Prying Eyes
06.13.10
I’ve tried to start writing this recount several times now, each time halting as I can tell the language is too veiled for my own taste. I know it’s partly because I am certain there are at least a couple sets of prying eyes who are interested in what I’m about to say, merely for the sake that it involves either themselves or their friend.
Actually, one of them is a friend who’s been reading this blog for quite some time. It just so happens that he’s even better friends with the man I met last Saturday. Apparently, his prying eyes were rolling when he read the account of that night and it wasn’t drug-induced. Seeing that there’s more to tell, who knows what his response might be. The awareness of his focal purveyance definitely has my mind on the heftier side of editing my words.
The second set of eyes is none other than that Italian stallion himself. It may sound trite, but he’s pretty much a stud in every bestial sense of the word. He also has this way of looking that would set any heart aflutter. I noticed it while we were having a late lunch. He was trying to navigate back to our table through a crowd.
His head was slightly downturned, his movements fluid and suave, yes suave, his eyes slightly tilted up, looking sheepishly as he made his way through. It’d make any women wet. There was something about the way in which he sauntered back, like a raging stallion held back only by the social graces beaten into him, his wild spirit flashing beneath the surface.
It’s pretty damn sexy, and now he knows my thoughts on it, as he surely could be reading this now. Part of me would rather not admit it, as who would ever dare say such a thing to his face? It’d create an awkward air, wouldn’t it? However, am I one to edit myself? Obviously not.
I cannot resist to reveal the romantic observations I make, the sensations I experience, the life I live as I see it. Could it have negative impacts upon how I actually relate and engage those around me in daily life? Absolutely. But there’s a certain sense of detachment from it all. I’m not as invested in anyone as much as I am in communicating these images through my craft.
Some would call it courage, but it comes down to simply not giving a flying fuck. Anyone who can’t handle a bit of self-reflection surely wouldn’t want to be around me to begin with. Imagine how much more I speak about such matters, let alone announce them to the world. I just don’t have any shame about the life I’ve led nor the one I’m choosing to lead into the future. I love myself without question, so it’s easy to share even the most embarrassing moments. I am who I am. Why hide it?
Part of who I am is someone who appreciates the company of a gorgeous man, who not only has the physicality to offer but the mind and maybe even heart to go along with it. I’m beginning to wonder what lies beneath the surface. I’m starting to question whether his cool demeanor is more of a mask. I’ve had glimpses of something more, something deeper, a reserve and wealth of emotion that wouldn’t be shared quite so freely.
Anyone that knows me also knows that I am a sucker for such men. I love winning their trust, their confidence, being one of the few out there to whom they can open up as they truly are without reserve. I love being able to speak love to those sort of men, to encourage them with unconditional favor. It’s a sick fetish I know, but one that is fairly irresistible. Hence my current conflict.
I’m a quick judge and I already know that this man, despite some of the challenges I know he faces, is the kind of man I recognize as one I’d like to keep around. However, in light of yesterday, I know it’s an unhealthy trait of mine, that I’m latching on to an idealistic apparition that simply doesn’t exist. I have to take a deep breath and focus on the present.
The problem is that I’ve enjoyed the present so much that I cringe to be leaving for 10 weeks. I will change in that time as will he. We might both become even more buff and ripped, but it’s on the inside that matters most. He’ll probably have moved through at least two or three guys in that time frame, not because he’s a whore, but because he’s that attractive. He’s already turned down someone I’d lose a testicle to fuck around with.
The fact that he came up to me, apparently the second time he’s done so, yes I am giving myself major props, still confounds me. If he still comes around after reading this post, I’ll still be confounded. If he still finds me interesting after I’ve been gone for 10 weeks, I’ll be beyond confounded. Then again, maybe I don’t see what he sees with his prying eyes. Maybe he’s able to read between the lines to know that if I’m willing to air my inner life with such abandon, he’ll never have to worry that I’ll deceive him.
Brutal honesty is brutal honesty no matter which way you look at it. To be honest, I don’t know this kid well enough to say anything of real substance or merit. However, I do have my initial impressions. Based off of those, I am feeling a bit of remorse about having to leave. It even interrupted our time rolling around together, though he may not have noticed. I was trying to connect to him beyond just the physical interaction, on the level of intimacy I prefer and it kept looming in my mind.
I kept returning to the notion that here I was, about to disappear, surely to be forgotten. I kept trying to force it out of my mind. I kept returning to it every time the kissing was so intense that I didn’t want it to ever end. I kept trying to forget that I was leaving in a week. I kept returning to the regret of having met someone I just wanted more time with, time that won’t be won, time that is not available to us.
Why is that time so important? Because it’s only through the passage of time that one can understand if the passionate embraces will fade or grow. Only over time can one realize if they actually enjoy this person or just the idea of them. It’s with time that we can determine if the mirage is actually an oasis in an otherwise barren land or just yet another shimmering lie. No matter how much our eyes may pry in the present, it’s only over time that we can truly see someone for who they are.