Tag Archives: Italians

It’s a very good feeling

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No, I was wrong.  This wasn’t Bunch but, most definitely Brunch.

Her husband (I presume) was from American stock and so there was bacon, scrambled eggs (with, because the husband was American, Heinz Tomato Sauce) and pancakes with maple syrup.  She also baked – blueberry muffins, carrot cake that was almost like ginger cake, a fruit cake (that reminded me of my mother’s rock cake) and raspberry jam tart!  Mmmmmm!  Delicious.

Most of the conversation was in Italian but it wasn’t too bad.  As I’ve recently said to Man of Roma in the post On Being British, my understanding of Italian improves.  The hostess was particularly kind when she found out that I didn’t understand perfectly saying that the few words I had spoken were perfectly pronounced and so she thought I spoke Italian.  It made me smile.

As did F, who, when we are together, doesn’t show affection so often but when we are out, touches me more (rubs my knee, strokes my leg, holds my hand, kisses me (although not today)) and in such a way that it is genuinely affectionate.  I know he loves me.

I was introduced as his findanzata.  I like that.

I watched him during the conversations.  He has such a way about him, such style, such a good conversationist, so friendly, so instantly likeable.  I got the small pastries that we were taking and went round to his flat before we went for brunch.  He was getting dressed.  At that stage he wore a white shirt and underpants.  So very sexy.

We walked back to his house with his colleague who had also been at the brunch.  I followed behind them sometimes, when the pavement was too narrow for three abreast, and noticed the back of his neck or, rather, the nape where his hair fanned out (though it is short) almost like an upside down peacock’s tail.  So sweet.  And I wanted to kiss it there and then.

But that’s for later when he comes round.  Now I should be making the bed, washing up the few things, putting the house in order.  His idea to come round.  He misses the babies (the dogs to you and I).  Especially Dino who loves him, probably, only slightly less than he loves Dino.

Yep, I like being his findanzata.  It’s a very good feeling.

Brunch or Bunch

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I was chatting with a colleague who was complaining about the cost of Brunch at this particular place in Milan.

The problem, we worked out, was that Italians have taken the word ‘Brunch’ and applied it (and an increased price) to a meal that can only be described as a buffet lunch rather than a (very) late breakfast, which was what Brunch devolved from.

F had told me, last week, that he was going to brunch with his landlady. It will be an all-Italian affair and, therefore, best described as a buffet lunch or Bunch. He told me that this Bunch would be Sunday (tomorrow).

Then, a few days later, he asked me to come. I’m not entirely sure why. I hesitate to say it’s because he wants me there but it does seem like that. I am going as his friend or findanzato – I’m not sure which. But I’m going anyway – and pleased to go because, in spite of my hesitation, I think it is because he wants me there; he wants us to do things together. It’s just that he doesn’t explain that very well.

It’s like now, as I write this. He had a headache earlier and went to bed. He rang because, although he feels better, he still feels a bit rotten. I don’t know whether he wants me there or not. So I said I would come round – if he would like. Eventually he said that he would like and so, when I’ve finished this, I will have a shower and go round, returning to do the dogs later.

And then we shall stay at his place. We went to IKEA this morning and he was looking for pillows as we need to be higher to watch the television. As he was buying some special pillows he asked me if this was what I wanted – ‘because one of them is mine and the other is yours’.

But, in spite of all the signals he gives, I remain unsure and, as a result, don’t push. In fact, I rather ‘hold back’. I don’t know. Is it right or should I be more forceful with what I want? Am I just being a pushover? And will that turn him away?

Ah well, tomorrow is brunch (or bunch). Either way, we shall be together and, whatever the signals, I like it a lot that we’re together.

The problem with Italian men……..

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“I hope I don’t get …………..”

or

“I think I’m getting………………”

Two of the staple sentences for Italian males.

As happened a number of times on Saturday/Sunday.

It’s not a big thing, nor that important but it does make me want to say ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake”.

So, a shaving rash (which is quite obviously what it was) together with a headache (which I always struggle to accept fully) means that it could, possibly, maybe, perhaps – be the start of a fever.

The problem is that their loved ones pander to this and so reinforce the idea that it’s OK to come out with this crap each time you see something or feel something.  It starts with the mother and continues with the partner.

And I am not better than any other partner but, you know……

Last night, we made a start

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There was, of course, the trip to Ikea and other ‘out of town’ stores for looking at furniture.  Mainly for his new flat but also a wardrobe for mine.

He had the car from work.  He wanted to be there for about 9.30 a.m.  We stayed at his place.  I woke at about 7.30 first but dozed until it got to about 8 or 8.30.  I would have preferred to sleep in and, in fact, he said at one point, that, perhaps, we should go tomorrow.  I replied that if we didn’t do it today we might miss tomorrow and then, next Saturday, he would still be in Germany and really we should get up.  Even if I didn’t want that.

We got up, had coffee and then went to do the dogs.  Once the dogs had been walked, he drove to the first store.

Now, I should remind you that he is not so tall, slightly built and so very sweet, never really getting angry.  Well, that’s not quite true but almost.  He does have very strong opinions about certain things.  Take the Chinese family living next door to him.  He has threatened to kill them several times now.  Last night, with the children screaming and crying and much shouting going on, he finally snapped and went to get a shoe to bang on the wall.  It had the desired effect.

However, generally he is sweet and without real anger.  Until Saturday morning, however.

I have driven with Italians before.  Italians drive in a particular way.  Cutting each other up; Signalling left when they subsequently go right; Stopping suddenly to ‘park’ (we would say double park); Pulling out from a side road in front of you, etc.  It means you really have to pay attention to the traffic and expect the unexpected.  I do use my horn more often than I would in the UK but that’s because it is really one of the only ways you will survive here.

However, generally, I don’t swear and shout at other drivers.  Why would I? What’s the point?  It’s not like they can hear you and it’s not like it would change their driving habits either.  So I remain quite calm.

Other Italians, when I’m in the car, do tend to be more demonstrative when they are driving, both verbally and physically.  However, Saturday was a little different.  F became a different person from the one I knew.  It didn’t scare me or anything like that and he is quite a good driver but, in the half hour or so it took us to get to the first store, I probably heard all the Italian swearwords (and, in fact, a few more that I didn’t know before) and more than once.

As I pointed out to him, it’s a bloody good thing that our first ‘date’ wasn’t him driving me somewhere otherwise I would have thought him a very aggressive and uncontrollable animal.

As it was, because I know that he is only like this when behind the wheel, I found it somewhat amusing.  What amuses me further is that he is a little like this even when I’m driving!  However, not nearly as bad.

Saturday night we were meeting my friend G and going to the Brasserie Bruxelles on Viale Abruzzi.  A & F2 were coming too.

They have a rather excellent selection of beers.  Once again, F proved to be so good, chatting to A & F2 whilst G & I were able to catch up.  G saying that F didn’t really seem like an Italian – a little more Anglicised – and not only because he drank beer like any good Englishman.  G had phoned me to say he had arrived at the station and I told him what bus to get.  The F phoned to say that he was at the station (the car was being taken by another colleague) and could pick G up.  Of course, neither of them had each other’s number so there were a couple of phone calls with me in the middle.  However, F found G, even if they had never met before and then they got to the bar by car

Then we went for a pizza at Al Basilico, just a block down from the bar.

A & F2 were then going home but G wanted us (F & I) to meet R, the new girl in his life and so we went to this bar/restaurant/club place called Shanghai.

G is going back to the UK.  He hates the mentality of the Italians and the fact that it is so difficult to get things done here – every step halted by a wall that always seems impenetrable.  He hates the fact that the Italians are too busy (well, maybe this is particular to the Milanese) looking the part without the substance (which is also how F feels, certainly about Milan).  He’s been here for 10 years.  I explained that, being here for so long, there’s no way that he can go back and live in the UK.  For all that Italy and the Italians may drive you crazy, there are things that will happen in the UK where he will suddenly think how much he misses Italy (and the Italians).

But back to Shanghai.  I hate and loath these places with passion.  A huge hanger-like place.  Far too full of people; all busy being the best there.  We were going for a drink (but really to meet R).  She was very sweet and very, very pretty.  But neither F nor I were really happy about being in that place.  I mean, it’s a place for people that neither of us really like and exactly one of the reasons why G was going back to the UK ….. but he was there only for R, of course!

If I never get to go back to Shanghai again, it will be too soon.

We go home.  His home.  He wants to spend the night at his place because he has to get ready for his trip and because he wants to have Sunday breakfast at the café.  So, maybe, it’s his ‘thing’ too, after all?

We get up late(ish) and go to have breakfast which, as you know, I love doing.

I go and do the dogs, some washing, etc.  He gets ready for the trip.

I get back later and he does dinner.  I have brought wine and moved the car to nearby his place.

We don’t have dinner immediately.  When I arrive, he is getting ready for a bath, having spent some time doing his ‘beauty’ treatment stuff.  He is in his white underpants.  He is incredibly sexy.  I wonder, at one point, why I think he’s incredibly sexy and why does he turn me on so.  I don’t know.  There are things about him, his body, that, ordinarily, I would not find a turn-on and yet, here he is and every single part of him is so sexy.  Even his feet, which I think are beautiful!  I find myself looking at him and wanting him – all the time.  I sit and chat to him as he has a bath, concentrating on the chat to hide the fact that I just want to look at him.

After dinner he does his Farmville thing.  He sits on the chair with his legs crossed under him, without socks.  I sit next to him and stroke his feet.  I have never had any sort of foot fetish but, with him, I think I could!

I go home later to walk the dogs and come back just after 9.  We go to bed early as we are getting up at 5.30 – I’m taking them to the airport.

Neither of us can sleep.  Not because we aren’t tired.  We talk a little.  I tell him that I get paranoid when I’m not with him (about the lack of things in common) and I worry about that because this will be the longest time we’ve been apart.  I tell him that I know it is stupid and he agrees and says there is so much we can learn from each other.  And I know that is true, still, I think he’s starting to understand me and he is more affectionate than normal.  He tells me of the things going on in his head – the reasons he can’t sleep – work, the new flat, the lack of time to do everything.  I tell him not to worry and that everything will be OK and I will help him if he asks and that, at the very worst, he can stay at mine if everything is not ready.  He knows that and says so and says thanks and means it.  And we talk a little more about his actual work and why this trip is important both for him and the company.  And I have a better understanding of why he is where he is within the company.  He had said over the weekend that he will be introducing me to the big boss as his new boyfriend – and I think that he is proud to do so.  And that makes me happy.

He is having the test soon and is worried about that.  I ask him if he wants me to have the test too.  He doesn’t really say but I know that he does.  I tell him that I will do it.  I know it will make him happy.  He asks when I last had the test and I tell him that it was about 22 years ago.  He is shocked but I explain that there was no need.  I was only with V.  He asks if I wasn’t worried that V was with someone else and I said that no, I wasn’t.  And that was true.  at least it was true for the most of it.  Still, I know it will make him happy and he says it would make a big difference (and you can work that out for yourselves).

The Chinese people next door don’t help.

This morning, he says we’ll just have 5 minutes of cuddling before getting up.  Then another five minutes.  Then we get up.

He says he is so appreciative of me taking him to the airport.  I explain that it means extra time with him.  He doesn’t seem to get it – every second with him is like some sort of bonus.  He has said that I should not come and pick him up but agrees to it as I leave them at the airport.

And so, I shall pick him up on Saturday and be glad to do so.

And, in the space of the weekend, he has become even more demonstrably affectionate, as if he is understanding that I am true.  And, even if there is so much more to discuss, at least, last night, we have made a start.

I see him Monday night!

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He says he will show me on Monday. I guess it means that after a weekend ‘apart’ at night, Monday we may (will) be together :-)

Even if I can’t keep doing it, I shall, of course.

Being apart from him is hard. Even as I write this, I can smell him; feel him; want him.

>Need him? Not sure about that. There’s a thing about ‘need’ that is different. Not sure I’m there yet.

Of course, his world is very different from mine. He lives in the ‘fashion’ world. I said the other night that I knew nothing of that ‘world’ – he responded that it was a good thing that I knew nothing about it. Since many gay people here live in that world, I wonder if V is there too and if he is enjoying it. I hope so. I keep meaning to ask him but forget. Just like, yesterday, I forgot to ask if he had quit smoking, given his current health issues.

FfI asked today if F had seen pictures of V. I don’t remember if he has or not. I’m not sure why she asked. To me it’s not that important. F is not V and V is not F. I am with F and not with V, nor will I ever be with V again, in that way. I mean, if F wants to see a picture of V then OK. If not then fine.

Last night was the dinner with the ‘friends’, R and Al. Actually, they were really nice and easy to get on with. We went to a new restaurant and I forgot to pick up the card, so can’t really give you the details. The food was excellent although the service left a little to be desired. Still, starters and mains with 2 bottles of wine between 5 and sweets and the total per head was €30 per head so not so bad. I had a boar stew thing which was really lovely.

Then, AfL, F and I went to a bar for a drink. A friend of AfL’s was there. They chatted in Italian and, to be honest I didn’t get most of it…..sometimes I just switch off. However, F said something to AfL’s friend and I didn’t really understand (and he wouldn’t really explain) – the thing being “I cut your hands”. Those of you who are Italian, perhaps you can explain what it is. We don’t have that in the UK and although I asked F what it meant he just kept repeating it…….but I’m sure it had another meaning.

F asked what I was going to buy in Fox Town (where I go today with A). I said that I might buy a suit as I really need one. F suggested that, if I don’t see one, then I should try his place sometime this month where I will be able to get one at a huge discount. Showroom stock. I’m not sure about this particular designer – never been that keen but, I guess I should have a look. I think it will be classic stuff (for suits anyway) so it might be OK.

We talked about him meeting my friends. He said it would be embarrassing because I will have told them he is gorgeous and handsome and he is not – well, except to me. I suppose he has a point – sort of. Although, I don’t think I’ve actually said that to my friends – but I might have.

Apparently he didn’t say anything to his friends other than ‘I’m seeing this guy’. AfL said that I wasn’t like they expected – but as I don’t know what they expected, it’s difficult to know what that means! She added that I was nothing like S, his previous long-term partner – well, yes, I know that – and I’m certainly not in the fashion industry, nor camp, nor anything like your standard gay man – I guess.

Hopefully we shall be back early enough from Fox Town that we can go for something to eat/a drink with F and AfL – maybe with A as well – that will be the first of my friends, here, that he should meet – although ideally, he should meet Best Mate first, ‘cos she is Best Mate, after all!

AfL also wants us to go to London for a weekend. F said that the company had a flat in the city or near the city we could use. Sounds nice. Also R has his birthday on 24th December and holds a dinner that evening. F said he would be staying in Milan this Christmas and, so we can go. It’s all long(ish) term stuff. It gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling. And I can’t explain, well not in words that really explain, how I feel when I’m with him – how he makes me feel – how happy I am and I’m pretty sure he feels the same – I mean 99% sure.

Anyway, I see him Monday night!

Sardinian restaurant; V update and advice; my wine shop

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Italians, as I have said before and as you would expect, have a thing about food. And, unlike the UK, it’s all very regional – however, I live in Milan and, here, we have restaurants from all over Italy. Last night we went to a Sardinian restaurant (Baia Chia – Vai Bazzini, 37).

It has, mostly fish (I guess because Sardinia is an island) although there are a few meat dishes. However, I decided on grilled Sea Bass for the main course and some raw tuna mixed thing for antipasto – this I shared with F who had chosen some prawn thing.

I have to say it was all delightful. When they came with the Mirto at the end of the meal it was, truly, the best Mirto I’ve had.

Not a big restaurant but well worth a visit – even if it is a little off the beaten track.

F admired the jumper some woman was wearing and said he wanted it…….so, partly as a joke and partly because it’s me….I went over and found out where she had bought it and gave the info to F – he seemed pleased but it may have been just because I had the nerve to ask in the first place :-)

AfL was lovely. F paid for the whole meal which annoyed both of us – but what was done was done…….it just means I have to be better at spotting what he is doing.

We walked part of the way back together and then I left them and went home.

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Earlier, I had texted V to wish him well for Monday when he said he was going to go back to work. He said he wasn’t going back as he had had some results from the tests.

I phoned him. It seems he has a problem with some nerves in his wrist, which is why his arm keeps going numb and they have also found a problem with one of the valves in his heart!

I don’t know whether it’s serious or not. He would probably never tell me. We chatted for a bit, easily with many laughs.

I told him about the problem with the kid. He told me that, perhaps, I shouldn’t be my usual self and should be a bit more like him…..letting the guy down very, very gently. His opinion is that Italian men are about 10 years less mature than British men…..which would make the kid 20! Scary!!

I got him to promise that, in future, he would keep me up to date about his tests and health and joked that I would need to know so that I could come over and put post-it notes on the furniture I wanted!

He won’t keep me up to date, of course. I know him better than that.

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Later. I go to the wine shop. We are supposed to be going to his friends’ place for the meal tonight. I ask the guy for a really good bottle of dry white and a good bottle of sweet white. He has some expensive wines in the shop. By expensive I mean €60 plus. He points me to one costing €28 and says that is particularly good. More or less the same with the desert wine. It’s why I keep going back. And his choice is almost always perfect.

He tells me that he has some more Macallan 7-year-old whisky (I had bought for a colleague once) and would knock something off the price.

Really, this guy is good. Of course, it’s all in Italian and I don’t understand everything he says but I can rely on him. If you tell him exactly what food you’re going to eat he will pick the wine to accompany it. Love it.

Then F phones to say that we are now going to a restaurant anyway. Well, it’s not as if the wine will go off, so there’ll be another time.

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.

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 don’t know what to give as a title

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7

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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4

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.