May. 15th, 2008
What is it about certain people that makes our hormones race; make us want them beyond reason or logic? What magic combination of features and our memories make some people so irresistable?
There is this boy I have talked to a couple of times online. And I don't use the term boy loosely. He's twenty-one if he's a day. We have nothing in common. And yet the mere sight of him; his features, his goofy expressions, the perfect pattern of hair on his chest, all make me gaga. I lose my reason. Something about him I find so beautiful, so desirable. In the lexicon of whatever combination of traits it is that attracts me, he is iconic. I am smitten. And there is no hope. I expressed my interest and was respectfully shot down, with kindness and grace. But the desire remains, like one would lust after a movie star or model one has seen somewhere.
And the odd thing is, I've never been one of those gay men who place great value on youth. Never been into twinks, never been a chicken hawk. If anything, excessive youth or age difference is a turn off rather than a turn on. But he is something different. It is in spite of the youth, rather than because of it.
And I am left feeling like the lecherous old man, with my predatory, secret lust. It makes me feel old. Mostly because I still feel young. I don't feel like 45 years could have passed, that 25 could have passed since I was his age. My mind feels that no time has passed, despite the grey in hair and the laugh lines around my eyes. Sometimes I have to remind myself to adjust my aim when seeking dates, that I am no longer in the game for a 20 year old.
I've been thinking a lot about attraction, the chemistry that draws me to another man. The thing that I need in another person, in a man to date or be with. Part of the quest to understand the singleness. Last night, I had dinner with![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
torontomame and we came back here to watch Six Degrees of Separation (Amazing film. Watch it. Stockard Channing was robbed of the oscar that year) and the wonderful energy between us, that makes us friends, is what I seek in a partner. Someone who makes me laugh that much. Who is animated and gets visibly excited about the story he is telling me.
I was talking toclockworkzero the other night at writing group about a guy I dated back in the bad cancer dating phase. He was a great guy, sweet, tender, intelligent. The sex was great. But he never raised his voice. Never got visibly excited about anything. I never knew if he felt passionate about me or about anything, because it never showed. And that isn't me. I get animated and talk in funny accents and tend to have my heart on my sleeve. I need that in someone I date.
There is another guy that I see once or twice a year. Again, amazing sex, but he's so emotionally passive. I have to initiate contact every time. I never really know what he likes or thinks or wants. If I come out and ask, he tells me how much he enjoys the time we spend, but never volunteers. Getting any kind of emotion from him is like yanking wisdom teeth. I could never date him for that reason.
Chemistry is funny. I think much of it is us reacting to things past lovers or dates or crushes have done or said. And it is built on things we saw or liked before we even knew what sex was. Some hard wiring sparked a certain way and the paths begin to etch themselves into who we are.
And we find ourselves pining, or not pining, while our brains tell us why we should or shouldn't.
And we never listen.
There is this boy I have talked to a couple of times online. And I don't use the term boy loosely. He's twenty-one if he's a day. We have nothing in common. And yet the mere sight of him; his features, his goofy expressions, the perfect pattern of hair on his chest, all make me gaga. I lose my reason. Something about him I find so beautiful, so desirable. In the lexicon of whatever combination of traits it is that attracts me, he is iconic. I am smitten. And there is no hope. I expressed my interest and was respectfully shot down, with kindness and grace. But the desire remains, like one would lust after a movie star or model one has seen somewhere.
And the odd thing is, I've never been one of those gay men who place great value on youth. Never been into twinks, never been a chicken hawk. If anything, excessive youth or age difference is a turn off rather than a turn on. But he is something different. It is in spite of the youth, rather than because of it.
And I am left feeling like the lecherous old man, with my predatory, secret lust. It makes me feel old. Mostly because I still feel young. I don't feel like 45 years could have passed, that 25 could have passed since I was his age. My mind feels that no time has passed, despite the grey in hair and the laugh lines around my eyes. Sometimes I have to remind myself to adjust my aim when seeking dates, that I am no longer in the game for a 20 year old.
I've been thinking a lot about attraction, the chemistry that draws me to another man. The thing that I need in another person, in a man to date or be with. Part of the quest to understand the singleness. Last night, I had dinner with
torontomame and we came back here to watch Six Degrees of Separation (Amazing film. Watch it. Stockard Channing was robbed of the oscar that year) and the wonderful energy between us, that makes us friends, is what I seek in a partner. Someone who makes me laugh that much. Who is animated and gets visibly excited about the story he is telling me. I was talking to
clockworkzero the other night at writing group about a guy I dated back in the bad cancer dating phase. He was a great guy, sweet, tender, intelligent. The sex was great. But he never raised his voice. Never got visibly excited about anything. I never knew if he felt passionate about me or about anything, because it never showed. And that isn't me. I get animated and talk in funny accents and tend to have my heart on my sleeve. I need that in someone I date. There is another guy that I see once or twice a year. Again, amazing sex, but he's so emotionally passive. I have to initiate contact every time. I never really know what he likes or thinks or wants. If I come out and ask, he tells me how much he enjoys the time we spend, but never volunteers. Getting any kind of emotion from him is like yanking wisdom teeth. I could never date him for that reason.
Chemistry is funny. I think much of it is us reacting to things past lovers or dates or crushes have done or said. And it is built on things we saw or liked before we even knew what sex was. Some hard wiring sparked a certain way and the paths begin to etch themselves into who we are.
And we find ourselves pining, or not pining, while our brains tell us why we should or shouldn't.
And we never listen.
What is it about certain people that makes our hormones race; make us want them beyond reason or logic? What magic combination of features and our memories make some people so irresistable?
There is this boy I have talked to a couple of times online. And I don't use the term boy loosely. He's twenty-one if he's a day. We have nothing in common. And yet the mere sight of him; his features, his goofy expressions, the perfect pattern of hair on his chest, all make me gaga. I lose my reason. Something about him I find so beautiful, so desirable. In the lexicon of whatever combination of traits it is that attracts me, he is iconic. I am smitten. And there is no hope. I expressed my interest and was respectfully shot down, with kindness and grace. But the desire remains, like one would lust after a movie star or model one has seen somewhere.
And the odd thing is, I've never been one of those gay men who place great value on youth. Never been into twinks, never been a chicken hawk. If anything, excessive youth or age difference is a turn off rather than a turn on. But he is something different. It is in spite of the youth, rather than because of it.
And I am left feeling like the lecherous old man, with my predatory, secret lust. It makes me feel old. Mostly because I still feel young. I don't feel like 45 years could have passed, that 25 could have passed since I was his age. My mind feels that no time has passed, despite the grey in hair and the laugh lines around my eyes. Sometimes I have to remind myself to adjust my aim when seeking dates, that I am no longer in the game for a 20 year old.
I've been thinking a lot about attraction, the chemistry that draws me to another man. The thing that I need in another person, in a man to date or be with. Part of the quest to understand the singleness. Last night, I had dinner withtorontomame and we came back here to watch Six Degrees of Separation (Amazing film. Watch it. Stockard Channing was robbed of the oscar that year) and the wonderful energy between us, that makes us friends, is what I seek in a partner. Someone who makes me laugh that much. Who is animated and gets visibly excited about the story he is telling me.
I was talking toclockworkzero the other night at writing group about a guy I dated back in the bad cancer dating phase. He was a great guy, sweet, tender, intelligent. The sex was great. But he never raised his voice. Never got visibly excited about anything. I never knew if he felt passionate about me or about anything, because it never showed. And that isn't me. I get animated and talk in funny accents and tend to have my heart on my sleeve. I need that in someone I date.
There is another guy that I see once or twice a year. Again, amazing sex, but he's so emotionally passive. I have to initiate contact every time. I never really know what he likes or thinks or wants. If I come out and ask, he tells me how much he enjoys the time we spend, but never volunteers. Getting any kind of emotion from him is like yanking wisdom teeth. I could never date him for that reason.
Chemistry is funny. I think much of it is us reacting to things past lovers or dates or crushes have done or said. And it is built on things we saw or liked before we even knew what sex was. Some hard wiring sparked a certain way and the paths begin to etch themselves into who we are.
And we find ourselves pining, or not pining, while our brains tell us why we should or shouldn't.
And we never listen.
There is this boy I have talked to a couple of times online. And I don't use the term boy loosely. He's twenty-one if he's a day. We have nothing in common. And yet the mere sight of him; his features, his goofy expressions, the perfect pattern of hair on his chest, all make me gaga. I lose my reason. Something about him I find so beautiful, so desirable. In the lexicon of whatever combination of traits it is that attracts me, he is iconic. I am smitten. And there is no hope. I expressed my interest and was respectfully shot down, with kindness and grace. But the desire remains, like one would lust after a movie star or model one has seen somewhere.
And the odd thing is, I've never been one of those gay men who place great value on youth. Never been into twinks, never been a chicken hawk. If anything, excessive youth or age difference is a turn off rather than a turn on. But he is something different. It is in spite of the youth, rather than because of it.
And I am left feeling like the lecherous old man, with my predatory, secret lust. It makes me feel old. Mostly because I still feel young. I don't feel like 45 years could have passed, that 25 could have passed since I was his age. My mind feels that no time has passed, despite the grey in hair and the laugh lines around my eyes. Sometimes I have to remind myself to adjust my aim when seeking dates, that I am no longer in the game for a 20 year old.
I've been thinking a lot about attraction, the chemistry that draws me to another man. The thing that I need in another person, in a man to date or be with. Part of the quest to understand the singleness. Last night, I had dinner with
torontomame and we came back here to watch Six Degrees of Separation (Amazing film. Watch it. Stockard Channing was robbed of the oscar that year) and the wonderful energy between us, that makes us friends, is what I seek in a partner. Someone who makes me laugh that much. Who is animated and gets visibly excited about the story he is telling me. I was talking to
clockworkzero the other night at writing group about a guy I dated back in the bad cancer dating phase. He was a great guy, sweet, tender, intelligent. The sex was great. But he never raised his voice. Never got visibly excited about anything. I never knew if he felt passionate about me or about anything, because it never showed. And that isn't me. I get animated and talk in funny accents and tend to have my heart on my sleeve. I need that in someone I date. There is another guy that I see once or twice a year. Again, amazing sex, but he's so emotionally passive. I have to initiate contact every time. I never really know what he likes or thinks or wants. If I come out and ask, he tells me how much he enjoys the time we spend, but never volunteers. Getting any kind of emotion from him is like yanking wisdom teeth. I could never date him for that reason.
Chemistry is funny. I think much of it is us reacting to things past lovers or dates or crushes have done or said. And it is built on things we saw or liked before we even knew what sex was. Some hard wiring sparked a certain way and the paths begin to etch themselves into who we are.
And we find ourselves pining, or not pining, while our brains tell us why we should or shouldn't.
And we never listen.