What If I Were Looking For Love Online In March 2002?

Prefatory

A short chunk of time, back in woefully dim spirits, fearing that my days with Charles might be might soon be over I wondered what it would be like to renew the search for someone to love. There wasn't a jot or tittle of doubt that I'd feel compelled to try again. Sleeping next to someone at night is in some funny interstice between total comfort and ecstasy. (Ok, most of the time. There are the nights I feel like a poor third world country as his legs engage in sorties against my half of the bed.)

Eighteen months ago I was my online presence was as pervasive as I could make it without paying a dating site. I recently noticed that match.com is advertising on TV. As far as I knew they were the only one who charged that seemed to be making a go of it. Short of a good personal website, their questionnaire, I'll admit, inevitably silly in parts, was a better way to introduce yourself online than anything else I remember seeing. This time I'd be sharp enough to use the space to say whatever I wanted and not fret about the actual questions.

I remember enough of it so that I could be hawking myself all over the place in an evening at most. What else could I do? You folks know that I'm as asocial as a guy can be without meriting psychoanalytic nomenclature.

The best folks I met, with the exception of my sleeping sweet one, were the ones who liked my old website. It seemed a bit verbose back then. It was a fragment of what it is now. Being single and looking would probably get me to implement those new layouts with which I've been toying. Maybe I'd even tidy up the zany, sometimes spastic syntax. Then again I do have disclaimers scattered about.

Wonder how much I'd, whether knowingly or unknowingly, propagandize. My journal entries are just yakking. No concealed agendas. If I felt like being a liar I could setup different editions for each turn of erotic feeling.

So I'd sit next the my PC, prop up my legs, put on a CD, open a book and see what the www brought my way. Most would be uncomprehending. "So what are you into?" Actually that is a fair question. But as an opener it'd miss the point. If I were just looking to hook up (now too familiar a phrase to call for quote marks) there'd just be a pic, stats and all important top/bottom, anal/oral, cut/uncut, what have you. ("I B CLEAN U B 2".)

Many would be churlish: "a/s/l?" Well, damnit, you moron, that is plastered all over the place. Pity AIM doesn't have a requirement comparable to a driver's license.

Annoyingly there'd be those lovable guys who are too far away. I remember the opera scene designer (Maryland), the sweet little jazz singer (New Jersey). The former was about to drive to Durham to meet me but my last message to him was sent from Charles' place in Raleigh, say, well, sorry. I never could quite figure out the latter. He was partnered but I there must've been some sexual failing in their relationship. It was so easy to imagine his sweet 5'8" frame curled up in my life.

That was when I first wished I could drive. Anyway, I know the drill and could handle it with dispatch.

1. The Female Bunch

In my nuttily retarded way I've come to appreciate women. I like looking at their breasts, whatever size and shape. Their hair, long or short. Homo that I am I sometimes wish their hips weren't wider than their shoulders. Women were such an entertaining variety of clothing. I've always been too insecurely conservative to play with my dress. I marvel at seeing a woman visit the shop wearing functional denim and in a frilly maxi on her next visit.

One of the parallel lives I'd love to live is the one in which my heterosexual fragment came alive sooner. What would the poor bugger (me) have done? I hate to say it, but I have a low view of straight people. They seem to be forever fidgeting with social hypocrisy. I'd like to think the better sort of het is past this but all the pop culture representations are reprehensible. Man = penis/fuck. Women = relationship/commitment. I'm in the latter camp myself but can't imagine coping with all the doubt. Then again there was the Naderite woman who was looking for the real thing but wondered about my body fat level. I don't blame the poor girl. But I hope she does wake up to her real priorities.

If you have a photographic memory you'll remember my finding a woman who was browsing poetry in my shop very attractive. Late 30s, she had a violent crease across her forehead. I hadn't a clue: did she worry too much, was a life wracked by intellectual intensity? The crease was very sexy.

This entire outpouring was prompted partly by a woman a saw in the BP today. I couldn't peradventure if she was 29 or 49. Her hair was a mix of badly dyed colors. Her face was riddle with angst, tension, pain - how would I know? I'd've gotten a kick out of telling her. Made me want to hold and kiss her. But, you know, she might not have found it flattering. She might've thought I was merely desperate. But I'm probably the only man she'll ever pass who found her appealing who wasn't horny or drunk.

So, were I looking, I could look for a woman. But my polymorphous sexuality scares women more than gay men. Sure, you can say they aren't 'worthy' but it bugs me to no end that otherwise worthwhile women find it so fearful.

If I were looking again I'd really enjoy meeting a woman I could love. So much neglected and unexplored.

2. Outside the Norms

Transgendered (transvestites and transsexuals) are as lovable as anybody else. Intersexual people too. Many of them would never believe it but I'd've felt that way had I but known they existed. Like the average person I'd never thought beyond the classical hermaphrodite. Intersexuality is less well known but about as appreciated as quantum mechanics.

But this is only really about transgendered folks.

Transsexuals

People born male who have actually reversed their genetic gender aren't that common. And almost all of them were far away. They tended to be feminist. I can't see much difference between a post-op transsexual and a woman. More understanding. But if the distinction is insignificant hopefully it would fade away. There are extra health concerns, and the never ceasing need for hormones to prevent the body from reverting.

Crossdressers

Crossdressers are different. I'm sure if I were making their acquaintance again there'd be the same barriers. The desire to be women that never were or are best left behind in the dustbin of history. I've sometimes thought that because the identification with women is set early but never satisfied they remain fixed. Most of the crossdressers wore pleated, padded, constructed dresses that no woman aside from an imaginary Baptist frump would actually wear nowadays. I don't think it is an attempt to subjert anatomy. But a desire to embody a shabby, badly dated dream.

Likewise the complicated wigs leftover from a late 50s to mid-60s starlet. Outside of movies women seem to enjoy uncomplicated looking hairstyles (I haven't a clue how much effort that appearance may require.) My idea crossdresser is able to step above gender, outside of it, play with it. Not be trapped by it.

I could never be a partner for a transvestite that rejects his biology. A sweet fellow I know that enjoys wearing women's clothing calls himself "A Man of Two Worlds." If I were dating a crossdresser I'd gladly play at any social roles that he'd enjoy. But I'd never want to take it seriously.

I ran into a couple of sane, terrifically likable transvestites just before grabbing Charles. Maybe I could again. But it is an awful strain to work through all the self-deniers.

I'll admit that Richard 2002 thinks of a transgendered person as a beautiful possibility. Rich in playfulness and possibilities.

3. Just too marvelous for words

There's no getting around it. A nelly guy does something special to me. I want to turn cartwheels, climb trees, act like a fool. Be strong, protective, do my damndest to give him a happy life. First time I spoke to Charles on the phone there was so much pixie dust coming through the wire -- because as I finally understand: it is often a defensive, self-protecting, deprecatory manner -- that I was elated just from the sound of his voice. I don't think he ever notices when his wrist goes limp. But when it does he could pull me around it like so much warm taffy.

Er, anyway.

If I were looking again old usernames like ILikeNellyGuysDurham or FemGuyFanDurham would live again. Nobody is too much of a drama queen for me.

But I'd run into the same things I ran into last time. When I came out and started sleeping around I gravitated to soft guys without even thinking about it. I'd just melt. And (dark confession) they make you feel so strong and (ulp!) masculine. Desirable. Until I was looking last time I never thought about their underwear. I guess if I went out undre those old handles I'd run into the fellows who'd confess they were wearing, loved to wear, women's panties.

Never fantasized about that. Don't think about undergarments. I quit wearing any when I left home. Not to be sexy. Just seems like a damned nuisance.

So I'd be getting IMs from guys who don't crossdress but wear hosiery or panties. Or want their gentials shaved. I've never gotten the appeal of shaved genitalia. I like both sexes pubic hair. Enjoy it up against my chin and cheeks.

I've sometimes wondered if my taste for non-masculine men hasn't drawme me to a more than average neurotic class.

4. Just a guy named Joseph

I've slept with some guys with routine personae. The one I remember was the first guy to say to me "Stick your dick in my mouth." Later he wanted me to fist fuck him. A part of sexuality that draws a blank with me, I declined. You never know what lurks under that conventional exterior.

Probably the people I'd really be the wisest to chat with if I were wanting to meet a new, um, mate.

5. Tall, Tan, Tough

It isn't something I ordinarily talk about but there've been rare instances where I've found very butch guys desirable. And I mean very butch.

There was bodybuilder I wanted to sleep with way back when. His fierce indpendence reminded me much of Victor. He wanted to sleep with me. But we never managed to get together A rare occasion I've always regretted.

But mostly I've viewed these impulses as you might the urge to walk down the street on your hands. It isn't part of my constructed identity ("One must give style to one's character." - FWN).

When I would chat with these types online they struck me as paranoid and contolling. Too damned often divorced. I know that is a normal part of many a man's life but they found too much value in the hetero past: often to closeted.

6. More is more

I've long tended to regard my own narrow monogamy as a limitation. I've known many a sharp person who was a part of a polyamorous relationship. And healthy couples who simply enjoyed threesomes. Because of my own quirks I suspect it would be a dangerous way to go. For polyamory to work I'd imagine each member has to be equally open and sociable.

8. Concluding

Yep, all of the above ignores my own desirability. I can be what is called a nice guy. If that were all that mattered we'd all be snuggled up with somebody right now.

This seems awfully long for what really has to be a rushed entry. It could be a damned encyclopedia. I rarely proofread these things. Or even spell-check them. Reflecting back over this it hits me that only one, maybe two of you have been living with someone for a long time. Life is nastily contingent.

With luck I'm not going to be looking. But as Criswell says at the end of Plan 9 we're all going to be living in the future.

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