Enter the Viking
Two weeks ago today, I was probably at my lowest low. I had given the breakup just enough space that I was beginning to be able to focus on moving on. That meant, of course, finding a place to live. Our house, with its basically open floor plan, just isn’t suitable for a broken-up couple; the ex’s bedroom doesn’t even have a door, for example. I know some couples who have managed living together just fine after breaking up, but let’s face it, I’m sure neither of us would want to bring a date home to this particular house, once we got to that point.
My apartment search at this point had been focused on West Hollywood and on finding my own place. The sinking realization that I simply would not be able to afford WeHo on my own was like a kick in the gut. So I browsed through some Craigslist listings of roommate ads that afternoon at work. One of them was quite close to me, and I would certainly have been able to afford it. Calls were made and I trudged off, after work, to see the place.
On the way, I ran into someone I knew. We’ll call him the Viking. I met him in the late spring at Hot Dog. I saw him there with a clump of people. I knew one of them, who was from my home town. (I’d actually tricked with Hometown Guy, who is just adorable.) At some point in the night, I found myself standing next to the Viking. I wasn’t on the make, for a rare change, but he was dreamy. Tall, blond, handsome, muscular, blue-eyed, great smile, hairy chest, clean cut...perfect. Our mutual friend had failed to introduce us earlier, so I turned to him and said, with perfect sincerity, “You are the handsomest man here tonight.” “Then you must be the kindest,” he answered. We introduced ourselves; he was Hometown Guy’s roommate. I saw the Viking out and about a few times more during the summer. The second time I saw him, I embarrassed myself horribly by basically throwing myself at him. Alcohol, unsurprisingly, was involved. He politely declined: “I don’t do couples or guys with boyfriends.” Well, it’s hard not to respect that. I guess that the few times I’ve seen him after that, I felt compelled to be extra nice to him so I didn’t make a fool of myself again.
Anyway, so I run into the Viking on the street and he asks me how I’m doing. He doesn’t know what’s been going on, and it all comes pouring out. “I’m sorry to unload on you,” I say. “That’s okay. We’re friends, that’s what I’m here for.” I hug him. This fucking sucks, looking like a complete psycho in front of someone who probably would rather keep me at arm’s length. “Why don’t you give me a call tomorrow and we’ll hang out and talk,” he says. Okay, so I guess I wasn’t that awful.
We say goodbye and I go to look at the apartment. It’s a dump and I don’t like the potential roommate, a slob who leaves the television blaring during the entire time I’m there, a cardinal sin in my book. But you know what? This actually perks me up a bit. It can’t get any worse than this.
Saturday afternoon comes. I ring up the Viking. “Why don’t come over and hang with HG and me,” he offers. “We’ll watch some television, grab some dinner and maybe go out.” Perfect. HG’s presence meant that I wasn't going to misinterpret this as a "date." Good to know that going in; no pressure, no misconception.
I walk over, we pour cocktails and watch an episode of "E.R." We decide on sushi for dinner, and the Viking mentions that he’s strictly a California roll guy. “You people from the middle of the country don’t like fish, do you,” I tease. “Nope, its just that I’m not supposed to eat raw fish because of the HIV.” I’m a little surprised, but...well, not really. I had suspected that he might have been on HIV drugs; sometimes you can just tell. Still, I’m sad, of course; I hate the idea of this handsome, vigorous, wonderful guy harboring the infection for so many years. We order dinner and bring it back to the house, watch an episode of "Gray's Anatomy," and a few of HG’s friends drop by briefly on their way to a nearby club. We decide to join them and we all head out. As we walk over, I was emboldened by my best friend’s constant encouragement for me to communicate what I'm feeling. The two or three cocktails I had couldn’t have hurt either. When the friends walked a bit ahead of us, I told the Viking that I thought he was a really great guy, the kind of guy I'd definitely want to go out with whenever I'm finally ready for that. The perfect guy at the utterly wrong time. I don't want to date the Viking, not now; no, I need my rebound guy to be a big sweet dope, who I can use and then drop with no hard feelings, not this wonderful, sweet, handsome man who I really like and who might possibly develop into something more to me. It was a great moment of honest communication, something I'm not exactly known for in my "real" life. I asked him if I could ask him out in a month or two, after my tumultuous life has settled down a bit. He said "I'd like that!" Cool.
We get to the club, have another round or two of drinks, I run into a bunch of different friends, and we dance a bit. We're having a great time. Around 1am or so, the Viking and I are done drinking and ready to sit down, so we head across the street to an all-night Mexican restaurant for some hangover-preventing food. There's a rowdy table of cute boys next to us, and we're joking around with them and having lots of fun. When we're done, the walk back leads us past my own particular downfall, Tasty Donuts (also open 24 hours, the bastards!), so we stop in and pick up a few for the walk home. During the whole evening, mind you, we've just been having fun; nothing flirty, nothing hinted at, no dirty talk, no suggestive dancing, just good times and the idea that we might go out on a date at some distant, unspecified point in the future. His place is along the walk back, so I tell him I'll see him to his door. He responds "I think you should stay over." I was absolutely floored.
You can see my dilemma. I had wanted him so bad for quite some time, but I really did think that there might also be some serious dating potential there too, and I didn't want to screw that up.
Of course, we had sex. It only took me half a second to make that decision. And it was amazing. No dirty details here. It was simply fantastic. The Viking is an absolutely beautiful man. There are no words. I did say, as I kissed him, that I hoped we weren’t screwing up something that had future potential.
Since he had already told me that he always had a hard time sleeping with someone else in his bed, and since I myself wasn't sleeping a wink after an hour of laying there next to him in the dark, I reluctantly got dressed around 4am and he got out of bed to kiss me goodnight, naked at the door. It was a very sweet ending to an utterly delightful and completely surprising evening.
My apartment search at this point had been focused on West Hollywood and on finding my own place. The sinking realization that I simply would not be able to afford WeHo on my own was like a kick in the gut. So I browsed through some Craigslist listings of roommate ads that afternoon at work. One of them was quite close to me, and I would certainly have been able to afford it. Calls were made and I trudged off, after work, to see the place.
On the way, I ran into someone I knew. We’ll call him the Viking. I met him in the late spring at Hot Dog. I saw him there with a clump of people. I knew one of them, who was from my home town. (I’d actually tricked with Hometown Guy, who is just adorable.) At some point in the night, I found myself standing next to the Viking. I wasn’t on the make, for a rare change, but he was dreamy. Tall, blond, handsome, muscular, blue-eyed, great smile, hairy chest, clean cut...perfect. Our mutual friend had failed to introduce us earlier, so I turned to him and said, with perfect sincerity, “You are the handsomest man here tonight.” “Then you must be the kindest,” he answered. We introduced ourselves; he was Hometown Guy’s roommate. I saw the Viking out and about a few times more during the summer. The second time I saw him, I embarrassed myself horribly by basically throwing myself at him. Alcohol, unsurprisingly, was involved. He politely declined: “I don’t do couples or guys with boyfriends.” Well, it’s hard not to respect that. I guess that the few times I’ve seen him after that, I felt compelled to be extra nice to him so I didn’t make a fool of myself again.
Anyway, so I run into the Viking on the street and he asks me how I’m doing. He doesn’t know what’s been going on, and it all comes pouring out. “I’m sorry to unload on you,” I say. “That’s okay. We’re friends, that’s what I’m here for.” I hug him. This fucking sucks, looking like a complete psycho in front of someone who probably would rather keep me at arm’s length. “Why don’t you give me a call tomorrow and we’ll hang out and talk,” he says. Okay, so I guess I wasn’t that awful.
We say goodbye and I go to look at the apartment. It’s a dump and I don’t like the potential roommate, a slob who leaves the television blaring during the entire time I’m there, a cardinal sin in my book. But you know what? This actually perks me up a bit. It can’t get any worse than this.
Saturday afternoon comes. I ring up the Viking. “Why don’t come over and hang with HG and me,” he offers. “We’ll watch some television, grab some dinner and maybe go out.” Perfect. HG’s presence meant that I wasn't going to misinterpret this as a "date." Good to know that going in; no pressure, no misconception.
I walk over, we pour cocktails and watch an episode of "E.R." We decide on sushi for dinner, and the Viking mentions that he’s strictly a California roll guy. “You people from the middle of the country don’t like fish, do you,” I tease. “Nope, its just that I’m not supposed to eat raw fish because of the HIV.” I’m a little surprised, but...well, not really. I had suspected that he might have been on HIV drugs; sometimes you can just tell. Still, I’m sad, of course; I hate the idea of this handsome, vigorous, wonderful guy harboring the infection for so many years. We order dinner and bring it back to the house, watch an episode of "Gray's Anatomy," and a few of HG’s friends drop by briefly on their way to a nearby club. We decide to join them and we all head out. As we walk over, I was emboldened by my best friend’s constant encouragement for me to communicate what I'm feeling. The two or three cocktails I had couldn’t have hurt either. When the friends walked a bit ahead of us, I told the Viking that I thought he was a really great guy, the kind of guy I'd definitely want to go out with whenever I'm finally ready for that. The perfect guy at the utterly wrong time. I don't want to date the Viking, not now; no, I need my rebound guy to be a big sweet dope, who I can use and then drop with no hard feelings, not this wonderful, sweet, handsome man who I really like and who might possibly develop into something more to me. It was a great moment of honest communication, something I'm not exactly known for in my "real" life. I asked him if I could ask him out in a month or two, after my tumultuous life has settled down a bit. He said "I'd like that!" Cool.
We get to the club, have another round or two of drinks, I run into a bunch of different friends, and we dance a bit. We're having a great time. Around 1am or so, the Viking and I are done drinking and ready to sit down, so we head across the street to an all-night Mexican restaurant for some hangover-preventing food. There's a rowdy table of cute boys next to us, and we're joking around with them and having lots of fun. When we're done, the walk back leads us past my own particular downfall, Tasty Donuts (also open 24 hours, the bastards!), so we stop in and pick up a few for the walk home. During the whole evening, mind you, we've just been having fun; nothing flirty, nothing hinted at, no dirty talk, no suggestive dancing, just good times and the idea that we might go out on a date at some distant, unspecified point in the future. His place is along the walk back, so I tell him I'll see him to his door. He responds "I think you should stay over." I was absolutely floored.
You can see my dilemma. I had wanted him so bad for quite some time, but I really did think that there might also be some serious dating potential there too, and I didn't want to screw that up.
Of course, we had sex. It only took me half a second to make that decision. And it was amazing. No dirty details here. It was simply fantastic. The Viking is an absolutely beautiful man. There are no words. I did say, as I kissed him, that I hoped we weren’t screwing up something that had future potential.
Since he had already told me that he always had a hard time sleeping with someone else in his bed, and since I myself wasn't sleeping a wink after an hour of laying there next to him in the dark, I reluctantly got dressed around 4am and he got out of bed to kiss me goodnight, naked at the door. It was a very sweet ending to an utterly delightful and completely surprising evening.
posted by M. at 4:22 PM
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