Running late, I dashed into the local coffee shop to meet "Jay", who I had picked up earlier in the week at the art supply store. "Jay" was sensual, the typical artist stereotype; romantic, slightly tormented, and brooding. I loudly explained to the Barista, " I need a sandwich without onions in case I get lucky." Laughing at my own joke, she quickly got the jest and snickered.
We intensely searched the menu, settling on turkey and cheese-a safe bet.
Unfortunately I didn't see my date in the corner, overhearing the whole conversation. Ouch...that may have hurt my chances. Smooth moves!
He was slouched in the corner pretending to stew over a classic novel. I must admit there is something alluring about a man reading a novel.
I smiled as he kindly kept looking down, so as to not acknowledge my previous conversation. "Jay" looked up with a wide charming grin. I gracefully sunk into the couch next to him and quickly noticed he was drinking water out of a camping canister. No coffee? No food?
I politely asked, "Did you order?"
He said "Oh, I ate before I came."
We casually discussed work and the weather, non controversial topics, when my meal arrived. I hate having someone watch me scarf my sandwich, a food item that is always too large to daintily fit into your mouth, so I offered to share. He politely hesitated-then quickly snatched up the sandwich. "Jay" was hungry. Good. A starving artist.
I felt very swanky as we soaked in the environment of a live guitarist strumming outside in the garden area, while we intelligently sat in our black clothing discussing culture.
The age difference started to show when I would say, "When I was your age I was working at such and such", "Or this is how I got started." And then I gave unsolicited advice-my personal favorite.
As we chatted I glanced over to see a skateboard on the ground. In disbelief I innocently asked if it was his skateboard. Maybe someone had left it at the table?
"Yeah", was his quick short reply.
I asked how far he "skated" over (not sure on the correct terminology) and "Jay" said over ten miles or so. I was shocked. But "Jay" said only because he didn't have a car. And that it was hard to sleep on his parents couch while also not having a car too.
Did I hear all this correctly? What?! My mind was spinning. Parents couch? That basically throws any intimacy options out the window. I guess we could always use the classic excuse of "Oh we are just cuddling and watching a movie". Not sure if I could regress back into my high school dating scenarios. I could not see a positive alternative to the couch....back seat of a car....no. Nooo!
While picturing the couch, my mind darted back to the skateboard. We could share it buddy style, frantically kicking our legs as fast as they would go in our acid-washed jeans and matching jacket. Total eighties flashback, but "Jay" was just a baby then, so he would not have shared such a fond memory.
We decided to check out the art walk downtown, so we jumped into my car, but first piled his book bag and skateboard into the backseat.
"Do you mind if I smoke?", he asked after already rolling and lighting a cigarette.
So he smoked. Interesting. I fought the urge to spray Lysol into the air and scream out yet another lecture on the hazards of smoking, especially a non-filtered cigarette.
Down town we strolled into galleries and greeted fellow artists. He saw a friend and they ran up to each other, hugging and rubbing. It was very intense...maybe they hadn't seen each other in awhile? I asked if that was an old friend?
"Jay" replied, "Oh we used to date, but the whole gay thing didn't work for me."
Fascinating. I was hip. I told him I had once danced with a girl, excluding she was my best friend. He nodded his head with a slightly puzzled look.
It was getting late so I said I needed to get home, not realizing he was at least thirty miles from his parents house.
It dawned on me and I stated, "Oh yeah, you don't have a car. I need to drive you home." "Jay" smiled at my clever recognition.
We quietly drove to his parents. Getting out of the car he hugged my head with a light squeeze, smashing my cheeks together, which strangley reminded me of my mother.
We retrieved his skateboard and book bag from the backseat.
After we said our goodbyes I asked myself, maybe an eight year difference is too big? I think so. I'm ready for a family and he's still finding himself.
We intensely searched the menu, settling on turkey and cheese-a safe bet.
Unfortunately I didn't see my date in the corner, overhearing the whole conversation. Ouch...that may have hurt my chances. Smooth moves!
He was slouched in the corner pretending to stew over a classic novel. I must admit there is something alluring about a man reading a novel.
I smiled as he kindly kept looking down, so as to not acknowledge my previous conversation. "Jay" looked up with a wide charming grin. I gracefully sunk into the couch next to him and quickly noticed he was drinking water out of a camping canister. No coffee? No food?
I politely asked, "Did you order?"
He said "Oh, I ate before I came."
We casually discussed work and the weather, non controversial topics, when my meal arrived. I hate having someone watch me scarf my sandwich, a food item that is always too large to daintily fit into your mouth, so I offered to share. He politely hesitated-then quickly snatched up the sandwich. "Jay" was hungry. Good. A starving artist.
I felt very swanky as we soaked in the environment of a live guitarist strumming outside in the garden area, while we intelligently sat in our black clothing discussing culture.
The age difference started to show when I would say, "When I was your age I was working at such and such", "Or this is how I got started." And then I gave unsolicited advice-my personal favorite.
As we chatted I glanced over to see a skateboard on the ground. In disbelief I innocently asked if it was his skateboard. Maybe someone had left it at the table?
"Yeah", was his quick short reply.
I asked how far he "skated" over (not sure on the correct terminology) and "Jay" said over ten miles or so. I was shocked. But "Jay" said only because he didn't have a car. And that it was hard to sleep on his parents couch while also not having a car too.
Did I hear all this correctly? What?! My mind was spinning. Parents couch? That basically throws any intimacy options out the window. I guess we could always use the classic excuse of "Oh we are just cuddling and watching a movie". Not sure if I could regress back into my high school dating scenarios. I could not see a positive alternative to the couch....back seat of a car....no. Nooo!
While picturing the couch, my mind darted back to the skateboard. We could share it buddy style, frantically kicking our legs as fast as they would go in our acid-washed jeans and matching jacket. Total eighties flashback, but "Jay" was just a baby then, so he would not have shared such a fond memory.
We decided to check out the art walk downtown, so we jumped into my car, but first piled his book bag and skateboard into the backseat.
"Do you mind if I smoke?", he asked after already rolling and lighting a cigarette.
So he smoked. Interesting. I fought the urge to spray Lysol into the air and scream out yet another lecture on the hazards of smoking, especially a non-filtered cigarette.
Down town we strolled into galleries and greeted fellow artists. He saw a friend and they ran up to each other, hugging and rubbing. It was very intense...maybe they hadn't seen each other in awhile? I asked if that was an old friend?
"Jay" replied, "Oh we used to date, but the whole gay thing didn't work for me."
Fascinating. I was hip. I told him I had once danced with a girl, excluding she was my best friend. He nodded his head with a slightly puzzled look.
It was getting late so I said I needed to get home, not realizing he was at least thirty miles from his parents house.
It dawned on me and I stated, "Oh yeah, you don't have a car. I need to drive you home." "Jay" smiled at my clever recognition.
We quietly drove to his parents. Getting out of the car he hugged my head with a light squeeze, smashing my cheeks together, which strangley reminded me of my mother.
We retrieved his skateboard and book bag from the backseat.
After we said our goodbyes I asked myself, maybe an eight year difference is too big? I think so. I'm ready for a family and he's still finding himself.
Right then I came to terms. There would never be any skating off into the sunset.
Oh mi gawd I will never go there again. My thoughts, prayers, and scented candles to you.
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