The return of the Viking...sort of
On Saturday morning, I stop by Starbucks after the gym. Just up ahead of me in line is the Viking, who is on his way to the gym. After meeting up at the cream and sugar table, we sit down at one of the little tables inside to catch up.
I have a hard time reading the Viking. The last time I saw him, it was over at his apartment last Monday night, where I was watching "Heroes" with his roommate, Hometown Guy. The Viking came home about halfway through the show (looking fanfuckingtastic, a vision of blond muscles). Since he also watches the show, he waved hello, went into his bedroom and closed the door, so that we wouldn't spoil his catch-up viewing later. All this with barely a word to either of us. When the show was over, HG and I were chatting for five or ten minutes afterward, but the Viking didn't emerge.
Okay. I guess that's pretty clear to me. Perhaps I should have said "I obstinately refuse to read the signs that the Viking is very clearly sending me."
Anyway, so we're having our coffee together. We've never mentioned the night we slept together. It kind of bothers me, but I'm not sure how to bring it up, or what it would accomplish anyway. No, it doesn't really bother me. I got what I needed, after all. But it definitely puzzles me. HG is out of town this week, so the Viking has the place to himself. "Give me a call this weekend," he says, as I head out. Oh, okay. Slightly different from the cold shoulder of Monday.
The rest of Saturday is taken up with a bat mitzvah and the adventures of Boston Jeff, related below, so I don't have a chance to ring up the Viking until around noon on Sunday. I leave a message, proposing dinner, then head off to a movie with another buddy ("Flags of Our Fathers," which was terrific). When the movie lets out, there's a voicemail from the Viking. I ring him back, slightly nervously. Am I asking him out? Not quite. He suggests that I head over to his place and we'll order in, hang out and watch a movie. Fine by me. Not a date. Just a homebody having a pal over.
When I get there, he greets me at the door with a kiss. When the food arrives, we decide on an action movie to watch. For once, I'm not really nervous around him. I'm not trying to impress him, I'm not trying to be extra nice or extra cool, I'm just my normal self. The movie is great, the company is nice.
It's nice.
Just nice.
All this drama about the Viking, and now, this is it? Two guys watching a movie and having dinner. No spark. No romance. Nothing, really. No meaningful glances, no suggestive conversation. Kind of dull, really. Slightly disappointing, to be sure, but kind of a relief to know for absolute certain where I stand.
When the movie ends, and it's time for me to head home, we kiss and hug at the front door. The kiss strikes me as ever so slightly lingering, more than the quick peck I'd give most of my friends.
I try to read into it any meaning that I can, but this time I find none.
I have a hard time reading the Viking. The last time I saw him, it was over at his apartment last Monday night, where I was watching "Heroes" with his roommate, Hometown Guy. The Viking came home about halfway through the show (looking fanfuckingtastic, a vision of blond muscles). Since he also watches the show, he waved hello, went into his bedroom and closed the door, so that we wouldn't spoil his catch-up viewing later. All this with barely a word to either of us. When the show was over, HG and I were chatting for five or ten minutes afterward, but the Viking didn't emerge.
Okay. I guess that's pretty clear to me. Perhaps I should have said "I obstinately refuse to read the signs that the Viking is very clearly sending me."
Anyway, so we're having our coffee together. We've never mentioned the night we slept together. It kind of bothers me, but I'm not sure how to bring it up, or what it would accomplish anyway. No, it doesn't really bother me. I got what I needed, after all. But it definitely puzzles me. HG is out of town this week, so the Viking has the place to himself. "Give me a call this weekend," he says, as I head out. Oh, okay. Slightly different from the cold shoulder of Monday.
The rest of Saturday is taken up with a bat mitzvah and the adventures of Boston Jeff, related below, so I don't have a chance to ring up the Viking until around noon on Sunday. I leave a message, proposing dinner, then head off to a movie with another buddy ("Flags of Our Fathers," which was terrific). When the movie lets out, there's a voicemail from the Viking. I ring him back, slightly nervously. Am I asking him out? Not quite. He suggests that I head over to his place and we'll order in, hang out and watch a movie. Fine by me. Not a date. Just a homebody having a pal over.
When I get there, he greets me at the door with a kiss. When the food arrives, we decide on an action movie to watch. For once, I'm not really nervous around him. I'm not trying to impress him, I'm not trying to be extra nice or extra cool, I'm just my normal self. The movie is great, the company is nice.
It's nice.
Just nice.
All this drama about the Viking, and now, this is it? Two guys watching a movie and having dinner. No spark. No romance. Nothing, really. No meaningful glances, no suggestive conversation. Kind of dull, really. Slightly disappointing, to be sure, but kind of a relief to know for absolute certain where I stand.
When the movie ends, and it's time for me to head home, we kiss and hug at the front door. The kiss strikes me as ever so slightly lingering, more than the quick peck I'd give most of my friends.
I try to read into it any meaning that I can, but this time I find none.
posted by M. at 4:59 PM
2 Comments:
Some guys are like combining leftovers from the fridge... you just wait to see what happens. If turns into something delicious, you eat it up. If it goes horribly wrong, you order Chinese and forget about it.
I think I tend to agree with jef.
Well, except for the Chinese part.
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