Something I’m Bad At

Young Hottie

First Posted 21-Apr-2015

This happened repeatedly in college. It continues to happen. I meet somebody, there are sparks, chemistry, emotional heat. I want her. I want her to want me. Flirting happens, there are some dates, the moment when it’s soaring violins and time to kiss the girl and . . . it doesn’t happen. I don’t kiss the girl. Some really awkward conversation happens, maybe a weird, creepy back-rub or an odd pattern of hugs and I make a polite exit.

I love women. If I have a false idol it is women. It’s worse if I am attracted to someone. It’s so bad that in the moment when the magic is supposed to start I lose it. I become a babbling idiot. Lately, I was at a friend’s house and it was time. I should have kissed her. I did not. I stumbled out words about really enjoying the time, we should get together soon . . . hey we’ll do coffee some time and made my exit. I don’t get it.

This isn’t a new pattern. It used to really piss me off that in the ‘80’s, before AIDS, I got more play from middle-aged gay men than I did from women. I’ve had girlfriends. I was married, have a son. So, it’s not been a total wash. It still happens. I am into somebody, we get into the same room together, it’s time and . . . and nothing.

Guys that ride with me joke about being desperate for a woman after a couple weeks. They drunkenly boast about the women they’ve been with. I have to laugh because the last time I was with somebody and it went all the way was before the new millennium. Over 15 years. Blue balls after a couple weeks. Nearly 2 decades, people. Epic blue balls doesn’t even begin to cover it. This is how bad it has gotten. There was somebody about a decade ago. We started getting together at her house. We did dinners, watched movies on her VCR, the backrubs, some making out, then one weekend night she sat on her bed, smoking a cigarette, and suggested I rub her back (wink wink). I don’t remember what I said or did next, but there was no backrub and when I tried to call her later she’d blocked my number.

There was a string of Japanese women all through college who even had friends tell me that their cab light was lit. Available cabs have their rooftop light lit. These women knew I drove a cab to help get myself through college. It’s an obvious reference. Yet . . . she and I were in her dorm room, her back to me, mumbling in accented English about tax lights and I totally killed the buzz by launching into an odd tangent about Taxi Unlimited and our art cabs. One of these days the one I catch will figure me out and I dunno, greet me in a robe or something. Maybe not that dramatically clear. Something though, so that I get over my shyness and make my move.