You know those movies where you see characters and you think, "Oh, my god. He can't be doing that?" Where "Anyone would know better!" is the prevailing thought in your head?
I'm having one of those moments.
Tonight, Jamie and I went to the bar. Long story short, he started getting overly friendly with my friend Chris, rubbing his back and caressing around his waistline. I wasn't happy about that, but it was Chris, a friend, so I dealt with it. And when Jamie went to the bathroom, Chris asked me how I felt about it and said that he wasn't going to do anything. Knowing it wasn't going anywhere put my mind at ease.
But then, a few minutes later, I look over and see Jamie making out with some shaved head, goateed guy at the bar. They're hardcore kissing, and I'm wondering what the fuck is going on: While Jamie and I are no longer "boyfriends," we're still sleeping together and I would never make out with someone in front of him. -- I just know how bad it would make him feel and it wouldn't be worth it.
Watching the two of them make out for about half a minute, I finally go over and tap Jamie on the arm to tell him that he's a little drunk and he might want to check himself. He said something in return and I remember telling him to "fuck off."
He looked annoyed and said something in the ear of the guy with whom he was making out. Not sure what to do, I went and told Yessie (a friend of mine as well as a friend of Jamie's) what had happened and asked her what was the rational course of action.
She said she'd go talk to him, and then she did. They talked for a bit and quick kissed each other on the lips then she came over and told me what he'd said, that he'd tone it down... But before I was finished talking with her, I looked over and saw him hugging and being super flirtly with another guy.
I told Yessie I'd had enough and was out of there.
I walked out, got in the car, and left. Yet before getting on the freeway, I had already decided that I couldn't just leave Jamie there in the bar. I headed back, went inside, and saw he was talking to Chris. Figuring that he was safe with him, I decided to leave once again, still angry but not worrying.
Apparently, though, Jamie must've seen me as I was walking out the second time. He came chasing afterwards and started to wrap his arm around my waist as he caught up. I barked, "don't you dare fucking touch me" and then I remember that he tried to get me to talk. When I didn't readily answer, he said something about me being his ride home. That was so not the appropriate thing to say. I wanted to hear, "I'm sorry." or "I fucked up." or even "Tonight sure didn't go well." Not something about his fucking ride home!
I forcefully said back, "Well maybe you better find another ride home."
He said fine, turned around, and headed back to the bar.
I drove home, on the way calling Chris to let him know that Jamie hadn't gone with me, so that he wouldn't leave him there stranded. Chris, however, didn't answer.
Got home, took a shower, and then my cell phone rang. It was Chris. I asked him about Jamie and he said he went home with the guy he was kissing in the bar... Yes, boys and girls, he went home with the guy he was kissing in the bar.
I thought maybe Chris was pulling a bad joke. Surely Jamie didn't go home with the guy he was kissing in the bar. That couldn't have happened.
I asked Chris if he was joking, if he swore that Jamie went home with that guy, and Chris said that he did.
Flabbergasted, I talked to Chris for a few more minutes then hung up.
So who knows what's going on. I've called Jamie's cell phone about a dozen times and he does not answer. Visions of Jamie getting butt fucked by some daddy are in the forefront of my mind, but I don't know how to stop it, if it is happening, nor do I even know if stopping it would solve anything.
Sure, Jamie was drunk, and I can't see myself ever letting him drink at the cowboy bar again, but what about now? What if he did sleep with the daddy bear guy? What if he tells me he didn't? Will I even believe him?
Knowing that his answer of yes would so drastically change the course of life with me, how could he honestly answer if the answer were yes? And even if it's no, things still aren't going to be peachy keen.
All I do know is that I'm home alone, the door is locked, and he doesn't have a key.
I'm sitting here baffled, wondering how in the world he could have gone home with the guy he met, wondering what the two of them in their drunken stupor are doing, and wondering how in the world it will change what's to happen.
I think, though, that I'm going to bed. ARGH!
People suck. Have I mentioned that lately?
March 29, 2002 - Saturday 10:16AM
Sleeping virtually none that night, I woke up to the fun of dry puking induced by nerves. In addition to all the sex related things that could have happened, I also started thinking about all the other ones.
Could Jamie have woken up, felt guilty, and killed himself? Could he be wandering the streets? Where was he?
I wanted to get my mind off him but calling was out of the question. I'd called far too many times the night before and left messages several of those times. I wasn't going to call and "beg" him back, he had to arrive of his own volition, whatever he'd done.
It was around 9AM, too, so I knew wherever he was, he was probably sober. What had happened, had happened, and there was nothing I could do to change it. I needed to stop worrying as best I could, and so, ruling out the Indian casino as losing money and simply compounding the problem and the Nintendo as not a large enough distraction, I headed to the nude beach.
I'd never been on a Saturday before. Indeed, my body consciousness would've normally been too prohibitive, even for my closet exhibitionist self, but I just didn't care. Part of me, too, wanted to say "fuck you" to Jamie; "You go home with that guy. I go to the nude beach." And part of me had just wanted to go as well. So I went.
After walking the length of the beach, I sat down about 100 feet from the next guy, a cute, mid-thirties type who was still wearing a t-shirt. The fact that he wasn't totally nude was attractive, and while I knew I wasn't going to "do" anyone, I figured the eye candy should be as nice as possible.
So I sat for a second, taking off my shorts, and then looked over at the guy, who had sideburns and was wearing a baseball cap. He was looking back in my direction, and we played the smile game for a while. Caution to the wind, I got up, walked over, and started making chit chat.
Standing about six feet away, my crotch at his eye level, I said something about the lack of people there and we talked for a few minutes. He seemed like a nice guy, had a great Scottish accent, and was cute up close, too.
Then, when I couldn't readily think of the next we're-nude-so-what-should-we-talk-about conversation topic, I said I was going to go play in the water for a minute. When I returned, I noticed that his dick was much more erect than when I left. I mean, it wasn't sticking straight up, but it was outwards, still covered by his foreskin, excited but not in an overly erotic in your face sorta way.
I talked for a minute or two more then said something about moving my towel over. I didn't know what I was doing, but it was making me focus on something besides Jamie, and sure, parts of the conversation returned my thoughts to him, but I was just living in the moment, a rarity for my always-planning brain.
So, towel next to him, we just started talking. I told him where I was from, about the journal, and just general stuff about me. It was the first time at the nude beach I'd told anyone my real name; heck, it was the second time I'd ever even talked to anyone. It was certainly the longest conversation I'd ever had there... and it was amazingly nice. I thought it'd be skeezy, as walking along the beach, one passes a few older men stroking their meat, looking leeringly, near the cliffs. Our conversation, however, was like one had one during a first dinner date... except we both weren't wearing pants.
After a while, I said I was going to head back to the water for a second. When I returned, I again noticed that his dick had grown. This time, after a couple minutes of chit chat, I said something about the phenomenon. I couched the directness of indicating that I noticed by playfully saying that he got hard when I went away and lost it when I was around.
A while after that, I said I was going to test my theory about my presence and his hardness. When I returned this final time, he wasn't sitting up as he had been before but was rather on his side, with his fully erect dick in the direction of where I'd been sitting.
His wrist was gently moving up and down it, and the unabashed "here's my hard dick for you to look at" got, well, mine going in the same direction... but not before I sat down facing him.
Showing his dick to me, I was careful to make sure he could see mine as well. He stroked his a bit, pulling back the foreskin, and I gave mine a few tugs, them both now being at 90% of capacity.
Before I knew it, I'd reached over and grabbed his as well. Grabbing around the shaft, I pulled it down so the head was revealed. For some unknown reason, especially for a guy who much prefers circumsized men, that was an incredible turn-on. Soon, though, I let go of his dick and grabbed his balls.
Fondling them for a few seconds, I then returned to myself, stroked a couple seconds more, then stopped. No one was around, not for hundreds of feet, we could've easily jerked off and not been caught, but that just wasn't me, and I knew it.
And so, we started talking again. We talked for a while longer, I grabbed his balls a few more times, and then, it nearing 11:30AM, I said I was going to leave... but not before prying his e-mail address out of him in some (in hindsight) childish attempt to make it mean something more than it did.
On my way back to my car, the phone rang. It was Jamie. He was calling from his cell phone to say that the guy from the night before had dropped him off at the house. I told him I'd be there in half an hour.
So when I got home, I opened the door and let him in. He went into his room, and a minute or so later, I followed, asking if we were going to talk about it.
We began talking, but I don't remember most of the conversation. In the three weeks since it happened, I've tried my best to block it all out... and now, writing about it here, I really don't remember.
I do remember that I told him that I just couldn't take it, that a person gets one night like that every five years and he'd already had two considering the night he got so drunk he layed naked in the shower for four hours after I dragged his ass home. That time I worried all night whether he was going to drown, scald, go into hypothermia, or keel over from alcohol poisoning. And yet here was another.
He apologized and we talked for a long while, I remember that. He said something, too, about me sending him back, and I said it wasn't going to happen that day, but I needed to think about it.
Later that day, I went over to Larry's and left Jamie here at the house. Alone all day to think about what happened seemed to suit, and returning around 2AM after a late night gambling, I found Jamie on the couch. For the night, at least, that was appropriate.
Over the course of the next two and half weeks, things slowly approached normal again, everywhere except in the sex department. By the second day, Jamie was back in the bed and we slowly started sleeping in less and less clothing. Having broken up, though, the sex idea probably wasn't the best to begin with. So, things being as they were, I pretty much kept that to the surface.
Of course, all that being said, I really missed Jamie after he got on that plane Wednesday afternoon. A couple times even, I caught myself thinking he was going to be just in the other room, or around the corner. And when I did, I missed him all the more.