Tag Archives: Firsts

Special all the same.

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In spite of the snow, the Christmas lights along Corso Buenos Aires, the Christmas decorations in the shop windows, the milling and rushing of shoppers buying their gifts, etc., it really doesn’t feel like Christmas to me.

Sure, I can talk about it here, at work, but I am struck by how unexcited I am.  OK that’s been more or less true for the last few years, I suppose.  This year, I have some excuse.  We’ve been together for too short a time to really be able to plan, to decide on things, to build up to Christmas.

I’m not sure what to expect; I don’t know how it should be; I can’t impose my Christmas (not that I want to impose it anyway) and we’re in a different country with different ideas about how it should be, sort of.

We did talk last night, a little, about Christmas Day and New year and so on.  He was talking about decorating the table for Christmas Lunch.  Anyway, this sort of thing was always V rather than me, so from that point of view, it will be much the same.  However, there’s been a lack of involvement from me in the lead up to this year’s Christmas.

It’s not that I’ve wanted to be uninvolved.  It’s just that I’ve not known exactly how it would be or what we would do, other than being together.

Last night I told him I’d bought Brussels sprouts – even if I know he won’t eat them.  He understood why.  This morning, my colleague, S, said that she had seen Nigella Lawson on the TV (I had told her about NL) and that she had done some strange things – like Bread Sauce.  Which made me think that I should do Bread Sauce anyway, as I love it – even if he won’t like it because, even if I love it, most people don’t.

I might even make the usual white sauce although this will be with panettone rather than Christmas Pudding.  Maybe I’ll suggest it?  It’s an alternative to cream or ice cream and will make the Christmas lunch just a little more like Christmas for me.

He’s planned some films that we could watch.  And, since we both like films, it could be good.  One film he said he had chosen we could watch in either Italian with English subtitles or English with Italian subtitles.

He suggested that we could spend New Year with some of my friends.  He doesn’t want to do the New Year that has been planned by his friends.  Really, I would like to do ‘something’ but I’m really not sure as I really like when we are together.  But, of course, that’s because it’s all too new.

This morning, as I left the house he asked if I had remembered the keys and would I lock the door on my way out.  Later, on FB chat, he asked if we were spending tonight at his or mine.  I replied that I would prefer mine as tomorrow night we will be at his.  He said OK.  It’s sometimes very easy.  It’s often, very comfortable.  It’s always very nice.

I am looking forward to Christmas even if, at the moment it all seems a little at arms length.  This comes, in part, of not having any history to go with it.  But, then, it’s the first and, so, will be special all the same.

The start of many more?

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I am thawing out.  Everything is wet, especially the dogs which, in turn, means all the floors are wet.  The snow, outside, is starting to turn that mucky brown, as it does in the cities and on the roads.  The park, though, was white and although there had been many people, it still retained it picture-postcard (or should I say, Christmas Card) look.

Dino loved it.  Running through the now, jumping, playing, shoving his nose in it and coming up sneezing and coughing, or similar.  Rufus, although OK with it, has the problem of ice balls forming under his feet and there was a heart-stopping moment on the way back.

We had come out of the park and started to cross the road, where there was no snow.  The ice balls, although small, meant that he couldn’t walk properly.  At one point he just stopped and lay down on the ground, head on the floor and wouldn’t move.  For just a moment I wondered if this was it.  I cleared his paws but he wasn’t moving.  All limp and somewhat dejected.  I picked him up and got him in a sitting position and rubbed his paws again.  This time he was prepared to move but not entirely happy about it.  Still we made it home and he seems OK.  I spoke to F about it later and he said that, perhaps, it was time to take them out separately, which may be true although not entirely a pleasant thought.

Last night, having got home really late, about 8, because of the snow and the traffic, which was, at times, gridlocked in the centre of Milan, I had a shower and took them out, the snow falling thick and fast and then went up to F’s place as had been planned.  F, in the end, didn’t go to his Christmas meals because of the snow.

I walked up the street, umbrella in one hand, trying to stop my bag falling off my shoulder, smoking a cigarette and then a text message came through.  It was FfI who, not a genius with technology, didn’t seem to realise that, although my Skype account showed I was at home, I wasn’t actually there.  So I texted back with gloved hands something that I hoped she would understand.  She didn’t.  Several more text messages came through.  I ignored them since I wasn’t going to take my gloves off and texting was impossible if I didn’t.  The place had that weird silence.  The few cars that were braving the snow were muffled as they drove along the streets, the engines almost quiet and the only real sound was the sort of crunching, scrunching sound as their tyres fought to get a grip on the snow covered streets.  It was magical and beautiful and, anyway, I was on my way to be with F.

I passed the cinema and thought, briefly, what a good night to go it would be.  Especially to see A Christmas Carol, perhaps.  There would be hardly anyone there and it would be nice to have the cinema almost to ourselves.  And then, come out to this magical world.  Another time, I thought.

By the time I had got to F’s place she had already sent him a message asking me to phone her.  I texted her.  Thinking about it as I write this, it was nice of her to be worried but she a) knew I was going to F’s place and b) knows (although she doesn’t seem to get it) that I leave my computer on 24/7 so sometimes it looks like I’m there when I’m not.  I’m kinda glad she shows concern but, really, you’d think that by now she would understand.

When I got to F’s flat, this time, of course, I could let myself in.  I placed the keys on the side and told him I had left them.  He took them back but then gave me the real spare set and said I should have those.  I smiled, inside.  even if it’s only for a short while, it’s nice to have the trust in me and nice that these little things show that this relationship continues.  Continues to grow and be stronger.

In the end we decided that, maybe, I shouldn’t go to work today.  I set my alarm for slightly later than normal.  I got up with alarm.  The snow had stopped but it was deep and curling up with F seemed so much of a better idea, that’s what I did.  We got up several hours later, went down and had breakfast and he went to his new flat whilst I went home to take the dogs out.

Before I took them out, I Skyped with Best Mate.  She is planning to come over in January.  Of course, it’s a crazy time to come here, especially if the weather is like this but I am so looking forward to it anyway and, more importantly than anything else, she gets to meet F.

And now, I go to La Rinascente.  I need to get a flan ring to do Lemon Meringue Pie for Christmas Eve and look at the prices of 25-year-old Balsamic Vinegar for an old mate.  On the way back, I shall stop at Esselunga and, hopefully pick up a Faraona (Guinea Fowl to us) which, even though F won’t eat Goose, he will eat.  Don’t see much of a difference myself but whatever makes him happy.  Our Christmas Day lunch will be Lasagne, Faraona with carrots and roast potatoes followed by the Milanese Christmas Cake – Panettone.

It will be lovely – and, mainly because we shall be together.  Our first Christmas.  And I hope the start of many, many more :-)

One food in common – Anchovies!

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F was in his element. Greeting people like he had known them for years, and some of them, of course, he had. For those, he knew their names (something I always struggle with) and remembered things about them. I have always admired that but I am aware you can train yourself to be better at it.  I don’t have the will, really.

F took my coat – mainly because he was ‘showing me off’.  Which is fine.  I was introduced as his ‘findanzato’ to a number of people.  I am proud to be so.  And I can do the ‘being very charming and nice’.  I am gay, after all!  I just can never remember their names after 2 seconds.  Ah well.

Of course, other than FfI (with her ‘walker’ as she described him) and N&aS, I knew a number of people already.  People that I have met, including M who is really lovely (and drinks beer like a true English woman), the Manageress of the shop, D – tall, long blonde hair, S, who works with F and is helping with the flat also and a really nice guy, D another guy from the shop, etc., etc.

And I met the BIG MAN himself.  What a really pleasant, down-to-earth guy he was.  I spent a few minutes chatting with him, laughing and joking.  None of your snobby ‘I’m a designer so look at me’ thing going on.  Really nice guy.

There was champagne and nibbles.  After, we all went for a meal.  Nice evening all round.  And then F, who was going to go back to his flat, decided to come and stay with me and this, after no pressure from me whatsoever.  It’s times like that when I feel that he feels the same as me.  And that makes me feel so good.

V and I are exchanging emails as you may have realised from the post below.  It also includes various other things (Rufus, the conclusion of the Final Question, etc., etc.)

I had invited him to the do last night.  After all, this was the world he wanted to be in.  However, he couldn’t go (or chose not to go).  And, I had mentioned that I would be seeing S&N there.  He included a last paragraph, saying that he was concerned because I had changed so much and he thought perhaps I was getting in too deep and he didn’t want me to be hurt and was I sure that this was good?

I wonder why?  Yes, I have changed.  My hair is no longer dyed, so it’s grey.  The clothes that I am wearing are, somewhat, being chosen/determined by F.  As I pointed out to him – I may seem changed on the outside but I am the same ‘me’ inside.  And, as I also pointed out, I am the ‘all or nothing’ guy.  What is the point in doing this if it is half-hearted?  Why bother unless you commit – without that the partner is nothing more than a (more) intimate friend?

And, as I also pointed out, I will be fine as long as F is truthful to me and, to date, I have no reason to distrust him and hope I never will.

Not really sure what his motivation behind this was.  Maybe he was genuinely concerned and really doesn’t want me to be hurt?  Who can tell?  I’m not even sure HE could tell.

When I woke F up this morning, he wanted to stay asleep.  ‘Let’s call in and say we are sick and stay in bed all day’ he murmurs from under the duvet.  ‘It’s a lovely idea’ I say, smiling.  But the reality is that neither of us would do that and we both know that.  It’s the type of people we are.  Different but the same in important things.  And now we have found one food in common – anchovies!

The Fashion World – just part of his job

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He says it again. The three words; the phrase that I wait for. It makes me feel all warm inside. I don’t say anything. I already say them more than him anyway. And I do mean them, I really do.

It turns out he wasn’t at work at all yesterday. I didn’t realise that he was having all the windows replaced in the new flat. Well, he wasn’t, but his landlady was. And so, he had to stay in the flat, of course.

I text him before I leave work asking what time he would finish work, so that I knew or would have some idea as to what we may be doing and when I would go and see him.

That’s when I found out he wasn’t at work at all. He calls me as I’m driving home. A few minutes before, I had thought it would be nice to go to Baia Chia, the restaurant that is his favourite. I asked him if he would like to go but that I would be paying. He thought I said something about buying something from Ikea ….. buy eekaya (the way that they pronounce Ikea here). I explained. He said ‘Oh, Maria’s!’.

He booked and we were going to eat at 9. I was really happy about it as, not only is it a lovely restaurant and the staff so nice and the food so good – but he was going to let me pay! And, as I told him as we clinked glasses, it was to thank him for a wonderful 2 months.

And, although it wasn’t then, even if I don’t remember exactly why, he said the three words again and it made me very happy, as I am, often, with him.

He said that he was less worried about the flat now. He knew it would be small and that it didn’t worry him any more and that he would move in and everything would not be perfect but he would live with it even if it was a mess and that he would sort it out even if it took three months.

But I didn’t believe him even if I hoped it would be true.

I told him so by saying ‘I’m not sure that you can live without everything being tidy’.

He said that he could. Later he said that he doubted if he could. And, certainly, that I DO believe.

On the way home (his place) he said that he was more relaxed now. It’s not really true but I know he is trying.

He also said that we should quit smoking. Or, at least, cut down. I told him that he couldn’t change me so quickly and I was already doing other things. Which he knew and understood. And he said that, at least he would cut down. And I know that I will try, when I’m with him, to smoke less. I guess.

And I told him I was a bit worried about Rufus. It seems that the deterioration is going in spurts. He doesn’t wee in the house all the time but more often now. And that seemed to happen suddenly. Then, on Thursday night, I noticed, when we were out, that he seemed to be a bit drunk; Friday morning much worse; Friday night still just as bad. It’s not like he collapses (the back legs are very weak now) but seems to stagger a lot, just as if he is drunk.

I know it’s coming, the end, so I give him extra hugs and stuff. And, of course, I have the added thing of telling V. And, yes, it is a little upsetting, especially as he has been such a good dog but V will be really upset, which doesn’t help. Even if he really hasn’t had anything much to do with him for the last 12 months (since the break up, over a year ago now). However, it is all part of having a dog and I do have Dino now, as well.

F says ‘poverino’, as he does with Rufus.

And now, as I write this, I am back at home, having picked up my suit (after alterations) that F has decided to give me as my Christmas present. We are going to the cocktail party in the shop on Wednesday, where he is going to introduce me to the big boss and he told me that I must be very elegant – he will be showing me off, after all – even if he didn’t say that bit :-D.

He wants me to wear the suit or, at least the jacket with jeans. I said that, next time he is at my place, he needs to look through my stuff to decide what I should wear as I will wear whatever he wants. I said that I had no idea what to say to the big boss, other than ‘hello’ and ‘nice to meet you’. But there will be plenty of people there that I know so it will all be fine. And I get to see him in his element and I know, already, that he is good at what he does. So I am half looking forward to it and half apprehensive about it. I mean, I have to make a good impression, for his sake. And it will be another ‘first’ for me, as I’ve never met a ‘designer’ before, so that will be good. And, the fact that he wants me there and wants to introduce me to the big boss, says a lot, I think.

And so, in spite of everything, it seems I will be more involved with the fashion world after all, which I find quite funny now. Years ago, with V, it would have been important. Now, with F, it’s part of his job and, so, feels so different! And I am really outside it and, so, I think it all feels different for him. I will do a post after Wednesday to let you know how I got on in the Fashion World.

The story that cannot be shared

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I really don’t know how to explain this but I’m going to try.

Last night we went to a concert given by Ornella Vanone.  The problem is that, if you’re not Italian or lived here for a long time, you may not even know who she is.  Until a few weeks ago, I certainly didn’t.

She is, I understand, in her mid-seventies.  She has a good voice and sings love songs that, according to FfI are almost all about saying goodbye to a love and saying that she’ll wait for them to return.  All heart-rending stuff.

It was a good concert.  My first time at Blue Note which, as it is a jazz club, I had thought would be rather sleazy.  As it turned out it was rather nice.  Almost quite posh.

Ornella is Italian (from Milan, I think) and sings with a slightly husky voice.  A nice voice.  Not really anything that special but nice.  Of course, I don’t understand the words and, when she’s speaking, either because she’s old, or drunk (someone said she drinks a lot) or just because she’s playing to a Milan audience, her Italian is difficult to understand for me and she speaks very fast.  OK so I get some of it but not really enough.

F keeps asking if I understand.  I don’t want him to translate everything, not least because it will get so annoying for him.

But, with some songs, he goes really quiet, whilst on the other side of me, FfI is wiping away tears.  And this is the bit I want to try and explain.

Even if I could understand her words, her songs to their fullest, I’m not sure I would be so moved by them.  There’s a history that I cannot share.  Cannot even hope to share.  There’s a story behind all these songs, a story that’s different for everyone.  But, of course, that’s normal.

What I’m trying to explain (badly) is that, whereas, if I was with people from the UK or, even the USA, there would be a common, shared history to the singer.  I mean, if I was in the UK, and with someone from the UK and we were to watch someone like, say, Shirley Bassey, then, even if she’s not my favourite singer, we would all know something about her, about her history in the country, about some of her hits, about her love-life or private life or things like that.  It makes her a ‘real’ person and a person who can be ‘shared’ by you and those around you.

Whereas, here, I could not share it, could not be part of it.  I wanted to be part of it but, unless I were to read all about her, study her and her music, put each song into the setting of the time, I cannot be a part of this.  It is a history beyond my capability to perceive, to live, to have.

And to me this was striking and difficult to determine how I should feel about it.  On the one hand, it’s not important, of course.  On the other, it is a part of F that I cannot share.  I don’t mean the past, for, of course, the past is gone and neither of us can share our pasts with each other; only recount stories but never relive them.  No, this is also the future.  For the future or (in the case of the concert) the present, has a part of the past that is beyond either of us to share with each other.

We (F & I) are supposed to be going to see Joan Armatrading next year.  Being my favourite singer, it is important to me.  Her songs hold special meaning for me.  I know most of the words to the songs; can sing them with correct inflection, breathing, etc.  But, if we go, F, although with me, cannot be with me during certain songs.  Cannot be in my head or fully understand nor appreciate the meaning and the subtlety of each word.

It was a good concert.  Probably, if I had grown up knowing her, her songs, the history, I would have said ‘great’.  But I cannot say that.  I don’t know if it was great.  Was she always like this or was this substandard?  How the hell would I know?

What I do know is that it was good and that, being with F was all that really mattered.  As he held my hand or kissed me or lay (just for a moment) his head on my shoulder, it felt good and right and perfect.  And all I wanted to do was hug him whilst this (to my perception) slightly mad (and mad-looking) old lady, moved around the stage, drunkenly or unsteadily or maybe she’s always like this, singing songs about love or about the end of love, with a voice that reminded me of how, probably, Shirley Bassey is, now, in concert.

And, in my heart, so full of love for F, there was an ache for the ‘missing’ part; the part of me that is outside his experience and a part of him outside mine; a part that cannot be shared for, in a final way, we are, in fact, from a different culture, with a different history and in spite of anything that we may build together, a future of shared experiences, loves, hates, friends and enemies, there will always be this ‘missing’ history, the story that cannot be shared.

Yes, it’s OK, I know I’m crazy

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As I have dyed my hair since I was about 25, almost all the time, I make no secret of it. Hence, when I started getting grey hair, it was no problem to use the dyes that cover the grey. Since, when I met Victor, I used to dye it jet black, I tended to go for a darker colour than was natural and, should anyone ask me, I would confirm that I dyed it. Why not?

And so, every time I had my hair cut, I would also dye it.

F asked me on our first meeting if I dyed my hair and I confirmed that. He said I should leave it grey as that would be nice and he thought it was sexy. I promised that, the next time I had my hair cut I would let him see it before I dyed it, so he could understand why I dyed it!

And so, Friday night, I had the haircut. I have it cut short now as it is also getting so thin. He liked it both short and grey. He said it really looks good. So I haven’t dyed it this time. I was going to do it yesterday but ended up without time as we spent nearly all day together. Last night G came up and we went to the Brasserie Bruxelles. We were joined by A & F2 (and, of course, my F). G said that I looked younger (I’m sure it’s really that I look happier); F2 said it looked better without dye.

So, maybe, I shall leave it after all. It felt a bit strange until last night, really, not having it very dark brown. Let’s see what it’s like when I go into work.

After all, it’s a little thing, really, and if F likes it, then, maybe, I should just leave it as it is. I think it makes me look much older – but then the wrinkles and the lack of sleep don’t really help. In a strange way, I’m quite looking forward to next week……..but I’m sure that will change after one night without him!

And, of course, there will be the paranoia that will set in when I’m not with him. The one where I think that I’m too old for him; that we have nothing in common, etc.

Humph. Even as I don’t think this now, I know that’s what will happen after a day apart.

Yes, it’s OK, I know I’m crazy

Walking away from me but not out of my life

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OK.  Now it’s my turn.  The ‘meeting of friends’.

I told FfI that we were ‘on’ for dinner.  She suggested Friday or Saturday.  F agreed to either.  Now, all we have to do is fix it up.  With any luck FfC will be there too as I would love him to meet her as well.

I decided during the day that I really should be home with the dogs – at least for one night or, even better, every other night.  I thought that, as the cleaner would be in and the place would be reasonable, I should invite him over.

And then I thought about A and whether I would invite A to come too.

About 4 p.m. I sent F a text to ask if he would like to come over and stay at mine so that I could spend time with the dogs.  I promised him a cheap pizza (at Time Out 2 (Via Eustachi)).

Just after 5, I sent another text to say that I was leaving work.  I had had no reply.  As I was driving back I checked my phone regularly.  Nothing.  I started to worry.  Perhaps he didn’t want to stay at my place?  Perhaps he was just being kind and now working out a way to say ‘no’?  In my mind I went through the conversation (another one of those ‘serious’ ones about how he should always tell me the truth – even if he thinks it would hurt me because the truth was so much better than lies or half-truths).  The conversation that, probably, would never happen, like most that go through my mind.  Like the other conversations.

I got out of the car and walked the short distance home.  Because of my problems with 3 (who have got to be almost the worst telephone company in the world, now close to beating Telecom Italia), I texted V to see if he was receiving my texts.  At least, then, I would know if F had got my texts.  V replied that, yes, he got it OK.

I got into the flat and said hello to the dogs and the cleaner.  Offered the cleaner tea, as usual but he said he was in a hurry.

Then, F phoned me.  I was so relieved to see it was him calling but also there was a tinge of fear as to what he would say.  Instead, he asked what he should do – go home first or come straight to me!  I said he could come straight to me but he would need shower gel and a toothbrush.  He said OK.  He said it would be better because if he went home and had a shower, he would not want to come out later.  If the cleaner had not been there I think I would have shouted ‘YES!!!!’.  The cleaner was there.  Inside I shouted, at the top of my internal voice, ‘YES!!!!!’.

I decided that I would not phone A after all.  This time would be for us.

A called.  ‘What are you doing tonight?’, he asked.  I explained that F would arrive in about 10 minutes but that we intended to go out for a pizza and he could come too, if he would like.  It would mean that he could meet F.  He said OK and he would call shortly to confirm it would be OK, after I had told F.

F arrived.  It is so difficult to explain in words how happy I am to see him, every time.  I look at his face, his eyes.  I want to hold him.  We hug and kiss almost before he has got in through the door!  I tell him about A calling.  He says OK.

A calls and I tell him to come here and we can have a quick drink before going for a pizza.  I so want A to like F and vice versa.

We have a glass of wine and sit in the lounge.  Dino is over excited.  First there is F and he hasn’t really got used to him yet.  Then there is A and so, two new people.  I sit on the footstool and try and give Dino enough affection to ensure he doesn’t bother the other two.  They talk almost exclusively in Italian.  I understand some of it.  I think: I wonder if they will talk about me or talk about what F thinks of me?  But, F thinks that I understand more than I do, so maybe not.

They seem to get on.  F is charming and they have a long (I also hope good) conversation.  We go for a pizza.

F orders beers, even if A doesn’t really want beer.  Well, it’s not that he doesn’t want beer, really, and so, I think he is quite pleased, secretly.

F starts to translate the menu.  I’m not sure that it’s for me really, but more to check his English.  For me, of course, it is not necessary.  I translate some of the words for him.  I have explained that food translation is, generally not a problem, as it is my favourite subject!

F says that he knows which pizza I will have.  I am surprised that he thinks he knows.  But then he correctly guesses – Diavola – with salame piccante – ‘hot’ salame although for you English and Americans you wouldn’t really notice it was ‘hot’!  I am surprised and then think that, actually, I almost always choose this pizza.  I choose to have Volcano (Diavola with an egg).

Sometimes F can be quite ‘strong’.  As usual, he orders everyone’s food.  I find this endearing – as if he needs to order for me because I can’t speak Italian. But I also find it strange that he should order for A.  Normally this is A’s job.  But I quite like that F is strong enough that he just does it and A doesn’t complain.

They do a lot of talking in Italian.  I notice (notice being a strange thing to say but, just for a moment it seems like it is ‘just notice’, like for the first time, even if this is not true) F’s hands.  I want to hold them.  They seem small and delicate and lovely and sweet and I want to grab his hand and kiss it and kiss the palm, like I do when we’re alone.  And as I write this I realise I didn’t do that last night and know that I should have.  He likes it.

But, I notice the hands; his hands; his beautiful hands.  I look at his face as he speaks to A.  It’s true, he is not the most beautiful man in the world but, to me, he is.  I am sitting next to him and listening to him talk to A and thinking that we are not close enough; we can never be close enough or, at least, not right now.

We finish the pizzas.  I stretch my arm over the back of F’s chair, resting my hand on the back but now being able to stroke his back with my thumb.  It will do but even this act makes me want more!  I notice that there is a mirror by the side of him so that all the other people in the restaurant can see what I am doing, if they were to look; I find that I really don’t care.  I am proud to be with him; to have him here at my side; to let everyone know that I adore him.

A is hungry – which is not really a surprise.  F wants a sweet.  They bring the sweet menu.  A doesn’t normally have a sweet but will in this case.  He would prefer another pizza.  The sweets arrive.  I leave some of mine, partly because I am not really hungry and partly because I know that F will eat it – but only if I say I don’t want any more.  It’s what A’s F does with A.  I wonder if she does it for the same reason?

A is still hungry.  Again F is very strong – and how I love this!  He insists that A has another pizza.  A fights this – but not too hard and, anyway, F makes it like ‘fun’ and tells the waitress that A lost a bet and now has to eat another pizza.  F and I have another beer.  Then F & I have a mirto – this is nowhere near as good as the Sardinian restaurant of Friday night but still……

A doesn’t want a mirto – until we have ours.  So a third is ordered.  F complains that he hates the glasses (tall and thin) because it is difficult to drink with his nose the way it is.  He does have a large, Italian nose.  I see how it is difficult.  I think: even his nose is beautiful.

He kisses me in front of A – not something I would normally do but F is less frightened of showing affection than me and, anyway, I like it and not only let him do it but reciprocate willingly.

It’s not a long, lingering kiss – that will come later when we’re on our own.  But it’s still there.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see A, a little uncomfortable and think: well, you need to get used to it because this is what F does and why not?

We leave.  I think A likes him.  F does ask me, at one point, if he is being ‘too much’.  I tell him that no, I don’t believe so.

I know I am biased, but I loved him for being so wonderful with A and told him so.  I hope that he feels the same about me with his friends and think that, probably, he does.  As he has said from the beginning, really, we all want the same thing – and both of us are working hard to fit into each others lives – and it is such a pleasure; it gives us such pleasure to do so.

This morning, I do my new plan, allowing him to sleep for over an hour more.  It’s not enough for him but it’s better than nothing.

I drive him home this morning.

As I drive down the road to work, I watch him in the rear-view mirror, walking away from me but not out of my life.  No, no, not at all.

From the first kiss, he was all mine

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From_the_first_kiss_he_was_all_mine

Well, here goes.  The meeting of the important people.

We spoke several times, on the phone, yesterday.

A came over and we went for a pizza at Time Out 2 in Via Eustachi.  A liked the pizzas and I was very pleased about that.  After all, he’s Italian and I really get so nervous about recommending anywhere to Italians.  The pizzas are cheap and, it being A, we ended up with one and a half pizzas each.  And a bottle of wine.  A said that he shouldn’t be drinking at all and was going to have just a glass of wine but they don’t do wine by the glass and he didn’t want the house wine (and I don’t really blame him as it’s not that good) so chose a bottle of wine – and then, instead of having a glass, had half the bottle.  I’m really a bad influence!

He’s going through a bit of a tough time at the moment.  We talked crap and about him and his F, about me and my F and so on.  It was a nice evening and, ever since that time when he was unexpectedly so supportive, I really have a lot of time for him.  In fact, here, in Italy, I would say he’s my best friend.  He doesn’t get along with everybody but that’s OK, my best friends aren’t your usual people – they suit me and that’s all that counts.

I rang F after I had taken the dogs for a walk but he was in the restaurant.  He phoned me back when he had finished and then phoned me again when he got back to his hotel.

We talked about Thursday.  He hopes to be back by about 8.  I will probably go over about 9.30, if that’s the case.  We shall see.

Then he asked that, if I had no plans for Saturday, we had been invited to go out with his ‘friends’ – the ones from the last post – and AfL.  Apparently they ‘really want to meet me’.  I bet they do!  I said, of course, that would be fine.  I joked that they would be wanting to ‘check me out'; ‘to see if I was good enough for their F’.

He got a little defensive but he knows it’s true.  It’s true of all friends, not just them.  My friends want to do the same.  They are intrigued by how someone can be so important in such a short time.  They want to see if the attraction is valid; see if they can detect the feelings are genuine.  I understand.

So, Saturday night will be important.  I said that I would be on my best behaviour, which I will.  I must select the right things to wear and be able to come up with good conversation.  I will use V’s technique – be interested in them and get them to talk about themselves – it works a treat.

I am so looking forward to tonight.  This will be our last night together until at least early next week.

A is still amazed by how I went about all this.  How I was so selective and treating it like a purchase or selection of something else.  That’s true except that, when it came down to it, F doesn’t have all the things I would have chosen; is not the perfect person, perhaps, but it just felt (and still feels), so right at the time.  From the first kiss onwards and ATN.

Yeah, from the first kiss, he was all mine!

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.

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 :-)