Genuine Love

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that any gay man in a relationship longer than two years, must not be getting laid enough. And so, the notion of getting your sexual need met night after night just because you now have a boyfriend is really, a huge misconception, if not an urban legend.

But, if you are still having mind-blowing, soul-shattering, sex every night with the same man, after a couple of years together, then congratulations, you deserve a medal. Seriously.

Sex with my boyfriend waned gradually after two years for reasons that I won't divulge here. Other gay men who had heard of it often wondered, with raised eyebrows, how I, or my boyfriend, had survived in this asexual, almost a decade long, relationship which some homosexuals may find disastrous.

In fact, some had quite frankly told me, though not quite in my face, while chatting, that "He is not a boyfriend. No. Not without sex." But, if you have been with someone for 9 years, or longer, then you'll realize that there is more than just sex in a relationship. 

The day I found out the sms that's suggestive of my boyfriend's infidelity, I could have kicked up a fuss the force of a Richter scale-10 earthquake. There could only be two reasons why if I had made such a scene out of it: 1) being a bonafide drama queen, 2) I wanted to end the relationship. But I didn't. I had my emotional limbs in check and trodden the dark hours carefully.

We had a good talk before bed. And at the end of it, he said, relaxed, "You know, this is the best conversation we ever had after being so long together."  Before that, I assured him that I would not, under any circumstances, be leaving him. But he, had the absolute freedom of walking out the bedroom door, if he thought that the guy who sent him the amorous text was the one he would rather be with. That night, I'd made a choice: to be together Till -- well -- Death Do Us Part.

It was a conscious decision without the influence of the irrational, adrenalin rush of a newborn relationship. And I'd like to believe this clear-mindedness is the manifestation of "Love", because here is a quote from M. Scott Peck, the author of the book, "The Road Less Traveled" -- a book, me and my boyfriend happened to be reading at the same time when we met each other 9 years ago after September 11,

"Genuine love is volitional rather than emotional. The person who truly loves does so because of a decision to love. This person has made a commitment to be loving whether or not the loving feeling is present...Conversely, it is not possible but necessary to a loving person to avoid acting on feelings of love."

Dial-A-Butt-Hole

At about 130am last night, my phone rang. Someone I had been exchanging messages with on another gay dating site for a week decided to call, finally. After a short chat, I turned on the light, got changed and rode to his weekly apartment, a sort of apartment for short term rental from several weeks to few months. And in my case, four months to be exact.

Before leaving my apartment, I decided to put on a jacket. It wasn't that cold, but since I was stirred from my sleep which I'd gotten into just hours before and at 37 years old, I wouldn't want to take any risk and catch a cold. At 2am, I arrived at his doorstep. Three hours, an ejaculation and a massive amount of  nipple play later, I was back in my apartment at 530 in the morning, but not before taking the wrong turn and ended up in an almost dark and empty alley which took me an extra 5 minutes to get back on the right track.

I showered, slept and woke up two and a half hour later to go to work. After work, I bought a new 5-piece futon set for the apartment I was moving into, schlepped it all the way there, did some groceries shopping, made myself some yakisoba, chatted with a sexy Australian on skype, took a nap and woke up feeling extremely hungry and realized I am no longer young -- every old bones I have felt as if they were dislocating in me.

Midnight/early morning sex is for the 20s. At 37, sex at a more civilized hour would be more age-appropriate and healthier. What happened last night was, like that Elton John's song, "a sad sad situation, and it's getting more and more absurd." I won't deny that I'd had a good time last night, especially when he and I were talking and cuddling up. But, somehow, leaving his apartment at dawn, I also felt a wad like some guy named, probably Ricky or Ethan, whom you suddenly decide to call up one night out of horniness, at Dial-A-Butt-Hole. I felt cheap. and what made it worse was I wasn't even getting paid. It was mutual, remember? And I thought: Is this what I am still gonna do -- running around in empty cold streets at 2 in the morning for sex -- when I turn 50? It made me feel even more pathetic. I should have waited until more adult hours.

My Australian friend related a few past incidences that had turned him into a better man that he is today -- less critical, less bitchy and more fun to be with. Maybe what happened last night was a good thing after all. It makes me realize the kind of man I would allow myself to age into -- someone who understands that delayed gratification is a sign of maturity, someone who will not be out in the dark searching for sex, and definitely not someone by the name of Ricky or Ethan.