That thing so good, you’ll never have it…

He’s that boy, for me at least.  He’s the one I knew I’d never have and I always wondered what it’d be like if I did.

He’s beautiful.  Completely.  He’s pretty in that Instagram, bartending-in-only-underwear way, and every detail is perfect.  The first time I met him was nearly a year ago. He was behind the bar making drinks for the crowd around him and I watched him for a moment.    I remember wondering to myself what kind of crazy perfect person I would have to be able to get next to the likes of him.

He is a very talented musician who is already well on his way to success – and hell bent on it.  He’s that kind of million-twidder-followers popular.  He knows every gay in the city (and I mean every single one), and most gays in other cities.  

The second time I met him was at his house (no, it’s not what you’re thinking).  I was with a friend who works with him at the club during a small gathering.  I casually asked him about his music and we ended up sitting on a couch chatting for awhile.  When I gave an awkward look he smiled and asked, “What?”

“I was just thinking about asking you to play for me.  I mean I don’t expect you to but…”

He interrupted me and said, “Sure, I’ll play for you.”

As I stepped through the doorway into his room I still had that thought of him in the back of my mind.  “I wonder what it would be like to kiss someone that beautiful…”  (Not that I ever would…)

He pulled out a black guitar and while he played the voice that came from him fit perfectly – it was beautiful.  He then showed me around, talking me through various recording equipment and discussing his plans to add more.  He sat down in front of a keyboard and toyed around with it for a moment.  I had my phone in my hand and took a picture of him playing.  He smiled and said, “What’s that?”

Just toying around...

Just toying around…

“I want to remember this, and I sort of take photos everywhere I go.”  He smiled and continued to play, pausing briefly to pull me towards him and wrap my arms around his chest.  I could feel the sound of his voice moving from his body into mine as he sang.  My whole upper body vibrated to the sound of his voice and I’m pretty sure I was trembling a bit.  Still playing, he turned and looked at me.

Then, he kissed me.

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Making the Impossible Possible: Dating

As I headed over to Eric’s I knew that when I left I would be filled with regret.  I had the perfect playlist cued up.  It’s called “Bursting” and among others it contains:

  • -Song for the Lonely, Cher
  • -Silver and Cold, AFI
  • -Born to Die, Lana Del Ray

I’m sure you get the idea.  With things getting serious between Michael and I (although not yet official), this had all the makings of a hookup-gone-wrong.  Eric is Tanya’s roommate – she’s a long time friend and for us things have not always gone smoothly.  He works at a gay club…as a stripper.  She has warned me about him and before today I had met him twice.  It was the perfect combination for a potentially very un-perfect situation.

He welcomed me in and we started the movie that we both knew we’d never finish.  It was at this point something odd started to happen.  That pre-hookup awkwardness – the kind that’s dispelled instantly once one grabs the other’s crotch – began to fade away and we talked.   We talked about the bad acting in the movie, what we thought about certain aspects of gay culture, and before long we were discussing personal philosophy.  I can honestly say with utmost certainty that this has never happened during this type of encounter.  Before too long we were laying in bed together, clothed.

“Why do I find it weird how compatible we seem to be?”

Just talking.

He posed this question and instantly I snapped out of whatever haze I was in and realized that this was more than a hookup.  It wasn’t a hookup at all, in fact.  Had something significant just happened?  In a place that should completely lack it, had there suddenly been meaning?  As we laid there he showed me some of his poetry.  It was brilliant – it flowed and lacked that “I’m trying to be poetic” feel that plagues most abstract writing.  Eventually we ended up in his jeep.  We had the top down despite the cold and we rode along through the city, belting out random songs from the likes of the Goo Goo Dolls and Cher.

I got in my car to leave and was left wondering, “What the hell just happened?”  I know that this entire situation has D-I-S-A-S-T-E-R written across it in big ol’ red letters.  I know that the boy I’m dating is great and I’ve been warned that Eric should be approached with caution.  Which begs the question:  Is the impossible, in this case, possible?