I really have no idea what it is but I fall madly in love with every attractive gay man I see. When I first heard Sam Sparro I was like “Oh be still my heart! This is great! Is he gay? He sounds gay…” and low and behold yes, yes he is. Gay as gay can be. And I’m in love with him.
Beautiful gay boys are my weakness and my friends know it – one of them sent me this photo today, knowing I’d be smitten:
Gay men in love are cuter than hetero couples in love – it’s just a fact.
^^That last picture is probably my favorite of all the photos I’ve ever seen on the internet.
When I first joined MySpace, over a year ago now, and I joined a couple of mommy groups, I was firm in my stance that there was nothing wrong with circumcision. Not for any reasons other than a.) the baby won’t remember it and b.) circumcised penises look better. I knew that it was painful, and I knew that it wasn’t necessary, but it was my preference and I believed in the mother’s right to choose in this regard.
But after many months and many debates over it in the groups I realized that it was exactly what I hated to hear intactivists say it was: cruel. And that no matter what my personal preference was regarding foreskin, it wasn’t my right or my decision regarding my son’s body. He was born perfect, and putting him through the surgery and recovery wasn’t necessary. We as parents are supposed to love and nurture our children, not purposefully cause them harm. In any way.
I think the person who swayed my opinion most was Valkyrie. She was the only one I discussed it in depth with, and she wasn’t constantly bombarding people with videos of infants being mangled so it was easy for me to listen to her without my guard up. She had been through both sides and really helped me open my eyes. Of course, listening to some of the other women in the ‘Breastmilk vs.Formula To the Death’ group impacted my decision, but she stands out most of all.
So, even though I still prefer circumcised johnsons for my own pleasure, if in some distant time I am able to bear a boy, I will not circumcise him. Because it would be wrong. And mean and cruel. I have grown, in this aspect, and I am proud of this new revelation, which is the point of this blog. I became more educated on the subject, and the only logical and completely unselfish choice possible is the one that I’ve now made.
I’ve never been one for light men, with light hair. I like my men olive skinned, with dark hair. But I’ve always loved light eyes. That’s what caught my attention. I wanted to know more about him. And his blue eyes. And why he was where he was. I followed him. I looked at him. I read him. I spent a good half an hour studying him. I ignored his girlfriend. She didn’t notice me, and neither did he. I didn’t have to be sneaky; he had no clue who I was or what I was doing.
I followed him from the room he was in; one in which I had business, to another one I didn’t. I looked about. I liked what I saw, and the people who were there. So I hung around. Not just for him, but partly so. Just partly.
I realized soon enough, after days of going back, that he was never there. For weeks, he never came back, or at least didn’t make his presence known. It was okay though, because I had almost forgotten about him. Until the day he showed up out of no where.
He spoke with an intelligence that commanded reverence. We were having a discussion that had become pretty heated. Cheap shots were being thrown about and two people seemed about to come to blows. He came in. He sat down and with a calm voice and an unexpected urban taint, voiced his opinion. Just like that, the argument was over. No one else spoke up. The almost-pugilists slithered back into their seats as spectators. He left.
I remember exhaling. Yeah, like the movie. I exhaled. Not that I was waiting to do so: I was smack dab in the middle of my so called marriage, and supposedly, I’d already done all the breathing in and out I was going to do for the rest of my life. But this guy, he did something to me. I didn’t know what, but I liked it. I was happy that he had returned. ‘Bout damn time.
Gradually, he started to become a regular. He evidently had been, in the past, but was just now, getting back into the swing of things. After a while, conversations amongst the crowd caused us to cross paths. The first time he acknowledged me in a discussion I did my best to hide my pleasure. “He’s talking to meeee!” I felt like a school girl, I really did.
He flirted with me.
I flirted back.
Harmless and innocent [except for in my mind].
We exchanged correspondence information and I embarked on my emotional affair. I didn’t know if he felt as strongly for me as I did for him. I didn’t want to know, because that would have been admitting to him that I was pitiful. And in desperate desire of companionship: no matter how limited.
He was brilliant. I craved brilliant.
He was open and honest. I needed open. I had to have honest.
He was tall. I wanted tall.
His stomach was…
He was everything J wasn’t. And I realized just how much I had settled when I’d married J. He said things to me that J never did. He told me I was beautiful more in one conversation, than J had said in the past 2 years. He made me feel like J hadn’t been able to since our 1st year of marriage. He was funny. So funny. He was able to turn my moods around like *snaps fingers* that, with just a word. I thought about him all the time. Our schedules never matched, but I saw him as often as I could. Even if only for a quick second.
He told me about his girlfriend. How awful she was. Though he never himself called her that; he gave me all the information I needed to come to that conclusion on my own. His relationship seemed to parallel mine. Unrealized potential, and unrequited love. He too was unappreciated by the person that should have loved him most.
I couldn’t fathom it. What the fuck was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she see what she had? How could she take it for granted? But he had the same questions for Jason.
…
I talk to him now without the shadow of J’s disapproval hanging over me. I’m much more free and I’ve enabled myself to tell him how I feel about him. I took the chance that he would cock his head to the side and stare me down with those big blue eyes until I realized [without him saying so] that I was being fantastical. That he had a girlfriend. That our talks were innocent. And that that one kiss on the cheek was nothing.
But he didn’t. He admitted, grudgingly that he felt for me. More than he wanted to. He told me I was stunning. And that I deserved much more than I thought I did. He wished his daughters’ mother loved them ‘as hard’ as I loved mine. That he wished what we shared could develop into something more. He was quick to remind me though: anything beyond what he and I already had wasn’t probable. That was okay.
