SCENE OF THE CRIME: THE KING COLE BAR AT THE ST. REGIS
So, a few weeks ago, I went out on a date. Yes, an honest-to-goodness, let's-meet-for-drinks date -- not the Craiglist variety. (And don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about.)
The date in question is handsome, charming, personable, sophisticated, successful and well-traveled. He also identifies as "straight."
All of a sudden, I'm living out a Sean Cody fantasy. (Don't pretend you don't know what that is, either.)
OK, I know what the deal is. Obviously, he's got issues. Obviously, he's not straight (not 100%, anyway). Obviously, I have some issues, too -- the whole Straight Bait fantasy that, judging by the porn sites out there, more than a few queers share. But the strange thing is, I probably had a better time and more stimulating conversation with this guy than any of the dates I've had with the out, loud and proud homos (few and far between though they've been lately).
Anyway, we met at the clubby, uber-WASPy King Cole Bar at The St. Regis Hotel. It's one of my all-time favorite watering holes, with terrific people-watching, stiff drinks, and, during weekday happy hour, the handsomest bartender in Manhattan, Gavin. But I digress.
My date and I had a swell time (and three rounds), and by the end of evening, we were making out like giddy teenagers in the back of a cab. The next morning, a clearer head prevailed, and I wrote him an e-mail, saying that he was absolutely perfect -- except for the whole closeted thing; and that I didn't want to risk getting led down the garden path by continuing to see him.
You see, I'm closeted, too -- a closet romantic, the byproduct of watching too many old movies as a kid. And I knew that I'd fall -- hard -- for this guy if I let myself. He wrote back saying that he understood, and was going through some self-searching, etc., etc., etc. And that was that.
Or so I thought.
He wrote again recently, asking to have dinner after he returns from a vacation in the South of France. (Could you just die?) I'm torn. It reminds me of the Johnny Burke/Jimmy Van Heusen song, "Imagination":
Imagination is crazy
Your whole perspective gets hazy
Has you asking a daisy,
"What to do, what to do?"
Oh my! I'm vicariously excited for you.
ReplyDeleteSounds like unintentionally you used the bait no straight man can ever resist...playing hard to get.
Just the way it ought to be.
But, I say, if he's all that, I'd have to give it another whirl. Let him do some more "questioning."
Heck, even if he were *not* all that, I'd have to give it a whirl. I guess what I mean is when something's...anything's...whirlingat all, keep whirling until it doesn't whirl any more.
Or something like that.
Hmmmmm. Danger Wil Robinson danger!
ReplyDeleteHate to be crass but who paid for the 3 rounds? And how did you meet in the first place?
Jason -- I'll keep you posted. If nothing else, I actually did have such a nice time (AND kept my clothes on) that I wouldn't even mind just having him as a social buddy to have martinis with occasionally.
ReplyDeleteDray -- He paid. I must say, he was quite a gentleman.
Oh for heavens sakes, the gay youth of today. Why in my time, I would have at least gotten a blowjob out of it and THEN wondered if there was any future to it all.
ReplyDeleteSeriously, though, if you don't take a chance on this all you'll have is a nagging worry that you might have missed out on something good. Is that what you want?
Oh Peenee, you are a voice of wisdom in the wilderness.
ReplyDeleteThank you.
Peenee -- If we had progressed to four rounds, that scenario might have played itself out...
ReplyDeleteWell, then, buy the next round, for fuck sake.
ReplyDeletetjb darling, would you mind if I do the obligatory "straight girl weigh in"?
ReplyDeleteNot waiting for a yes.
Sometimes it takes love to force us to get out of our own way.
Your guy may have always felt the need to be someone he isn't because no one has ever given him the incentive to be himself.
Being a romantic means having very high standards re: what you deserve. Just don't allow those standards to blind you to what's really important. But can you be a romantic if you don't open yourself to love?
I swore I'd never marry someone poor.
Mr P was poor as a church mouse & had just got out of the army & rehab when we met.
12 years later we're doing extremely well financially & we're still in love like tacky newlyweds.
Take it easy, take it slow, but TAKE IT.
I agree w/ the wise & adorable Peenee.
You're smart enough to know when to jump ship.
Good luck, darling.
Have fun!
"12 years later we're doing extremely well financially & we're still in love like tacky newlyweds."
ReplyDeleteEmma darling, screw my "straight" guy -- I'll just move in with YOU guys!
In all seriousness, thanks for the very smart advice! I'll keep you posted on how things work out...
Sweetie, there's plenty of room!
ReplyDeleteOur door's always open!
J'Adore!