Local love story (Part 2)...

One morning I text my local boy to say hi.

We made the usual chit chat that's become more and more flirtatious. I've still got that little flutter in my stomach and a smile that slips onto my face every now and then. In short, I've got a huge crush on this guy.

My phone buzzes and I pick it up, expecting to see another cute message from him. Instead, my heart falls nearly as low as my jaw sags.

"So...I have to be 100% honest with you, since you're a really really nice guy...but I have a bf."

Fuck. Off.

Really?

I mean, really God? I do hope someone out there is getting a laugh at my continual expense.

After a minute or two of hearing ringing in my ears and grasping for something to say, he sends another message. "Please don't hate me"

So I do the gentlemanly thing, and tell him I'm happy for him and hope that we can still work on a friendship since it's nice to actually meet someone new in small-town-bum-fuck-nowhere. Oh and by the way, why didn't you tell me this when I asked you fucking out?

"Well I was going to say something but my bf is a huge asshole, he's a gym nut and really jealous."

Again, lacking in the logic department, this answer seemed as good as any. The subtext was simple: I'm having fun flirting with you because I can't stand my boyfriend but that's all there's ever going to be between us.

Most of the day passes and I'm still walking around harbouring a bit of hurt. Not hurt so much as let down. For whatever reason, I'd finally met someone practically in my backyard. And we have chemistry. And he's crazy cute. Like the non-cynic that I am (when it comes to love, anyway) I thought that maybe this guy would be different, not screwed up by a life in the city, a million one night stands, cheating boyfriends and all the baggage that most people seem to be carrying around. I just hoped he was different.

How wrong I was.

Things continue to get more complicated. Apparently the boyfriend also lives in said town. What a hoot to discover not one, but TWO local gays! Laws of averages dictate they inevitably should be a couple, or at least according to him.

Strangely, the flirting from him continues. He texts nonstop for the rest of the day, saying things that made me blush and wonder just how serious he is with this other guy. Hope springs again as I fantasize about the possibility he's not committed and that maybe we'll have a shot at things.

I visit him one afternoon and arrive just moments before another friend of his. As he's distracted taking a phone call, she leans over and whispers in my ear, "Steal him away from that asshole!"

Jesus, not only does he sound like he hates his boyfriend, the rest of the world apparently does as well.

It continues over the next couple of days, and I start getting a little more uncomfortable with our textual banter. My ethics start up with a vengeance as I realize that his sexual innuendo could actually lead to something. I don't want to be the 'other guy' in the scenario because I respect myself too much to play that part as much as I respect that his boyfriend doesn't deserve being cheated on. And besides, I don't want to be the 'other guy', I want to be the 'guy'. 

Just as I'm about to go for coffee with him and inform him of my principals and tell him I won't go beyond just talking to him, he texts me. His boyfriend snooped on his phone and saw all that had been said back and forth.

My drama-alarm goes off and I get the sinking feeling that this whole thing just really isn't worth it.

The boyfriend called him a whore and a slut, they got into a huge fight, it went on forever...and they decided to stay together.

Ok, now I'm officially done. With one last long message telling him that I suppose all we're meant to be is friends, and how I hoped his boyfriend appreciated him, and how nice it must be for him to be so in love with a guy he calls an asshole, I bury any remaining thoughts of what could have been.

We're still texting now and then, and I suppose we're working on the whole friendship thing, but I'm more than a little discouraged about the whole affair. All my hoping that dating outside the city would be relatively drama-free and that the local guys would be genuinely both moral and non-cynical has more or less evaporated. Apparently no matter where you are, the gay baggage that bogs down so many relationships still exists.

After a good weekend of venting to a few friends, I feel better about the whole thing and can pretty much laugh it off. But I'm always going to remember the first guy I almost-dated back home, and what a disaster the whole thing was.

(Stupidly) This doesn't mean I've given up on the idea of a straight-shooting country boy.

Local love story (Part 1)...

I met a boy in town.

I've been living at my parents since the big breakup a few months ago, which means a life back in the sticks, far away from culture and other gays. Not that it's a big deal, but just kind of a fact-of-life out here.

But recently I made the acquaintance of a guy who works in town and is most definitely gay. And not only that, I found myself strangely, naturally drawn to him. Not out of necessity or neediness, mind you, but simply out of a natural attraction.

So I've visited him a couple times, and we've talked and flirted and found we get along famously. He's got a wicked grin and is quite possibly the cutest guy I've ever chatted up (mostly because I'm so damn shy about that, but anyway...). There's a spark between us, sexual and personal.

He also happens to be my age, which gives us a lot of common ground, both coming from the same area and both being gay. We've talked at length about growing up in a neighborhood where gay is still taboo and compared notes on how he's survived living out here while I up and left for the big city.

For him, living out here hasn't treated him too poorly. In contrast to me, who's never officially met anyone the least bit gay in the area, his experience has been plentiful, with many a homo chatting him up. "Mostly while their wives or girlfriends are out of hearing range," he said with a grimace. While indeed the closeted non-urban gay isn't a rare creature, he seems to have brought them out of the woodwork.

So I summed up the parts to ask for his number, and he gave it to me.

I think this is the first time on record that I've asked someone out face-to-face. I giddily drove home and started planning what we could do in a town with as many cows as people.

What surprises me most about this is how ready I am to just have some fun with somebody. It's been so long since I've felt that spark of something new, the fluttering in your stomach that just won't seem to fade. I'm not looking for an instantly-serious-fall-in-love scenario, but I feel like I deserve to have some fun with someone I genuinely click with.

What surprises me even more is how flattering this guy is to me! I've never been called cute and handsome so many times. It's a damn fine feeling to receive compliments like that, mainly because I have a hard time grasping that someone could possibly feel that draw for me.

So everything has been sunshine and daisies, and I've put myself out there with the hopes of reaping a reward.

But something happens that puts a cloud in the sky and sends me into an ever-more confusing spiral of circumstance...

Fat...

If you've been a semi-regular here at FU, you probably know that I'm slightly weight-conscious.

Not that you could tell by looking at me as I scarf down chips or order my fourth cocktail, but I've always been sensitive about my size. I'm not 'fat', or overweight for that matter, but I've never really become at peace about my body type. I'm gay-fat - AKA I have more than 5% body fat.

Think football(er), minus the actual intensive working out. Broad shoulders, tall, thick chest. And as I've gotten a little older, I've started to realize that, no matter how small my waist should get, I'll never be a more 'compact' body. My chest will never cave in on itself, shedding it's size such as a waist could.

I have been told if I did put my mind to it, I could have a jock-like body. Since that has never really fit my mindset, I've never really been intent on getting toned up, or sexier still, full-on ripped. The word jock - gay, straight or otherwise - makes me think of all the qualities that I dislike in a man. (Though clearly not you, dear jock readers.)

For my part, I've always maintained my weight based on what I eat. My formal exercise has been practically non-existent, but I'm not a couch potato. While I have actually stuck my head in a gym in recent months, I've yet to see any major impacts on my pecs, quads and delts (I think I may have made that last one up.) I found I actually enjoy using an elliptical provided I've got the tunes to work to. I also found out I sweat like a madman, which is kind of gross.

Would I like that Sean Cody-esque model body? Absolutely. Would I have the foundation for it? Probably. Will I be able to get it? Who knows, maybe if I worked at it.

When I was in high school, I always noticed that my body didn't quite fit in with the rest of the guys my age. Like my personality, my body matured earlier than most. I never got to be a stick-figure twink, and I'm a little sore about it.

The more I've learned about what other guys look for, the more I see that my body might not be so undesirable after all. Granted, once the clothes come off I'll hope the lights are down low. But by then it's too late anyway and they're basically stuck with me.

Not only that, but as corny as it sounds, I really care a lot more about what's inside than what's out. That's probably a source for both discomfort and ease; on one hand I hope the person I'm courting is looking more at my personality than how chiseled my abs are, but I also fully recognize the fact that a portion of the population is primarily vain and driven by looks.

As a new year rolls around, I silently promise myself that this will be the year I take control of my body. Being newly single, I have reason to dedicate a bit more time on how I look.

Now it's just a matter of getting my gay-fat ass in shape.

And four weeks later...

I'm sitting at the very desk that I started Frozen Underwear at.

There are parts of me that feel like giving you every gory detail about my breakup. Really, there are. I would like nothing more than to get it off my chest. But I'm also sensitive about the fact that my now ex was in my life for two years, not a guy I dated that provided fodder for blogging. He has a right to his privacy, and so I've decided to discuss the breakup as little as possible.

Long story short, we went out not with a bang, but with a whimper. He was pretty blindsided by the whole thing, but I held my ground with my decision and laid it all out. At the end, I think he still believed that he could change my mind, but that ship had sailed.

I took my bags and left. No huge fight, screaming, or anything that had been predicted. Lots and lots of crying and pain. The typical accusations that my leaving him was 'easy' for me, and that I should instantly feel 'happy' about it. Wrong on both counts, but he has a hard time understanding how I feel.

So now, like I said, I'm sitting at the very desk that I began Frozen Underwear at, having moved back in with my parents. And it's around the same time of year when, many moons ago, I was miserable with the direction my life was headed. At least this time I think I've got off to a head start.

2010 was not a good year for me. It's brought nothing but pain and sorrow, and I'm glad to have it behind me. I pray 2011 will be the year I finally get myself back. But nothing is simple, and there are still obstacles to be overcome before I can feel better about myself and my life. A big one was ending a dead-end relationship, yet even that hasn't made me feel all that great. I'm waiting for that time when it hurts less and I've worked through the grief and the crap, but so far I just feel tired and burnt out.

Christmas is upon us, my favourite holiday and season of the year. The tree is trimmed, the lights hung and the very few presents that I can afford are bought. The wine is breathing, the roast is nearly done, and I'm alone.

And for the first time in my life, it doesn't feel sad to be single.

That's one hell of a start.

Antiquated and boring...

And no, I don't mean me (though there are days...).

Now that I've decided to reinvest some time and energy into Frozen Underwear, I took it upon myself to look around the site and see how it's holding up. After all, I started this thing up many years ago and have never changed the layout, colours, etc. And looking at it today, I have to say it's pretty damn ugly.

This thing is in need of a makeover.

The page comments seem to have been repeatedly raped by spammers. The colour scheme is old and boring. There are no photos, videos or hooks of any kind (though I do usually avoid that because I tend to focus on the words and content rather than pretty pictures of abs and underwear).

I have basically zero online-editing skills, so you guys will have to bear with me while I try and spruce the place up a little.

Any suggestions (or offers of help) are greatly appreciated!

EDIT: So I just monkeyed around a bit and wound up changing the layout a touch. It still looks boring.

He says he's back...

Well hello again all.

For any of you that still have me on your radar, I’d like to think that I’m about to make a bit of a comeback. I see my last post was in November of 2009. My bad habit of lapsing from weeks to months between posts has now lapsed to years. But no more, or at least I hope.

I was sitting on my couch today thinking about all that’s changed in my life over the past two years (a hell of a lot, really), and how I missed writing down my thoughts and adventures. That was because most of my thoughts and adventures centred around my boyfriend, and who the hell wants to read entry after entry about him and my constant stream-of-consciousness analysis of our relationship. It’s basically over now, so I guess that’s why I’m reaching back for old habits.

Anyway, to briefly update my life:
- I’ve finished my undergraduate degree! Sounds exciting, except,
- I’m unemployed and can’t find steady, stable, professional work, so,
- I decided to go back to school to top off my CV with a bit more fancy education in the hopes that it will help the job hunt
- I’ve moved out of my old apartment that I shared with my dear friends for the past four years
- I moved in with my boyfriend to a totally foreign and culturally neglected part of the city
- Since getting serious with boyfriend, have seriously lost touch with many of my friends, both online and real-world, which really sucks. I miss them a lot.
- I’ve developed a pretty depressed mentality, realizing how sad I am that the high I was riding on in my last year of university quickly faded, I’m nowhere near where I expected to be in my life plan, etc.

I guess I feel like I’m in a coma, floating above myself. I can see my body, but I just can’t quite stir myself back to life. Days and months of monotony have flown by. And I’ve had enough.

So I guess that’s what brings me back to blogging. I started this blog when I was in the same damn situation years ago; I was unhappy with the then-current state of my life, I wanted to vent and I wanted to change. And by God I did. Same thing applies to my state of life now; I’m unhappy, I want to vent and I want change.

Guess that mean’s I’m back.

The very first...

What exactly is one supposed to say, or do, when confronted with the person they gave their virginity to?

That night will forever be etched in my mind (and immortalized in text online), but I've never given much thought to just how to react if I were to ever see him again. So a couple days ago, takeaway in one hand and a shopping bag in the other, my response and response time to the as yet unanswered question was fairly subdued.

I crossed the street with my typical tunnel vision fully set in, causally unaware of the people surrounding me, trying to balance the load in my arms while flicking through songs on my iPod. I had barely made it as the light changed to amber, then red. I half-stopped in my tracks, deciding last minute to cross the street again, now that the light flicked green. And in that moment of decision, I noticed him standing mere feet from me, coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

It was the briefest of glances, but enough to get my blood pumping in overdrive. My body seems to react in a funny sort of way when presented with such 'surprises'; my heart will pound harder, my legs feel a tingle, my vision goes wonky and my head tries it's best to make a graceful movement away from the subject.

During the entire encounter, I never actually stopped walking. But in that brief second, that night replayed in the big screen of my mind, and a sly smile crept across my face.

It never occurred to me to stop, to say hello or acknowledge my recognition of him. If he even noticed me, he chose to react in the very same way. There was no magical unspoken moment between us, but an almost polite attempt to pretend the whole thing never even happened.

I'm not really sure if that's how everyone reacts to everyone else in this type of situation, but it seemed to fit. The guy himself and I never became anything more than bed buddies, though he was a sweet person and genuinely interesting. But seeing him once more didn't, for whatever reason, compel me to wrap him in a hug and buy him a cup of coffee.

Not to mention the fact that the chance meeting seemed to have come completely out of the blue, since to my understanding he, being a visiting American student, shouldn't have even been in the country anymore...

Ah well. It was what it was. A moment from the past shoved past the tunnel vision into the present. And it made me smile, and it made me feel good about who I am and where I've come from.

And that's something I'll always remember.