DREAMS IN A BACKWATER

PART ONE

II

(1)

Like pretty much everyone else in the world – everyone, that is, for whom minor inconveniences such as homelessness, starvation, or having a bomb dropped down on their heads during their morning coffee break doesn't get in the way – I have spent a great portion of my life in the frantic pursuit of looove.  Some people say that love is all around us; all you need do is open yourself up to it (such people believing, apparently, that homelessness, starvation and etc. would present no great barrier to the fulfillment of their heart's desire), while others say that love is an illusion:  the real thing just doesn't exist.  When you're living homo in a heterosexual world, illusion – the mask that prejudice everywhere puts on the face of reality – is a matter about which you find yourself fast becoming something of an expert.  Such expertise may not be enviable, but for some of us it's a necessary tool for survival, a fact never made more obvious than when considering the subjects of sex and love.  Of course, that love in any form is a tricky proposition, difficult to the point of its being almost more trouble than it's worth, will come as no surprise to . . . well, to anybody, I expect.  Adam and Eve were not able to survive that idyll intact – and what Adam would have done had Steve been around is anyone's guess.

In the course of my lifetime I have twice made the mistake of falling in love – or at least, in lust – with men whose value as objects of affection was, shall we say, problematic at best.  In both cases these were men who publicly proclaimed themselves to be heterosexual, even while carrying on lengthy, albeit covert, flirtations with me.  In neither case (much to my dismay) did any sexual activity ever occur.  Instead, there developed between us a pattern of cautious allurement and sudden retreat:  that is to say, these men, once they had perceived the nature of my sexual inclinations, would first evidence an attraction to me, enticing me to the point at which I would feel compelled to make it clear that I was a willing reciprocator to their overtures; and then they would withdraw, acting for all the world as if I had completely misunderstood their intentions.  Feeling hurt, insulted and abused, I would turn cool – at which point their flirtations would begin all over again.

In both cases this cycle of flirtation and withdrawal was repeated many times.  This eventually caused in me a frustration so acute that I was driven to remove myself bodily from all association with these men.  Physically distancing myself from them was the only means I had of preserving my psychological integrity:  it was either that, or else go a little insane.  "Insane" I say and "insane" I mean, for I was made to feel as if I could no longer trust my own perceptions of what was happening around me, and thus was led to believe that my ability to interpret reality had somehow gone awry.  And yet, was I really to suppose that it was a common practice among heterosexual males to cast a wandering eye up and down the lengths of each other's bodies, to rest a warm, lingering palm upon the lower part of one another's backs, or to flush with pleasure when seeing one of their compatriots again after only a day or two spent apart?  You may not think so, and neither did I; however, were I to return these insinuations of affection, assuming that they indicated something beyond a purely platonic interest, it would soon be made clear to me that I had assumed too much.  In short, the other man would begin to avoid me – worriedly even, with many a wary, watchful glance, as if suspecting that I might at any moment lose control and make a sudden attack – and so I would leave them be.  For a time there would be no further interactions between us; then, generally within the space of only a few days and always much to my confusion, the other man would begin to pay me the same little flattering attentions all over again.

Were I to contrive some plan whereby we might spend some time together alone (though always in public settings, engaged in some activity of the most banal, socially acceptable kind), I was looked at askance, or turned away from with evident embarrassment.  Once again I had, apparently, presumed something I really had ought not to.  And yet the flirtations continued.  Frustrated desire on my part was the most consistent and perhaps the only natural outcome to result from these bizarre fluctuations in my relationships with these men:  my curiosity was piqued, but its satisfaction perpetually denied; thus my libido became inflamed.  The problem was further exacerbated by the fact that their heterosexuality was a matter of public record, while my homosexuality – and their interest in it – was not.  Eventually I was reduced to feeling a sort of lurid pity for these hapless fellows:  their evident desire to explore the wider realms of sexual possibility which I represented, and their continuing failure of nerve to do so, made them seem somehow all the more thrillingly, dangerously, appealing.  Yet no matter what tactic I took with them – and I tried them all, from feigned indifference to genial friendliness to confessions of outright adoration – their answer to my attempts at seduction was always the same:  No.  And yet still their flirtations continued.  It was most perplexing.  What was I to conclude?  Did their interest in me represent some sort of new, heterosexual sport?  Was I nothing more than a game to be played?  Perhaps; and yet, could that game have provided so much entertainment that it was worth their while to stretch it out not only over the course of days or even weeks, but over many long months?  Or, alternatively, was it that they were in such desperate need of male camaraderie that they felt compelled to solicit my affection as a sort of substitute for it, even going so far as to return the favor, though never with the intention of following such mutually expressed admirations to what was, to my mind at least, their natural conclusion?  Did they suffer from some sort of performance anxiety, fearing that I, who was privy to so much knowledge which they did not share, might find their sexual ineptitude during a physical encounter to be laughable?  I could not, of course, make so bold as to ask them outright; I could only hazard my awkward guesses and try to shape my behavior in accordance with these.  To no avail, unfortunately:  I was finally forced to concede that I would never be able to find out the truth.  And so, in circumstances involving no small amount of humiliation to me, I left.  I left my job in one instance, an apartment house in which I was living in the other.  In both cases my departure was greeted by the other man with signs of what appeared to be sincere regret, though never with a single overtly stated acknowledgment of his attraction to me.

Well!  It's true that our society is, at this point in time at least, profoundly neurotic when it comes to the subject of sexual diversity – or indeed, to diversity of any sort.  Differences abound, obviously; but people don't seem equipped to handle them very well.  I suppose that in order to embrace difference in another it's necessary first to embrace the possibility of difference within oneself; yet the truth is that we are all strangers in this world, and consequently always seem a little strange to one another.  People are generally loathe to recognize the strangeness that others see in them, and so strive to mask any hint of it with the appearance of conformity.  To blatantly divorce oneself from the norms of society – that is to say, from those tenets of belief and forms of behavior practiced by the majority – requires a strength of character many seem not to possess.  It requires real courage to go against the behavioral and ideological stances promoted by our culture, for to do so often results in a life of privation and loneliness; and this is a price few are willing to pay.  It also requires persistence of effort; and for most people the ties of family and career, or the necessities of simply earning a living and taking care of their daily needs, makes such effort too much work.  And laziness – that natural dislike of giving up the comfort which is to be found in following the status quo (this loss of comfort exacting a constant tax on one's physical and psychological energies) – is another difficult hurdle to overcome.  Also required, or at least helpful, are insights not only into one's personal psyche, but into the human psyche in general, encompassing both its philosophical and historical contexts.  Many people are simply not intellectually equipped for the endeavor.

Having said all this I guess I can see how a young man, lacking the power of introspection and eager to find acceptance among his peers, might begin to flirt with young women and, being endowed with the normal amount of desire for some tangible form of sexual expression as well as finding receptive young women both more abundant in number and more socially acceptable in kind, might eventually come to the conclusion that, regardless of his true inclinations, heterosexuality was his only motivating power within the sexual arena.  Yes, I guess I can see that . . .

But it's hard for me not to see it as kind of dumb.

BY MY WINDOW AT DUSK

OBSESSION