And Then There Is Nakedness

Nelson and I decided this summer that we wanted to be friends, and if we were going to be friends, getting naked together any more was out of the question. Damn, haphazard adulthood is cramping my sex life.

Platonic friendship is a rule, not an exception. (And there's nothing wrong with holding out for those fabulous exceptions to the rule!) Nelson wanted more—commitment, monogamy, boyfriendship—none of which I was interested in and/or capable of. So we've gone platonic.

I still lust after him, of course. Nelson's sexy as all get-out, and it's difficult to think of him, much less spend time together, without his perfect ass stiffening me right up.

So the other night—our second get-together since foregoing the carnal—Nelson and I stretched in a different direction. Chatting here at my place--on the same couch where conversation used to get cuddly and kissy and whatnoty, we sat far apart.

Wanting to touch this beautiful young man, but not, was easier than I'd expected. The conversation grew deep, became risky. He told me about his new out-of-town boyfriend, the confusion and insecurities this new relationship wrought (which, I silently noted, resembled those elicited by our recent fling).

The distance we used to bridge with our bodies got closed a different way.

I've been through this before. Where intimacy is possible with young gay men, it's almost always of the post-sexual variety. Unless I'm willing to do the boyfriend thing with these beautiful young men—and I rarely am—it's difficult to get naked and get close.

It feels good that, often, when push comes to shove, I'll choose the latter.