I was going to call this post Old Boyfriends but in this case FWB was closer to the truth – no even that is going too far – more like booty call – the ghost of a booty call past – that is exactly what this is about – but that’s way too long a title for my twitter feed 🙂
I recently got a phone call from this ghost. It’s been years since I last heard from Darren. I meet him in the early 2000’s. It was through a non-cruising gay site (image that). One could post events, make social comments – sort of a pre-Facebook only with fewer graphics & advertising.
what good is quality of there’s no quantity
From the get go he was sweet but paranoid – he held a high security Federal Justice job – or so he told me – I never fully believed his explanations. i.e. He could leave all his clothes in the living room but had to take his attache with him because it held sensitive material. whatever.
Sex was fun at first – he liked to be of service – after a day of being in total control in his office he liked to be used but even then was still controlling. I saw him often at first. He even came to see me on stage.
I didn’t dig his dirt
He watched porn to get interested – he was fond of female Asian women sucking on big dicks. Filipino Facials was his favorite. I found the porn dull, their fingernails distracting & the dicks they sucked, although large, were not that arousing for me. Whatever get someone off, right. Yes, instead of our song it was our porn 🙂
I ended up writing a few pieces about him. One day he called to meet up the next night, didn’t show up. He disappeared for a couple of years – then called to hook up explaining that he’d been sent out of province for some Federal Justice work & hadn’t had time to contract me. Whatever. He was totally unreliable – a very bad communicator & I lost interest. I’m not even sure why he ever called again – if my dick was dynamite it didn’t go off in his mouth very often. Maybe my level of non-bitter disinterest was enough. I certainly held no anger towards him.
sometimes undies can’t contain everything
Anyway, I’d get these random calls from him – just back from BC, just back from wherever – I got one of these calls this week. Same song and dance, on a big case on the West coast, lots of props to me for the time he heard me on stage – he seemed to envy my freedom. Filled me on what was happening in his life. He admitted work was a great way to avoid developing relationships. Then got around to asking if I’d like to meet up. I declined.
Some ghosts are ghosts for a good reason.
Light At the End of the Closet
some days I check my email
every hour I’m awake
in case there’s one from him
but he’s a fucking crappy communicator
and I like it
I like the frustration
I know he isn’t stringing me along
I check my voice mail too
not as frequently
he can’t leave messages
when he calls he has to use pay-phones
he has one of those sensitive jobs
can’t be out
can’t be caught out
I understand this
and I like it
I like the hidden secret
the old timey quality of his closet
of me being totally out of mine
I can slip into his
and not feel the need to force him out
he knows this
he is always apologizing
sorry about an unending work load
that lets him hide
that makes him hide
I like this hiding sometimes
he says I’m ray of light
more like a shaft, I joke
I like this frustration
knowing I can feel it
not need to judge force refuse
be present
be in my own open life
sort of free
sort of because
if I see a crying child in the street or a mall
I have to back away
gay men are automatically suspect
can never be proven innocent
I back away into that closet
I don’t like that frustration
till I check my email
and there’s one from him
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