Should Have Stayed Home

By Adam Kuhn
Posted Friday, July 27, 2007

Sad but true, the man that I think I'm in love with moved away. Very far away. I'm not sure if it was his leaving, my wild imagination, or maybe something more that brought these feelings to the forefront, but either way, my heart was pounding.

Once I was over my euphoric discovery, logic once again took the helm and I began to think about things for what they were. The man I had these feelings for does not have an impressive track record when it comes to relationships. And it took one regretful trip to the club the other night to help me realize that.

By chance (my piss-poor luck), I ran into a boy who once had a fling with the man I fell for. I knew about their fling the day after it happened, because let’s face it, we can’t keep our mouths shut, and bits of jealousy and anger started clouding my vision. I hadn’t felt that way since my last big relationship when I was convinced the guy I was seeing was seeing someone else.

This boy, I later came to find, was entering the club illegally with a fake, New York State ID. Up until several weeks ago, he was under 18, and passing as a 22-year-old. After their fling, the boy dismissed my man, saying he wasn’t his type. Needless-to-say, I want the boy dead.

As we were talking, he told me things about their fling that my man conveniently neglected to mention. For example, there being more than one fling. And certain things done in said fling that said man expressed to me he would never do. Fabulous. We weren’t even dating and he was lying to me about other guys he’s been with. It’s too bad we weren’t dating, because if we were, I would have the grounds to call him and rip him a new one.

The chain of unpleasant thoughts continued when I made the connection that my man never really carried on a relationship with either of us. As painful as it was hearing it from this infant with a nightclub green card, the reason this boy and my man never made it was because my man is “too sexual”. In truth, brutal as it may be, was that all any of us were after?

Later in the night, I met a gentleman who had just broken up with his boyfriend. I couldn’t hear his story over the music, but I get the idea that not even he knows why the relationship ended. Do we ever? He then made the notion that love is hopeless and all gay relationships are doomed because gay men don’t love. Gay men have sex.

That idea had been jumping through my head these past few months up until the man I had feelings for flew the coop. The emotions I was feeling for him refreshed my thoughts of love, but with these new thoughts doing laps in my brain, I began to think otherwise. When it comes to gay men and love, are we, in fact, hopeless?

Before going out, I thought of sending my runaway lover a small package of little sentimental goodies to his new address just to show him how much I care. After coming home, my mind was cluttered with troubling thoughts, making me think twice about sending him anything, let alone a piece of my heart. Will it make any difference once he gets my gift? Will his response be anything more than a patronizing “aww”? How many people has he slept with since he moved in?

That nightmare became an even sharper reality when I saw a man at the club, who was not even a half-hour beforehand hitting on me, trying his luck with someone newer, cuter, and apparently younger. Obviously, this guy just wanted to get laid. His conversations were kept limited to small-talk, he always made sure to have a drink-in-hand to temp the under-agers, and he didn’t even remember my name.

Although on any other night, I probably wouldn’t have related some nobody dropping lines and reeling in prey to my man making whoopy with hotties unknown, but that night, I couldn’t get him out of my mind. It even seemed like half the people in the room looked like him.

After what’s-his-face disappeared, the boy came back to talk of things ‘New York’. From what I hear, he’s no stranger to the Manhattan gay clubbing scene. After I told him I’d be moving there soon, he asked for my number, and under whatever farfetched alignment of the stars I happened to be that night, I gave it to him.

He gave me his as well, but I closed my phone while he wasn’t looking so that the new contact wouldn’t save. It was cold and bitchy, but I couldn’t bear the thought of being clubbing buddies with someone who got as close to the man who may very well own my heart as I did.

The next morning, when I washed the stamp from the club off my hand, those troubling thoughts went down the drain with it. I didn’t really know who I was kidding. Whether or not I have feelings for this particular man, he’s twelve hundred miles away. I certainly can’t resist temptation when distance is involved. How could I expect him to? The boy, even though I’d like to one day take a shovel to his face, might be fun to hang out with, and beneficial when it comes to getting into unfamiliar clubs.

Maybe I was just being ridiculous. I was caught up in too many emotions that night to even hit the right notes for the karaoke songs I was singing. Ultimately, I realized that gay love isn’t hopeless. We make our own hope. We can choose to wallow in loves lost, or we can take the lemons that life gives us, and take them out dancing.

Who knows? Maybe my man will move back one day and we’ll live happily ever after. Maybe not. Either way, I care enough about him to wish him well. And, out of all this, I hope what’s-his-face found someone lovely to take home.

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