Of Sorts

Over the last two years there have been these cryptic references to Phil: on occasion my “erstwhile” boyfriend and at other times my boyfriend “of sorts”. On the whole I have not dwelled – nor delved – into Phil in these pages. Part of it was who knew how long the ride would be, part was some attempt at privacy after years of life on the stage, and I suppose another part was the difficulty of the story - difficulty in expressing a nuanced situation adequately and difficulty in unraveling my own very complex emotions. It seems that I am finally for a road trip in time.

Two years ago I was new in the basement still feeling my way – lots of blogging, an occasional married gay meeting, sometimes a Saturday night out: none of which yielded what was – and remains – an essential part of my definition my being gay – sex with men. So one Saturday night, home alone, I put an ad on Craigslist. A night spent e-mailing with some scary freaks (the one who wanted my address so he could come play with Carrie’s panties stands out), a night where I was a happy to be able to turn off the computer and was thankful for the disposable e-mail address: A night where my hand seemed both adequate and safe.

The next day I check that e-mail – hope springs eternal – and there is a response from two guys who liked the posting. An e-mail in proper English, an adequate description, and a desire to first meet in a public place. Too bad I had gone to bed early. We e-mail and a few weeks later we meet – a beer and snack in a chain restaurant, the horrific service allowing plenty of time to talk and become comfortable. As we pay the check, Phil asks if I want to follow them home. As you can guess, I did not need to ponder and soon found myself in an older sub-division, upstairs, playing with not one, but two men – the possibilities I had only fantasized about.

After some fun, some sucking and fucking, kissing and groping, I came. As I got up to leave, Phil said “Lay here between us for a few minutes” and I did, no pressure, no sex, just warm bodies in the after glow. I mention this because as I look back, it is what stands out. While not yet a dime a dozen, blow jobs I had down. Laying there in the quiet was a trickier business. Just over two years later, the moment still brings a smile.

Of course there is something missing here – this is of course my story and Phil keeps popping up, but I did say threesome, and three it was. Stan, the owner of the home, had been Phil’s friend for the past seven years. They are in the best traditions of the Odd Couple: Phil a widower on a second life, a man accomplished in his profession, a pillar of the community type and Stan… Stan, while living in a closet of his own design (Phil’s closet construction may need an entire post), has always been gay, pure gay, nothing bi there. He is a kind and gentle man and not at all unintelligent. But he is not book learned: a vocational diploma and blue collar skills. Stan is my age and Phil has a decade on both of us.

Phil is the king of compartmentalizing and compartmentalize he did. He had his old life – work, long time friends, social engagements – which kept him busy in a world that was not Stan’s, and he had his new life with Stan, gay bars and friends, nude beaches, a good time had by all. “And never the twain shall meet.”

So you can start to see a picture developing. When it comes to sex, three can really be a lot of fun (my inner slut lives on), but in the real world triangles are tricky to balance, particularly if there is one point which is always the center. There is much more to this story, but as my therapist used to say, we are out of time.