The Baron Begs to Differ

Talked to the Baron von Philadelphia tonight. The Baron had been perusing my blog earlier in the week, and was concerned about me in date mode. He expressed concern that the difficult times I'm going through currently are leading me down the primrose path to bourgeois homosexual domesticity. Specifically, finding a guy who is "a good catch" with a "good job" and "aspirations" and a "natty dresser" and enjoys "fine dining" when he doesn't cook at home, as the "gourmet kitchen" in his "well appointed condo" was one of the reasons he bought the place.

Ridiculous, you expostulate? Actually, no. The Baron knows whereof he speaks. Because nine years ago, I did just that. I had lost my job, I was having no luck on the dating front. I had had a bad experience with a guy I met at the Bar at 2nd and 2nd: I went home with him and woke up in the middle of the night to discover he was fucking me. I was game for that. After he shot his load, I learned that he hadn't bothered to use a condom. Romance was scary. And so I wanted to be In A Relationship. At a friend's birthday party, I met a guy who also wanted to be In A Relationship. I wasn't particularly attracted to him, he was not only vanilla but kink averse, he quickly started telling me what was wrong with me and would fly into a rage when I debated whatever point he was making. A false start? No. I was with him for almost seven years.

And the Baron is particularly sensitive about this issue because The Ex decided very early on that the Baron was overly emotional or something and basically told me to break off contact with him. So I didn't talk to the Baron for a period of four years.

So am I doomed, as the Baron fears, to compromise myself and contort myself into whatever absurd position ("Yeah, I think S/M is icky, too, Sweetheart. Anything good on cable tonight? I made that pasta dish you like") to be In A Relationship?

Actually I think not.

Because I dated Special Guy.

Y'see, in the wake of the difficult extrication of myself from The Relationship, I was totally opposed to being in any kind of a relationship again. Or at least, any relationship that endures more than a night. It occurs to me that I still have issues with doing an S/M scene, or even having good old fashioned sex with the same guy twice.

But along came Special Guy. First, I fell in love with his mind. We could talk for hours. I could listen to him for hours. He thought I was the smartest guy in the whole world. I thought he was the smartest guy in the whole world. I thought (and I still think) that he is one of the hottest men I've ever known. He was a big guy. He had an inch or two on me. Broad shouldered. Hairy as a beast. Incredibly bushy stache. A lover of life. A deeply compassionate man. Walking down 8th Avenue with Special Guy, it took an hour to walk five blocks. Every ten steps he'd run into someone else he knew, who had been going through 'a hard time,' and Special Guy would have to hear the guy out, ask how he was doing, offer his shoulder to cry on. And Special Guy was one sick and kinky fucker. We met at the Dugout on a Sunday, and the following Saturday had our first 'date' of sorts: we went to an all-day musclebear sex party. That day, I only had to waste piss down the toilet twice: in the morning before I left the house and that night when I got home. Special Guy was sooooo up for everything. Truly one of the highlights of the first date was when I flogged him on the patio.

And there we were on Christopher Street. There was a sudden downpour. Torrential rain. Coming down in buckets. We took refuge under the awning of the flower guy at Christopher and Bleecker. While I talked to a woman who was asking directions, Special Guy bought me a single red rose. He pressed it into my hand, kissed me deeply, and said, "Wanna be boyfriends with me?"

And what did Mr. I'll-Never-Be-In-A-Relationship-Again-Ever have to say?

"Oh yeah. I wanna be boyfriends with you."

The five months we were together were five of the best of my life. I never guessed that dating someone could be so wonderful. Imagine! It didn't feel like an obligation to have to give up a perfectly good Saturday night to hang out with him watching a movie! I didn't want to do anything else.

I raised Special Guy as a counter to the Baron's argument. Not that kind of a relationship, a Special Guy kind of a relationship.

The Baron was not persuaded.

"Do you really think," he said, "that the world is crawling with Special Guys? That there's one in every wee hamlet and scores in every great city of this nation of ours? Consider that there's only one man of that caliber who has ever lived in New York City, and that was Special Guy."

Huh.

So in the wake of Special Guy, it's gonna be all about settling. As in, settling for someone who drives me bonkers, but hey, he's my boyfriend.

I don't think so. I don't think that Special Guy was unique.

Okay okay okay. He was definitely unique. When he said Mass for us (Special Guy was a priest; did I forget to mention that?) it was one of the most amazing experiences I've had. But I've met some other amazing men. Men that I would give a kidney to date. Sadly, the two that come most immediately to mind--one rides his motorcycle in the desert outside San Diego, and one rides his motorcycle on the back roads of New Hampshire--are pretty much taken. But that doesn't mean that all the special guys out there have been snatched up. There's three I can list right off the top of my head. And I've got a line on a few others. (Sadly, I haven't run across the Bucks County edition of the special guy line.)

So relax, Baron, my dear wonderful old friend, you don't have a lot to worry about. I'm not looking to play house with whatever available bachelor comes into my line of vision.

But thanks for your concern.

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