From: Jerry Powell <*******@*********.com> To: 'Scott R******'
<******@*******.com>
Subject: RE: just trying something truly obnoxious because I can
Date: Friday, November 12, 1999 10:26 AM
<<snipping reference to e-mail to which I was replying>>
Tom isn't sure he likes Greg. He's worried that he may just be acting shallow about the guy's looks (which is not beyond him, but he's growing enough to make assessments like that a bit unfair). Of course, it's got me thinking. Greg and I hit each other on so many levels (like Bruno and I do), but sex is not necessarily one of them. Sex shouldn't be that central to a relationship, but I don't know. The guys I'm so perfect with, the sex is blah or "only good". The guys I meet where the sex is great, the other aspects of the relationship are excessively difficult, because we don't always have the connection on the intellectual, aesthetic, or emotional levels. Maybe this is why I feel I'll never have a partner. Well, that and the Sacred Intimacy/Spiritual Sexuality thing. That's another interesting little tangent in and of itself, because it may suggest that I could make something out of this, but I don't know if that's not just settling in a more subtle way.
I think that on that count, I just want to jump into the cosmos. I must want to go back to the Hellenic times and be attached to an oracular temple, read the omens and then raise the consciousness of the seekers with some excellent chakra stimulation and realignment. In that sense, I guess I don't really want to be tied to a partner, because I don't want to deal with the jealousy or possessiveness that I know I will run into with Greg or Bruno, which really puts me at odds with myself, because being with them FEELS great, even with my so-so feeling about the sex. Maybe if I could attach a little more in one way and detach a little more in another, I could find a better balance; that, however, would involve casting off a lot in the way of inflated ego or deflated self-esteem, and I'm still not clear on a path for doing that.
I recently found out that while Greg does have his law degree, he is actually a painter and sculptor. The artist in me finds or directs me to these things in people without even realizing it. I didn't realize until last night that I hadn't told him I was a professional classically-trained musician. He was wondering what else I was hiding from him. Well, the acting, the dancing, the graphic design, the composing, the writing. That's just the short list.
He is officially "tired of being single." He wants to buy a house (away from the kind of gay neighborhood Tom and I live in here) and settle down into complacent suburban coupledom. He earned a goodly number of points for stroking my ego last night; he basically indicated that though he did want the time away from Austin and work, he came here mostly to see me. He complimented my looks, played up to my intelligence, all those things that I am such a sucker for because they never happen. This is all seeming so genuine, as opposed to the flattery I'm usually spotting from miles off, where the obvious goal is to get into my pants as quickly as possible and get out of them even faster, but that hasn't cropped up here because we did have sex within minutes of meeting each other last November. He's still around, so that's something, I guess.
I feel great because there's someone around here who is adoring me. Granted, in a very left-handed kind of way at times, but, even then, it's never insincere.
Then there's the bitchiness issue. As you saw, Greg's apartment is a shrine to one of the biggest ballsy broads in Hollywood history, Joan Crawford. As a Taurus, he's more inclined to be somewhat blunter in his bitchiness than I am. God forbid I should ever start channeling Bette Davis, all hell would break loose. But anyway, people would probably think that this pairing is a case of a bitch dating an essentially nice guy, with who is who determined by who has more friends around at the moment, me or him. It may not seem like it without the side-by-side comparison, but I am a little more tactful in my ruthless cattiness. Where Tom sees Greg acting like a vicious queen, I'm thinking the same things, just not verbalizing them (maybe because, in his bluntness, Greg beat me to them).
And the eternal race card just reared its ugly head. The comment "not bad for a white guy" surfaced repeatedly while we were watching "The Abyss" last night. I am aware enough of his past dating history to know that he doesn't date "pasty white men," which throws me into that whole dynamic of thinking that the only reason he'd be with me at all is the black thing, setting aside everything else we have in common with each other. It's not an issue I really want to pursue with him at this time, because that will take all of the happiness out of this particular moment.
For the first time in a very long time, I am positively giddy, and I almost feel comfortable in my own skin. I hate the thought that it's going to wear off when he leaves. I like feeling like this, but I know it's has to end sometime, and I have to return to chewing my intestines to powder.
There is the feeling that I might be settling for the best feeling I can manage to get rather than (like Greg or Bruno) holding out for what it is that I truly want or deserve. I am, however, truly despairing because I think that what I want or deserve just isn't out there, which comes back to that idea that there's something wrong if I don't have it, that somehow I can't live without it (which is silly and irrational, but nonetheless, it's how I feel sometimes). And it does feel oh, so good, to have that serotonin bath in the middle of my brain. Almost makes me stop substituting chocolate.