The Make-Out Room

It went well, I’d say.

He came over to the house (nice face, a few pounds heavier than in his pic, but that doesn’t bug me much in the short term) and we walked over to the Valencia corridor, and wandered into a tapas restaurant. The food was good, but the portions were small and the brownie cake at the end needed a small pick axe to consume (it blew, he said, later)

Anyway, he’s a nice guy, in his forties, from Rhode Island (sexy East Coast accent). His name is also Michael. He’s got a good sense of humor and picked up on the fact that I’m in recovery pretty quickly. Has his own apartment in SOMA but is looking for both a different job and a different apartment.

I realize that I am writing a bit dispassionately about this.

We came back to my place, where all three roommates and the various animals were up and about. Edie spooky-barked at him as he came in the house, and J pulled her back into his room. So I show him my room, introduce him to Louie and Bryant the cat, and pretty soon we are making out on the bed while the cat climbs all over us and the other dogs are barking and people are walking up and down the hallway. It was pretty funny, actually, and we laughed. I have to admit, it was very very nice making out with him. We got pretty riled up but left our pants on. He’s pretty hugely endowed, and I was not quite ready to go there, shall we say. He told me he was respecting the line that was unofficially drawn, although I hadn’t said anything about it. But it seemed to be a good rule, and we made out some more, leaving the rest for later. He left by ten. I think we’ll see each other again this weekend.

I don’t really want to be one of those men other guys always complain about, which is another way of saying I don’t forsee a committment to this guy, although I could be proven wrong. In the light of day I don’t know what I want, but in the heat of the moment I do. The challenge then is to live in a way that honors both, if possible. And not to be an asshole about it, either.

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