Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Single Gay Yoga Teacher Falling for a Visiting Frenchman: Male, 34, Brooklyn Heights, art dealer/yoga instructor, gay, single.
DAY ONE
9 a.m. Wake up early, go for a run, do some gay exercises (abs and push-ups), and check my e-mail. French Dreamboat went to an underwear party last night. Unfortunately, his angst around the whole thing is a reminder to me of his youth. I don’t go to underwear parties and I used to hate the idea of them until I realized that those gay boys just want the same things we all do — affection, validation, sex.
2:40 p.m. Message comes in on OkCupid from the Welsh guy. I feel tiny frissons all throughout my body. There’s excitement. I feel giddy; it’s all a story in my head. His message is sweet and charming. He agrees to meet me next week … after this French business is sorted out. I find myself stroking my crotch while looking at his little ;)s throughout the message.
4 p.m. French Dreamboat is here. He no longer wants to go shopping and would rather get in bed with me. We make out and hold each other as if it were the end of the world. I take everything off of him. His beautiful tight body is well tanned from his trip. He’s got fur in all the right places and abundantly.
4:20 p.m. The Dreamboat announces that he has a colon problem that means nothing can ever go up his ass. I know he is not lying. Everything in his body is begging to be fucked. He wants it so bad and I want to give it to him so good. I wonder if I could ever be in a relationship with a man I could never fuck. I decide not to think about it for now and just enjoy the company. He is so gorgeous and I’ve never felt so wanted in my life.
5 p.m. We are naked and covered in come. We hop in the shower. We decide on Mexican food since Mexican food in Paris is even worse than Mexican food in New York, and the ambience will be good. We sit, we eat, we drink margaritas. There are moments of silence that have the potential to be awkward, but both of us fill the silences with a presence that feels friendly, affectionate, connected. Text comes in: “What are you doing tonight?” Who the hell is this? Who else did I give my number to??
8:50 p.m. We’re both full, tired, a bit drunk, and high. We sit next to each other, smoking in silence, passing the spliff back and forth. Our hands touch for brief moments. I reach over and stroke the back of his neck. He leans his head against my arm. We fall asleep very early in what he has named, “La Position Parfaite,” where his little spoon fits perfectly into my big spoon. Within minutes, he is snoring and I love the sound.
DAY TWO
10 a.m. Some cuddling, out for bagels, then he goes his way and I go home to work. The Welshman and I make plans to meet on Tuesday, as French Dreamboat will be gone by then. There’s a tinge of guilt, oddly enough, as if I’m cheating on someone who is leaving in just a few days. The correspondence over OkCupid with the Welshman continues to be charming and I look forward to hearing him speak. Woof.
1:53 p.m. I had plans to go to an outdoor party at Fort Greene Park this afternoon and learn that it’s been canceled. That leaves my day open to get high, putz around the house, and play with my cat.
4:30 p.m. FD has plans this evening and wants to meet tomorrow to spend his last night together. He suggests we hang out at the flat he’s been subletting. It hits me that I rarely spend the night at someone else’s place. Instead, I lure them back to my place and it’s all about power, control, and a sense of safety. This time, though, it feels romantic and I agree.
5 p.m. MyCatHasCancer sends me a text. At first I don’t recognize who it is from as I haven’t entered his number into my contacts list (that place of honor must be earned). He’s a really sweet guy, but I’m not feeling it. It’s this exact scenario that makes me either want to be single and NOT dating or fully engaged in a hot and loving relationship. Dealing with it later, like everything else, seems fitting.
9:27 p.m. I’m already in bed. Out of habit, I scroll through my Scruff and Grindr apps for a few minutes until I realize 40 minutes have gone by. It’s such a regular occurrence these days that I waste time perusing these photos and “people” in a cry for attention from men. It’s hitting me hard in this moment —how good it is to feel skin against mine, to press against the warmth of a body, to feel a dick hardening in my hand, to feel attractive to someone. In nearly the same moment, it hits me that I feel lonely and desperately insecure. I switch my iPod off and pull the sheets over me. Tonight, I think it’s best to just hold myself.
DAY THREE
6:40 a.m. My French Dreamboat is leaving today. I pull myself out of bed, make my coffee, and go out for a run. I make my way back and stretch my legs out before walking in the door. Standing there on the street, bringing my whole torso down on top of my outstretched leg, I turn my neck to see an adorable guy walking his bulldog. He is definitely looking. I keep stretching as he approaches, drops of sweat forming a small puddle on the ground beneath by chin. Push-ups, protein shake, morning spliff = perfection.
4 p.m. After doing some stuff around the house, FD and I arrange to meet for an afternoon cocktail. We get a table for two and sit next to each other. Our hands move from touching shoulders to forearms to thighs. Everything about this drink (and the two after) is tender and sweet. We decide to reconvene at his apartment at eight, as I have some things to do and he has pants to buy.
8:10 p.m. I’m standing outside the apartment building waiting for him. Waiting here gives me time to reflect on this surprising little romance that has appeared out of nowhere. All those happy feelings that come with more than just a hookup, I feel them again. And there’s no attachment, either, as I know he is leaving. There is just this heartwarming feeling.
10:45 p.m. We’ve gone through two bottles of Champagne, a whole container of Oreos (he wanted to indulge in as much gross American food as possible), and a bag of kettle chips. We are naked, greasy, in bed holding on tightly to each other. I rub my fingers across every little part of him, breathing deeper than normal just to get the fullness of his smell inside of me. His furry butt fits so perfectly in my palms. He moans as I press my lips against his inner thigh, and his forehead sweats when I press my weight on top of him. We fall asleep wrapped in la position parfait. To cry would make sense for either of us, but we both hold back.
DAY FOUR
7 a.m. Few words are exchanged, lots of smiling, touching, holding. I tell him I’ll be in Europe soon enough and that I hope to see him there. He encourages me to visit soon. I walk myself back to my place, about twenty minutes or so. As I approach my door, my phone vibrates with an e-mail. He writes that this trip has changed his life. The lump in his throat and the tears he is fighting back tell him so. Everything warms up inside.
8:37 a.m. I’m preparing to teach yoga tonight when I get an OkCupid message from The Welshman. We have plans to meet once I get out of class but he wants to come to class! This guy’s got balls and I’m into it.
7:15 p.m. I’m at the studio and the guys are starting to come in. I’m awaiting the Welshman with great anticipation. I sit in the studio and I see him enter. He’s cute — built in a very natural way, hairy in all the right places (a requirement), and he’s pale, which I like. We greet each other politely and it’s time to get sweaty.
9:05 p.m. We go to a bar-restaurant just down the street. We order drinks, get the same thing for dinner, and lots of questions are being asked. I ask him what he does for work and he politely explains it all in great detail. Essentially, he holds down the heads of pregnant mice and pulls their tails really hard to break their spines, extracts their babies, and studies their development. He dumps their guts in a bucket when he’s done. I wonder whether this is really workable.
11:24 p.m. Conversation is interesting, enlivening. His eyes are beautiful. As we part ways (he has work in the morning and I’m drained from teaching yoga), we hug each other. His body feels good but I don’t feel a life force at all in the few seconds that we hold each other. I wait for my train, telling myself that I can get over the fact that he kills pregnant mice, that there’s no feeling in his body, that our realities are so different. On the ride home, it sinks in that I probably won’t see him again.
DAY FIVE
3:27 p.m. I open my OkCupid account and see that I have a new message. My heart drops heavily into my stomach when I see it’s from the Married German. The Married German (a marriage of convenience for visa purposes) is a guy I met two months ago. We had dinner, we talked, we hugged. There was definitely a connection. He asked to make plans and I agreed. We picked a day and time, and I never heard from him again. I sent two texts, an e-mail, and I got nothing … until now. His message is extremely apologetic and he wants to meet me in person to apologize but understands if I never want to see him again. I agree to see him on Friday.
8:05 p.m. Having cocktails with my new bestie, the Matchmaker. She really is a matchmaker and specializes in the gays. I met her at a mixer she hosted a few weeks back that someone told me about. The guys were mostly lame; there was not a single love connection had between anybody there, except me and the lady Matchmaker. She’s thinking of some wealthy, powerful men she could hook me up with since I like wealth and power. The problem is, as she confirms, that most guys like that are douchebags.
DAY SIX
8 a.m. Sweaty and shiny from a run, I snap a few photos of myself in the kitchen with my phone, thinking it would be good to have some sweaty photos for Grindr and Scruff. I sit there after breakfast, sweating, and I jerk off watching some porn. It’s been a few days and I’m more than ready. It takes just a few minutes, I dump my clothes into the hamper, get in the shower, and collapse into bed for a nap.
1:12 p.m. The Dog Walker texts me and says he’s just down the street walking a dog. I get myself together and put on a cute tank top with holes all over to show off my hairy chest and head out the door.
2:20 p.m. We are back at my house for a “nap.” The clothes come off, his tanned, muscled body is writhing in my bed. He always smiles when we are together in bed, with his eyes closed. I play with him some but mostly he just wants to take care of me. I sit back and let him have his way with me. I come in his mouth; he lays back and jerks himself off while I watch. He loves being watched.
DAY SEVEN
1:40 p.m. The Married German was supposed to meet me at my house at one so we could go for lunch. He’s more than a little late, exceedingly rude given that I made the time to meet him after he was such an ass. He finally shows up, is apologetic about being late. I’m not rude, but I make no effort to accept his apology.
3 p.m. We come back to my place for tea after our lunch. He explains some personal drama and none of it seems like a valid excuse for being a dick. I’m polite and patient but also make it clear that he has choices every step of the way in his life about how to treat people. I still can’t get over how gorgeous he is, how attractive I find the huge gap between his front teeth, how his smell makes me want to strip my clothes off and bury my nose into his flesh. He smiles, hugs me, promises me that I’ll hear from him again, and tells me what a wonderful person I am. I have no expectations of ever hearing from him again. We’ve all got issues, but his are intense and pretty unconscious.
8 p.m. Some friends are going to a big gay dance party tonight and I have tentative plans to go. It just doesn’t feel like one of those nights to go out, but I’ve got nothing else going on so I leave things open. I check my e-mail and I see that the French Dreamboat has written me. He’s awake in the middle of the night and can’t sleep. He says he misses my arms, feeling my bicep under his cheek while he sleeps, the way I press myself against him in La Position Parfaite. I decide to just stay in. I curl up in my bed and, within moments, I find myself looking at flights to Paris.
TOTALS: Two dates with French Dreamboat; two spliffs smoked; two post-date hugs; one matchmaker befriended; one yoga class with date in attendance; one act of masturbation to porn.
