I'm ending my re-runs with a very, popular - if not most popular post. Funny..the most popular blog post is not even something I wrote! Hmm..kinda makes me feel bad!
Anyway, for those that enjoy what I write, I will be back Monday..for real.
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Here's a letter I received. Reads like a soap opera...sweet and romantic: ***
Right, I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I guess this is what some people call venting. Never written to a complete stranger before. Hang on! Are you really a complete stranger to me? I mean, I dunno your fuckin’ name or anything, but I’m most impressed on the profoundness of the emotions you convey through your entries. Silly as it may sound, makes me feel like I know you. I’m sure this first paragraph will be exactly the same one you have probably read already over and over since people started giving you feedback on your blog. I stumbled across it last Friday. I was instantly addicted. I read it from the very first post to the last update. You kept me busy all weekend (yes! I’m a slow reader + I have a crappy connection and your site is heavy). Your story is amazing. I have one of my own too and, since you ask your readers to share stories with you, I feel compelled to do so myself. I’m not asking for any advice. If anything, I’m asking for your thoughts and feedback. I would very much appreciate those! I also have tons of questions about your lifestyle, but we’ll eventually get there. First things first.
Who the fuck I am? Well, I am a 27 y/o lawyer. I am from Mexico, born and raised. In terms of sexual orientation, I honestly hate tags, and I thoroughly refuse to categorize myself into one. I’ve been in a monogamous relationship with my GF for some time now. However, not too long ago I was deeply in love with a guy, and I was lucky enough to share my life with him for about a year. To this day, I don’t even know exactly how it happened, but I acknowledge it as something that changed my life radically, in every way it could be changed.
For my last year in college I applied to an exchange program in France. It took a lot to make my parents agree, and financially support my decision; but after tons of paperwork, a sad “I’ll-wait-a-lifetime-for-you” conversation with my girlfriend at the time, the coolest farewell party from friends and the "what/how do I pack" dilemma was solved, I was ready to actually live for an entire year in the City of Bright Lights.
When I got to Paris, things were great, but not everything turned out as easy as I thought. Finding a decent, clean, cheaper than 1,000€/month apartment seemed like mission impossible. That’s how I met him. That’s how I met Santiago. He was looking for a roommate, I was looking for an apartment. First impression? Cool, tiny, Spanish art student also on Erasmus…he should be fun to live with! Damn, it sure was! We clicked right away, and turns out we were very compatible on stupid quotidian activities around the house. I can’t stand doing the dishes, he hates setting beds: I’d set his bed for him, he’d do the dishes. He was a lousy cook, I’m a terrible shopper. No hay problema! I’d cook, he shopped. It was also nice having someone to talk to in Spanish for a change. It is amazing how the perception of time is so subjective. Within only a week of hanging out 24/7 it was as if we knew each other for years. (Cheesy line, but true!).
It’s gonna be hard to explain this, ‘cos there’s no way to translate it, but I’m gonna do my best trying. In Spanish we have two verbs that have close meanings. “Amar” (to love) and “Querer” (to love). However, “querer” is (to love) where as “amar” is (to love)². You say “te quiero” to your good friends, perhaps even to your best buddy, but you say “te amo” only when a truly deep feeling dwells inside. It’s not only used for lovers, you can say “te amo” to your mom and dad, or brothers and sisters. I relate this to your “L” word entry. When said in a relationship: “te amo” is a huge milestone. Sorry for the Spanish vocabulary lesson, but it is rather important for future reference.
Whenever I spoke to my girlfriend who was back home, Santi mocked me on how much honey would drain out of the phone. He said no one used “amar” in Spain when addressing to your GF anymore, clearly it was a phrase outta slang. That was, in his very own words, a phrase left only for the corniest Mexican soups.
Studying abroad is really fun! I tried to make the best out of it. Some new friends from school invited me to join them on a Venetian carnival trip. That very same week my I’ll-wait-a-lifetime-GF and I were done and, I was pretty blue, so I really needed to party out my misery. Santi ends up coming too.
Once in Venice, he and I agreed on sharing a one-bed room (please excuse a reduced student budget). We go out. The carnival takes the streets over. It feels like a collective madhouse. We get drunk. We have fun. On our way back to the hotel we make out with a bunch of Brazilian girls we randomly picked up in the middle of the street. It’s February and it’s cold, it’s Venice and it’s windy. Starts raining, why not? Brazilian hotties dump us, of course! We finally get to our hotel both: horny and soaking wet. All shaky, I get my ass into the shower as quickly as I can. All of a sudden, he’s right behind me! WTF! He didn’t even ask if he could. The both of us, naked in a European sized shower. It’s not like he’s the first guy I shower in front of. I was a swimmer athlete until I was fucking 15! Why did it felt different? Damn, am I to blame the Brazilian chick make out ? Or was it the soft touch of his soapy skin? Honestly: I don’t recall accurately, I was wasted for gods sake! Nevertheless, it happened: I popped up a huge bonner. I could not help it. I faced the wall trying to conceal it. He denies it, but I’m sure he noticed. It didn’t even occur to me to see if he reacted upon that. I felt embarrassed. Why so? Wouldn’t it have been hilarious if someone have had a hard on in the middle of the group showers when I was teenage swimmer? This was not like it, this was different. That was the very first moment in my life the idea crossed my mind. From that day on, I knew...
I woke up. It was freezing cold. I feel his arms around me as I open my eyes. Awkward. Good morning he says. “Hi” is the only thing I can mutter. I stand up and we don’t speak to each other at all that morning. Was I mad at him? Dunno, didn’t want to find out either. I fulled myself into thinking nothing really happened, and apparently so did he. After that odd morning, we never spoke of the previous night again, at least not for a while.
Back in Paris things really start to take off. I get myself a fine frenchie green eyed cutie. Santi hates her. She used way too many drugs. Other than weed, I was and still am a drug virgin. I still hang out with him all the time though. We do all kinds of stupid things together. Buy ice cream, sit on a bridge, laugh our asses at walking by people. At home, sitting in the only couch we owned, the two of us just, reading in absolute silence. Just me knowing he was there…and vice versa. I break up with frenchie green eyes, he no longer sees his own chick-of-the-week. He loves techno music, not a big fan myself. Through a friend of mine, I get VIP tickets to hottest nightclub in the Parisian techno scene. We both get there and it’s a nightmare. Gay night (please shoot me!). We were suppose to get some pussy! Still, we get in. Not a single college student would reject a free all-you-can-drink party night. We start doing shots. I must confess music was awesome! I’m screwed when this 6’3’’ built mother fucker starts hitting on me at the bar. I don’t want to be rude; I’m just NOT interested thank you very much. He was drunk, I was drunk. Situation was getting extremely uncomfortable. Then, without any kind of hint, or previous notice, Santiago is pushing my body towards his, wrapping my waist with one arm and holds the back of my head with the other hand. I didn’t see it coming. Although deep down, I had already pictured it. He kissed me. I kissed him back. We were drunk. I felt, for the first time in my life, the power of a male jaw. It was a passionate yet naïve kiss. He was shaking, I could tell. Most likely, so I was. When I realized what was happening I gently ended it. Pretending he was in absolute control of the situation, he addresses to 6’3’’ asshole stalker and says “arrêtez, nous sommes ensable…” (Enough! We are an item!). All we did for the rest of the night was have the time of our lives, make out and get even more waisted.
My nana (wise woman btw) used to say that “no drunken dipshit would ever eat flames”. Even so, I really think alcohol played a very important role that night. The next morning was hell for me. I assume it was hell for him too. I barely coped with what I can say is, my worst hangover ever, but not just outta drinking…but sorta in a moral level too. We grew apart from that day on. We hardly spoke to each other anymore, plus I got super busy with school and so did he. I tried not to think of what had happened, but I couldn’t look at him the same way either. Kissing him? That is gross isn’t it? Why didn’t it gross me out then? If you’re gay, you are suppose to find out in your early teens, not in early 20’s! Everybody knows that, I think there’s even a rule for that isn’t it? I’m an adult grown man. I’m about to graduate as a lawyer. This is no time for me turning fucking gay.
Unlike yourself, I never felt any kind of attraction for dudes before. Ever. It shames me a bit, but I didn’t even had an opinion about gay people. Not good, not bad either. I didn’t know any gay people, it was not part of my world. I mean, I knew they were out there, but just had nothing to do with me whatsoever.
About a month after the nightclub incident, I get bad news from home. Grandma’ is really sick, she’s getting some kind of high risk surgery, and my dad wants me back ASAP for the Dr told ‘em to expect the worst. I was destroyed. Family is really, really close. More than many others I know at least (and I live in a very family oriented country!). I felt not only alone, but lonely. I made a mess at the apartment while trying to pack. I can’t get any flight until 24 hrs later + 14 hour flight back home. Grams may not have 38 hours left. Why am I so sad? Is it just because I’m homesick, or is it because I miss him too? Is it because of Grams?
Santiago shows up. I’m driving myself crazy. I don’t remember if I was crying or not. He hugs me, I don’t. I keep trying to finish my packing. We start arguing over some stupid wine bottle. We yell at each other. He sounds bitter, just like me. I throw some nasty comment at his face. I turn my back on him and walk down the hall. I haven’t reach my room’s door when he shouts from the top of his lungs: “…tu puta madre Diego! no te das cuenta que te amo…?!?!” (Diego mother fucker, haven’t you realized yet I (love)² you…?!?!”)
My heart froze. Did he say what I think he said? I was longing to hear that. I loved him too. I hadn’t accepted it though, not even to myself. How was that possible? I don’t know. So much for a corny Mexican soap phrase, eh! He just yelled it. He (loves)² me. We kiss, we hug for as long as a whole month apart deserved it. I whisper to him I (loved)² you too. SMS from my sister: “surgery went just fine, she made it!”. Looks like I wasn’t going anywhere, nor was him.
That was the first time we made love. No second thoughts, no regrets, no alcohol. I just wanted to give myself to him, and I was craving the feeling of him giving it all to me. The sex was un-fuckin’-believable! No anal intercourse, but hot as I never thought sex could get. It was somewhat, aggressive? But tender at the same time. He was a man, I am a man and that empowered us both. There was no submissive/dominant role neither in him not in me. What I remember the most is that I was so damn turned on by the fact he was rock hard. When you have sex with a woman, you can tell when she’s aroused, but you have to pay attention to notice! Nothing is more graphically eloquent than a stiff cock to truly convey how hot you are for someone. Knowing that I had that kind of power; to turn him on, and having his throbbing cock to prove it, was like nothing else I felt before. We suck each other. We kissed a lot. I blew in his chest a huge load, he cum’s in my mouth while I beat the shit out him. We cuddle. No need to clean up.
From that day on we were together. I spend the best summer in my life traveling with him. We actually lived together as a couple the whole year. We spent Christmas and New Years. By the end of the term I had to return home to graduate. So did he. I left first, thank god I didn’t have to empty our place. We kissed, hugged and cried in the middle of the CDG Airport departures gate. I haven’t seen him ever since. We stay in touch a lot through skype.
My nephew was born days before I took off to France, and I remember thinking: this tiny little person has the whole family going crazy over him (being the first nephew, grandson and all). This little mother fucker has me going crazy over for him too. I felt what I think is as closest as a parent-like feeling I've gotten so far. I felt the urge of loving and protecting him. Don’t be ridiculous, he doesn’t need protection, your sister and brother-in-law have been expecting him for years! Still, I felt that way. I really loved my nephew in a way I didn’t know I could. With the kind of love you can’t have for your cousins, or friends, or girlfriends. I didn’t know I was capable of finding a new way to love someone. Shit happens, and the huge irony here is that a few months after my nephew was born, Santiago taught me yet another way to love! Until then, I wasn’t aware I could fall for a man, nonetheless I did. The way I loved Santi is not the way I loved women before in my life. It was new. Different.
It is weird how my mind works, as I went back home I felt sorta unchained to what had happened the past year. Being abroad, but knowing you have to come back home, is kind of like a reality TV show. I mean, it’s really happening, but it’s not your life! This is the kind of stupid argument I talked myself into in order to avoid the pain I felt for not having him around. I eventually moved on. I got myself a GF. I was back in fuckin’ macholand (a.k.a. México) and I was a damn tough macho mother fucker. Who’s to say I was with a guy for almost a year. Who’s to say I held hands with him while walking Paris. No one knows. No harm done!
I really hope it was THAT easy. You know it’s not.
I’ve been typing nonstop for more than an hour now and I haven’t even updated you. That is perhaps the main reason I’m writing to you, as if I were sure you care (hopefully you do!).
Before meeting Santiago, I had at least 3 long lasting serious relationships. I had no problem whatsoever keeping myself fully committed only to one at a time. Even after the “te amo” night I did not sleep with anyone else but Santi for a whole fuckin’ year! And I was at Erasmus!!! (not sleeping with half the people you know while abroad is like staying a virgin after prom for US kids). We had a couple of 3somes with random girls, but it was mutually consented and fun like hell to do!
It took me more than a year after I came back (and a lot of random meaningless sex with both men and women) to finally settle down with a new girl. My current GF who I really love. I haven’t cheated on her, but I feel things are different now. I had never had any kind of issues staying monogamous. This is my first serious relationship after him and, I’m starting to realize how tough it has become, the burden it represents. Do you remember how this feels? The early, really early self reproaches? This is where I am now.
Even so, I’m working my ass off to save enough for starting a life with her, anytime soon. Get married, have kids, the nice neighborhood, the walk-in closet and the mortgage: the whole enchilada!
Along came your blog.
With it a lot of questions, answers, relief, fear, laughs, tears, hope... Am I looking into a time machined portray of what my life can become in say 15 years? If I get married, do I really have to live my life like you live yours in order to stop feeling this void inside me since I haven’t been with a man? I don’t think I can. I’m not smart enough. The thing with me is that I’m such a bad liar. I’m transparent. Sometimes, against my better judgment but I just can’t lie to someone’s face.
Reading you made me realize and, I apologize in advance if this turns out like a nasty comment, please forgive me. No offense man, but...I don’t wanna be you. I don’t wanna be in love with “my Ross” (that killed me btw) but also find myself in the situation of having a family and kids who I love and have to look after. I don’t intend to add any kind of moral dose on my remarks; I’m trying to state them almost factual.
So what’s for me then?
I live in a country where let alone bisexuality, not even homosexuality is slightly accepted. Family, friends and in general my whole social circle is extremely traditional. It is a matter of culture.
This turned out to be an awful, all-over-the-place, way too long email. I wanted to ask you stuff about your relationship with Ross, and your wife…but I have to run and I’m pretty sure I’d like to know first if you actually got this far reading…hope you do. Keep in touch.
Un abrazo fuerte,
Diego
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Diego:
At times I feel I'm at the root of all evil. I lie, I've deceived and I've committed the most horrible of indiscretions against my wife and family. Yes, living a lie is a hard life. But, unfortunately, my choices are limited. It's not easy being me and I wouldn't wish it upon anyone. While the lying does get easier, morally, I know it's wrong.
If I had my druthers, and I could hit "reset" I would do things differently. Nowadays, things are different from when I went to high school, college, etc. Being gay, or bisexual is more mainstream. We all know of someone who is gay or bisexual, maybe even are related to someone. Back when I went to school and was growing up (and it's not all that long ago) people were more closeted, more secretive of their sexual preferences.
If I knew then what I know now, I would have experimented more when I was in college. Made sure of my sexual preferences, likes and dislikes. Decided whether I would be happier with a man, happier with a woman or indeed, required the love of both to be happy. I would have been more open about my preference, not hide where my interests were. Of course, I'm not the type necessarily to kiss and tell, but there are friends and relatives that I would have loved to have confided in, so I wouldn't be living a lie.
Would I have been able to find a man or woman or both, that was accepting of my bisexuality? Would I have been able to have my cake and eat it too? I would hope I would have.
What would I suggest for you? Nowadays, being gay or bi doesn't preclude one from raising a family, having kids and living a happy, productive and accepting life. Take this time to determine what you want, not family wise, not professionally..but what will make YOU happy. All other preferences are available to you whether you are gay, bi or straight. But true happiness can only be found if your happy with yourself and your mate.
Date, experiment, enjoy. Decide what it is that your DNA has decided is best for you. Then, damn to the traditionalists, make that choice. It's no one's business, but if if is asked, it is what it is. "I'm gay" or "I'm bi" is easier to say honestly than saying "I'm happy" and not being honest about it.
Good luck my friend..and make your life truly happy and honest.
Posts
I've been spending a lot of time on the beach this summer. It's been extremely hot in the US Northeast this year and the only relief is the ocean.
They also seem to have gone to new bathing gear this year and I'm liking it! One weekend, all the lifeguards were wearing these, well, I don't know what they are called, but their not exactly Speedos, and not exactly square cut bathing suits..they're more..like..bunchy fabric wise. They were hot.
