Dating in My America

A gay man of my generation didn't date much in high school. For four years, my only real option was to date a girl or hang out with my boy friends. However, an official date was almost an impossible proposition. Mildly surprising to me were the children who defied that convention almost immediately after my graduation. I was, one again, born just a few years out of date.

Then came the university and the freedom that overwhelmed me. Being too young to truly appreciate the opportunity offered by the experience, I squandered the single year I was allowed to attend. My typical American male confusion between sexual ecstasy and love lead me awry more than once and caused potential romances to flounder in the shallows of a one-night-stand and the backwash of codependency.

This recklessness, among other failings, contributed to my prison term. Surely I don't need to describe here the lack of dating and romantic opportunity within the correctional system. I am not railing against the rules forbidding sexual expression on the inside, it's a safer environment because of them, but the reality created tends to be frustrating. I did, in fact, fall desperately in love with one man during my years incarcerated. My inability to express anything other than a fraternal affection proved nearly enough to cause psychosis. Many men find ways to get laid, and I almost resorted to such measures, but that would have been hollow and disingenuous to how I felt. So all I could do was tell him as much as words would prove useful and hope we would still see each other after our terms ended... a futile hope.

Then came probation, because I was mean more than once, and my inability to navigate the awkward theesome that was approved romances under those rules. Luck delivered my next love to my door, literally, and his apathy toward the state's participation in our romance developed into a happy several years. Well, happy-ish. It is a romance I will never forget and one I would not trade for anything, but it did end in tears.

Probation has now ended and the state's participation in my love life had abated to minimal levels - I will never again be free of scrutiny - and my social life has grown exponentially since. Within months I've grown my circle of friends and expanded my zone of recreation to become an interstate enterprise. Within my limited experience in this life, this is common. It seems most people have relationships over large areas. I know no one in California, but I can claim friendships spanning several states.

The true crux of this entry - the predicate, as my best friend would quote from some TV show - isn't so much one of bemoaning my romantic status or complaining about the difficulties I've endured in the arenas of love, it's one of celebrating the greys of relationships.

I learned, both formally and through experience, that no two relationships are alike. I have more than one friend and each relationship has taboo topics and areas of common interest that are not duplicated in any other relationship I've ever had. I've fallen in love a total of three times and each not only had unique aspects to the very nature of the romance, but each FELT different from the previous. No wonder poets cannot describe the feeling accurately.

I now have friendships with sexual aspects. I have friendships that appear sexual, but are not. I have friendships that can go several months without contact and survive as if no time has passed. Then I have friendships that are based on vacation fantasy and currently exist as nostalgic vehicles. I love all these men as much as I ever loved any romantic partner... which may explain why I'm single.

I counsel my best friend against labels as a step toward non-judgment. (Judgment is wasted energy since acting on most of our judgment is harmful.) I'm finding this good advice for myself as well. Each of the relationships I am a part of is unique. Each will develop on its own coarse and in its own time. Defining what a friendship is as opposed to a romance or an acquaintance seems to place artificial limits on where the relationship is allowed to go... and I've always argued with my counselor about his statement, "you don't fuck your friends." I did, I do, and I will. Then I will still call them friends.

I have come to agree with my counselor - and every one before him - that communication is key to the success of any relationship. By explaining my flexibility to the people in my social life - and listening to their version of the same - the expectations of the relationship are made known and all is laid bare. Surprises and miscommunication are kept to a minimum and the early practice encourages continued "transparency" allowing the relationship to move about freely. I'm even making an attempt to retain a man as a friend after we discovered ourselves sexually incompatible, supposedly moving "backward."

The shades of grey are the fascinating part of relationships, they seem to be what makes most of them fun to be a part of.

Random

So I was crawling around on the floor of my bedroom this morning looking for the third condom and discovered a VCR under my bed.  I have to ask myself, "When did I ever own a VCR?"

End of an Era

Labor Day tends to mark the end of summer in America.  Of the three summer holidays, it is the last of those long weekends away from the cities and daily life.  Many people use these summer weekends to "get away," go "camping," or head to whatever beach is available to them for a final topping of their tan or dip in some body of water.  After this, after all, it's all downhill.

I too celebrated the end of the summer; the end of my first true summer in many, many years, with a trip to Minneapolis - as I'm known to do.  Because I don't explain the true reasoning for my trips, co-workers and family find me daft for spending nearly ten hours in a car for a five hour pool party.  I wasn't about to skip the final party of the year due to a lack of acceptable explanation or something as trivial as financing.  Man invented credit and privacy for a reason and America thrives on debt and liberty, right?

This trip (two months ago, actually) ended my reign as the newest nudist.  My BFF doesn't really count since he just wants to go to the pool parties and could care less about whether he's nude or not.  The group in Minneapolis held their annual membership drive at the Twin Cities Pride event and got inundated with requests to join.  The last time I was there, a hundred people crammed into a two-bedroom house that just happened to have a heated in-ground pool... surely that wasn't the real draw for the crowd at all.  This weekend I was able to spend some time with the newest members of the group and got to know them a little bit.  As we all know, a man is far more than the clothes he wears and when he's not wearing any it takes a bit more time to decipher all his quirks of personality.  One man wore only a simple silver chain and the other chest hair.  Not much information in those fashion choices.

One man preferred to stay very quiet and smile at the antics of my cohorts.  He fussed with his thumbs in what appeared to be a nervous venting, and revealed nothing about himself.  He did claim to talk more while drinking but refused the giant bottle of Captain I stole from a nearby table.  Turns out, he's not all that new to social nudity at all, just the size of the event was new.

The other man admitted to feeling awed by the newness of it all.  It is fairly rare to find gay men being both absolutely gay and absolutely male so publicly.  Of course, he also admitted to having little practice at either as honest living is a recent addition to his personality.  It takes a bit of courage to attend an event with nearly one hundred strangers, much less one with members who already know each other and are used to behaving in a manner not normally seen in the community at large.  (This doesn't mean we behave so differently that a casual observer would believe we are aliens - but that's another entry.)

I felt a bit like an old hand at this party.  Not only were these men younger than myself, and more handsome by any standard, they were displaying the outward signs of the anxiety I have written about previously.  Looking them in the eye I was tempted to simply hug them and prattle on about how it would all be OK.  A silly impulse as they are grown men and more fully committed to joining the group than I was.  It may also have been the vodka talking... my cups tend to be deep.

So goes the passing as all things.  I am no longer the wide-eyed innocent; no longer the voice of the naive; no longer a mere witness to the new.  I now am an official member of the group, a shaper of things.  I may even wield influence from time to time.  So ends my time as a nudbie and begins my next season as mentor.  I may even be called upon to dispense wisdom too, though where I'll find any is anyone's guess.  So as seasons change and karma continues to unfold I, myself, continue to change and experience the next moment.

I was once surprised by many aspects of social nudism.  I was once intensely moved by the openness of these gay men.  I was once, but no longer.  An era has ended, a new begun, and surely karma will continue to unfold and I'll be surprised and moved by the next aspect of life I've yet to notice - since that is part of the reason many of us participate in these events.  The envelope needs to be stretched and a life examined else what is the reason of it all?