of friends with the friends and colleagues of one’s partner – certainly at the beginning.  You have all seen ‘Hitch’ haven’t you?  And the being friends with the friends is pretty crucial.  Luckily, all the ones I have met so far have been lovely so it’s not so difficult.  Anyway, I can be the perfect English gentleman with all the charm switched on, when I want.

Sunday night, after the film (we went to the 5.30 showing), we went to Al Basilico Fresco restaurant (Viale Abruzzi 21) where we had pizzas.  Nice place.  The pizzas are thin (like Pizza OK) but not so large.  Very nice and not so expensive.  I like that after the meal they give you a sorbet free of charge.  It is nicer than having a limoncello or mirto or something.

During the meal we were talking about films and cartoon films (which we both like).  His favourite was Ice Age, which I’ve never seen.  When we got home, he put the film on the DVD in the bedroom and we watched it.  It was good.  After the film was over, apparently, I went to sleep immediately!  And to be honest, I am very, very tired.  I’m almost looking forward to him going away for a night this week!  I need sleep.  Also, next weekend, it is very unlikely that we shall be together as, not only does he have AfL staying with him but also a dog, for whom he is dog sitting!  A dog who sleeps on the bed!

And, this morning, at about 6.15, just before the alarm went off, he again said that I should remember that he is like porcelain in the morning, but now I’m thinking that this may not be quite so true as, in the half-light, I could see the smirk on his face.

I am like porcelain

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Of course, I don’t really think about it. The background for my computer is a picture of F, taken 20 years ago but hardly different from now. Or maybe I really should take my rose-coloured spectacles off?

We had couple of teleconference meetings. Pietro came to me after the first one. As I closed some application, for a moment, F’s face, full on the screen, came up. Apparently A, who was with us at the meeting, asked Pietro who it was as they walked back to their office.  I’m not sure why he didn’t ask me directly.  People are funny.

I’m pretty sure that A wouldn’t have a problem. And, anyway, as time goes on, just like when I was in my early 20s, I get less bothered about it all. I mean, it doesn’t change who I am and people either like me or not, as they wish, unless, like recently, I fuck it up, but I can’t do much about that after the event. Anyway, Pietro thought he looked nice as did B who asked me to send a photo. I explained it was 20 years old but that he really did look much the same.

_________________________________________________________

Breakfast was at the nice café. I offered that, if he would like, he could come with me to the tailors and then walk the dogs and then lunch. He thought about it but decided not.

We would meet later. Maybe for lunch, maybe not.

But, later for certain.

I had arrived just before 1 in the morning. We were both tired. This morning I awoke about 8. He said good morning to me and then that he needed more sleep. I got up and had a cigarette and then went back to bed. I dozed for a bit but the problem of being close to him is that I want to touch him and stroke him and be closer to him, even if our bodies are touching.

This is true even as we had breakfast at the bar. It’s as if by touching him I can be closer still. It doesn’t matter how much; it has to be all the time. The urge to touch him has to be kept in check. About 9 he woke up. I started to touch him, to stroke him and then he made me laugh, even if what he means is that it has to be slow, to take time, to allow him to awake properly.

“Don’t touch me. I am like porcelain in the morning”

There because one is obliged to be?

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“I’m going to dinner tomorrow night with friends”, he says.  I reply that that’s OK.  “I would want you to come but they are my friends and it’s not right to arrive with someone else without explanation first”, he adds.

Again, I tell him that there really is no need to explain everything.  I am cool about it.  As I point out, it will enable me to go to some of my friends (and I have been invited to dinner).

Later, whilst on our second beer, he asks me if I want to come over to his place later.  Of course!, I tell him.  He asks why I don’t suggest these things. This is much more difficult to explain.  I say that I don’t because I would be over all the time; any time he says but that I want it to be at his pace and I am trying to hold back from being too intense, trying to allow him to go at the speed he wants.

That’s not the whole truth though and I know that as I say it and it makes me feel just a little bit guilty.  It’s ‘the game’.  I wonder if, I am really such a bastard as I think I am or may be?  I wonder if I am just as bad as A says I am?

He says that my overriding thing is to get what I want; everything I do is geared towards my needs and my feelings.  And, he’s right, of course.  Oh yes, I can dress it up in various ways but in the end, he is telling it like it is.  He couldn’t quite believe what I was doing in the first place – the search, the amount of effort I was putting into it but dismissing some as just not good enough based on the criteria I had set – just like I do when searching for a new place to live

But, back to the point, which was why don’t I suggest things.  I don’t because it’s important that he feels he wants me, perhaps, more than I want him.  It’s not true as I want him much more, of course, but it means that he cannot be sure, I suppose, even if I have said that I would be there whenever he calls.  And, I suppose, it makes him feel a bit guilty too and, therefore, perhaps, rush into something much faster than he would do normally.  Which is, of course, exactly what I want, not what he wants.

It’s like everything I say is calculated and premeditated.  And, as I think about that, I know it is true.  Even spontaneous things are said/done with some care; some thought as to the implications further down the line.

I had written that I blame this on my father but that’s not really true either.  It’s just me.  It’s a side of me that I don’t really like but seem powerless to stop.

Of course, it’s also one of the ‘doubts’ that invade my sub-conscious when I’m not with him.  I am pushing by ‘not pushing’ and this is wrong and not a good basis to start with.  But, on the other hand, he’s old enough to make his own decisions and, as he has says, he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to be.

But, on the other hand, is he where he wants to be or is he there because he feels he’s obliged to be?

All the time in the world – and no time at all

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The metro is not full – at least not at the back end of the train.  I look at the people but don’t really see them.  They are not the ‘city types’ that will crowd the train later, with their suits, briefcases and shoes; perfectly styled hair and, because we are in Italy, sporting the latest style of sunglasses – even if the weather is dreadful and gloomy.

No, these are the people who work at more manual labour or in bars or cafés or restaurants.  But neither are they smartly dressed – but then, why would they be.  I, on the other hand, look like I’m just on my way for a night out, which, of course, when I dressed, I was.

It’s only three stops to my home – well, to the nearest metro stop to my home – and then a 10 minute walk to home.  The streets are fairly quiet.  Not as quiet as when I usually take the dogs out, since that’s a little earlier, but, still, quietish.

I ponder, it being so late, do I take the dogs out immediately or do I have coffee and shower first.  It starts to rain but not heavy rain (thank goodness) just that light, misty rain.  We don’t get that so often here, not like the UK.

I arrive home.  They are pleased to see me and I them.  They smell the smells of a strange place and seemingly can’t get enough of it.  Let’s be honest, these jeans spent most of the time on a chair and not with me inside them!

I take them out after preparing the moka for coffee.  I was offered coffee before I left but decided it would be better to come home and sort the dogs out, so, declined.  We do a shorter walk.  I am already late.  Well, I say late.  Of course, I will be in at the time I used to be….which also means that I will leave later.  But, right now, that’s OK.  Later is later and not now and nothing can change the way I feel or the humour I am in.

It had been busy last night.  Many emails to answer.  V wants to borrow the car to pick someone up from the airport.  He was supposed to go to Berlin but decided he couldn’t afford it.  Instead he wants to pick his friend up from the airport.  We arrange that he should call me on Sunday and we shall make arrangements.  He asks after F and explains a little about him and Ig.  He’s not ready for a relationship right now and so it is not going anywhere.  I say he is starting to sound like an Italian.

Of course, that’s not really fair.  Most people are like this.  Not me.  For me too much thinking is involved.  You either have the Karl Spark or not.  If not then there is nothing, if there is then that is all.  Perhaps it is me that is totally at odds with the world?  Perhaps the rest of the world is right and I am wrong?  Still, it will change nothing.

FfI wanted me to call her.  She calls my phone and immediately hangs up.  The signal that I should call her back.  I Skype her.  She answers and says she is upstairs and that I should call her on her mobile.  I say it’s too expensive for me to call her back.  She thought it was a company mobile!  Some people!!  I say, I shall speak to her tomorrow, unless, as partially planned, I go to F’s for the night.

I start a conversation with another friend.  He’s a new friend, from Saturday but I really like him.  We have funny email exchanges.  He makes me laugh. I shall call him NfM.  We converse by email, Facebook and Skype, at one point, all at the same time.  Which makes for interesting discussions.

He wanted to look at my blog.  Given Lola’s comments in the post below, I am slightly nervous about it.  I mention him and think that, perhaps, he won’t fully understand the way this works.  That anything I say here are only my thoughts at the time.  And may not even be all the thoughts but some partial thought, some nuance.  I briefly contemplate that I don’t give it to him but that seems stupid.  If I am frightened of what I say then I shouldn’t be doing this, this blogging.  I give him the link and try to explain (badly) that if he reads something about himself it’s not meant in a bad way.  After all I do like him.  You may ask what the hell am I doing putting it down here if he’s going to read it.  Well, first of all, I doubt that he will (it’s a little bit wordy for him) and secondly it helps to explain the problem that Lola mentioned.

So, he reads some stuff and finds himself mentioned and I feel bad that it doesn’t say wonderful things about him ‘cos I really do like him.

F suddenly arrives home.  He is earlier than I expected.  I thought he would be much later.  I am happy he is home though.  It means he can tidy his place and then he can be ready for tomorrow, when I may go round, if he wants it.

I don’t know this at the time but he reads my emails with the links to songs that I love or ones that explain me or ones that are for him.

We chat over Facebook for a bit.

I’m still chatting with NfM.  F calls.  He asks me what I am dong.  I say that I shall go and take the dogs out and then have a glass of wine.  He asks if I want to come over for a glass of wine there.  I don’t know why he asked.  It is totally unexpected but so what I want to do.  I say yes, I would love to.  He says to give him 10 minutes for a shower and stuff and the place is a mess.  It makes me laugh.  I tell him that I am sure his place will look immaculate to me.  I tell him that I will be about half an hour or so as I need to take the dogs out and have a shower myself – without adding that, obviously, I need to be dressed well, smell good, etc., etc.

It is, in a way, a little unfortunate as the conversation with NfM was good and now I have to blow him off quickly.  I don’t want to do this as, I feel, we are building quite a good rapport but this is life.  I tell NfM that I must go.  The next day he complains that I was rude and didn’t say goodnight.  He’s right.  It makes me feel bad.  Especially as now, he may have the wrong impression of me.  Relationships – a bloody minefield.  I haven’t had time to explain to him yet, for him to know who I am.  Damn.

Still the dogs go out.  It’s fast as it is raining so hard and they don’t like the rain, so they hurry too.  I am hurrying for a different reason.

I am worried – ‘cos that’s the way I am.  I worry that my old problem will come back – tonight.  I don’t know why that is.  But I worry anyway.  It seems that is what I do – worry.  It’s all in my head anyway, I know, but then the problem is in my head, I know that too.  And I worry that the worry of it will cause the problem.  Bah

I take a shower and leave.  It’s a 10 minute walk to the Metro and three stops away.  About 20 minutes in all.  I notice nothing, not even the rain.

I arrive and phone as I go through the gate, following some other people.  I arrive at his door as he opens it.  It is raining so much that I don’t do what I had thought in my head  I walk up the stairs, him following.  At the top of the stairs we stop and kiss.  It’s a needy kiss from both of us.  And long and deep.  He misses me, for which I am happy; I miss him too.

He says, as we sit on the chair with wine, we can be a couple, if you want.  I want to reply that, for me, we already are.  I want to say that, in spite of what he might say, I know that we are in his head too, even if he is scared that I will just disappear like all the rest.  He doesn’t need to worry.  I’m not going anywhere.  Instead I say that I would and that it would make me very happy.

I say that, if we are a couple, he will have to meet my friends.  He tells me that he cannot because it will be too embarrassing.  He will meet them only as a friend of mine.  This is a little ‘lost in translation’.  He really means that he will feel pressurised by this and, therefore, can only handle it if he is introduced as a friend.  Hmmm.  This means I have to explain this to my friends – but I know they will understand.  Even the newer ones have begun to understand me well enough.

I need not have worried about needing the miracles.  I have one but, really, it is not necessary.  Even during the night, I wake up, from time to time, and hug him or stroke him, even for a few moments before drifting back to sleep.  I think I hear him say that he loves me….but in his sleep.  Perhaps this is someone else, or perhaps this is me.  But I think it is me anyway.  It is enough.  We have all the time in the world – and no time at all.  That’s the bit he doesn’t get but I’m working on it.

He needs to feel secure with me, to trust me, to know that if I say something, it is true.

The alarm goes off at 6.30.  I want to hold him and kiss him and hug him.  He gets up because he has to let me out.  He will go back to sleep until 8.  That’s OK.  He needs his sleep and he needs to feel secure that I will not disrupt his routine too much and not treat him like shit and not take advantage of him.  I won’t but he does not actually know that…..yet!

I leave and catch the metro.

We have all the time in the world – and no time at all.

I wouldn’t want him any different

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Baby I
Want to be
In your loving arms again
Feel you near to me
Baby, ah can’t you see
So much
Romance in the air
And all I really want
Is to be with you

Baby I – Joan Armatrading

We speak several times a day.  And text.  It’s what one does.  Like everything else, it fades in time, the messages only becoming those that explain why you’re late or asking for help or so on.

I was asleep, needing more sleep than I’ve been getting.  He phones.  I knew he would.  He could tell he’d woken me but, as I explained, if I didn’t want him to phone, I would have texted and told him that.

He doesn’t know if everything will be finished today but really hopes so.  He is still talking about, maybe, me going over on Thursday night.  As well as Friday and Saturday?  He knows that I will come on whatever day(s)/night(s) he says.  We shall see.  I’m not certain about Thursday because it is work the next day – obviously, for me, that makes no bloody difference, although I could be in later on Friday…….it’s a kind of hope I have.

I’m sure it’s why Italians look older than they should – just not enough sleep – never having dinner until after 8.30 or 9 or, in some cases, after 9.30!  So never in bed before midnight.  Anyway, I’ve said this before.

I don’t know, quite, how I will manage the dogs.  But I will.  Maybe, leaving for a few hours or so will be good for us.  If this is to work anyway, then he has to understand the dogs although, with Dino, going round to his flat is a little, shall we say, precarious.

He tells me that S, his ex, left the flat and has gone back to the States.  He is happy, I can tell.  It means he can get everything back to the way he wants it and, maybe, also that now I can come round.

Of course, this thing that I do is like a game.  It’s an important game but there are rules.  I know, you may say about the fact that I should let myself go a bit, but I can’t.  Everything I do is leading up to the thing that I want – although, on the way, I give him the things that he wants.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m no ‘player’ but it’s the way I am.  Even things done on the spur of the moment are not really so.

So, it’s important that he knows that I will come when he calls – but then I don’t push that.  Now, it is up to him to tell me when.  In the meantime, even by phone, I must do everything I can to enable him to want Thursday.  Considering that he isn’t mother-tongue English, it seems to be working quite well.  Obviously, it would be better if we were together physically, since then I can use my hands which seem to have some sort of magic properties and, for which, I am very grateful.

Even when he says ‘I will see you on Friday night’, I just say something like ‘That would be nice’.  Don’t seem like you’re desperate – even if I may be :-)

This Englishness of holding back – stiff upper lip and all that, proves useful.  I am grateful that I am English even if I don’t want to live in the UK.

I had said, after Ily got out of the car and had entered her building, ‘I’m sorry but I couldn’t speak Italian with Ily there’.  He told me not to worry, that it was OK speaking English.  He didn’t say but it was the thought that counted.  However, I must/will speak more Italian with him – we’re in his country and he hasn’t picked me because I’m English, well, not exactly even if that was, almost, a criteria.

So, I guess Thursday night somewhat depends on whether he comes home tonight or not.  He says that he needs to tidy the place up.  Of course, I laughed because his version of untidy and mine will be so very different.  Still, I know he will want it to be perfect.  He told me he also wants to be ‘clean’.  I understand that too.  I should imagine he is always like that.  Let’s say that it would be interesting living with him but, maybe, we get to try it, sort of, this weekend.

Still, I wouldn’t want him any different.

One of ‘our’ things

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And if you want to be alone
Or someone to share a laugh
Whatever you want me to
All you got to do is ask

Willow – Joan Armatrading

I watched the other people.  Waiting, as we were, for loved ones or colleagues or friends or, maybe, someone to do with work (although that was less likely).  We all watched each other.  Checking to see if the person or persons being met were ‘special’.  Was there even a tinge of jealousy in that?

Nobody looked happy.  All solemn faces, solemnly watching each other but, obviously, pretending we weren’t.  Some standing, some sitting.  Some anxious – standing as close as they could to the exit doors where soon, the loved ones/friend/whoever would appear, bag in hand or trailing the bag behind them on wheels.

I arrived and the plane was due to land at any minute.  I went and sat down in my usual place, more or less.  My usual place, I say, since the same as last time (was it really as far back as August) when I went to pick up Best Mate.  I knew that it would be about half an hour and yet, with a slight feeling of stupidity, when the first tranche of people started coming through about five minutes later, I am scanning the people, just in case, you know?

The guy next to me, seemingly as miserable as all the rest – as me, in fact.  But, since I wasn’t miserable at all, it was just a thing, a thing we must all do, I guess.

I wondered how I would feel.  I wondered if I would be happy, genuinely happy, to see him at a distance, before we touched, before we kissed, before…before…..

I wondered if I would smile, I mean, really smile or, whether, since it has only been just over a week since I first met him for real, it would not be the same.  I am plagued by doubts and self-doubts.  It has always been like this, it’s not new.  It annoys me intensely and I wonder if everyone is this bad or if it’s just me.  Not just by this sort of thing but by everything.  Grrrr.

I think about going to get a beer – but worry that I might miss him and I had told him I would be there, so I must be there; I must keep my promise.  Not that keeping promises is difficult, no, but this is more important.  Not even 5 minutes late would be acceptable – at least, to me.

I think about going for a fag; I could watch through the glass doors; I decide not to, again, just in case, in the second that my eyes were averted, lighting the cigarette, distracted by someone outside or something, he came through.  I didn’t go.

Another wave of people came through.  Some kids with parents, the kids small enough to go under the barrier and, on seeing their grandparents, running underneath the bar, shouting ‘Nana, Nana!'; the grandmother getting up and almost running to take the one in her arms.  Bless.

As normal, the people greeting the people from the plane blocked the exit way so that those without anyone there had to fight their way through.  So annoying, I know, having had to do that so many times.  And this is Italy.  It always seems worse.  Complete disregard for those others.

I scan each person as they walk through.  I worry that, perhaps, he will look different than the guy in my head.  The guy in my head is this guy but is it the real guy?  It’s been almost a week since I’ve seen him.  I worry because that is what I do.  I hate that too.  And, normally, it’s unnecessary, in the end but, you know, just one time it might be right to worry?

I see him.  I don’t know if I smile.  Yes, I do, of course I smile.  I smile as I write this, remembering the moment that I saw him.  My heart skipped.  He does that to me.  I think it is good.  I get up and start walking towards him.  He is scanning the people, looking for me.  Our eyes lock.  My smile becomes a grin and he grins back.

He is wonderful.  We kiss on both cheeks but, just for a moment, it seems he is going to kiss me on the lips – and I would have done it too, even if it is in a public place but we are both unsure exactly whether this is right and our faces turn slightly so that we kiss on the cheeks.  I want to grab him and hold him and hug him and smother him in kisses.  I feel so very happy.

He introduces me to his colleague, Ily.  She is taller than me – almost not Italian – I ask her when she gets out of the car at her flat – she confirms that yes, she is very tall for an Italian and an Italian woman in particular – taller than most Italian men.  I guess that must be a problem for her.  She is beautiful.  It is what I would expect one of his colleagues to be.

They both smoke and so we make our way outside.  We stop and have a cigarette.  We talk.  I ask about their trip.  They say they have eaten too much; drunk too much beer (Italians that drink – I just love it!); travelled too much but that, it was wonderful.  I am really pleased.  I’m glad he had a good time.  I would have preferred to be with him, of course, but, still……

We walk to the car.  They both say thank you for me coming to pick them up.  I tell them that it is nothing and, anyway, it’s just as much for me as I get to see F (I’m taking a risk here, and I hope I haven’t jumped the gun but, obviously, his real name wasn’t Gordon at all and now he will be F) and so it’s worth it.  Maybe that was too forward but, using an Italian phrase, I know my chickens or, as Gail would agree, I trust my gut as normally it is right.

F gives me a present – some chocolates – he was in Belgium, after all!  I didn’t expect it and it was nice.

As we drive back into Milan, F tells me about their time away and what they did and, of course, about the concert.  It doesn’t take as long as he thought.  I smile.  I say that there will be other things that he remembers; that he will tell me; later.

My hand is on the gearstick.  He touches my fingers.  We play the game where I go to hold his finger and he pulls away, until I catch it, of course.  But then, it’s a game.  It’s touch.  It’s what we both want

Ily suggests to F, in Italian, that she can get a taxi.  F tells her, in Italian, that certainly not, we shall take her home.  I say ‘esatto’, agreeing with F.  This is why people think that I understand Italian so well, I think to myself.

She does live just round the corner from me (sort of).  I didn’t know the name of the street except our friend L lived there and there is the GS supermarket.  We all get out of the car and Ily gets her bag.  F waits until she is in the door of the block of flats.  I like that, although I don’t say anything.  It’s what I would do.  It’s the right thing to do even if this part of Milan is hardly dangerous.

When we get back in the car he moves towards me and we kiss.  And keep kissing like we are old time lovers who have been separated for a while.  And that is how it feels.  I kiss his hands.  Kissing his hands reminds me that, it seems, many Italian men have what I can only describe as women’s hands.  Shorter fingers, slightly strange shape, I don’t know, sort of small and delicate.  But so many of them do have these hands.  But I smell and taste the shower gel he used this morning.  It’s a nice smell; a nice taste.  I kiss his fingers, kiss the palm of his hand, hold his hand to my face.  We kiss some more.

He says it is a bit embarrassing.  Ily will go into the office and tell everyone that ‘F has a new boyfriend’.  I smile.  We both know that it is not embarrassing at all but that it will be nice for him.  He is out of the office for the next couple of days and so, when he gets back, everyone will know.  What’s also nice is that he said it and so, I guess, we are now ‘boyfriends’.  This makes me smile, even as I write it for you.

He asks how I found him on Facebook.  I remind him that he gave me his card.  I tell him that I keep two things – the two things he gave me – his card and the drawing with the beautiful writing.  I say that he probably thinks I am stupid for keeping them (knowing that he will not think it’s stupid).  He replies that he doesn’t think it is stupid – and I know this to be true also.

We drive round the corner to find a better place to park.  He thanks me for coming again.  He really is happy to see me and I him.  We kiss some more and I stroke his ears.  He stops me.  It turns him on.  I like that.

He suggests that, maybe, I can come over on Saturday as I could stay the night….

Later, in between more kisses, he says that perhaps I can come over on Friday night…….

Later still, he says, maybe even Thursday night.  I had been stroking his ears, after all :-)

He asks what plans I have for the weekend.  I say that I have none specifically but that I would cancel them anyway to be with him.  Which is not a lie but absolutely the truth.  I add that, obviously, I do have the dogs and they cannot be cancelled.  He understands. He talks about dinner and staying the night.  So he really wants me too.

He stops me stroking his ears but the fact that he is turned on means that I am turned on too.  I keep saying that I must take him home as he needs to sleep.  I know he does and now, now that I have had some kissing and cuddling, I can wait for the rest.  Now that I have held him and kissed his hand and seen that he is pleased to see me and know that it is true, I can wait.

And I don’t need to pose any questions, rhetorical or not, from the previous post.  I know.  Really know.  Am really happy with that knowledge.  I briefly think about telling him/asking him anyway and decide it is not necessary.  No, know it is not necessary.  I am his new boyfriend, after all.

We talk about his new flat.  I still want to say ‘move in with me’ but know that is not an option, right now.  There will be time.  We have all the time in the world.  Except now.  Now it is nearly midnight and he will be getting up at 5.30 and me soon after.

I take him home.  I drop him off.  I watch him walk into the building and on to his door.  He waves at me and blows kisses and smiles.

I get home.  I sit at my computer and he is on Facebook. He is trying to upload a small video he has made of the Diva.  It is not working.  We start chatting.  He asks me why is it not working.  I say that I don’t know but if I were there then maybe I would.  He replies ‘si’.  I say that I would be there at any time – all he has to do is ask and he should know that.  He replies ‘si’.  We both know and we both feel comfortable in that knowledge.

As I write this, of course, doubts and uncertainty come back but not so bad.  I know that he wants me to come over; wants us to have dinner; wants us to spend a relaxing (depending on your point of view) time together; to make it last.

I don’t know how long we shall last – 1 day, 1 week, 1 month, 1 year, for the rest of our lives but, oh, does it feel good right now.  I hope for more and will be happy with it, whatever.  No one can know the future but we can, at least, try, can’t we?

And, you know, what I really want, is, the next day, to do the new thing – to go for breakfast at that café.  It’s one of the new things and, more importantly, one of the things that belongs to F & me.  I am his new boyfriend and it belongs to us; it’s one of ‘our’ things.

Rhetorical Questions

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I love my new computer! It means that, whilst I write this I can listen to some greats, like Melanie’s Ruby Tuesday.

Now, I ask you, what shall I do? I mean to say, really, it’s a rhetorical question, since, even if you gave me any advice I’d still go with my gut at the time.

However, the dilemma is this: Gordon has made it very plain that this ‘thing’, if we have one, has to go slowly. He needs the time to think through his feelings and he doesn’t want to be hurt nor hurt anyone else (which, I guess, would be me). This ‘thing’ cannot be rushed.

He is, absolutely, right, of course. One cannot tell if, after a number of weeks or months, one actually finds that the person that initially seemed so appealing, is, really just annoying or, worse, not attractive (either physically or mentally). It’s a risk, of course. Jump in now and take the risk that within 1 week/2 weeks/1 month, etc. It’s all over.

On the other hand, my view is considerably different. Firstly, the person that you are ‘with’ is not perfect. There will be things that annoy you, frustrate you, make you mad or sad or bad. They may not get on with your friends, your parents, fit in with the way you want your life to be, etc. What one does, of course, is some sort of compromise, something where there is give and take. You find the things you don’t like and, if you really want to, you either put up with it or the other person, if they really want to, adapt their behaviour accordingly.

Many times, these things are, in reality, trivial. Things such as the infamous ‘leaving the lid off the toothpaste tube’, throwing dirty clothes on the floor, etc. Many times, the person won’t even know that it annoys the other person. Sometimes if it is just pointed out to them, they can and will modify their behaviour.

At the end of it all, it’s about living together as a unit, as a couple.

The trouble is that, in my mind, it really doesn’t matter if it’s 20 minutes, 20 hours, 20 days, 20 months or, in my most recent experience, 20 years! So, at what point do you consider it ‘safe’ to try?

See, for me, the fastest and most secure way, is to get together immediately. OK, this is really for me. If I am ‘attached’ to someone, I stop looking at anyone else. I don’t even notice them. They mean nothing to me. My whole being is focused on the person to whom I am attached. They get my complete and full attention.

And, in this situation, I am at a loss as to what to do. What if Gordon decides, in, say, 1 month, that we should just remain friends? And if I have dumped all the ‘potentials’, I have to start all over again. So, I am trying to keep the channels open without committing. Really, in my head, I want to tell them all that I’m no longer available – but, that’s not necessarily true.

There is another option. Tell Gordon. Be upfront with him. Explain the situation and how I feel and what it’s all about and ask him how I’m supposed to cope with this; manage it or how we move forward, without jeopardising it all. However, when to do this? I mean by that, what is the right time? Now, tonight? When I am alone with him, in the car? It’s not perfect – after all, he will get out of the car and start to think about it all.

Of course, I know the perfect time. The perfect time is in bed. This is when you hold each other close and is the closest that you can be. This is the right time. But that’s not for a few days, at least, maybe, even the weekend. Will this be too late?

I don’t want to start something with lies and half-truths. I’m not good at that anyway. He must know that (well, he kind of does know) I am actually looking; we have discussed that anyway – what we are all looking for.

I could do it in a way that seems as if I am asking his advice. Leaving him to take the initiative.

Oh, but I know myself too well. I can’t afford to wait. Although, right this moment, there is only Gordon, tomorrow is another day……..and I don’t want that, I don’t want to see someone else, see someone that I think is better. I want only Gordon.

I’m sure (really certain) that Cecilieaux would say that I should take it easier……..but I am dangerous on my own, without having someone to focus on

So, having written this, I do need to find a way to explain and tell him. I also need to decide when and I don’t want it to ruin tonight – but tomorrow night I am supposed to be seeing someone else (this was arranged a little while ago). I want to cancel tomorrow. I want to cancel them all – to wait for Gordon but it may not be wise to do that.

So, yes, I must find a way and must do it and must do it soon. Maybe tonight, if the time is right………..I just didn’t want it to be rushed, to be without holding, without a closeness that will not be there tonight.

After all, it is really my need, not his and it has to be something that comes across in the right way……

Relationships – bloody difficult – which is why I said, some months ago, that I wasn’t going to do them again…..but, of course, that’s not really me either, is it?

Again, a rhetorical question. Thanks for listening.

A good afternoon out; Gordon comes back tomorrow – yay!

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A phoned me. Would I like to go out for a spot of lunch and then a walk round some exhibition. Sure, why not?

He also wanted to go to Il Salvegente, either the oldest or one of the oldest outlet stores in Milan. But first, being A, it was lunch. Once again I find myself in the Corso Garibaldi area although, after walking down there we went back to Fabbrica in Viale Pasubio (No2, to be precise), just down from Corso Como.

I like Fabbrica although the one in the Navigli is the best one (for atmosphere and pizzas, in my opinion). However, they’re good pizzas and I was able to tell him all about Gordon. To be honest (and I don’t know why), by the time he came round I felt in such a good mood. Maybe it’s because Gordon is back in Milan tomorrow night and, if I have my way, I shall be picking him up from the airport as I have mentioned.

After the pizza we looked in a shoe shop and, rashly, I bought some (quite nice) shoes for €30. They will do as ordinary going-out shoes and stop me ruining my really good shoes. They may only last for a year but, hey, at €30 I can’t really complain.

Then we went to 10 Corso Como. This is a strange mix of shop, gallery, bookshop and café. A nice atmosphere. We walked round the photo exhibition, which, to be frank, was boring, then round the roof garden which was open and then the bookshop. Then we had a coffee in the café area. It was a lovely day, the sun shining brightly although a tad too cold for me. Still, it’s October, so what can I expect!

Then we went to Il Salvegente. This was a mistake, really. Before, with V, to help curb the expenses, I would rarely, if ever buy anything on trips out like this. First I saw quite a nice top with some nice detail and only €18 – so a bargain. Then I saw a Dolce and Gabbana jacket, light grey, excellent with jeans, for €170 (reduced from €429) and it was just my size and really looked good.

I said to A that we really needed to get out of there as I would only see something else. In fact, I went out today with absolutely no intention of buying anything…….and now I have a pair of shoes, a top and a nice new jacket.

There are times when being without V is really nice. Now I can do what I want without worrying about him spending money we didn’t have. And I end up with some nice things for myself!

Finally, we had a quick coffee and then home. I finished off the web site check and sent off the document for corrections and enhancements and, therefore, feel that I achieved quite a lot today.

And, during our trip, Gordon gave in and is going to let me pick him up from the airport. I am so very happy about that. I will see him again and we shall have a little time alone.

The Impossible I can do – Miracles take one hour and come in the form of little blue, diamond-shaped pills

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I remember, almost, the reason for it happening.

V had put on a little weight. Not a lot but there were, surely, ‘love-handles’. Add to that, my parents (and that’s just too difficult to explain coherently) and it meant that my performance was, ahem, less than perfect.

In fact, it was embarrassing. It didn’t last more than a minute or two and, once gone, it never came back. Oh yeah, I made all sorts of excuses both to V and myself. I did actually think it was a combination of my age and the smoking for so many years. But, I was also aware that it could be just psychological. It was the fat – the ‘love-handles’ that did it.

So then there was Derek. Tall, dark, handsome. The first guy I dated. We realised on the second date that, quite possibly, there was nothing. But I went to his house, we talked, we went to bed.

I was worried. What if the problem hadn’t gone away. I didn’t know. I am Top; performance is everything and, you know, it’s kind of noticeable. It’s one thing for which I can see women have the advantage. They can, if they wish, fake it. I certainly can’t.

I was right to be worried – or because I was worried that caused it all. I couldn’t be sure. True, without clothes the shape was wrong; a little to much in places that shouldn’t be. It didn’t do anything for me.

He said it was OK. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t for me. I left his house with a sinking feeling. What if this was going to happen all the time? What if it was the smoking and the age? What if all that was left was desire?

And, at the end of the day, no partner was going to be satisfied with ‘half a man’, which is how it felt.

No, I needed some sort of magic to put it right.

Something that, maybe, I should have done a few years ago, had to be done. I found a place and made an appointment. It was going to cost me €100 just for the consultation but, hey, we’re talking about the rest of my life, a new partner – it was going to be worth it, I was sure.

I didn’t have a problem talking about it – just as I don’t have a problem writing about it here. I have a problem that needs to be fixed. I explained that, in spite of the fact that it could be the age and the smoking, I felt that, actually, it was just in my head – the first sign of NOT perfect meant a sudden deflation and THE END. I explained that I was Top and that performance was everything. She understood.

She suggested 4. I said, jokingly, that it gave me 4 opportunities to get over this thing in my head and that I would have to be careful when and where I used them. She said she would make it 8. I was happier. She said that if it wasn’t solved after 8 then I would need to go to a specialist.

I went to the chemist, handed over the prescription and paid nearly €100 for 8 of the tiny things.

They, would, she warned me, take about an hour to work. Then they would last for about 3 hours. They might make me feel ‘deflated’ in myself (but not where it mattered) (or, at least, I think that’s what she meant).

I divided them, since there were four in each foil. One, I put in my bag and the other in the drawer by my bed. I cut one from the four in the drawer. I would keep that one with me……just in case something unexpected happened.

Then there was Trevor. Not my type. Noooo. Definitely not my type. But, with the the little miracles in my bedside drawer, I had no problem. I was over the moon. He had fat in the wrong places, and extremely hairy chest, was not beautiful and yet, given all those things I COULD perform!

To be honest, I was somewhat amazed. There, I said to myself, it was all in my head. I just KNEW it.

And then there was Gordon. OK, he has a fantastic body but it’s not perfect. He has a little extra weight but only a little………but not that far from V. Even though I thought, you may remember, that there was going to be nothing, I took one of the little miracles, tucked in the front pocket of my jeans, just in case.

And then there was something and, again, the miracle remained in it’s foil. OK, I thought. Problem solved. €200 down the drain, you might say but, for me, €¬200 well spent. Just knowing the little miracle was there seemed to be enough. Without it and I might never have got here. And this was what it was for…..for Gordon….who might be ‘the one’.

But still, I’m not complacent about this and realise it may not quite be all solved. Henry proved that – but, maybe because it was all rushed and because I had forgotten about the miracles or maybe because he had a little too much extra…..don’t know.

And that, of course, gets me worried about the next time I see Gordon. But I shall take one along, just in case and, hopefully, I will prove once again that just having them to hand is the only miracle I need.

I still have eight chances, eight miracles…….I’m really hoping I never need any of them, as you can probably imagine.

This morning Gordon texted. I asked him what the first song was. It was this one below. I texted back that, of course, for me, you can :-)

Strange Days Indeed

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The world is a new, brighter, more interesting world. It’s a strange thing. There is this whole new life out there that I have only just begun to explore. There was a song, by the Weather Girls – It’s Raining Men – a great gay anthem when I used to go to clubs in Manchester – and it seems so appropriate.

But, in general, it seems I’ve lost interest. Not in life or work (although, right now, work is NOT the most important thing in my life) but in trawling the sites. The new world exists outside the sites where now, every man I see becomes a potential gay man – and so many are.

But, the loss of interest in the sites worries me. As I was explaining to FfI last night. What if Gordon is not ‘the one’ and I’m making a big mistake? Today, I am meeting Othello. Othello I found through the first site I signed up on. We’re a 70% match, so they say. These sites are full of shit.

OK, I’m shallow, maybe, but crucial to anything happening between me and a guy is how he looks (and there’s still a post in draft waiting to be posted on that one). I know I’ve been spoilt – V was/is, after all, stunningly beautiful – but I can’t go for something less.

Add to this that all I can think about is Gordon, I am less than interested. Gone, out of the window, is the idea that I needed more friends who are gay; that I would have loads of sex before I got far too old – just because I never did that, really and part of me feels that I somehow missed out on all that; and that I need to keep looking for ‘Mr Right’.

But, do I have that wrong? What if Gordon is NOT the one?

So, this, being written later (this post will take 2 days to write, I feel it), I have now met Othello. We meet in the park. Othello is OK. His English is excellent – he lived in London for 5 years. He has a wicked sense of humour – very like mine. We stay in the park until he gets too cold, then go for lunch at my Saturday lunchtime café (Free Time, just off Corso Buenos Aires) which he is really impressed with; and that makes me happy. We see some guy walk past to his table. I say to Othello ‘He’s gay, isn’t he?’ (and by implication, so is the guy he’s sitting with). Othello confirms this. My gaydar seems to be getting better.

We had talked in the park. Well, mostly I did the talking. He said his life wasn’t that interesting but I did get some blood from that stone, so that was good. It seems he has never had a relationship but ‘dated’ men who already had partners. Apart from that, we have much in common, well a sense of humour, anyway.

After lunch, we take the dogs to the nearest dog area and we continue to talk and take the piss (or is it pith?) out of each other. It’s good. He would make a fine friend. And I hope he is….we shall see.

Later, Henry, who has been saying he would come (he lives out of Milan) says he will come again (this would make it about the 5th time he says he is going to come – “going to” being the operative words and “coming” not actually happening – and HE’S the reason that, on that particular day I moaned at Gordon and why Gordon and I are, possibly, maybe, perhaps, something – I do think it is a strange world full of strange coincidences). I do not think he is coming. He arrives. I am really surprised! OK so I had made an effort to make the place a little less untidy – but not really going out of my way!

He only has about 20 minutes before he must go to the party. So all the things he said he wanted to happen are simply not going to happen. But, you know, whilst Gordon and I are not yet something, I was, kind of thinking that, perhaps, maybe, I should take the opportunity….my last chance and all that………….I’m not sure if I turned him on or he was just desperate or that’s the way he is……….in about 10 minutes it was all over for him. I may need a little more time amongst other things. Anyway, he didn’t actually come to see me but was coming to a party, for which he was late. Too rushed for me. Next time, perhaps….unless Gordon becomes ‘the one’ in which case – not ever. Shame really. Cute kid (and when I say kid – I’m talking about over 20 years my junior) and he seems nice…..but, let me see…….someone who’s 40 in a full-time job with a 30-year-old body or someone who’s actually 30 and no real job and not such a body!

Hmmm. Let’s see what happens.

Later still. I am out with friends for a pizza. Again I find they have Ham and Pineapple pizza – which I have. The place is Pizza OK in Piazza 8 Novembre, near my house (i.e Porta Venezia). It’s a new selection. Still the Italians don’t go for it but it is different than the ones we used to have in the UK (and, I guess, the USA would be the same). It’s not cubed ham but slices of fresh boiled ham and not cubed pineapple from a tin but slices of very fresh, very sweet pineapple. Delicious. Oh, yes, and if you like really thin pizza base, then this pizzeria is the best I have found in Milan for that.

During the meal, Gordon phones. He is in the concert of the Diva. He wants me to listen to a song but it’s just noisy and I can’t make it out. He phones later as I walk L home. This time I recognise the song. It’s a song for me. This is sweet and lovely and, given my day, a little scary.

(Diana Ross with Ain’t No Mountain High Enough)

I have said that, if he would like, I will pick him up from the airport on Monday night. He is with one of his colleagues. I said we would take her home and, at least, I would get to spend some time with him and get a kiss or something. We both have early starts on Tuesday so that will be all – but, to me, that is important. He said he would let me know – but I explained that it would get them home faster. I hope he takes me up on it. I really do want to see him.

It’s all very confusing and they are strange days indeed for me.