Kissing Dreams

I have a really good memory. Like insanely good. Though, it only works when it wants to. Either I recall something with perfect accuracy, or I recall nothing at all. And apparently, so does my subconscious.

Last night as I slumbered, I dreamt of having dinner. It was me, a buddy of mine, his chubby girlfriend who he planned to dump, and strangely enough my dad and two kids (The only person from my waking life being my dad, the rest are new). As we’re talking, the chubby girlfriend says, I can’t believe I’ve known you so long. I say HUH? She’s says, "you slept with my brother in Alabama 10 years ago." And WOOSH. The fictional dream gives way to memories of truth and reality.

I can’t remember his name with 100% assurance (no surprise there, I can never remember people’s names, just everything else about them), though in the dream she called him Jeffy. I'm pretty sure his name is Will. Will was a man I met in a bar called "The Plex" back in Montgomery, Alabama when I was tinkering to come out to myself. I was 18. He was late 20’s, maybe early 30’s. He was ruggedly handsome, shaved head, tall, muscular (though not too), and blue eyes that reminded me of the ocean from my childhood in Guam.

I went home with him the night I met him, from the bar to his place following his truck in my truck, and pulling up to nice 2-bedroom in central Montgomery. I followed him in and he asked if I wanted to watch South Park, which I’d never heard of at the time (this was back in 97-98, South Park was still in its first season). We laid down on the bed and watched and laughed our asses off, kissing during the commercial breaks. He had perfect lips and large hands. He was passionate, embracing, enthralling. (Haha, wow, I’m such a drama queen when I write.)

I think all my lovers since owe Will much, because I think I learned how to kiss from him. Yes, I could kiss before, but I was a novice until I met him. He taught me to take the other person, and at the same time give in to them. It was the first time I had kissed a man, not a boy.

It was a completely different experience. And a beautiful one at that. I don’t remember if we got naked that first night (though I’m sure we did), as all I can recall is the kissing. At some point the next morning, his arms wrapped around me against the winter chill that entered the house, the door sounded and his sister came in. She wasn’t the chubby frumpy girl in last night's dream, but quite beautiful. They exchanged some soft words, he hugged her, she left. Later when we woke up he explained this was actually her house and that he was only in town for her wedding. We spent the next few nights together, exchanging kisses and deep stares and just exploring each other’s bodies. He never ruined the softness of the exploration by suggesting we fuck, he just went with the flow. The experience had a fluidity that NYC homos seem to lack. Though we were strangers, I think we knew each other on some level that others would rarely get a glimpse of. He may have been the man who actually taught me intimacy, though I would not again be able to touch upon it for another decade.


...and with that, i promise my next post will be less sauve, and more gross. like about that video of the two girls pooping in a glass and eating it. then vomiting it up and eating that. and making out. yeah, my next post will be like that.