Oct. 4th, 2013

David

Oct. 4th, 2013 10:23 am
rickps: (Cafe Rick - 11/08)
After my last relationship crashed and burned some seven years ago, I, like many people, convinced myself that I wasn’t wired to be partnered.  Being more than a little introspective, I attempted to objectively analyze what went right and what went wrong in my relationship.  It goes without saying that a convincing argument could be mounted (punsters insert comments here) suggesting that one can never be truly objective about oneself.  That premise notwithstanding, I launched my emotional ocean liner into the rough seas of personal appraisal.

Unlike Titanic, I failed to strike any psychological icebergs.  And unlike the Costa Concordia, I didn’t tip over and sink from venturing too close to an emotional coastline.  But I did draw some interesting conclusions…  As strong willed and independent as I am, I don’t want to be in control of every moment of a relationship.  Something about me appears to attract (and be attracted to) passive personalities, the “go alongers” as they were described in a movie (name the movie and get 5 points!).  My previous partners, both very nice men, were of that ilk.

Me:  Where do you want to eat dinner tonight?  It’s our special night out together, remember?
Them:  I don’t know
Me:  Do you want to go out?
Them:  I don’t know
Me:  How about going out for dinner tonight?  Italian?  Chinese?  Latvian?  There’s this wonderful little Venusian place on the Moon all the Martians are talking about…
Them:  I don’t know
Me:  ARGH!
Them:  OK, you decide
Me:  OK, Italian
Them:  I don’t like Italian
Me:  (Rummaging through a drawer)…How do you feel about a kitchen knife in the heart?

I’m sure we’ve all had these conversations.  I just seemed to have them much more often.  It got old… quickly.

As I sit here in my little self-erected confessional (punsters, this is your wakeup call), I’ll admit too that I’m a driven soul.  If I decide to do something, I do it.  If I crash and burn, you can see it from space.  I realized that I need someone like me, someone who can push back, someone who can stand his ground, someone who also has his eye on the prize.  Surprisingly, that’s a difficult order to fill but I’m not sure quite why.

So, OK, seven years have passed.  Dated a bit, learned a bit more.  Hasn’t been all that bad a time, really.  I’ll never be one of those guys who needs to be partnered by 5:15PM or face personal ruin.  Still, it’s kinda sad that my longest relationship is with Miss Thing, my twelve year old cat (no, that’s not really her name but whatever, it fits her personality).

So about seven months ago as I was trolling one of the chat sites, a youngish gentleman sent a greeting.  Decent looking chap, didn’t instantly want to (a) see pictures of selected anatomical features; (b) engage in sexual banter which evidently would excite him much more than me; or (c) meet for some nefarious purpose involving a lack of clothing.  In fact, the guy was rather charming and old fashioned for a man in his mid 30s.  Kind of young for me but maturity and rings on the tree aren’t always related.  His primary language was Spanish and although his English was decent, conversation involved a number of repetitions for understanding.  Turned out that he was a rather accomplished fitness instructor and in annoyingly good physical condition.  Gotta hate men like that.  When the revolution comes…  And then the shoe dropped, he lives in Honduras.  OK, nice chatting with you, would be great if we could meet some day but that’s never going to happen.  You’re sweet, darn cute, have a bangin’ body but that’s like thousands of miles!  Next!

Well, not so fast there.  He’s been previously partnered and knows what he’s looking for.  The man has traveled more than you’d imagine.  Already had firm plans in the works to escape from his highly gay-unfriendly environs for the US of A to commence a new life.  Fully recognizes that staying in the US full time isn’t a finger snap proposition.  Isn’t looking for handouts or a marriage of convenience.  Independent as heck and intends to stay that way.  The guy had substance and depth and that rarest of commodities, common sense.  I was intrigued, and then some.  So, it seemed, was he.

His planned trip to the east coast was altered to be a west coast destination.  And so we met.  And met.  And met.  To say it went well would be an understatement.  Yep, we’re different people.  I’m 5’11” and shall we say, zaftig.  David is 5’5”, 180 pounds of fitness (sigh, gotta introduce him to pizza).  I’m Mr. Spock to his Butterfly McQueen.  His music makes me want to jump off a tall building.  My music will likely make him want to push me off that same building.  But we love to talk to one another on just about any subject.  Well, we talk when we’re not doing other things.  A lot.  I feel a positive dynamic that I’ve never felt in the past.  That’s a good thing.

And so my friends, light a candle, chant a prayer, sacrifice a farm animal if it is your practice to do so.  Rick is taking the plunge for a third time.  Fingers crossed that it is the last and best time of all.

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