The Realistic New Yorker

We are both at a Holiday Inn, standing in my bathroom, looking at each other, wondering what the other will say next as conversation flows like a gushing waterfall.

We both are visually impaired, which probably makes the conversation flow even more. He’s a total, and he is dashingly handsome. To make matters even better, he is talking about the human perceptions next to a towel rack, while I am just a few feet from the toilet.

I’ve decided to meet him even if there is no sexual attraction to him. It would be nice to dive head first into a calming, collective, discussion. Jose, the effervescent charmer has me from the first phone conversation I have with him a few days before I fly away from the Windy City.

There’s a different kind of attraction to Jose than other men I’ve encountered. When he asks me questions, I feel as if I am making my life better by providing him detailed answers about myself and my thoughts on love and relationships. It’s a good thing he has yet to ask me what my favorite ice cream is, because, I am sure that would halt the evolution of mankind.

When we meet there’s flirtation, there’s learning, there’s verbal chemistry. My ears are locked into his articulate explanations, his attention is honed in on me as if his eyes are sniper scopes who have pegged a good catch. I can tell he’s genuinely interested in what I have to say. When I am giving a long explanation about the fallacies of Chicago Politics, his head cocks to one side, his mouth slowly slides into a peaceful grin, and his eyes nestle into a peacefully intense gaze.

When he talks, telling me about his dashing friend from the UK who’s straight but has so many gay mannerisms he could make a documentary for educational purposes, my hands, somehow, automatically rest in his and I listen with rapped attention. Everything I am experiencing is so calming I feel like I am chatting with an old friend, not someone who I just met a week ago.

Two hours pass by in a matter of seconds. He soon has to leave due to the late our. I have an event in the morning and really should be getting to bed myself. Before he leaves, we kiss. I don’t know what it’s like for him, but for me, it’s a tender smoldering of friendship.

He, however, must be getting a bit more excited than I am, because his lips become just a bit too eager. Perhaps if I weren’t so tired, I might give in. I am tired however, and want to go to bed. As he kisses more passionately, I pull away. I don’t want to look up at him but I do, registering the understanding on his face. He’s a bit disappointed, but he isn’t boiling mad.

There’s also something I haven’t told him, and I want to tell him now.

“I have something to tell you.” I say. I watch as his face questions my next sentence.

“Yes?” he says in his hypnotizing accent.

“there’s this guy that I’ve been talking to for five years. We’ve made such a connection over the phone that we both call each other once every day. I’ll get to see him soon. I don’t want to take this further than it is now, OK? Besides, I am tired. His name is Greg, and he’s a really wonderful guy.”

I can’t believe what I’ve just said. I’ve turned him down for a passionate connection over a phone line that I will meet for the first time, soon. I don’t know how to explain that I don’t want to do this with Jose because, well, I am waiting for something. I don’t know what that something is, but I know that something will be great.

As if to test my body, he checks my crotch to see if I am, indeed, hard. I’m not. I want to go to bed, but I wish that he could record an audiobook for me as well, just talking about his life and what he’s done. Perhaps I am the nut case. He could be a really great guy in bed, but I don’t want to find out. This is really weird for me, because usually, I am curious, at least. I am waiting on Greg. Poor Jose. I must be a complete buzz kill.

I show him out, and immediately want to follow him to make sure he gets home OK. I don’t make it very far however, as my tired body plops onto the bed for a quick rest.

Soon, the sun wakes me up, where I realize that, man, I had a wonderful night. I feel as if Jose has taught me something very profound but I don’t know what that is. I just want to hop in the shower and have some bacon.

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Author: Robert W Kingett

Robert Kingett is a gay blind journalist, and author, with many publications in magazines, anthologies, and blogs. He has judged many writing contests and has won many awards for his writings and advocacy.

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