And So It Goes
Spent the past twenty-two hours in the company of hot tub guy.
The plan was for us to go to Great Adventure and ride rollercoasters all day. On Friday, I made the mistake--under the sway of my father--of checking the weather report. Which was calling for rain. I sent hot tub guy a message letting him know this, and we agreed to spend the day hanging out in Philadelphia. Of course, it was a beautiful day, perfect for riding rollercoasters. So I took some needling for that.
We went to see a play, Chariot of the Sun, at a puppet theater in Old City (a lot of fun!), grabbed something to eat and sampled the cocktails at Continental (truly mediocre food, and my French Martini tasted like Tang® dissolved in grain alcohol, After dinner we went to Buffalo Billiards and shot a couple of games of pool. I'm not much good at pool, but luckily hot tub guy is only slightly better than me. I managed to narrowly beat him in the first game, and then he scratched while going for the eight ball when I had four balls on the table in our second game, sort of a pyhrric victory. After pool, we decided to see a movie. The only thing we could get into when we got to the theater was "Jackass 2." Which was great. Worth watching if for nothing else than for the butt beer bong. I found watching it a really interesting experience fresh as I am from my Inferno experience. The similarities were almost uncanny. In one of the Jackass stunts, they even used the same fishhooks that were used in the hook dance, although piercing a different part of the anatomy. At one point, one of the Jackass posse mentioned the fact that he was flying on adrenaline after a scene. Uh... I mean, "stunt." We walked up Delaware Avenue and up South Street (Ahhh, South Street! Site of so many youthful hijinx when I was in high school and college.) Our destination was the Bike Stop, where this is possibly the last weekend I'll be able to enjoy a cigar with my beer in the basement bar, since anti-smoking laws are going into effect about now. There's an exemption for "neighborhood taverns getting most of their revenue from alcohol sales," but I have no idea if the venerable Bike Stop will fit into that category.
As we turned down the block of the Bike Stop, hot tub guy reported that he had a bad stomach, and felt that it was best he headed home and spent some time sitting on the john. So we headed back to hot tub guys. We watched the Pacifier (well... I watched Vin "Chained at my feet, soaked in my piss" Diesel).
Then came what I had been waiting for since we made plans. I curled up and in bed next to hot tub guy. There's nobody better. Nobody better at all. When it comes to curling up in bed, hot tub guy has the competition beat.
But during our time together, walking through the streets of Philadelphia, sitting next to him watching a movie, over dinner, I had an insight: it's never gonna happen with me and hot tub guy.
Now let me clarify. By "it" I have in mind wine and roses, passionate kissing in thunderstorms, weekends at remote country inns, "that dizzy dancing way you feel." That kind of thing. And by "going to happen," I mean hot tub guys opening, and suddenly seeing me as a handsome, strong, competent, kind, passionate man who cares about him deeply and cares more finds that his happiness is the source of great happiness to me.
It's not going to happen.
But that doesn't necessarily mean that nothing is going to happen with me and hot tub guy. I like his company. I like him. I like being the person he can call when his back is to the wall. And heck, I'm spending next weekend up at his cabin at Pennsylvania's gay campground (no, not that gay campground, the other one) because they're having "Leather Weekend." (Isn't that cute? Do you think there will be bondage?)
So I'm totally down.
But I guess on another level, I'm still looking. Still hoping out there is a man who's going to look at me and I'll look at him and we'll be off to the races.