Tag Archives: Real World Dating

I notice an uncanny resemblance

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He calls me.  It is so nice to hear his voice.  He is very excited about his trip.  First he is going to view some flats as he wants to move before Christmas.  After Christmas, at work, he gets too busy from January until March and March will be too late.  He has decided that he will choose a flat by the end of today.

I want to say ‘Move in with me!’  I don’t, of course.  I am being patient and, anyway, he would not.

I tell him of my plan to speak Italian next time we are together.  He likes that, he says and I can tell that it is true.  Well, we can try, anyway.  I knew he would like it and it’s a little thing I can do.  But, of course, it’s a big thing really.  Well, big for me, that is.

He flies out at 6 something.  I want to go to the airport to see him off but I won’t.  And yet, I wonder, it’s these little impulsive things that I am good at and holding myself back like this may not be the right thing.  I don’t know.  I don’t really know how to handle it now that we are this much older.

He will phone me later.  I think he feels the same thing as I do only different.  He sent me pictures with his email.  One of them is particularly good.  I would post it but I can’t – you know that.

I open it up to send to FfI.  I notice an uncanny resemblance to Karl!  I wonder why that is, if it’s some sort of in-built thing.  I remember the Weasel from that dinner – and again, it’s the same type of face.  Hmm.  And it’s not because they look like Karl, I know that, it’s just that they all look similar and they’re all the ones I have fallen for.  It’s a strange world.

Some little things?

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I already bought a bottle of white wine.  It is in the fridge – just in case.  Next time I’m at his house, I will check which shower gel he uses, just in case.  There will be other things.

I write an email.  I try to explain the Karl Spark and the fact that, actually, after expressing my doubts yesterday, here, I feel there is that Karl Spark and that I don’t want it to frighten him away.  I compare him to the best chocolate cake in the world, ever.  I know he will understand as this is a simile he has used.

I think he probably won’t get it until he is home.  We text during the day and speak whilst he is on the train, on his way home.  I tell him that, if he didn’t have so much to do, I would meet him from the train.  But I am trying to play it cool.

I go to see A.  It seems weeks since I saw him.  He wants to find out what is going on but, also, to talk about his own shit.  My doubts are all gone now.  At least, for the moment.  The things that worry me are insignificant and nothing to worry about.

I walk back home (the tram will be a long time).  I check my messages on my phone as I walk.  Gordon has sent me an email.  I ask if this is good or bad.  He says he thinks it is good.  I ask if I can phone him when I read it, in about 5 minutes.  He says that he is going to bed but that, of course, I can.

I read the email.  It’s so sweet.  He compares me to a volcano.  I’m not sure I’ve ever been compared to that before?  He explains that he doesn’t want to get hurt, nor cause someone else hurt and so, he needs to be sure of his feelings.  He promises a meeting soon.  A meeting where we can kiss and hug and more.  I know that is true.  The building of trust is important.  And he needs to trust me and so I will make sure he can.

He says he doesn’t write so well (and although his English is good, it must be difficult).  He would prefer to speak to me face-to-face.  Me too.  But I also write.  A lot.

I call him.  I don’t remember what I say – it’s enough (although not enough) to hear his voice.  I cut it short as he is tired.

We text this morning.  Him first (again), which bugs me and makes me happy at the same time.  We will speak later before he flies off to see the Diva on Saturday.  Already I am looking forward to next week.  I don’t know when but am hoping for Tuesday.  Even if it is a school night, I don’t care.

And, just to show you what this all means I am seriously thinking that I should start speaking Italian to him……….it’s my way of being able to show trust and a willingness to ‘fit in’ to his world.  What do you think?

The Fashion World of Milan – means nothing; Doubts and order

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It’s strange.  Since V & I split, I have come into contact with more people in the fashion world than I ever did with V.  Well, I suppose it’s not that strange, really.  After all this is one of the great fashion cities of the world and there is, most probably, a higher proportion of gay people working in that industry than, say, the one I work in, Engineering.  And now I’m ‘out and about’, I meet the people who work for the names that we all know.

Interesting; and I hope V is doing the same because this was the world he always wanted – although it would be slightly ironic if he wasn’t meeting these people and I, much less interested than he, were.  I mean, for him, someone working for, say, Dolce & Gabanna, would be highly interesting, for me, it’s just a name and, unless they are Mr Dolce, really, of no interest in its own right.  He would ‘use’ the connection, for me it’s just like working for, say, Marks and Spencers.

I start having doubts.  This is based on a previous experience.  Am I just wanting him because it is ‘somebody'; a warm body; it could be any ‘body’?  Is it like that?  He makes me laugh, he is funny, he is nice, he has a great body (even if he doesn’t think so), he’s not incredibly handsome but it is a nice face – but…..will it be enough….will there be other things I like but, more importantly, will there be things I hate or are there already things I hate that will become ugly?  I want him but is that because he is available rather then I really want him?  I wish he were here, with me, so I could find out.

I keep two things in my wallet.  One is the card that Gordon gave me the night before last and the other is the piece of paper, torn from the notebook with the designer’s name on the bottom, for whom he works, on which he ‘scribbled’ the name of the pub for the previous night and the directions to get there.  Except they weren’t scribbled.  They are meticulously written words and a drawn map.

Normally, I struggle to read Italians’ writing.  His is immaculate, tidy, ordered, done with such care (I watched him do it).  It is beautiful writing.  I’m not sure that anything he does is unordered.  Everything is so perfect, so tidy.

I wonder if that is something I could live with?  And, whether he could live with me….but he says that, at first, with his ex, who is also a blue-eyed, British Taurean, he briefly put their clothes together in the wardrobe.  Later he split them as everything had to be ordered for him – so much like V but worse.  Or maybe that was why V came first, to get me more used to the idea?  Gordon says he is used to someone not as tidy as he is.  Maybe it will be a problem for him?

He had a dog when he was a kid.  And he is looking after a dog on the weekend after next or the one after that.  But, with my two?  With the fact that, really, the house should be cleaned every day; that nothing can be left within the reach of Dino; that, if they’re ill, it’s not pleasant – how does he cope with that in the ordered world of his?

He likes the bathroom, the cleanest place in the house, maybe?  He used to do his homework in the bathroom – it was his favourite place.

I take out the note, just to study how tidy and perfectly it is done.  It’s a scrap of paper but more like an artwork.

Maybe I will frame it :-)

Basta il pensiero – and, although it’s not enough, it will have to do.

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He points out, quite correctly, that we have seen each other 3 times in the last 4 days.  In reality it is every day for the last four days.  He also points out, again correctly, that he is here because he wants to be here and, if there were nothing, he wouldn’t be here.  I know this to be true.

But, he says, he is 40 and he is looking for something more or even different, from what he wanted before.  And I remind him of the chat message, on the evening that I moaned to him, where he said that we are all, in the end, looking for the same thing.

He was late.  Normally I would say ‘siamo in Italia’ but, for him, already, I am forgiving and excusing.  He had some visitors in the office and they wouldn’t go.  He texted me to tell me.  I texted back to say that I understood (which I do).  He was about half an hour late and the weather is cold now.  Some winds from Russia or something.  In any event, I need to dig out my winter stuff.

We sit outside as there is no room inside.  There are just too many gay people here, I noticed, whilst I was waiting, propping up a lamppost nearby.  The bar is Elettrauto in Via Cadore.  It is windy but we are somewhat sheltered.  However, it is still cold.  We order beers; he gets some apero food, he is hungry.

We talk about his day, what he is doing tomorrow, etc.  We have another 2 beers.  I like that he doesn’t drink like an Italian.  It is late; later than either of us would like.

The conversation moves to relationships and, because I will, probably, not see him for about 7 days, our relationship, if it exists.

But it does exist, in some form or another.  It’s only been 4 days – if you don’t count the chat beforehand, which, in some weird way, I do.  I try to explain that.  I try to explain things in my head.

He tries to explain why he wants to go slow, to be sure, to know me better beforehand.  We both think that things are getting lost in translation.  I try to understand.

He suggests going for a pizza.  I realise that he must really like me…..I know he has to prepare for tomorrow and I know that he is eating into this time by remaining with me.  But the conversation needs to be finished; a form of closure is required; we need to know that we understand each other.

I explain that, OK, I don’t need the full-on thing but I need more than just a meal, a drink, a visit to the cinema or museum.  I need some physical contact, some kissing, some hugging, some touch!

I think, at the end of this we do understand.  At least, this morning it was clear.  And, anyway, he is away until Thursday night and then he goes away (holiday) the next day until Monday.

I want to see him on Thursday when he’s back but there may not be enough time.  I decide that I will hold back, knowing that it will be rushed and difficult even if we did meet.  I guess it will be the week after.

We got a taxi home, my house is first so I get dropped off first.  We hold hands in the taxi on the way back.  My fingers stroke his fingers.  I wish we could kiss like I see the couples kissing on the street but, even if he was brave enough for that, I am not.  But, the holding hands thing, this is what I mean.  And this is enough for me, at least for the moment.  Later today, I don’t know.

I text him to thank him, he texts me back to thank me, calling me his sweet English man.  I am sure it is true.  I want it to be true anyway.

I text this morning to say Good Morning.  I explain I feel guilty about the lack of sleep he must have had.  He says I am guilty and we both know that he is equally guilty.  As he said last night, if he really wanted to leave he had plenty of reasons and excuses.

We text many times this morning.  He is travelling by train.  He is sweet and sends me kisses and hugs and I am grinning and although it’s not enough (although he sends the Italian phrase ‘basta il pensiero’ which, from what I can make out, means thinking about it is enough), it is better than nothing and will have to do.

There is this warm feeling that I have.  I am not in some crazy place, like I thought I may be, but in a nice place, a gentle place, a happy place.  I will speak to him later, I know.  I wish he were here but am happy that he will be – on Thursday or, if not, then next week.

Trying to explain something.

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We have texted and phoned during the day.  He agrees to meet for an aperitivo, at Bar Basso on Viale Abruzzi, one of the most famous bars in Milan.

I wonder, as I do, if, when I see him I will feel the same as before.  I know that, if we were in bed, I would feel the same but without that, how will I feel?  Will it be enough just meeting for a drink?

I decide that I will invite him to meet the dogs, since he has said he loves them.  I know that will mean bed and sex too…..I also know that he will know that……I am certain that he will decline because it’s a ‘school night’ and he knows it will not mean a good night’s sleep.  And I know that he won’t do that.

I am there early, of course.  I wait outside the bar.  I see him coming, he waves. I grin.  We kiss, on the cheeks, as one does in Europe, gay or not.  It’s a strange thing that I’ve never quite got used to.  I mean to say, not with men, anyway, not in public, not in the street!

He is wearing jeans, a striped jacket, done up, not with a button but with a big safety pin, a scarf, a top with a T-shirt underneath.  I feel the same.  I want to hold him; close; closer still.  I can’t stop grinning.

We sit down and order beers (yes, he drinks beer too).  He chats to the waiter.  I follow the conversation, more or less.  He is known here.  He is comfortable and in his environment.  That’s OK.

We talk.  I can’t tell you exactly what about.  We talk about the weekend coming (he is going to a concert in another European country to see a diva that he loves); his ex, currently over here and looking for a job; what he expects from a relationship (which matches what I expect); ‘almost’ relationships (which he explains to try and show me why he is wary and cautious); his job and what he’s been doing today; about how everything must be in it’s place (which is, absolutely, not me at all) and how he understands I will not be like that because I am English; spontaneity (something that he put on his profile) and how he is not but how, in his mind he is – and that came about because I did, indeed, invite him to see the dogs and he knew what it meant as I knew that he would; and he knew that I knew and that was why I was asking and he explained that he needed to take a shower – but with his shower gel and his stuff before he came over and that, maybe, we could do it next week, when he is back from his trip; and I said that he didn’t need to explain; and he said that he did and he wanted to and he kept explaining everything as if he wanted me to really understand and I tried to explain that I did understand and what I failed to say was that, I thought I understood him perfectly and, anyway, we weren’t a couple and that he shouldn’t feel the need to explain and he just kept on talking and talking and I couldn’t take my eyes off him (I had put my contact lens in again for this meet) and I couldn’t stop smiling.

And he touched my knee and I told him not to…..and then added that it was because it turned me on…and so he took his hand away and I had to explain that I was just joking…and I was joking about him not touching my knee but I so wanted him to do it again and again ……and he said he knew I was joking and he did touch it again, more than once.

And, yes, he was a little effeminate but not much more than V and, in fact, in some ways, more like V than was healthy…….than is healthy…and I’m not looking for V but, I guess, I’m attracted to the V’s of this world….

And he wanted to tell me about his ex and how, three months into the relationship, his ex had picked him up from work and they had gone to a bar and his ex had spent all the time looking at some other attractive guy and how he told him that, next time, if his ex came to pick him up and take him out, he should be with him and not looking for something else….and I agreed as I stared at him as he was talking, watching his face, his mouth, his eyes, not being able to take in everything but wanting to, so much……………and I know I would not do what his ex did because I never did it with V and I would never do it with any man that I loved…………if I do love him…………and I don’t know, yet……

But, and I really can’t explain this in words that make sense or in any words at all, but I was so very happy to be with him, even if it was cold, even if he wasn’t going to come back to my house, even if there would not even be kissing tonight.

Suffice it to say, I just can’t get enough of him.  In any form.  Even sitting opposite me over a table at a bar.

We have another beer.  I don’t want him to go.  I think he doesn’t really want to go but he is sensible.  This is what I meant before, when I said that I need someone to compliment me….it is good for me to have someone sensible….something, actually, that V did not provide.

Oh, and I know he’s not perfect – no one is, but, you know, he has something and I like it a lot.  And I will miss him like hell when he is away from tomorrow……even if I’ve only seen him twice…..it’s been a long twice (but just not long enough for me).

Defence strategies and other things

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I feel I need to explain.  Not to you, dear reader, but to Gordon.  I don’t want to fuck this up but, maybe being out of practice, or maybe because it was ever so, I’m not very good at this dating lark.

When I had Spillaine’s Syndrome, I was in incredible pain and yet I would joke about it, all the time.  When I had my knee operation, and, afterwards, when I shouldn’t really have been in work, I joked about it.

It’s my defence.  It’s the way I cope with something serious.  It’s how I am.  I don’t try and defend it as there is not a lot I can do about it.

But I feel the need to explain it to Gordon because he sends nice text message; I reply with one that is jokey and not serious.  I try to be serious but, always, there has to be a twist, at the end, to lighten it all up.

I know why.  This is a just-in-case-I-have-it-all-wrong thing.  In case it becomes too serious and to try and stop the other person being frightened off.  I tried to tell him on Saturday night/Sunday morning.  I get a bit intense.

He didn’t understand.  I know he didn’t.  But I can stop myself (to some extent) getting intense if I joke about it; lighten it up a bit.

So, this morning I text him asking when I can phone.  I phone him.  He doesn’t really get it (I think) but he says OK.  I hope he understands.  I tell him that I don’t want to fuck it up.  I think he might get that bit.

We shall speak later……..phone calls are difficult for me.  It’s always better face-to-face.

Oh, yes, and I wore my new contact lenses for the first time Saturday.  I wonder if that was what did it.  It’s my eyes, you see.  They are striking, apparently.  Obviously, I’ve had them all my life so, for me they are just my eyes.  But women find them amazing and will tell me.  So I wore the contact lenses on Saturday night to see Gordon.  And then, I didn’t take them out when I went over to FfI on Sunday night (for some take-away pizza and red wine).

She said that I should always wear contact lenses when I go out on the pull (English phrase to mean going out looking for a partner or on a date – just in case it’s not used in the States).  It means, apparently, that my eyes aren’t hidden.

So I show her Gordon’s profile.  I show her Sweet Guy but explain that that is over as I tried 3 times to get some sort of second date and 3 times is enough.  We look at some others that are online.  I explain more things about the gay scene.

We laugh about her emails to the Dream Guy.  Not least when she told him that he had a small member.  It seemed to elicit some response from him.  I couldn’t believe that she had done that in the first place but, a woman scorned….etc., etc.

Sweet Guy had seen that I visited his profile and sends me a message, wishing me a sweet night and golden dreams.  I am confused.  I thought he wasn’t interested.  Just in case I have it wrong with Gordon, I message Sweet Guy asking how he is, etc.

Other people have messaged me as we looked at their profiles.  I’m not really bothered.  I wonder if Gordon is or is not the guy for me (before he texts me) or whether the feeling is mutual.  After he texts me it’s all OK.  I emailed him photos of my dogs on Sunday, after I got home.  He says he loves them.  The text I receive on Sunday night sends love to me, Rufus and Dino.  He may not like them so much when he meets them but that is such a sweet thing to do.  My email to him did say that I don’t think I have emotional baggage but I have these….and we come as a package.  I think he understood.

As opposed to Sweet Guy who has met them and is scared of them!

But Gordon doesn’t drink red wine and doesn’t like heat but prefers it when it is cold.

This is a confused posting.  Sorry guys.  It’s how my mind is right now.

What really counts….

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I arrive. I am early but, because of my little joke about ‘tell me an exact time…I am English so I will be there then…’ I wait outside until the clock I can see at Piazza Loreto hits 9.45……and then I call. He doesn’t want to give me his buzzer name, I guess. I understand. We don’t actually know each other.

I cannot explain how different I feel about him. I mean, the pictures are good. But it’s also the chats we have had, easy, not forced or difficult or sleazy or anything…..I look forward to his replies in a way that I hardly feel about the others. Every word he writes seems just that little bit different………..but, is it, as he says, all fake?

He’s shorter than I thought. He’s supposed to be 2″ shorter than me but it seems more. He’s just in jeans and a T-shirt, nothing special. He doesn’t look like the other 40-year-olds that I have met so far – he seems younger. But there’s no immediate connection, I feel. Maybe because of what I wrote before. Maybe because, even before I’ve seen him, I have already discounted this as being anything more than friends. I don’t know.

He pours some wine. We sit, drink, smoke, talk. He’s as funny as he is on the chat. In fact, he is the chat, only for real. We talk about crap, about gay people, about relationships, about, well, crap.

At one point, as he is refilling my glass, he comes over and kisses me. It’s not like Venice. It’s not something that I don’t want. I want this. I want him. He goes back to his chair, opposite me, across the low coffee table. Across the books all about some Viennese actress, Romy Schneider or something. The wall on the right is almost some sort of shrine to her. He tells me about her.

We kiss again, several times, I run my hands up his back, and he likes that and I like it too.< He's very clear. There will be no sex. Sex on a first date means that you don't really like the person and it's just sex. That's OK. I like that. There's some restraint, something that I can look forward to, some purpose to seeing him again. Later....we go to the bedroom, we explore. He doesn't want me to go and nor do I. We don't have sex, but it's all nice and sexy and cool. His body, though a few years older and with a little bit more weight, is just as it was on the can (or, rather, as it was in the photos). I feel slightly out of my league. I wonder what the hell he can see in a 51-year-old - but he sees something and that something is something he likes. And I like that he likes it. We talk, caress, kiss. We enjoy the warmth of each others bodies. We both want much more but we don't. It's like some sort of game where we try to save so much. He tells me he never kisses guys. Well, he never kisses them much and not on a first date. And , not only has he done that, but we have gone much further than he feels is right - but it's not something that feels wrong or bad or that it will mean we never see each other again. We sleep. I hate sleep. I don't want to waste this time; this time to look at him; to run my fingers down his back (which turns him on in a way that I find incredible and fun and interesting). I want to stay awake and look at his face, see his eyes, run my fingers over his short hair, play with his ears (another 'special' zone). I am Top. I hold him in my arms, curl up against him, kissing, loving, etc. He takes the piss out of my accent. All his previous boyfriends have had blue eyes and are Taurus. Apparently. His previous relationship was with an English guy. And that means......? We sleep some. We get up. We go to have coffee across the road at a fabulous place with the most delightful array of croissants (called brioche here). I've never done this. Got up, gone out and had coffee (breakfast) in a bar. It's new for me. It's different. It's more Italian. We won't see each other for about a week, until after he comes back from Brussels. This is good and bad. But the feelings seem mutual and that is perfect. I don't know where this will go; how it will end; if it will end. But, so far, I am enjoying the journey. And that’s what counts.

I don’t know what to give as a title

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It was strange. The restaurant (Wok of Milan) was near his house and, therefore we went there. It was OK but, to my mind, nothing special. Again, I say, if you’re a Chinese restaurant be Chinese, if Japanese, be Japanese but don’t mix and match – it’s just not possible since the food is so different.

However, we chatted about crap. I told him that Rufus had not been so well and that, surprisingly for me, I thought that, perhaps, this was it for him. He wants to come round and see him.

We talked, tentatively at first, about the online thing and about Italian men, in general. Each saying we had ‘interesting’ experiences. He admitted that one should always read the manual (in this case profile) before one ventures forth. But, then, so should I it would seem. I seem to not be able to ‘see’ the photographs properly or, rather, I seem to look at them and think that the person can’t possible look like this and it’s just a bad photo.

But it is not, generally, a bad photo. In fact, if anything, it’s a good photo! So, I should take a look, imagine that they don’t look this good, and go from there.

Anyway, back to V & I.

So we’re chatting and, eventually, he admits that he’s rather smitten with someone. He says that the guy is short and nothing like me. I say that he should go for it and not hold back like he is doing.

It seems strange to me that, after all the time we were together, I don’t feel bad about this, nor like it’s a problem only, if I am honest, slightly jealous that I haven’t found someone before him. But I put that aside, and tell him (and I mean it) that he should not worry about how the guy looks but in how he feels and if he feels like this he shouldn’t waste the chance to be with someone who could be ‘the one’.

We continue this conversation in texts as I go home and as I take the dogs out for their walk.

I get a little fed up with him and, eventually say that he should stop being so stupid.

He accepts this in the way it was intended, i.e. He should just try and see. I hope it works for him (although, obviously, providing that I find someone also) :-) I also add that he shouldn’t be thinking about the fact that the guy isn’t like me and that, in fact, the guy shouldn’t be like me – otherwise it would be me……and we can’t go there again.

Still, it was all very relaxed although I can see myself being his agony aunt, which, given my free time right now (virtually none as you may be able to tell by the blog entries) may be more than a little difficult.

And, then, last night was the sweet guy from Varese.

It’s from a different site, one where they try to match you for compatibility rather than looks or whether you are Top or Bottom or somewhere in between. We are something like 75% compatible. But I should read the manual and, in this case, rather than the small-print, the pictures. OK so a little chubby, not pretty. But the photos have got to be bad ones.

Um, no. The photos were good

He is, actually, a nice guy but I have been with V for 20 odd years. I want the 40-year-old man with the 30-year-old body (and face) – something that Italy seems incapable of providing). We go for a walk along lake Lugano (on the Italian side), stop and have a drink and then go to a pizzeria that he knows.

OK so it is a nice evening but the whole thing is very one-sided in that he is thinking ‘Wow!’ and I am not. How do I know this? Well, a) it is the first thing he says when he meets me and b) I can just tell it doesn’t go away during the evening.

He looks like my M (my first partner of 10 years) only if he were now 60 (even though the guy is supposed to be in his 40s. Actually M won’t look like this. This guy looks like M’s father!

We do kiss but there is no Karl Spark – nor will there ever be. Friends, yes. More, no!

And then, because I had moaned at Gordon (via chat) about Italian men and how difficult it was for me to handle them, I am now preparing to go to his flat as I write this. Gordon has a beautiful body – a 30-year-old body and he’s 40. So far so good. Now, on my new PC (bought today), his face does not look so good but neither does it look so bad. He doesn’t look 40 for certain.

Now I read back, you won’t get the steps between moaning at him and ending up going to his flat but, briefly, it goes like this. I moan. He asks what is wrong with Italian men. I say there’s not enough room to write about it. He says he is listening. I ask are you sure. He says yes. I give him brief idea that these people don’t do what they say (see the previous post) and, anyway, they all carry too much baggage in their heads. He writes a serious response about all this chat stuff being fake but it makes me laugh and I tell him so. Then after a bit more chat I ask him what does it make our chat, real or fake?

He then says we can meet. I say that, for some reason (and I think it is because I am quite scared – he is too beautiful, too perfect) I am not pushing this and chatting is fine but, in any event, we arrange to meet Saturday.

And so, here we are. I am about to leave and go to his place for a glass of wine (having drunk half a bottle already and not really eaten anything). This one actually seems important but will, in all probability, end up like the rest.

However, who’s to know?

Tomorrow is Boris. Coming down from Cantù, near the lakes. He wants to go to Borgo, a bit gay disco held on a Sunday night. I don’t. Other than it is full of gay people, it is Sunday night and I have customers in on Monday! Hmm, we shall see. So, Pietro, if I am less than awake on Monday, you will know why.

Oh, and by the way, another person at work now knows I am gay. It is about time that everyone knew and then I can stop pretending…….

Dreams should remain dreams; All mouth and no trousers; Categories from Top to Bottom

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I have Karl.  In my dreams he is the perfect man – funny, witty, beautiful, clever, etc……

If we were together the world would be perfect.  I wait for him to call me; to be the knight in shining armour, on the white horse, taking me away from all this – to a better life, a perfect life.

It will not happen.  And, even if he was the knight and took me away, it would not be the perfect life and nor, necessarily better.

And he is not the perfect man (he is Italian, after all and, worse, he has more hang-ups than a lot of the others, it seems).

He won’t call and, in a way, it is better like this.  The dream of him being the perfect man can remain forever.  Anyway, I am Top Only, which I will explain later.

And so, the friend I thought had a problem with the sweet guy (who is currently blowing me off, so it’s time for me to move on) did not.  Instead her dream was crashing with the dream being a million times better than the reality.  As I said, if he said ‘I love you’ and you didn’t feel that love that he didn’t mean it and it wasn’t true.  And it wasn’t true.  He said that he loved missing her.  And so, for him too, the dream was what he wanted – the reality being that he no longer had to miss her.

As I’m getting to start the meeting of people, I’m finding them all mouth and no substance (or, all mouth and no trousers as the English expression is).  Well, that’s not entirely true, of course, but a lot of them are like that.

The date for tonight (with Gordon) will, almost inevitably, be cancelled.  I can see it coming like the light of a train coming towards me through the darkest tunnel.  It is coming and unstoppable – or maybe I’m just too cynical.  Yesterday and last night we chatted through the site.  I even said ‘no’ to my piano player from Pavia for tonight on the basis that we would be going out!  Last night everything was fine.  This morning he is not well.  He has a headache!

I know, it may not seem much but now he has gone to work.  Later, sometime this afternoon, the chat will go something like this:-

Him:  My headache is even worse.
Me: I’m really sorry to hear that.
Him:  Yes, I have to go to work too but I will have to go home straight after work so cannot meet you tonight.  I’m sorry.
Me: You’re full of shit, you know that?

Obviously, that last line won’t happen.  Instead I will say something like, no problem, maybe next Wednesday…..

Of course, Friday night will happen.  I know that.  The guy phones me almost every day.  Tomorrow night, with V, will also happen – but, then, he’s not Italian.  If I wanted, the lawyer from Pavia would keep his word.  The tall, dark and handsome guy would keep his word.  Unfortunately, they can only be friends as there is no Karl Spark with them.

Last night, whilst talking to my friend with the shattered dream, I was explaining Top and Bottom.  She didn’t realise what this all meant and I was trying to explain that it wasn’t all about the sexual side but also about character and life choice, etc.

So, if you are interested, I will explain it here.  If you’re not interested, the post has finished.

As with most things in life, there are the extremes and then the shades in between.  In any couple there will be one who is more dominant than the other, the difference between the two being greater or lesser, depending upon the character of the people involved.  This is also true of the gay world too.  And so, not only in a sexual sense, a method has evolved to determine, easily, what role you wish to be.

So we have Top and Bottom.  Top Only, as I am, tends to be someone who wants to make all the decisions and is quite strong and dominant in the relationship.  Bottom Only is someone who doesn’t want to take any decisions and wants to be led through the relationship.  The shades are More Top, Versatile, More Bottom.

Being a Top Only means that, actually, the dream of having my knight in shining armour whisking me away is just that, a dream.  It can never be fulfilled because it is I, in fact, that will play the role of the knight……..which I do when the circumstances are just right……like with sweet guy, who I just want to take in my arms and fight off all the evil people who would harm him.  It is what he would want too (but, I guess, in spite of what he has said, he just doesn’t fancy me enough – ah well).

Of course, the friend wanted to put it into the man/woman role and I permitted her to do that, but it’s not really that easy to do.  We don’t do the man/woman role at all.  We have no rules like that.  It makes a gay man no less a man just because he is More Bottom or Bottom Only and doesn’t mean that he actually takes on a role that you could consider that of a woman – but, if it makes it easier for you to understand it, then so be it.

And so, being a Top Only, I am looking for Bottom Only or More Bottom.  At a push, I will look at Versatile – but the problem there is that we would probably clash too often and I wouldn’t be prepared to allow him to be Top from time to time.

OK, so that’s cleared that up.  Feel free to ask any questions you like.  I will try to answer them.

The meaning of X; why do I put myself in these situations?

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When I was a kid, we used to write cards (birthday cards and the like) to grandparents, sisters, brothers, etc.  Always it ended with ‘Lots of love X’.  If you were really generous it would be even more ‘x’s.

I had always assumed, like one does, that everyone did this.  Here, quite often, people end with ‘baci’.

More recently, I have stopped using baci but have been putting ‘x’.  It seems that things are not (and it has taken me about 45 years to find this out) quite as I thought and that not everyone uses an x in place of baci.

Not only don’t they use it but they don’t recognise it!  Who knew?

So last night, on the phone, I was asked why the ‘x’ and was it like a signature or something.  So I explained and, in the process, learnt yet another thing that separates us from the Italians, culturally.

So, catching up with friends, as I was last night.  Telling them of the guys and why I was dropping some of them and why others were working (maybe….early days yet).  Now, I spoke to Best Mate the other night.  Told her about the sweet guy.  She was fine.  Another friend was fine…..one friend was not….

It got me to thinking, this is my problem really.  I put myself in situations that other people find hard to take.  But, and here is where the real problem lies, it is my opinion that it is their problem and not mine.  I don’t do the compromise very well.

And so, should I take up with the sweet guy, then I am sure to lose some friends along the way; people who remain ignorant; people who, because it does not seem to have touched them, still think of HIV as something that is a gay plague and that it is the fault of the person who has it and that it can be transferred just by touching, or something equally preposterous!

That’s a shame because, other than this one thing, they are nice people – but I know that I won’t compromise on it.  And that bit is my problem too.

In the meantime, my date for tomorrow (Gordon) returned to Milan from a weekend away.  He is feeling tired.  Hmmm.  This could be the prelude to bailing out for tomorrow night………shame because I found that I had missed our chats online.  Still, it will all be for the best, whatever.  Also, my piano player from Pavia is saying that Sunday will be difficult.  Hmmm.

Still, I still have Varese on Friday night.  And, tonight, hopefully I will see my friend A who I have not seen for a little while…..which will be nice.