Incest

I've alluded to yet another gym employee that I've started "hanging out" with, so I figured now would be as good a time as any to introduce you--dear blog reader--to George. (Again, not his real name, but appropriate given he's from Atlanta, Georgia.)

George is what Miss Independent would call a "bro," except his southern roots make him a little more than that. Adopted by the Western culture, he has several tattoos and piercings, drives a 4runner, and works as a bartender on Mill Avenue over the weekends. His teeth are as straight and white as they come, and his eyes are big and blue. Immediately Miss Ind. picked him out as my type, but the truth was his personality made that so.

After feeling used and abused by a lot of other penises, *cough* McClimber, Boulder, Alejandro, David, and others that still haven't made the blog, etc. *cough*, what I wanted more than anything was a guy who could be a friend: someone who would spend platonic time with me, enjoy it, and not need more. George may be defying the odds with his timing and conduct.

That southern part of him made all the difference I needed. He seemed perfectly content just talking with me, climbing with me, and hanging with me. He paid for my lunch before I even ordered, and was actually excited to experience karaoke with me when he discovered I was a fan. To top it off, when we had the WORST date ever--ever, he behaved like something out of a chick flick.

(Let's sum up that bad date by saying he held back my hair several times.)

I titled this post "Incest"--not as some rude, obscure criticism of his southern upbringing, nor as a reference to a morally reprehensible secret affair of his--but as a comment on my own habits within the rock-climbing community: George makes the fourth employee of this one rock-climbing gym to know my kiss. (For those of you keeping count, there is one employee I still have not mentioned--Red--for the simple fact that our date was back in September and was the only date we have had or will have. We remain friends.) Let me state for the record that I find this behavior to be both risky and excessive. As my brother would put it, "LT, don't tempt fate."

Incest is a bad idea, no matter to which context it belongs. My only safety is in each of their word to not tell anyone. I've made both Boulder and George promise not to share. Even McClimber has sworn to keep our first day of "friendship" confidential. They don't understand why, but they're content believing it's simply for basic privacy.

Who knows how long I have before the proverbial shit hits the fan? Especially if I continue spending time with them. (Did I mention Boulder and I have since met for lunch, exchanged countless sexts--i.e. 'sexual texts,' and fooled around a little just this last Monday afternoon?)

Ah, yes.

George was crazy enough to swear up and down that he had a blast on our karaoke fiasco of a drunken date, and actually agreed to another date! We cooked dinner together, watched the better part of the classic move Legend, kissed a little, drank zero alcohol, and passed out. He even dropped me off at the airport the next morning (dark and early), guarded my car for a week, and offered to pick me up when I returned. Did I mention he kissed me goodbye at the airport?

We also agreed upon our next date for after I came back home: tonight I'm having him over for dinner. It's my turn to cook since the Thai food was mostly his doing.

Still no idea what I'm making. God knows that could easily be another disaster...

Anyway, the point is George seems pretty healthy so far. McClimber, it turned out, was far more abusive than positive, so I have since stopped speaking with him completely, despite seeing him at the gym and having consistent nightmares and whatnot. Boulder wasn't actively destructive like McClimber, but my reason for keeping him around came to not much beyond boredom and loneliness. That wasn't fair to him or me. So, I have since told Boulder we are not hanging out anymore for a while... yes, a while at least. I'm pretty sure he didn't care.

And George? Now, at this moment, he is the only one there I am currently focusing on romantically, but the irony of all ironies is that I'm not interested in romance. I'm not interested in dating. I'm not interested in fooling around. I'm not interested in commitment.

So what the hell am I doing exactly?

The truth is I'm not crazy about George. I adore him, find him attractive, enjoy his company, think he's a fantastic catch, but... I'm not crazy about him. I'm not interested.

Or, maybe, I'm not interested in disappointment. I'm not interested in hurting. I'm not interested in losing time or energy or effort or faith. I'm not interested in being wrong, again, about someone.

I'm not interested in being interested.

I guess what I'm "doing exactly" is playing with fucking fire. I was right to stop talking with McClimber, and right to stop seeing Boulder, and now I must be careful with George. Incest can, after all, produce some hideous offspring. I must stay protected. Tread softly.

When you're 20-something you don't have much beyond your relationships and dreams.

"But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet,
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams"
--W. B. Yeats

... Please... tread softly...

I'll keep you posted.

The Last Hurrah

Once McClimber and I decided officially that we were over for good, he expressed interest in maintaining a friendship.

"I'm going to need time," I said. Time to pretend you don't exist. Time to forget you. Time to fool around with other people. Time to move on. Because the time would come when McClimber would suddenly be spending an awful lot of time with another girl, and I needed to be the friend who had no problem with such a thing.

I'm not a glutton for punishment.

A month seemed like a generous amount of space for me to take, in my opinion, and it turned out Boulder jumped me up to ready-in-two-weeks. Two weeks of not seeing McClimber, talking to him, texting him, checking his facebook--nothing--and I felt I had successfully achieved "out of sight, out of mind." Ready for friendship.

So I contacted him.

We began talking and it seemed as though he was genuinely interested in being a friend. He asked what was happening in life and actually listened to the answers. It was easy to find stories to swap and laughs to share. So far, so good.

But then I saw him.

The gym is an unavoidable place for run-ins. McClimber was working out with his shirt off, as he often does, and it seemed he had lost another five pounds. The guy can't possibly get leaner. It didn't phase me at first.

He was hesitant around me. I wasn't sure why until I asked if he wanted to grab a smoothie with me after climbing.

"Yeah sure. Sounds good," he said.

"Yeah?" I asked.

"Yeah." --cue long pause-- "I've been having lots of dreams about you."

ARGHHHH!!!!

Suddenly the change in his behavior made sense, and suddenly I felt it too--like someone had reached inside my chest, sped up my heart, and squeezed my lungs. Only feet away from the front of the gym--feet away from two other gym employees who had taken me out on a date, Boulder not included--and inches away from each other, shirtless McClimber confessed he was still extremely attracted to me. I still wanted to be friends and to hang out but... this was going to be a problem.

The end of the night came and I told McClimber I was ready for a smoothie. He agreed and went upstairs to get his shirt and shoes and stuff. I followed him, bored and hungry at this point, and then I saw Boulder upstairs too. He and I hadn't really spoken much since we hung out, and I assumed he was bored with me after satisfying some curiosity, but when I turned to leave with McClimber he called me back.

"Go say goodbye," McClimber said, as we both looked at Boulder waiting, his arms outstretched for me.

As Boulder and I pulled away from our hug he asked, "So when are we hanging out again?"

McClimber was too far away to hear.

"Whenever you'd like," I said. I mean it too. He wasn't bored with me yet after all...

Finally McClimber and I made it to the smoothie place and all of his facial expressions became familiar again: frustration being his favorite look. He rolled his eyes at me. Laughed to himself.

"What?!" I asked, finally.

He rolled his eyes again. "It's just... You're here giving me those looks of yours..."

Suddenly I realized he is frustrated--sexually frustrated.

"Are you dating anyone?" he asked, like it's any of his business.

"No. But I've gone on a couple dates, yes." Four dates in one week with four different men, to be exact. One of those men being Boulder, and a second man being another employee at the climbing gym. (I'm not proud--no judging.)

"Oh Tessie," he shook his head.

"You?" I asked, taking the bait.

"Nope. Just lots of climbing. I haven't had time for a girl."

If I said that didn't give me a huge sense of relief, I might be totally lying.

We left and I offered to drive him home rather than make him ride his bike. We got to his house and I decided to come inside, without his asking. We continued talking a little bit more and I lifted up the very bottom of my shirt to explain some story I was telling (don't ask what story--I certainly don't remember and I'm sure lifting my shirt was not actually a necessary part of the telling). McClimber rolled his eyes again and threw a look of exasperation my way.

"Tess, why are you showing me your stomach when you know I'm dying to kiss you?"

I pulled my shirt back down. He really wasn't kidding about being attracted to me.

I apologized and got to rambling about how excited I was that we were going to be friends. I told him all of the fun things we could do because we miraculously have a ton of interests in common. As I went on and on, he walked back to his room and started undressing because he was meeting up with a friend after I left. Time to get out of his gym clothes. I foolishly followed him and continued talking, and not even a minute later he stripped down to his boxer-briefs.

The hallway outside of his bedroom is narrow, and I was leaning against the wall opposite his door. He turned the light off in his room, so only the light from the kitchen barely illuminated the tight space we now occupied, and unabashedly pressed his boxers-only body against mine and the wall.

I froze.

Wow had I missed him.

He began kissing my neck. I still couldn't move. Trapped between him and the wall in this narrow hallway, and trapped between doing what I know is smart and giving in to the way it felt, I really couldn't move. But when he went to kiss my mouth, I pulled away.

What do I want??? What do I really want right now?

Have you ever had moments in your life when you ask yourself those questions? McClimber didn't want to date me, care for me, love me--he wanted to screw me. It's crass to say, but honest too. I knew that. I knew that then, frankly he told me so more or less, but the problem was I couldn't decide how important all that was. A part of me--a loud part--wanted to kiss him back anyway.

The Last Hurrah is a common, almost essential part of the dating process. It's the encounter post-break-up when you're still not sure if you don't want what you had. The allure is stronger, and the desire for familiarity is suddenly coated in the desire for the unattainable. What could be harder to resist than that?

Did McClimber and I resist the temptation for a final hurrah?

A good author never tells.

Keep you posted.