To Beg or To Choose

I think the cosmos is screwing with me.

Okay, that's a bit grandiose, even for me, but about nine hours after my last post, the situation about which I had just written reared it's morally questionable head again. Am I facing a Groundhog Day-esque situation here? Are attached men going to be the only ones who want to sleep with me until I get it right and refuse? In my defense, Friday night's circumstances caught me completely off guard. While I wasn't exactly ambushed, I did feel rather... put on the spot. Which leads me to another question, but I'll get to that shortly.

It started out like any Friday night for me. Met my friend Brent at his place for drinks, where we were later joined by two friends of his he hadn't seen in ages, Martin and Thomas, who'd come all the way from suburbia to hang out. I'd met them before but don't know them all that well. We chit-chatted, danced around the living room a bit to Madge, and then headed out to a local gay dance bar for some booty-shaking and more bevvies.

We'd only been there about an hour or so when Brent wanted to leave to get something to eat. I begged him to wait - it's nearly impossible to get me off a dancefloor once I've planted myself there - but he and Martin took off anyway. When I ran into Thomas, he expressed some dismay as he was supposed to be crashing at Brent's place that night, so I told him not to worry, I had a pull-out sofa bed he could crash on if we couldn't find Brent later. He protested, saying he didn't want to be an inconvenience, but I waved his concerns aside. I'm pretty easy-going, I told him, don't worry about it, really, it's absolutely fine. This seemed to sate his worries and we continued dancing.

Meanwhile, I notice this gorgeous guy named Adam that I'd met the Saturday night prior (see "hangover" as mentioned in "On the Bandwagon") and much to my surprise he seems into me. We end up dancing together on and off as the night progresses towards last call, and eventually we end up making out a bit. I kind of feel bad Thomas has to watch this, but I make a point to still hang out with him in between touchy-feely sessions with Adam. Thomas has a boyfriend back home, though, so I really don't feel that bad.

When the night winds down and it's time to leave, I tell Adam I'd invite him over, but I have a friend staying with me. He tells me he couldn't visit tonight anyway for the same reason (as I sit here writing this, I find myself cynically questioning the truth of this - after all, his attachment-status has yet to be determined), so we kiss good night and go our seperate ways.

I try to call Brent while waiting outside for Thomas, but can't reach him. Thomas tumbles out of the bar and we walk to my place. He's apologises so much for being an inconvenience, I tell him to cut it out before I change my mind.

Back at mine, we share some leftover pizza I had in the fridge and shoot the shit. I get the pull out ready, get him a toothbrush, inquire as to whether or not he needs an alarm clock set, wish him good night, and head to bed. I'm slipping under the covers when he appears in my doorway.

"It's cold out there."

As if my living room has penguins parading through it or something.

"Um, well, do you want an extra blanket or something?" I say stupidly.

"It looks like it would be warmer in here." And the forecast calls for cheating with a sixty percent chance of light guilt and scattered dignity.

This was the moment: politely suggest that it would be better for all involved if he remained in the living room, or...

"Alright," I say, tossing back the duvet and patting the empty spot next to me. "It probably will be a lot warmer in here."

We laid there for a few moments like two hesitant fourteen year-olds: you know what you want to happen, but at the same time you're dreading it and the consequences. And then our gay natures took the all-too-usual course.

Shit.

Why do I feel remorse about this one? Was the situation all that different than what had transpired a mere two slutty days before? Not really. Does it have something to do with Thomas mentioning that, though he was in my bed, he was feeling some guilt and anxiety about it? Probably. Although it's possible he felt he had to say that so I didn't think he was a horrible person. I don't have a problem sleeping with an attached guy if the desire is unadulterated and the adultery unmentioned. But Thomas expressed hesitation, which means it's likely that someone will be hurt, and I should have put a stop to it at that point.

So I've learned a lesson here. This moral gray area is now a little less so. But now the new question: why can't I say no? Okay, I was surprised when he showed up in my doorway, but calling it "ambushed" is definitely a stretch. It's not his fault I'm often rather oblivious to the obvious. So why couldn't I choose (to borrow a good friend's term) emotional safety for all involved?

It would be easy to chalk it up to selfishness. But having spent my formative years geeky and unpopular, I'm still surprised when someone wants me. I shouldn't be. Most of the evidence, from both the feedback of friends and fucks, points to me being more than averagely attractive. But I just can't fathom that. I'm just... me. I feel like I need to grab the opportunities when they present themselves, just in case it might never happen again. But isn't it time I accept that it's okay to be a chooser rather than a beggar? Wouldn't that be a healthier way to approach, not only sex, but everything?

And here I thought I was over all that insecure bullshit. Damn.