Friday, September 29, 2006

Layers

It is not my custom to post the words of others - I seem to have more than enough of my own. However as I sat in Temple last weekend, a poem was presented for discussion - it was on the theme of change, a part of our New Year's meditations. I am only out to a few in this world and none in my Temple - How did they know?


The Layers

I have walked through many lives,

some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
"Live in the layers,
not on the litter."
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.

Stanley Kunitz


Monday is Yom Kippur - literally the Day of Atonement. It is a fast day, a day devoted to prayer and looking inward.
I will be busy.

May peace be with all of you.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

No Expectations

One of my blog friends (I’ll call him Pete) e-mailed that he was going to have a first meeting with an on-line friend this past weekend: a momentous occasion to a fellow closeted married man. Being curious, I e-mailed to see how things had gone.

You can't believe how glad I am that you asked. I think I need to talk about the situation, but don't have anyone to talk to.

Join the club – a world where so many of us have so much to say, but our only support is at the other end of a keyboard. Not exactly a definition of intimacy. I had been thinking of Pete and his weekend meeting because it had a certain resonance with my life and so I will digress for a moment.

A few weeks ago I was up later than usual, a sleeping wife and awake children – passive guard duty if you would. So while the children played I was online and in an unusual moment went to gay.com and figured out how to chat. Understand, I am not of the IM generation, I don’t do chat. But chat I did and after a few fizzes met someone: a strange balance of common friendliness and sexual tension.

Not that I am na├»ve, but I was surprised when after a few minutes he suggested we meet – then. Wake my wife; tell her I need to run out for a few hours at 11:00 on a Friday night. I don’t think so. But now I feel bad – I took this nice man out of the play on a tease. The next day I do what cyber people do – I e-mail him with an apology. He responds and suggests we meet sometime – public place, no pressure, see if it clicks.

Now I need to digress some more. I have a guy in my life, my age, my socio-economic status, my tastes in bed – WAIT – it’s me... No, not really but he could be. We e-mail, we talk –real talk - when together, and we have awesome sex. The whole package one would think.

So why am I entertaining an e-mail from someone I never met. “Why?” should just be the motto for the past year and hopefully not my epitaph should I crash and burn. Mr. gay.com and I will be very near each other Friday afternoon. What could be the harm? Sis tells me she is throwing up her hands – probably so they will be too busy to slap me. I know this is self destructive behavior.

But I digress wildly. Let’s not forget Pete.

Was it everything I hoped for? The simple answer is, “no.”

I read Pete’s words. The simple response is that we do not really know what we are looking for so it is hard to meet such fluid, undefined expectations.

Mr. gay.com and I meet in a parking lot – there is a diner, but there is no electricity. We lean against my car, we chat for a half hour, a long half hour. I am happy I met him because how else could I feel such emptiness.

I guess I was hoping for incredible sex and the beginning of a great friendship. What I think I got was mediocre sex and an awkward, confused relationship.

I did not have sex, good or bad, no budding friendship, but awkward: a word I do not think I have ever used in this blog but what a perfect word – pure awkward. A wonderful awkward that allows me to feel like the ass that I sometimes am. A wonderful awkward that will be a reminder before another bout of insanity.

But the self flagellation ignores the simple truth – I went to meet him. What if we had “clicked”? I really wasn’t interested – I cannot find enough time to be with the man I already know. When I first started blogging Ian posted a quote from a song as a comment to me:

And I can tell by the way you're searching
For something you can't even name
That you haven't been able to come to the table
Simply glad that you came


I realize that my search will continue but it will continue with my therapist. Writing from my heart – writing for me and sharing with you – is part of my therapy. So fasten your seat belts. I fear it is time to expose more than my sex organs.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Blood

There is a blood shortage in our region - saw the whole story on the TV news.

There is a blood van in the parking lot - see it right out my window.

And there is nothing I can do.

Saturday, September 23, 2006

Hopes and Dreams

My therapist asked my goals and I said to be back with my wife in an intact relationship – back home. Afterwards I realized I had lied – to him and me. I had confused hopes and goals. My hope: to be in this house, at this desk, the noise of the TV coming from the next room, wife and kids finishing their show. But a hope is not a goal.

Carrie listens to my hopes and she sits there looking sad in a wistful way. She tells me – she always tells me – you cannot change who you are. She believes that my gay side will win out – oh that sad, wistful look. I am not as sure. But she is right on one count: what the goal must be.


My goal for this year is to understand who I am, why I am, and to find a level of comfort with myself. I need to come to my land of hopes and dreams, wherever that land may lie. And I still have my hopes.

One Year

While considering what to write I realized that I could not remember what I last posted – that pesky senility again. Back to the internet, back to my own blog – a refresher. Then it became clear – I was not senile. I last wrote from my soul almost two weeks ago – tales of doing and being, stories of renouncing: I wrote and I felt.

There have been posts since then – stories of rabbits and razors. Fun enough and true enough – all true. As I wrote them I knew it was more than a pinky swear being fulfilled – it was not having to intellectually and emotionally work – a blog holiday while still posting. And yes – it was fun.

It was also a few weeks ago that I took a new stab at therapy. Now being I am perfect, therapy seems superfluous but I have enough grey matter left to realize that my deep seated belief in my perfection is the ultimate imperfection. I am sure in future posts we will be visiting with Bob: he is a keeper. He actually runs the sessions, asks questions – tough questions, and does not really care if I gave a bj last week or not. We are there to deal with the foundations, not the current window treatments.


Tonight is Rosh Hashanah – the Jewish New Year. It is the start of the Days of Awe, an eight day period culminating with Yom Kippur – the Day of Atonement. Eight days to consider ones life – it is said that the book of life opens on Rosh Hashanah and closes on Yom Kippur – fates sealed for another year. It may sound harsh but au contraire: we have eight days to atone. Our definition of atonement… the sages tell us that before we can atone with God, we must first atone with those we have hurt – hurt by deed and hurt by word.

So I start the eight days and consider atonement. Now I believe I live a good life: there are wrongs – petty affairs, easily dismissed, easily corrected. But this year is different for it has now been a year – a year since I took the leap. A comment by Carrie and my response: yes she did imply sex with a man, but she envisioned a quickie, my ten year tune-up and back to our lives. So did I.

What was not predicted was the opening of a floodgate – months of sex with men. What was not predicted was that after five months I would have a need to share with her what I was doing. What was not predicted, though obvious in hindsight, was the fact that Carrie would regret it all – the comment, the men, the telling – in short everything.

So it is time for atonement. The problem is that to atone, one needs to regret. One needs to feel the wrongness of the acts. I feel the hurtfulness of the acts; I feel the pain I have caused. I understand aspects of the wrongness – infidelity is a powerful word.

But there is an implication in atonement that one would not repeat the act. While there are things I should have done differently, comments that should not have been made, in the quiet of my heart, I do not regret.

It has in some ways been the best of years – at least for me. A year ago I was a straight man living out homo-erotic fantasies, familiar with buddy booths, a denizen of anonymous sex. Today I accept, albeit grudgingly, that I am bisexual with a serious leaning towards my gay side. My wife, my siblings and select friends know. There are a dozen people in this world, in my life, who know who I am. It is not a frequent topic, but I feel honest with them and, more importantly, with myself.

Sunday, September 17, 2006

Pinky Swears

Recently as we all know I made a pinky swear with a cyber-person who goes by the name Rabbit Lady. Now the Rabbit Lady sent me a very nice gift – an iVibe Waterproof Vibrator under the condition that I give her a blog mention and the link to her web-site. I have given a mention and link – actually twice already – but in my heart I know she was not looking for an essay on the delivery or my reaction upon opening the box. She wants to know what happened when the seal was broken, the batteries went in and… okay – and when the Rabbit went in. This is what sales are made of.

I confess – that level of detail is a little uncomfortable for me and I did technically meet my end of the bargain. However I have never been one to hide substance behind form, so I will write of the machine, because a fine piece of machinery it is. But before I write I need to digress if only for a moment. It is clear that I take my word seriously, even pinky swears to a stranger. Yet the true promises I have made – fidelity to a marriage - lay at my feet in tatters. There is more to be said here, much more, but it is for a different post.

Rabbit Redux (with aplologies to John):
When I first laid eyes on the
Rabbit, I was struck, I was in awe. What a machine. What a large machine. Presumably wonderful for women, but not for a guy like me. It was intimidating.

Then last week I broadened my horizons. I bottomed – the real thing. And it was good. So when I next laid eyes on the Rabbit I was emboldened. Still trepidation, but no longer terror. And as the fates would have it, a house to myself – not an everyday occurrence in my life. Out came the AA’s – all four of them – and out came the KY and I was ready – nervous but ready. I studied the controls – I think there are small planes with less complicated yokes – and thought I understood them. One can guess what I did next and it did feel good. The thing moves in all sorts of pleasurable ways. But considering the heft, considering the four AA’s, it seemed a little timid in its power. After my fun – and fun it was – I studied it further and realized I had been confused. Pressing “ON’ does make it vibrate, shimmy, twist and turn. What I did not realize that pressing “ON” again and again and again and again just ramps that baby up.

I thought there had been a blast-off while the engines were still idling at the gate. Possessed with this new knowledge, I did have to try again. WOW. That thing has all the power I need – hell, all the power I could imagine.

I suspect that if my wife were to try it she would have quite the ride. But if she does none will know. I have come to understand certain of life’s limits. So I can only speak for myself. Having taken it out of the garage for three test drives, the Rabbit is a keeper. And from my current perspective – the perspective of wanting to repair a broken marriage - that is a good thing because in the long run I suspect my pleasure of that sort is likely to come from the Rabbit.

Rabbit Lady – it has been a pleasure in all ways, my pinky swear is complete and so are my discussions of
Rabbits.
Godspeed to you.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Rabbit Update

Back in the day when I was a young pup in this land of blogs, I heard Let’s Pretend We’re Bunny Rabbits at Dane’s site and came to appreciate – okay, really like – The Magnetic Fields. As I have listened to the song, and occasionally acted like the bunny, I never imagined I was to own a Rabbit. But own one I do – a beautiful iVibe Waterproof job. Now I had considered surprising my wife, but was a little concerned that she would make a mistake with an unexpected box - ask questions, open it – in front of the little ones, open it even alone and wonder what I was planning to do with a very formidable looking device. So I told her the story.

Based on past experience with the USPS I figured I had time to prepare for the arrival. Not. Monday night there it is – a box in my closet, but it is open. My wife, expecting another package of similar size opened it, but no problem: inside the box is a sealed white envelope. No one would ever know – not from the box, not from the label and not from the innards. One would have to delve deep to learn what lurks within the box and worse – within my heart.

Time to inspect. OMG. Actually, OMFG: it is serious looking. Has a little weight like any good tool. Lots of combinations – I do the math. I believe there are nine different permutations between the traditional vibrator (not sure what else to call it, though traditional seems, well, insufficient) and the clit massager. I look at it, happy for my wife, and trying to figure out how it can help us bi/gay guys. I suspect there is a way.

The test drive will have to wait – this is not a weeknight, kids wandering around the house experience. This deserves a weekend, a glass of wine, a little attention. But one thing is perfectly clear already – this is far and away the most intense sex toy this pup has ever owned and it will do things that I cannot even imagine. As my profile indicates I am middle aged and my will at times greatly exceeds my way. I just hope that I do not find myself replaced by the stamina of four AA’s.


Thank you Rabbit Lady - we will keep you posted within the boundaries of my ever decreasing modesty.

While I do believe my meager tech abilities should allow the embedded links to work, the Rabbit Lady, or at least her wares, can be found at: http://www.therabbitvibrator.com/

Monday, September 11, 2006

Being versus Doing

While we have been busy covering the letter S (do you think Sesame Street managed shaving, sex, and secrets – all at the same time) and was even doing a second post – the secret one was beginning to rear its ugly head but has since been captured, if only for the moment. But out of nowhere, the letter R came roaring.

Carrie and I have been busy and with much on our plate: TGT got a rest. But it was more of an afternoon nap than a deep slumber and it was inevitable that it would awake – as always at an hour when the rest of us should be sleeping. So another middle of the night talk.

At one point a Jeopardy style moment: Today’s final Jeopardy category: our future life together. Time to wager – wait, I have already placed my bet: Everything I hold dear.
A little intro and the answer – what it will take to get our lives back to where we were. My pen is out – I know this question. Alex – What is acknowledging the extent of my gay side and not acting on it anymore? I know I am right – I am repeating one right out of Carrie’s playbook.

Silence. No bells or whistles. Wrong.

A little surprised, but maybe I phrased it wrong, maybe the off-camera judge will overrule. No. The question is: What is Renounce? RENOUNCE! That is a tricky one. It seems to get to the difference between Being and Doing. I admit that I am not at this moment willing to give up Doing. I realize the implications of not giving up Doing. I pay the price in ways – some little, some bigger, but none overwhelming.

I am secure with a hope, a hope that I will flush it out of my system that I will come to my senses. That when it is a choice: my life as it was or giving a bj, I will rise to the occasion, put my cheating ways behind me and come home. I have precedent – twelve years with only my fantasies – not so much as a trip to the buddy booths.

But this is no longer about doing – it is about Being. Carrie would be happy to have me back, but repression does not do it for her. And she is right on that one. The fact that I may have hooked up recently is less damaging to her than the knowledge of what excites me. It is more than even that: it is what she perceives as my obsession, the level of energy – psychic and physical – that is devoted to my new – gay- side. She does not mind any one thing but the combination of the blogging, my on-line group, and my new “sister” has her saying Renounce.

The thing is that we both know that maybe I can obsess less – post a little less, not e-mail sis most every day but we also both know that the underlying issue – my having a strong gay side – is a matter of Being, not of Doing. Maybe I can change Doing, but I’ll be damned if I know how to change Being.

Saturday, September 09, 2006

S-Words

Recently I was considering a post on shaving – not my face, but more on that later. It feels like a relevant topic – I mean this is a blog addressing issues of my sexuality. But shaving seems so personal and graphic. Does anyone really care?

As I pondered this question, I received an e-mail to my “blog” account from
The Rabbit Lady. Now I do not know any Rabbit Ladies – for that matter, I do not know any rabbits, but I am not easily fazed. It seems that the rabbit lady is in the vibrator business – judging from the link, not your run of the mill sleaze store models, but a veritable cornucopia of works of art. Rabbit Lady is smart – she wants me to try one hoping (actually I gave a pinky swear) that I will share my happiness with all of you.

Of course there is one little hitch that I envision: all of those vibrators have a really cool looking attachment which I will enjoy when I grow a clit. Well, maybe not. I do have a wife and this is a product for women. So the newest excitement in my life is will the beauty of the product win out over the difficulty of explaining how this item arrived at our front step. I should add that my female confidant assures me that this is the product to have and the gift to give, and while I have no personal knowledge, I am betting she does have that little clit thing going.

So I have done it – I have both met my pinky promise and gotten back to some of the basics here. Because I realize that there is another S word or two that need to be on the table – self-importance and self-absorption. I do take pride in my writing – every word – and I do consider the meaning of my journey: too much I suspect. But at the end of the day this is simply a blog by a struggling bi-sexual man – a bi-sexual adulterer as one person recently coined the phrase. So while I cannot help myself always, I will try to remember what this is all about.

This brings me back to the first S word of the day: Shaving. Many years back I had shaved once – a mutual pact within a marriage. It was fun, it was sexy, but for reasons unknown to me, it was short-lived. Unless tended to, it does grow back. Over the course of the past year, the length of this leg of my journey, I have thought about shaving. Some of the guys I have been with were shaved and it was pretty hot. But what to say: Carrie I am sleeping with guys behind your back and I think they would be turned on if I shave those pubes. I don’t think so.

Then the opportunity presented itself – a wild night on vacation and the suggestion we try it again. Maybe I was guilty of a little intellectual dishonesty, but I had my chance. And it was exciting. So it is now the morning after, I am shorn, and Carrie and I are back into our little or no sex holding pattern which currently masquerades as my sex life. And I consider do I continue shaving. It is something she will notice on occasion; she will on some level realize that this is an ode to my gay side.


I consider this and realize that this little act gives me pleasure. There is the physical pleasure in the doing; there is a pleasure both physical in psychic in the feel of it. But most importantly it is a statement to me that even if I foreswear sleeping with men, return home to the hearth, that I will never go back into that emotional closet. I am bi/gay. The world does not need to know, but I do not mind reminding myself.

Sunday, September 03, 2006

Spirals

It was a week ago that I wrote of the TALK and of sharing lives, but not bodies. Of course the problem is that if an oversexed man is denied sex – well, not a formula for staying at home. So we will lay there in bed and most nights I behave – stick to my side, only the most benign holding of hands. But other times I will make advances – not forward ones. More like a cat, never jumping on the lap, but the brushing against a leg, grazing a hand over an arm. Always maintaining the distance, but still the desire is apparent.

Carrie is not unaware and I can almost hear her thoughts – no sex at home will mean more cause to wander. As if I need an excuse at this point. So she will on occasion brush me with her hand – wandering south, seeing if I mean it. She will then pull me to her, tell me its okay, it’s her job. She will touch me – after eighteen years she knows all my spots.

But she will not let me touch her. Of course we are touching – I am in her. But as my hands try to wander, to explore, they are subtly blocked. Her body while shared is simultaneously off limits. There may be pleasure for me, but not for her. Long ago I wrote of “mercy fucks” and while these may seem the same, they are different. One was borne of her not wanting sex but wanting me to still have pleasure, the other is much trickier. One while usually short and sweet also had the possibility of taking on a life of its own. The other – there are no possibilities.

Woody Allen once said that his worst orgasm was right on the money and while still true, that was said a long time ago. I consider the truth of it but know that all orgasms are not created equal. I do not blame Carrie – I think her having any relations with me is a gift so long as I am sleeping with a man. But if her goal is to satisfy me at home, I fear it is not working. When we were on vacation having wild sex with abandon, it was possible to feel “bi”, to say maybe I can pull back from the precipice. But this – what can I think – a “two” minute release and roll right over? Then lay there and think about my “stolen” hour with my new friend, a literal hour of total sharing.

In an e-mail to a fellow traveler I wrote:
I wish I knew any answers - it is tough watching one's life disintegrating while knowing the "death-spiral" could be stopped and being unwilling to stop it.


He responded:
You talk of the death spiral we are in, but to be honest with you for as hard as this has been, I have never felt so happy about myself as I do right now. I have admitted to myself that i am 'gay'; and to the women who has given me the best part of her life that I am 'bi'. We have given them the happiness they wanted, our children are happy human beings on the right path, is it not our turn to find the happiness for ourselves, even if it means being in the arms of another hot man.

I still have a distance to travel, but cannot argue with his thoughts.