And…exhale. It feels good to get that out.
Why no PDAs? Show some self-control, folks. Let all that
desire build up to create something combustible once you get behind closed
doors. If you can think beyond your own saccharine love bubble, realize that there
are many single folks who don’t want reminders of what they’re missing. What’s
more, bystanders deserve to be spared that awkwardness from suddenly having to
stare at their shoelaces on those rare occasions when things get lewd. Don’t
make others feel like involuntary Peeping Toms.
No public displays of affection, please. None! I am firm on
this.
Even when in relationships, I’ve never had to put my partner
in place. It’s just been understood. We followed the Safety Code for gay men. Stand
at least six inches apart, no kissing, hand holding or hugging (unless you do a
360 check and are certain there are no witnesses, thus nixing the “public” from
the pending display of affection). Any urge to get a little touchy has always
been smothered by a more common sense yearning for self-preservation. Why risk
a gay bashing? Refraining from PDA was never mentioned when people talked of
safe sex. I assume it was a given.
But I am prepared to make an exception. Because it is
convenient. When it comes to Tim, by golly, I will even participate. No
apologies.
I am such a hypocrite.
Tim has a clear sense of how reserved I am. Touching—public
or otherwise—has always made me uncomfortable. I’d rather be locked it a
classroom and subjected to an hour of nails on the chalkboard than submit to a
massage. I haven’t seen any purpose in hand holding since my parents determined
I was old enough to cross the street on my own. Draping an arm over another’s
shoulder just makes the recipient sweaty and gives the one offering a shoulder
cramp. Blech. None of this is romantic.
Except…
Tim can be as publicly affectionate as he wishes. I welcome
it. On our last date, as we walked down Denman Street in Vancouver’s
gay-friendly West End, we’d stop and suddenly Tim would hug me. Long embrace.
“I’m going to take you out of your comfort zone,” he whispered as I reflexively
pulled back. Then I managed to relax and say, “Please do.”
He’d kiss me on the lips and I stayed in the moment. No
urgent, paranoid safety checks. No worries about a swarming or a muttered,
“Faggots.” Times have changed and, yes, I am changing.
I feel Tim’s strength, his warmth and his affection in these
moments. As we stood beside his car at the end of another lovely evening during
which the conversation never lagged, we laughed freely and I kept thinking, He gets me. (And he’s still here!). I
lost my ability to speak in full sentences. “I just want…I need…I am wondering…”
He mercifully interrupted me with a flash of his dazzling smile and said, “Yes.
I like you.” Out of a sense of both relief and glee, I dropped to the ground,
laughing.
It’s not just me. It’s
not just me.
He hugged me. He kissed me. Somehow, I exuded cuteness,
mixed with my natural geekiness. He even said, “Sexy.” I should really question
his judgment. But I’d rather go for another hug and kiss. Who cares who else is
around?!
It’s one exceptional exception.
And I just may let up for others—as long as this lasts.
