*

G-d this is so stupid. I've been thru this before and I swore I'd never go thru it all again, that it wasn't worth the pain. --Well, maybe it doesn't have to mean much of anything. We can still be friends, I'd been so happy that we even WERE becoming friends, so grateful, beyond words really, that he'd let me in the way he had: a total stranger to the scene, a shotgun wedding of a replacement, someone maybe taking half of his job from him. I mean, all that and he invited me to stay with him…! Being housemates of sorts was working very well; it made songwriting easier and so made knowing each other musically easier (and we got to know each other more generally, too, of course, and he's been increasingly friendly, funny, good to talk to-- alongside continuing to be painfully stylish...). But then I had to go temporarily crazy and nearly ruin everything-- how damn typical of me.

Yet, against everything, things turned out alright, at least for now...?? Well, boy, MORE than alright! --I'll take a few steps back and try to start from a calmer place: songwriting and singing w/Greg's been going so well, and it was going especially well today (me and the rest of the guys have also been in the studio to write and record, of course, so things are busy!). I was in such a good mood at one point because of it all-- him sitting on his piano bench, me leaning over/next to him-- and at the end of a pretty little harmonizing run we just... looked at each other, and I saw something so familiar in his eyes that I wasn't expecting to see AT ALL; something I'd resigned myself to never getting from him. I'm used to having little one-sided crushes on straight men-- what guy like me isn't? But because I wasn't expecting the look he was giving me-- and because he smiled with it, smiled at ME, said "Wow, that was perfect"-- I responded to it more instinctually. That is, I kissed him. It was a quick one, and after it we looked at each other far more like deer caught in headlights. I blurted out an apology while he sat there, still stunned, in disbelief at myself. I thought I was going to have a full-on panic attack before he asked if it was alright to move to the living room to have more space. I still felt completely doomed, could see me getting booted out his door and then out of the band and back onto the streets (failing Mom again, imagining the look on her face, knowing how worthless and selfish and disgusting I am) looming so clearly over the horizon that I couldn't speak, just nodded.

So we sat on his living room couch, all shades pulled down, dead silent for what seemed like ages, me staring down at my hands, fingernails digging into my palms, still so nervous I couldn’t even think about how lucky I already was that he hadn’t beaten the tar out of me. I finally said something like, "it's cool, yknow, right? We can completely forget about all this. I just got a little carried away for a second and got too Mediterranean on ya, I'm not gonna pull something crazy every time we write--" and he interrupted my pathetic nervous rambling with a small kiss of his own. Said "Well, now we're even.". I had no clue how far I was going to be able to press my luck, and in retrospect, I'm not sure if he did, either. I said some stupid quasi-pickup line like "D'you wanna owe me some more?" Which thankfully didn't backfire.

We kept kissing, each one a little deeper and more serious than the last, like we were daring one another to push things further and further, until we were both fully wrapped up in the moment, all anxiety shed along with half our clothes[3]. Him sat back on the couch, jeans undone, cock hard[4], legs spread wide, one hand in my hair; me kneeling on the floor between his knees, feeling myself up and sucking him, that "perfect" echoing in my mind, wanting to be perfect at more for him than just a few bars of vocals but loving how it had sounded coming out of him all the same. He pulled himself out of my mouth and came on his chest, I came in my hand (my face still leaning against his thigh), we zipped our jeans back up, cleaned up and threw our shirts back on, he looked me in the eye and said "This stays between us" as if it was ever in question (ha, imagine-- hey Nate, how ya doin, I just got back from blowing your keyboardist!). His tone was nervous, but not harsh. I told him of course it would, and he pat my shoulder and went outside for a cigarette (how phallic!).

I still have SO many questions[5]... Like, how typical is this for him? How much is he like me? How comfortable is he with being that way, however much he is? Has he ever cruised or been cruised (that look in the beginning he gave me suggests yes, but I don't want to assume TOO much...)? Indoors or outdoors? Has he ever been to clubs, or bathhouses, or bars, or is he strictly a behind-closed-doors-in-his-own-house type? I hadn't picked anything up from him until seconds before I kissed him, but that doesn't mean too much; I've tried not to do anything that could get picked up myself! At any rate, I don't want to push him too much too soon, and I'm still going over it all in my head as well... wow.

I felt so awkward and overwhelmed staying around his house that I went out to pick up the last of my clothes from Mom's, stayed for a dinner she insisted upon preparing. The sweetheart, she attributed all my happiness purely to my continued musical/career progress, never guessed it could be even partially anything else! Praise G-d. Greg doesn't know that I personally know the consequences of being outed, or even assumed-to-be. That I could never tell, not even the ones I love. His and our secret's safer with me than it could be with anyone else.

--Ugh, I was calling this type of thing "my old life" just months ago and here I fucking am again. This happens every time, so you'd think I'd simply accept it as fate by now[6]. I've always been stubborn, tho. In all honesty I thought I'd feel worse than I do. It's hard to feel completely awful when your body's buzzing with excitement and adrenaline, and mine still is. I don't know what to do with this situation at all-- not make it too serious being the only obvious direction I have-- and I guess I'm gonna have to figure out if I can get to sleep instead of replaying everything over and over in my head. Writing sometimes helps-- it's HERE now, not just in my brain. It's safer in my brain, I know that. I write in multiple languages strung together in my own style for a reason, and I'm hoping that reason remains true (people might know one extra language, but three? Two that use different alphabets? In MY handwriting? Probably half the wrong conjugations?? Less likely! Thanks to Mom, Granddad, Mamaji, Anna, and Hebrew school for what I remember. Luv ya!). Keeping it in my brain hurts enough that the risk in writing it out is, so far, worth it.

*

I thought being around Greg would be a lot more awkward than it has been. Neither of us have brought "it" up again, but work's been going smoothly and he's treating me well, we've been friendly. We're bandmates/co-workers first and foremost anyway; it's for the best to not get too entangled. Friends with occasional benefits would be a swell arrangement for sure... and I wouldn't want anything too serious even if we weren't working together, like I've said. Rick's not even been gone a full year yet. A lot of people think guys like us don't have hearts, but the truth of it, I think, is we just don't wear them on our sleeves (or rather, often, we CAN'T). The problem with me is that I see-saw between having my heart so open it bleeds-- even when it's beyond stupid to have it bleed all over everyone-- and so shut off tight that even I can't find it. Too much either way. Things just cut too close. Everything with Ricky made the worst out of that tendency, I'm afraid. Better both for Greg and myself that he doesn't have to deal with that.

I also can't help but feel like a terrible pervert when I'm alone. I guess that's always been difficult for me. I indulge and I indulge all the way, and then I feel so ashamed of myself for doing so afterwards, I feel as tho if anyone could look inside my head they'd be so full of disgust towards me. It's so damn frustrating-- I don't think of the average gay man as a pervert! Not anymore, not after being around so many amazing ones-- sex-loving sure (but aren't most people?), but also so brave and independent, so creative, so clever. I don't know why it's different when it comes to me. If I didn't have any family I cared about, maybe it'd be easier. So many of 'em lost their families already and I've always been scared to death of that happening to me. It already happened to me for different reasons over the years and I never want it to happen again. I feel, always, like I have to prove myself. Like I'm one fuckup away from being back on the streets without anyone to turn to (Well, I'd still have La Rosa... but I don't want to go back to where I began if I can help it!). If Greg never wants to talk about "it" ever again it'll be just as well.

Thinking about Ricky again has also been hard... things have been moving at such a fast pace that I usually don't have the time to stop and think like this. When I do it's still a punch in the gut. And so surreal, living our dream by myself, carrying him so quietly, so gently in my heart, knowing no one at La Rosa would understand it, knowing I can't talk to anyone here or in my family about it either, nor wanting to to begin with. The most I've told any of the guys is that the bass player in my old band died suddenly. I haven't even called him a friend-- maybe Mom calling him my "friend" hurt enough (I know she meant nothing by it, but even just hearing the vast understatement of it from someone else's mouth stung so badly, and especially from her, and especially knowing that I love her so much and she loves me so much but she would never understand, I’d probably never be able to make her understand… all too much to think about). It's strange, I suppose, but I feel so protective of him, still. Of us. Grief like mine isn't something the guys could understand. Love like ours is something even less understandable, and I know that's why the grief is also non-understandable. I'm afraid it'd all simply be a big joke to them (imagining Rory trying to make it funny somehow...), and I can barely take even the thought of that. So, no. My grief is my own.

*

Things in the studio were clicking all day today! I had a fantastic voice day and was in a wonderful, confident mood because of it-- I could see for once that everyone was impressed with me and I swear it was a better high than speed-- and as Greg and I were heading out, as we got in his car (it was pitch black out by then), he smiled, kissed me on the lips, pat me roughly on the shoulder. Interestingly, a sequence that would look very innocent to most of my family (on both sides!) but not to the general wonderbread public (and they say Catholics are repressed...). So I responded in kind, rested my forehead against his for a moment and patted him back. Just two teammates leaving the field after a good training day.

"It's crazy how good you are, honestly", He said as he was driving, "Before I heard you sing in person I thought it'd be too soft to gel with us." And I said: yeah, no, I'm not soft. Higher-pitched, but not necessarily or inherently soft. "Well... no, I mean the way you phrase things, I guess. Your tone. They're less rock and more, um. Soul... RnB... a little theatric, sometimes, even? But it just somehow fuckin' works, man." I knew he meant all that as a compliment, even if it was a confused one. He asked me how it was that I was twenty-eight years old and hadn't gotten success with a voice like mine til now, and I was honest-enough about it. That I was poor. From the boonies, only in LA "on business" ("music related?", Greg asked. Soundboard work for little clubs, I said, so sort of). Also said I didn't have the connections, nor the knowledge of where/how to find said connections. Plus I could've been just plain unlucky. All of that is at least half-true. Omissions, for sure, but nobody ever says everything about anything. And I added, of course, that I was very thankful that Walt and everyone else took a chance on me regardless, and that I wanted to make the best of it. That was good enough for him.

He looked at me for a few seconds before we got out of the car at his place (already in a garage) and the kiss after that look wouldn't have looked innocent to anyone (once tongue's involved, all plausible deniability's out). He laughed nervously, shook his head and swore and said all this was nuts. I told him that it was fine to just kiss if that's all he wanted (even tho I'd been dreaming of-- and beating myself up for dreaming of-- more...); that I'd never pressure him into anything he didn't want. He told me he didn't know what he wanted, that it was probably stupid of him to want anything in the first place. Don't I know the feeling!

We went inside, got some beers. Once we got buzzed enough, it was easier to ask him some of the things I'd been curious about. He's fooled around with guys before, but mostly in anonymous situations, always when he'd been on the road for months (and I told him simply that this sort of thing wasn't unusual for me). "Things get strange at that point", he said. "You almost forget what home is like. It's easier to lose yourself, too." I would be one of the most familiar guys he'd done anything with, in the most familiar setting possible, and it's what's throwing him off[7]. He said he didn't know what to do about it. So I gave him a suggestion: if the road was the setting he was most used to, we could keep anything below-the-belt there. I already knew that there was a "what happens on the road stays on the road" sort of mentality around touring, so it made sense to me (also smarter for me-- won’t do anything stupid and impulsive again). And to him, too: he scratched his chin, nodded slowly, held out his hand. "Think it's a deal.", he said. We shook on it. So... does this mean he WANTS to do heavier things with me?? Or at least, he's open to thinking about doing heavier things with me?? Oh WOW… --G-d this is so stupid. I know it is. I’m trying not to jump into things too quickly. Feeling this much hope after months of despair and then just pushing-down-despair is just… I don’t know what to do with it. It still doesn’t feel 100% real. I still feel like I’ll wake up back in Lorenzo’s house, or something. All the better that I write.

*

Ricky,

Is it okay to be doing all this? With another guy, I mean. Already. I wish you were around to give me an answer, but I suppose if you were I wouldn't be in this situation to begin with. I was feeling alright about it earlier but now I feel like complete scum. That if anyone who knew us knew about this they'd think I didn't give a damn about you, that you weren't the love of my life but just a stepping stone to further my way, and I feel sick to my stomach. Some people already think I've moved on from you that way as it is. Feeling like I can never do anything right, again. That I can never be good, or at least never good enough. At the same time, though, what I feel for Greg isn't anything like what I felt and still feel for you. I missed sex, that's all, and he's an attractive guy, so would be nice to have sex with in more involved ways from time to time, if it’s realistic to get away with. Ugh I just sound like I'm making excuses.

I still love you so much. I think about you every day. But it doesn't hurt as much every time you cross my mind, and that feels like a betrayal to your memory. It feels the same as forgetting. I've felt lost far more often than not in my life and you were one of the only things, the only people, to make me feel like I had true direction and not just that, but good direction. I wish I knew what the hell I was doing. I actually know where I'm going for the most part, that's been covered. But what I'm DOING? Outside of music?? That's as much of a mystery as it's ever been. I hope someday soon it'll get more clear. ...I think one of the things I like about Greg is that he seems so… together. So with-it. He definitely knows what he’s doing. Maybe I hope it’ll rub off on me.

And maybe we’ll stop in Detroit on tour for long enough to visit you-- I do very much hope for that.

Love always,

Julie

*

[3]And myself so unbelievably turned on I couldn’t think of anything else but what we were doing in the moment, the taste of his mouth, the smell of his skin, the throb of his cock against mine thru our pants– G-d I’m sorry but it’s a feeling I missed so much. Should I even be writing that I missed it so much, though? It’s just thinking about it more. And I don’t know how much I should be thinking about it, but here I am. Ugh

[4]Nicely shaped, well-sized, uncut… going from nothing for months to this also certainly affected my judgement.

[5]And I still can’t help but think about his body– especially his chest, something I’ve seen so often yet still haven’t really touched, had never allowed myself to fully see until today because of how lovely it is.

[6]And of course it’s just one nice dick that does me in… UGH

[7]Me, on the other hand… ugh, I can’t help how much I loved hearing it, what a thrill I felt from it.

*

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