I used to say I was Carrie, but I don't want to be the victim anymore

If you bring up Sex and the City with any fag in the free world, they will ask you one question: "Which girl are you?" I have had the conversation a thousand times, and I usually say a cross of Carrie and Samantha. But tonight, when I saw the new movie, I saw myself in Carrie and Charlotte.

The way I have always thought that I related to Carrie was my uncanny ability to analyze a relationship in the most minute detail. As I watched the movie tonight though, I realized how self-oriented our analysis can be. Why did he say that to me? Why did he do that to me? How does he really feel about ME?

With Charlotte, I really just related tonight to one scene. She said, "I have never been so happy, and it makes me terrified. No one gets everything they want."

Tonight the hurt kid inside me related to them, and I realized that the hurt kid inside me has more of a voice than I want him to have. It is the part of me that is terrified of being abandoned, and tells me that I will be hurt again. It is the scared voice in my head that makes becoming vulnerable to someone as terrible as it is wonderful. It is a part of me that I see in people all around me, and we all hate it. We all fight it. Like it or not, many of us share this demon. The demon fills our heads with thoughts we don't want to hear, and prevents us from (as Carla would say) just enjoying the present.

Sometimes I wonder if these runaway thoughts ruined my relationship with Scott. There were several times in our relationship where I, like Carrie, played the victim. Scott hurt me a few times, and I would have such a strong reaction. But I don't want to be a victim anymore. All it got me with Scott was a broken heart and a broken boyfriend. Do I have the strength to own my share of the responsibility, even when I hurt? Even when I'm broken? Do I have the balls to include in my neat little summary of how our relationship played out that I could have been better to him too? God, I want to say yes, but even as I say it I just don't know.

But actually, I have to say, this is all probably balanced out by a different way that I relate to Charlotte. I have always been a believer in love, true love, and unlike the rest of the girls, Charlotte and I know that we are good in a relationship. We know that we can be a good partner, a good listenter, a friend, and a damn good lover (or is that just me?). Lenny taught me I was worth loving, Scott made me believe that I can actually pull off a relationship when I find the right guy. I guess Carrie was never so lucky, so she talks herself out of every good thing that happens to her. Then what she gets is a life of ALMOST finding Happily Ever After.

But no, I'm not Carrie. I might drive myself a little crazy in the process, but I'm not settling for ALMOST.

So I guess I'm just missing one thing. Mr. Big, where can you be?

Frankie

I have been out all night with Umecke and Carla and we just came home with Frankie, the boyfriend of Carla's roommate. He is a 26yo Mexican who is like our new wind up toy.

"Oh giggles, she's so precious."

"Lets take this show on the road."

"We're like, IT, right now guys. Its a lot of responsibility. Really, its overwhelming. Everyone's looking at us all night mumbling under their breath how they want to be us. Damn its a tough life."

He says to Carla, "I bet you even poop cute."

He uses moist towelletes after he poops.

"I did enjoy it...geting my butt licked. It was quite a treat I must say."

"I felt slutty at first, but then it was kind of hot. Sitting on her face and she was eating my butt."

"Oh there another fucking moment for my heart right there. Oh, oh, let me grab it. Ahhh, there it is."

This is probably a ridiculous entry. He just offered me naked pictures of himself. He says we're helping him keep his sanity. This guy is hilarious.

"Please hug me."

As the night has progressed he has become quite affectionate. He told me about how he kissed a guy once, and he liked it. I pulled his shirt up while he laid back on the couch and I rubbed his stomach. He talked about how he clipped his hair, but didn't ask me to stop. What a cute kid. Too bad he's dating Carla's roommate. This could have been a very interesting night.

Can the Risk Takers and Safe Bets get along?

As I get older it becomes clear that people can be categorized into two groups that really don't understand each other: the Risk Takers and the Safe Bets. I'm not sure how I became a Risk Taker, but now that I'm living in San Francisco again, I realize how we tend to congregate together. And after a life of being close to Risk Takers, I notice when I meet someone who isn't.

I guess what made me think of this was a man I went on a date with recently who told me that, at 32, he had never tried drugs. Now please understand that I have no judgment against this (just like I don't have judgment against drug users either), but my thought was this... So many people I know tried drugs when they were younger, in the exploration years. It was when we defied our parents, our religion, even our sense of self. It was when we had irresponsible sex, and we traveled to places our parents didn't think were safe. We made friends that excited us because they were bad. I relate to these people, particularly the people who actively made the decision to experience everything that life handed us as long as we weren't hurting anyone, and could remain on the path to success (in school or our work). What is it about us that makes us different from the people who don't try those things?

This is a touchy subject, so I feel like I need one more disclaimer. I am not condoning drugs, and I do recognize (through extensive experience with loved ones) that drug use is an unhealthy proposition for many people (addicts). What I am really trying to focus on is the dominating personality trait for an individual to either: (a) try things and decide for themselves if they like them, or (b) avoid things that they hear are unsafe.

So what is that internal drive that separates these groups of people? Is it specific to drugs, or does it permeate other risky behaviors? And more importantly for me right now: can two individuals who belong to the separate groups make a successful couple in the long-term?

I don't know. But I do know this. I haven't had the best luck in this area with my relationships to date. Historically, I have chosen Risk Takers; and 2 out of 3 times, I mistakenly chose drug addicts disguised as normal boyfriends.

But still, I think, what would I be getting myself into if I date this guy? Will he come with me when I decide that I absolutely need to move to Europe for my career? Will he support me (emotionally) when I choose to start my own business and give up my income? Will he accept my family, and I mean really accept my family, which is the model for California liberals? (Remember, we are HomomexiblaCaucasian Americans).

I can't answer any of these questions. But as I write this I do know one thing. I am a Risk Taker, so I will date him until I find out how the story ends.

A Tribute to Lenny

Last July one of the most important people in my life died suddenly of a heart attack in his sleep. I cried the day that I found out, and I haven't been able to cry again. I feel like its weighing down on top of me, and I don't know how to let it out. I miss him most when I go through tough times and need affection from a man. I miss him a lot right now.

Lenny would tell you that we met at a party during Folsom weekend in San Francisco in September 2001, but I only have the vaguest recollection of him from that night. The night I remember was December 15, 2001, at the Powerhouse in San Francisco. I introduced myself to him and his friends, and there was heat between us immediately. We went dancing after that, and then he invited me back to his hotel... the Best Western on 9th Street in SOMA.

When we got there we got naked, and he laid me down on the bed. He kissed me softly, and then asked me if I minded being tied up. I said no. He bound my hands and feet and secured me to the bed. He then teased me for what I believe to be about an hour. Feathers, leather, candles, more rope, but absolutely no sex. The stimulation and exhaustion eventually sent me to sleep. When I woke up hours had passed, Lenny was kissing my chest, and I was still bound. I begged for sex, but he said no. He said that he thought if we had sex I would never call him, and he wanted to see me again. He went home to Santa Barbara that afternoon. I called him that evening.

Over the next month Lenny and I talked every night. I learned that he was 39 (I was 26), had a husband of ten years, Wayland, and that they had an open relationship. Wayland knew all about me, and was looking forward to meeting me. We decided that I would visit them the third weekend in January 2002.

My memory of that trip is fragmented. I remember Lenny giving me the best massage of my life. I remember that we didn't have sex, despite wanting to. I remember that I slept in Lenny and Wayland's bed, with Lenny in the middle, and that Lenny held me when I slept. I knew that there was a serious connection between Lenny and I, and that Wayland recognized it and was very sweet to me even there was no attraction between he and I. I remember feeling safe, and confused. The part I remember the most is sitting on the porch with Lenny as I was getting ready to leave. He told me that he was very happy that I came to visit, that he felt that not having sex yet was the right thing to do, and that he was going to come up to San Francisco to see me in February. I knew that it was complicated, but I trusted him so much even then, so I agreed.

He visited me in both February and March. In February we had sex for the first time, and it was great. Then in March, when he was holding me in bed one afternoon, it occurred to me that I loved him. It was one of the best and scariest moments of my life. Let me explain...

At the time Lenny and I met, I had not really dated anyone in over five years. My lack of intimacy was the result of an intense fear and self doubt probably caused by several things, but I think there was one major catalyst. I had two best friends that changed my life, and one of them, Rowena, died when I was 22. I went into a depression that lasted almost exactly two years, and which resulted in an intense fear of being vulnerable again. After that, I emotionally retreated and didn't allow anyone inside. Every time I dated someone in the following years, I pulled away as soon as I started feeling like I cared. The cycle left me feeling very lonely.

But when I met Lenny it seemed like he recognized my fear, and he made a series of carefully selected steps to show me that he could be trusted. I think he waited to sleep with me because he wanted me to know that he valued me as a person. No matter what I said, Lenny accepted me. And by that third month, I felt like I could be more of myself with him than I had been with any man before. So on that day in March, when I realized that I loved him, I cried. I cried quite a bit, because for several years I hadn't felt loveable, and I hadn't thought that I would let myself love someone again. And as Lenny held me through those tears, he changed the way that I felt about myself and my future. This may sound cheesy, but I think Lenny allowed me to love again.

I saw Lenny most weekends through that summer. I traveled a lot for work, and Lenny met me in Miami one weekend and in Washington DC on another. He visited me in San Francisco, and I visited him in Santa Barbara. I got closer to Wayland, and he and I started calling each other "Brothers". Still, when the three of us we were together, we all slept in one bed, with Lenny in the middle. And still, Lenny held me while we slept.

As the summer turned to fall, I became so deeply in love with him that I couldn't bear leaving him during the week. We started talking about me moving down to Santa Barbara. But working out the details started getting tricky. Wayland wasn't sure he wanted me to live in the house, and I didn't want to move to Santa Barbara just to live alone. Things became tense.

Lenny came to visit me on October 12, 2002. We tried to figure out how to work out our situation, but we realized together that there just was no solution that would meet his, my, and Wayland's needs. We decided that it had to end, and he left for good. I cried for two weeks. Even looking back now I'm horrified at how much it hurt.

Five months later I decided to move to Sydney, and just before I was leaving Lenny called one day to say he was in town and wanted to have lunch. We met, and when I told him I was leaving, he asked if he could go out with me on the night of my going away party. That was the night we became friends.

In Sydney I dated a couple guys, and then met Scott, who was clearly my most functional relationship so far this lifetime. I don't think it ever would have been possible without having loved Lenny first. And when I needed to talk about how to relate to Scott or the guys before him, I started calling Lenny first. He became my closest male friend. He still called me Baby Boy. He still made me feel utterly and completely loved.

Scott and I visited Lenny and Wayland once in Santa Barbara, and then they came to New York to visit us after Scott and I moved there. Despite talking to Lenny every week or so in those years, that trip to New York was the last time I saw him.

In his last few months, Lenny was going through a rough time. He had always had a hard time sleeping and didn't have the healthy fear of pills that most of us have. One night last summer, Lenny couldn't sleep and took 9 pain killers over the course of the night. The last one was too much. Wayland got up to take a shower that morning, and he said that while he was in the shower he suddenly got the horrible feeling that something was wrong with Lenny. He ran into the bedroom and found Lenny turning blue. He threw Lenny on the ground and started giving him CPR. Lenny woke up for a minute and grabbed Wayland's hand. Wayland told him to hold on and keep breathing, and ran to call 911. When he came back Lenny was blue again, and again Wayland revived him. In approximately 90 seconds an emergency team rushed into the house and started trying to resuscitate Lenny. But Lenny stopped responding. They put him in the ambulance and rushed him to the hospital, but he was dead before he arrived.

Lenny didn't have a funeral. What he wanted was for his friends and loved ones to each make separate trips to visit Wayland and spend time with him. So that is what I did. I spent a night with Wayland in August. I had never slept anywhere in the house except for their bed, so at bedtime Wayland told me to get in bed. I laid down in the spot where Lenny had his heart attack. It felt horrible. I didn't sleep well that night. It didn't help that Wayland woke up once screaming from a nightmare. And when he saw someone laying in Lenny's spot he jumped. I love Wayland very much, but I left as soon as I woke up in the morning. It still didn't feel like closure, so let me say goodbye again here.



Lenny,

I still love you still than I can say. You gave out such an amazing light and energy, and I still feel it when I think of you. You were one of the kindest, most loving people I have ever known, and I thank you so much for believing in me, and loving me, and showing me how much I could love someone else. You made me a better person.

I hope you are with me when I think you are. And I hope I still make you proud.

Take care of Wayland, because I know he needs you. And when you can, please take care of me too, because sometimes I feel a little lost without you.

Bye Dad. See you in my dreams.

Love,
BBB

P.S. I finally cried when I wrote this. That feels much better.