Aftermath (or pt 3, whatever)

I went to bed at 7am, and waited for the blood to return to my alcohol stream. But it didn’t last. Fucking kookaburras kept me up until 8, and a text message woke me up at 1pm. It was him. A nice gesture I suppose, asking me if I slept well, and telling me he had a nice night. I suppose it was to be expected. One could almost call it sweet.

The next morning, I was awakened by my phone ringing. It was him. But since I’m a lazy callous bastard, I just silenced it and went back to bed. Bad mistake. It was followed by two more, and a whiny sounding voicemail. And a text message asking me to meet him at lunch tomorrow. Now I had a problem.

See, I’m a chronically nice guy. I almost got pulled into a gang fight trying to help a bloodied boy. When I discovered I was actually the first boy he kissed, I decided the right thing to do was to be a gentleman about it, and give him a nice night. It was sweet how into me he seemed, and maybe it was the booze talking, but I almost developed a little affection for him.

This evaporated with sobriety, and the realization that chivalry earns stalkers. Something needed to be done.

I turned to the one man who would know exactly what to do: My brother. Perhaps a perfect gentleman now, but he had his sowing of the wild oats. This situation must’ve happened to him before.

I presented him with four options:
1) Ignore and hope it all blows over.
2) Cut my loses. Tell him it’s a one-time thing to never be repeated.
3) Actually try dating the little croissant, and see what comes of it.
4) Manipulate him into a casual fuckbuddy-type “relationship”

Clearly, 1 is just wishful thinking. And I don’t know if I have the heart, or skills to pull off 4. So, I ask him 2 or 3. Wise beyond his years, my brother says the worst thing I can do is date the boy out of pity. If I don’t have the stomach for 4, then I should say “That was fun, better luck in the future.”

My phone is silent in class. I miss another call and voicemail. Decisive action needs to be taken. Tomorrow, I’ll ask him what he expects out of me, what I can provide, and give him the fair and honest choice.

So I go and meet him at lunch. He’s with some guys I’ve met before, including others from the club. While its true I was drinking heavily the night before, and only got 2 hours of sleep, I feigned a tired hangover to avoid potential greeting intimacy. It’s a self-protection instinct, but I already know I’m on the wrong path.

At first I try to stick to my plan. I ask him what he thought about Friday, and what he expects to come of it. The shy and sheepish ass shrugs and smiles meekly, but says nothing. I’m pretty sure I can interpret that smile as “Bend me over and make me your bitch.” Or is my foul nature just coming out?

Instead, I basically ignore him, and make small talk with his friends. But I don’t neglect to occasionally look back and smirk seductively, or casually brush up against him in suggestive manner. Then I tell him to stop calling so damn much. Essentially, I’m giving mixed messages, and I’m doing it on purpose. I want him to be even more turned on by me, while putting on an asshole façade. One could say this is generosity. One could say I’m showing him what he can expect so he can make an informed choice. But I know that’s bullshit.

So yeah, I was knowingly and willingly being a manipulative bastard and going for the fuckbuddy option. There was a sudden transition along the way, and I can’t pinpoint where, but I’ve got from being a naïve experience-seeker raging over the trashy user types, to being exactly what I hated.

Luckily for everyone involved, my stint as the next Brian Kinney was mercifully short-lived.

We hooked up a second time. Went a little further. He loved every second of it. I just found myself checking my watch every few minutes. A matter of going through the motions, detached. Getting off, but not enjoying it.

Maybe I’m just not the fuckbuddy type. My mom thinks I’m actually an extremely open-minded hetero with a low sex drive. My friends think I’m looking for my own White Knight. But in reality, I just can’t let myself go. I can’t separate mind from body and live in the moment. I can’t get over myself.

That’s a problem I have to deal with on my own terms. I can’t use this innocent boy as my testing toy, and there’s no point hooking up just for the sake of adding another notch to the bedpost (not to mention I don’t want to get fined for desecrating this rented room) if I’m not enjoying myself.

I’ll figure out what I need eventually, but I won’t drag someone down with me. Manipulative bastard is way too 90’s.