It seems like that things that we want most are for some universal reason more accessible when we are not looking for it. Since I returned back home, Kansas City, Missouri, I've been approached on more than one occassion by an old friend or foe or even a former boyfriend or lover.
"Jonathan. I've always wanted you."
"Can we get together..say a date?"
"I really want to fuck you."
These are all nice little verbal treats that were lopped off the tree of hedonism and epicurian delight and thrown into my lap. Until the other night I hadn't even needed to think twice before declining. Maybe it was because I was with someone that I care very much for. Maybe it was because I know that this person is a true constant in my life and not just some fair weather friend. Henry and I decided to spend a night at his place watching two seasons of this terrible show called "The Lair". I've always liked Colton Ford. He makes most of my friends wretch. I had a hard on for him until I saw this show. Not only is the mostly former gay porn models that comprises the cast terrible but they made Mr. Ford, by the way use your real name when you're doing a legitimate acting gig, Grecian Formula his salt and pepper. He looks terrible without it. That silver really just added to the appeal. So script is badly delivered and if you are drunk, stoned, or just giddy from too little of sleep like I was it is like watching a terrible thespian moving disaster.
The night rolled on with one bad episode after another. I fell asleep as Henry rubbed my back and we sojourned through the next to last episode of the second season. His digits pressed harder into my back and yes one thing led to another and we were kissing and then we were fellating and then we were penetrating. It isn't the first time that I had sex with a close friend. In fact, sharing that with someone, even a friend, shows you in a different light and you are essentially sharing a side of you that most other people will never see. It's truly a giving moment. I had my reservations in the past, not only because it is such an intimate and beautiful and vulnerable and extremely personal thing to share with someone, but because of the grieving I was still enduring because of Eric and the love I still feel so strongly for and this strangely fading dedication I still hold vigilantly for him.
The other night, it was like I was for one moment breaking away from screaming and tearing my garment. The mourning shrouds dropped to my feet and I gave myself to something that seemed so true to the moment, mutually felt, and safe. I've heard the saying, "If you can't fuck your friends then who can you fuck?" I think that I've said that at one time or another. Maybe I'm just getting to the final stages of grieving or this has been ONE LOOOOOOOONG FUCKING SHIVA!!!
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