Of late there are appears to be three Nate’s. There is the daytime Nate, the evening Nate and the late night Nate. The problem is that three Nate’s are exhibiting more personalities than Sybil herself. I suspect this is distressing to Carrie and undoubtedly is taking a toll on me.
During the days I suit up, literally, and am off to work, a veritable pillar of the community. There I have regular e-mail flurries with some of my new friends. These are intelligent, intellectual – sometimes playful, but of late never overtly sexual. These are “dates”, not mere hookups. And they are good, they are validating, they are a reminder of starting a new life, a healthy life.
Then time to go home, home to the land of separation and togetherness, the land of confusion. Dinner with the family, chatting with Carrie while kids do their homework (albeit grudgingly). Sometimes a TV show together and sometimes opposite stair cases. If one needed to pick a phrase for those evenings, comfortable companionship would do just fine. The talk varies – children, our days, and of course TGT.
But sooner or later, it is time to part, the kids tucked in and each of us to our separate bedrooms – well, Carrie to her bedroom and me to my basement fiefdom. In the past we would have been crawling into bed, bone tired and lights out in short order: lights out and eye lids lowered.
But now I find myself in my new home, not quite ready to get into bed, looking for any excuse to extend the day. Ah, the computer. Check the e-mails. Shocker, no new ones in the last few hours, but then the fingers start their magic. But first, time to digress. My history with pornography, particularly porn at home, pales next to the stories I hear. Maybe fear of being caught, maybe cheapness, maybe a sex life laden with homo-erotic fantasies: not much to read or watch. And what I did have – well should I watch them while Carrie is trying to sleep or maybe in the den where the children can wander in.
But that was then. I have my space, I have a computer, and this is the age of the internet. So I have found a few places to wander, familiar haunts at this point. Places where I can just view those video trailers or other eye candy and places where there is opportunity, though I am not nearly bold enough to avail myself of such things – not yet. So I look, look at men, look at gay porn, and I touch myself. And I am successful – every time.
So I wonder which is the real me – the one who engages men in such a healthy fashion, the one who still longs for the quiet companionship of my best friend or the one who throws himself into the blue monitor glow of the nights.
It is strange how I need to write these missives in order to see such simple truths. They are all me and the real goal is to integrate these pieces. To find a place where I can be comfortable with Carrie without ….
As I wrote the last sentence, I stopped typing midstream. I stopped because my thoughts had run ahead and when I looked up and saw where they were going, I was taken aback. It was not where I planned, it was not back to the home and hearth I so desire. But it is real, so back to the paragraph.
To find a place where I can be comfortable with Carrie without constantly torturing her on being back together as once was. To find a relationship where my emotional and sexual desires, my need for friendship and my need for lust can be satisfied in the way that once existed so totally in my life.