Extinguishing Minor Disputes

Sean and I had a minor dispute this morning.

It happened before I’d had morning coffee, so I was a half-conscious vertical- standing creature at the time. Sean had already had his morning jolt of caffeine and was on the internet looking at mobile phone plans – as normal people do on Friday mornings?

Sean starts asking me about my current mobile phone plan.

Before I go any further, I should give you a little aside about my relationship with mobile phones. I murdered three last year. The first one (a flip) got decapitated after being dropped on a dance floor. The second phone was drowned in a rock pool. The third phone got smashed on the concrete driveway when I was trying to carry too many things into the house.

Needless to say, every phone I purchase is under $40, and I only buy pre-paid packages. I hate all the post-paid jargon designed to confuse people and steal their money. Yes, this makes me sound like a bitter old lady.

Sean is the opposite. He has an iphone and an assortment of Macintosh toys. He’s constantly on the look-out for better phone plans, better internet deals, the electricity and gas companies with the most competitive rates, and banks without service fees.

It drives me nuts.

… Back to this morning. Sean starts telling me how I should switch to a post-paid plan. I say, ‘No thanks’ (subtext: Drop it, Sean). Sean then starts asking about how often I top up, and which pre-paid package I normal buy, etc. I respond with, ‘I’m not interested in switching plans, Sean’ (subtext: It’s best that you shut up now).

Sean doesn’t drop it. He starts trying to convince me of all the advantages of a post-paid plan. He starts to act like a pushy sales Telstra salesperson. I get annoyed. ‘No! Stop bugging me about it! Do something else … like read the newspaper.’

Sean got pissed off that I’d ‘snapped’ at him and walked out of the room.

God, I love him, but sometimes he just doesn’t back down until you get really firm … and then he acts surprised as if you yelled at him for no reason.

I make myself a coffee. My brain starts to function. Sean’s having a shower. I don’t want us to be mad at each other over something so stupid. So I wait until he’s out of the shower, then I go upstairs and start acting cute, playful and cuddly. The regular things you do/say to your boyfriend that make him laugh – the stuff you wouldn’t dare do in the presence of other people. It works every time. Thank God, he’s quick to forgive.

I calmly explain my position about bloody phones. Then, he comes out with the real motivation behind trying to get me on post-paid. He wants a new iphone and wants to pawn the old one off on me. I sweetly reminded him of my 'Grandmother approach' to mobile phone technology. I only use my phone for phone calls (go figure!). And I’m not to be trusted with an expensive iphone, one that he’d be better off selling on ebay.

Problem solved.

I think I’m getting better at conflict resolution with Sean … little spats like this used to happen all the time, but I never took initiate to resolve them right away. I think it was the accumulation of unresolved petty disagreements like this one that lead to bigger problems last year. I think I might be on to something here!

Brent.

Friends with the Ex?

Yesterday I did something I only do on rare occasion. I opened a cookbook. Sean’s the master chef of our house, so I usually stay out of his way in the kitchen. But yesterday I went in search of a recipe (I was in a creative mood). When I opened one of Sean’s cookbooks I came across an inscription in the front cover:

Sean,
Here’s to two years of love and friendship.

xoxo
Liam.

I have no problem with gifts from ex-boyfriends laying around the house. I’ve got a few past-relationship momentos of my own: a sleeping bag, a few t-shirts and a book of Edgar Allen Poe stories, to name a few.

Reading the cookbook inscription made me really sad because Sean and Liam are no longer on speaking terms. After their break-up (8 or 9 years ago), they stayed in touch for a few years, but when I came into the picture, Liam became very combative with Sean.

I was sad for Sean, because I think he was quite hurt that Liam had to completely axe him out of his life. This is a huge contrast to the relationships I have with my two ex-boyfriends. I stay in touch with them on Facebook, and usually have coffee with them once a year (visits would be more frequent if they didn’t live on the other side of the world).

I value my friendships with my ex’s. They are an in-disposable part of my story.
It seems strange to me that some people can cut their ex’s out of their lives completely and forever – unless, of course, the relationship was violent and abusive.

Liam seems pretty determined to keep Sean out. We bumped into him at a bar in Newtown last year, and he said something really rude to Sean like, ‘of all the people you don’t want to see, that’s who you run into.’ Sean was hurt by it and although I felt like pulling out my protective boyfriend claws, I said nothing. It’s their relationship to mend.


But maybe I’m the one with the strange thinking about this issue. My best friend once asked me if my ex’s ever initiate contact. His question made me realize I’ve been the one keeping the friendships active. My ex’s are never the first to write, they just reply. But is it begrudgingly?

Is there a point in staying in touch with the ex’s? I have this romanticized idea that past loves should always remain close. The notion stems from an article I read once that claimed (for gay men) enduring friendships usually were, at one point, romantic or sexual. I’ve talked to a lot of gay guys who say they used to sleep with the person who is now their platonic best friend.

This query isn’t something keeping me up at night, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about recently. I’m curious to know what others think about maintaining friendships with the ex’s.

Brent

The Spare Room

One of the perks of living in a two bedroom house is having a spare room. Although the spare room is currently made to look like a guestroom, it is anything but. If you look under the bed and open the closet door, you’ll notice someone lives there.

The spare room is my little private space and piece of relationship independence.
I made a conquest of the spare room shortly after we moved in. Our house is less than ten years old, yet whoever designed it did so without considering metro-sexuals and most women. Meaning, the closet space in the master bedroom is simply too small for two.

So after a bad attempt at master-bedroom cohabitation, most of my personal items now live in the spare room.

There’s another layer to this.

Last year, during a rough patch I started sleeping in the other room. No, not to be closer to my underwear and socks, but because of some unresolved relationship conflicts.

Now that those issues have been resolved, I’m back to sleeping with Sean in the master-bedroom. But the master doesn’t really feel like my bedroom anymore. I reckon when you gut a room of your personal items, it doesn’t feel quite like yours, even if you spend eight hours a day there.

Last night I slept in the spare room for the first time since Sean and I came to a reconciliation. It was nice to sleep there again, like the familiarity of coming home. The reason I slept there was because I’ve come down with a bit of a cold/flu and there’s nothing more agitating than trying to sleep with someone else when you’re sick.

I realized I want to have the option of sleeping in the spare room without any particular reason. I do enjoy waking up on my own every now and then, even though I’m in a committed relationship.

I guess I’ll just have to be careful to keep the number of nights I spend in the spare room within reason. Sleeping in the same bed as your spouse is symbolic. There’s really nothing practical about sharing a bed. I know this from listening to couples bitch about their partner’s sleeping habits at dinner parties. ‘He farts,’ ‘She snores,’ ‘He grinds his teeth.’

At one point I wondered why couples sleep together at all. However, having recently come back to the ‘martial bed,’ I understand that it symbolizes our bond and commitment.

Still, a few nights on my own (even if I’m not sick) will do me good. I guess this all boils down to that ‘C’ word. I’ll need to communicate to Sean my need to have some nights in my own little nocturnal universe. I’ll need to reassure him that it doesn’t mean I’m angry or that I plan on sneaking a boy in through the window in the middle of the night ... as entertaining as that would be.

Well, since I have an excuse with this cold/flu, I’m going to go take a nap now in the spare room and enjoy it for all it’s worth.

Brent.

The Commitment

Dan Savage is my hero. If you don’t know Dan, I recommend you read his advice column ‘Savage Love,’ and download his podcasts. There’s no topic Dan doesn’t shy away from – whether it’s embracing a fetish, how to approach your partner about having a threesome, or marriage and raising kids.

Dan’s also written several books, including The Commitment which I read about a month ago. I came across it at the Bookshop Darlinghurst and bought it expecting a good laugh. Dan writes instinctively with humour, but I found the content to be of the upmost seriousness and it changed my thinking on many levels.

The book is part memoir, part essay on gay marriage. Dan writes about the dilemma he and his partner Terry faced in whether they should get married prior to their ten year anniversary party. Their six-year-old adoptive son D.J. is opposed his Daddies getting married because, ‘Boys don’t marry boys.' As their anniversary party approaches, Dan discusses both sides of the heated debate about gay marriage.

I know so many gay guys who roll their eyes at discussions of gay marriage. I was once one of those guys. I used to say things like: ‘I don’t want to get married because that’s what straight people do.’ I applauded the television screen when Brian Kinney from QAF said, ‘We're queer. We don't need marriage. We don't need the sanction of dick-less politicians and pederast priests. We fuck who we want to, when we want to. That is our God-given right.‘

I even used to think gay guys fought for marriage just because it was something to fight about. I suspected most marriage-equality activists wouldn’t actually marry if given the right.

If you’ve thought any of these things, I suggest you read The Commitment. It’s not a book that will force you to agree with gay marriage, but it certainly defines the arguments in a unique way. Rather than paraphrase one of his main points, have a look at the author’s clip:

I married Sean back in 2007. I am a Canadian citizen, so we married legally. At the time I got married I believed I was doing it for right reasons. Sean was the person I envisioned myself staying with for life, and I wanted to exercise the right to marry.

A few years later I started to question my reasons for getting married. Was I trying to prove something to my Mormon family and their right-winged conservative views? Was I being the attention-seeking kid riding a bicycle with no hands, ‘Look Mom and Dad! I can marry a man!’

Dan addresses this issue also. He was raised in an Irish Catholic family where marriage, family, and children were of the upmost importance. Dan makes no apology for wanting the same things in his life even though he’s gay. It was refreshing to hear a gay guy be so unapologetic about wanting a long-term commitment and family.

Whether we like it or not, there is wisdom in forming life-long partnerships. My parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles all stuck it out in their marriages. And having this modeled to me all my life, it’s no wonder I want the same for myself. And I have it! I’m married and share a life with Sean. Kids aren’t for us, but a puppy might be on the way …

Dan Savage’s book really boosted my own sense of commitment to Sean. It also helped me formulate a strong, unashamed position on the gay marriage debate. When Australia joins the ranks of Spain, Argentina and Canada in it’s legislation on marriage-equality, I’ll remarry Sean (the Aussie way) proudly without hesitation.

Scrabble? Really?

Picture this: It’s a sunny, cool Sunday afternoon. Every gay guy in the country is out shopping, having brunch, or hanging out with friends (don’t assault me for this blatant generalization – it’s just for effect). But somewhere out in Un-gay Suburb Land, two homosexuals – Sean and Brent – sit at their kitchen table playing Scrabble.

What the fuck is wrong with this picture?

Nothing! Look, Australian winters are short. So why not take the opportunity to bunker-in on a cool day? Before long we’ll be out on the deck, going to the beach and attending parties. There’s nothing wrong with killing a little weekend time playing a board game. Even if it is a bit ‘retirement village’ of us, and the thought of it makes circuit boys everywhere shudder and scramble for their tablets.

Sean and I had never actually played Scrabble together. I hate board games. I think they’re a perpetual waste of time. We don’t even own any – until yesterday when Sean brought the game home from Myers with a proud look on his face.

I have to hand it to him – Sean is an eager-to-please partner. I’d recently mentioned I was a Scrabble virgin. ‘Would I like to try it sometime?’ he’d asked. I said yes, not realizing he’d arrive home the next afternoon with the game under his arm. Maybe he’d been waiting for this rare opportunity - for me to agree to play something as silly and time-wasting as Scrabble.

But what activity isn’t silly and time-wasting on a Sunday afternoon? Had we not played the game, I probably would have alphabetized the DVD shelf, trimmed my nose hair, or maybe ironed pillowcases.

I’m a pretty routine-oriented, organized person when it comes to my time. Fortunately I have a job that allows me to stop completely on the weekends. But it’s funny how even on weekends I sometimes feel this nagging sense that I have to be doing something productive. So playing Scrabble, even in my leisure time, is never high on the agenda.

But I actually had fun. Sean kicked my ass – but he had an advantage. Unbeknownst to me, Sean plays Scrabble on his iphone with a couple of friends. And here I thought he was reading e-books all this time. The secrets boyfriends keep!

My point: if you’re one of those guys like me who feels compelled to be time- productive, try doing something ridiculously time-wasting with your partner. If Scrabble doesn’t work for you, try Monopoly, or maybe something sexy like … Jenga? For me, it was relationship-affirming to just sit and waste time with my boyfriend.

Gym Shower Jerk-offs

When I started writing this blog I promised myself I’d be brutally honest about the realities of being in a long-term committed relationship. I didn’t want to fictionalize my life with Sean for the better or worse. My intention was to reflect on real experiences and discuss them candidly.

So … I want to talk about gym-shower jerk-offs. How’s that for candid?

I went to the gym today. Like a typical Saturday afternoon, the place wasn’t busy. It didn’t take me long to get through my shoulder work-out so I decided to do twenty minutes on the treadmill (to burn off the pizza calories consumed last night). I was about ten minutes into my run when Mr. Cute Rugby Guy appeared on the treadmill next to mine. I knew right away I was being cruised.

Gym memberships have been a mainstay of my adult life, so I’ve seen my fair share of cruisers. Typically, they’re the guys who stare at you through the mirrors as you do your sets. Prolonged eye contact is their game and sometimes they can be uncannily shameless about checking you out. They ‘coincidently’ finish their workout at the same time as you, and sneak glances as you drop your gear in the locker room. Sometimes the cruisey-types follow you into the steam room. They self-massage excessively and stare, stare, stare some more. They shower in the back stall and leave the door open.

Okay, maybe I know a little too much. I won’t lie to you. On occasion, I’ve been cruised by a hottie and accepted their non-verbal invite for a little mutual masturbation.

How does this figure in my relationship with Sean? From the beginning he and I agreed on monogamy. There’ll be more discussion about monogamy in future entries, but needless to say, the first few times I had a tug with some random stud, I felt incredibly guilty and unfaithful. Even though there’d been little/no physical contact with the other guy, it just didn’t seem honest.

I decided to talk about gym shower jerk-offs with Sean a couple of years ago. I told him about some the experiences I’d had and to my surprise, he actually found it all very sexy and hot. He didn’t feel threatened, but said he’d feel uncomfortable if I was actually having sex (I can’t imagine that happening at the gym anyway).

After Sean gave me his permission to indulge in the occasional peek & pull, I rarely encountered the situation. And honestly, I lost interest in it.

I think you know where this is headed.

Mr. Cute Ruby Guy finished his workout at the same time as I (no coincidence there) and followed me into the steam room. He made small talk, looked at me way too inappropriately to be straight, then wandered into the back shower stall with an over-the-shoulder glance.

I said, Why the fuck not? It’d been ages since I’ve done anything like that, so I took the shower stall across from him. He had a stiffy and was smiling at me.
But surprisingly, he rinsed off quickly and left. I thought maybe I’d been snubbed. But as I was getting dressed, he kept staring at me. Then as I was about to the leave the locker room, he gestured at his phone. He wanted to exchange numbers.

I thought about how hot it would be to fuck him, but that’s not part of my arrangement with Sean. It was tempting though - to have the option of a buddy to play with - so I fled like Cinderella on steroids. I checked over my shoulder as I entered the car park and, sure enough, the dude was right on my heels. It felt like I was running from the killer in a Scream movie. I ducked into a stairwell. Thank God, he didn’t follow.

The whole experience had me pretty horned up, so when I got home, I stripped naked and attacked Sean – who, fortunately for me, is usually available for sex. It was a pretty hot session.

Afterwards I couldn’t help but feel good about my decision to avoid exchanging numbers with Mr. Cute Ruby Guy. After I’d cum with Sean, the thought of a random fuck seemed so unappealing. However, in the moment that Mr. Cute Rugby Guy started flirting, it had felt quite the opposite. Having sex with him seemed imperative ... but I’m glad I didn’t indulge. It’s difficult to step back in moments like that and remind yourself that going home and jumping your partner is a lot less drama – well, that’s just my never-to-be-humble opinion.

Brent.

Pumping-Up

I should give my ex-boyfriend a name so he’s not just remembered as the bastard who sold our dog. Ian? He doesn’t look like an Ian, but that’ll have to do for today since my creative energies are running low.

Let me tell you a bit about Ian. He and I lived together for a couple of years. We lived in a predominantly gay neighborhood, we went to a predominantly gay gym, we went to gay bars, had gay friends … everything about us was gay, gay, gay. Except for the fact we weren’t happy.

Ian had a hot body that turned heads on the street. He was a go-go dancer and a gym junky. When I met Ian I was still a young, impressionable, naïve, little homosexual in his mid-twenties. I remember looking in the mirror at myself and thinking, ‘I’m too scrawny,’ ‘I’m too pasty,’ ‘Ian’s going to dump me if I don’t fix this problem immediately.’

I bought myself a copy of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s ‘Encyclopedia of Body Building’ and joined a gym. The weight-room become my reformatory. Voyeuristically I’d watch what guys with the biggest muscles were doing and repeat it for himself. Session after session I lifted my way up, one plate at a time. Purpose was not found in work or friends. Purpose came in knowing today was a chest and triceps day, or a back and bicep one.

I often exercised to the point of near-vomit. I switched to a diet of yams, tuna, chicken breast, and protein shakes. I learned 14 different ways to do a bicep curl and perfected a one-arm dead-lift. Normality was defined as muscle soreness.
But soreness meant progress. Progress meant muscles - currency that would maintain my access to Ian’s bed.

Silly me. Ian liked me initially because I wasn’t into all the gym culture shit. So as I got bigger and leaner, Ian didn’t say much and it didn’t enhance our sex life. In fact, he shut down completely from me and started going out to bars and clubs all the time. I was never much of a clubber, so I sat at home alone most weekends sulking with my big muscles and tight glutes.

That’s when I met Sean. He was the complete opposite of Ian. He wasn’t into the gym, he never went to clubs, he lived in the suburbs (in a house!) instead of a glamorous city apartment in some urban gay alcove.

I left Ian and started to date Sean almost immediately – something I don’t recommend. The rest is our five year history.

But there’s an interesting twist here. Yesterday I got a stressed-out call from Sean. He was driving to his personal training session and was late. He was annoyed and frustrated about how he’s always running late for things now that the gym is a regular part of his life.

Hold the phone! When did Sean start becoming so obsessed with the gym? He started going only a few months ago, when things weren’t great between us. It made me wonder if a bad, karmic, gay-gym-junky’s cycle is being perpetuated: Ian motivated my body-obsession, had I motivated Sean’s?

Look. I love muscles. There’s nothing better than a hot muscle guy. But ultimately there’s got to be more to a person. I didn’t fall in love with Sean for his muscles. If he’s been working-out as an attempt to match what I’ve accomplished, I want him to stop. A muscled-up Sean is no more worthy of me than the original version I met five years ago.

So today I’m going to have a sit with Sean and talk about the gym. I want him to be reassured that I don’t expect him to morph his body into a Colt porn star for our relationship to work.

Woof!

Sean and I dated for two years before moving in together. For a good portion of that time, I shared custody of Ty (a German Pinscher) with my ex-boyfriend. Ty was the most hyper dog on the planet. When it was my turn to look after the dog, I’d have to budget at least two hours of exercise time (Ty never grew tired of tennis balls). If I didn’t exercise the beast, he’d be a nuisance all day.

Sean didn’t bond with Ty for obvious reasons. Not only did Sean have preference for small lap-dogs (Ty was anything but), he also had to watch me stress-out over drop-offs and pick-ups at the ex’s place. Ty was very much a symbol of the previous relationship, and every time I had him, I joked about how much he reminded me of his (other) father.

The sad part of this story is that my ex called one day giving me an ultimatum. I either had to take Ty full-time or he was going to sell him. As a single parent of a hyper canine, I wasn’t able to do so. I lived in a bachelor suite, I worked ten hours a day, six days a week, and I was on a tight budget that made buying all those bones, treats, and tennis balls impossible.

I pleaded with my ex to continue sharing responsibilities, hoping that maybe in a year when Sean I finally moved in together, I’d be able to take Ty full-time. I’d make Sean an adoptive parent – even if a reluctant one.

But my ex sold the dog. It broke my heart.

A year later, Sean and I moved in together. We bought a comfortable two bedroom home with a yard. Ty would have been happy there. Desperate for a better experience with man’s best friend, Sean and I adopted a ten-year-old miniature Dachshund (Sean got his wish for a lapdog). She came with a name: Kate. I called her bitch.

Kate came into our lives after only a week or two of living together. Instant Family – just add dog. Kate offered daily distractions. She loved to pee on our guest’s feet at dinner parties, she’d bark incessantly during our favourite t.v. programs, and she was a real slut for cuddling.

I’ll jump ahead to the sad bit. A year ago, Kate became paralyzed. It’s a problem with the breed as they get old. Their spines are just too long for their body. Like a friend of mine once said, ‘Weiner dogs and Vaginas are God’s greatest design flaws.’

Kate lost all function of her short stubby legs when Sean was away in Thailand for business. I had to make the call. It was the hardest thing I had to do, yet I knew it was my responsibility.

Sean never got to say goodbye to Kate.

We’ve been without Kate for over a year now. Sometimes I still wonder if part of the reason why Sean and I had so many problems last year was because we didn’t know how to live without Kate’s distractions. There was so much coordination in looking after our dog. Sean and I were always calling each other about Kate. Had she been fed? When was the last time she went out? She pissed on the floor again!

She was our comic relief, our cuddle monster, and people magnet. We never had a shortage of strangers – and occasionally the hot guy – coming up to us on the streets to pet Kate and chat.

So I’m not surprised that Sean brought up the topic of getting another dog – a puppy this time. I think it would be a good idea, but I’m hesitant because the only year Sean and I have lived alone together was a bad one. I’d like to spend some happy time together before bringing an animal back into our relationship.

Sean agreed that maybe we should wait awhile. But clearly, I’m the one who holds the cards. Sean’s ready for a dog now, so the moment I say ‘let’s get one’ is the moment it’ll happen. But when’s the right time? When is your relationship ready for a dog?

No More Bitching!

When Sean and I were having problems, I used to complain about him to a mutual friend. Abbey, as it turned out was playing double agent. She was also an ear for Sean’s frustrations about me.

In many ways Abbey was the more mature of the two of us. She rarely acted as the ‘go-between.’ For the most part she kept things confidential … until her relationship with Sean also started to go downhill. Abbey works with Sean on a professional level and at times she becomes very frustrated with my husband in the workplace.

Abbey’s complaints about Sean would fuel my own bitching. Sometimes Abbey and I would have coffee dates that were 95% bitching about Sean, 5% the weather.

While I was on vacation trying to make a decision about my future with Sean, Abbey sent me an email demanding information. Tension had escalated at work and Sean had stopped communicating with Abbey. She demanded information from me. She wanted to know if Sean had been saying things about her at home. Now she wanted me to be the ‘go-between.’ A role I wasn’t willing to play.

I refused to tell her anything. It really pissed her off that I wouldn’t share information. After her last email, things went silent between us for a while.
A good friend whom I was visiting on vacation works as an administrator at a large university. He told me that he often has married faculty members that come into his office to bitch about their spouse. He had to put a policy in place that he would not engage in any such conversations. He literally puts his hand up if someone starts bitching and tells them to stop.

One of the things I’d have to stop doing if I were to improve my relationship with Sean would be to stop discussing him in a negative way with Abbey. So I wrote her an email a few days before coming home from vacation:

Abbey,

Just a little heads up about something: Sean and I have come to a reconciliation while I’ve been away. We are happy about this and will be working towards strengthening our relationship. We made it through a bad year and I'm confident things are on the mend.

I have made a commitment to myself to not discuss my relationship with people who know Sean personally or professionally. I can't be doing this anymore - and as I'm sure you've noticed, I've already stopped doing so. I feel this is a positive step in the right direction.
This will be an adjustment for you and I as we move away from topics that involve Sean. But we certainly have so many other things we can do and talk about, so I'm sure this won't be too hard ...

Thanks for understanding my reasons for staying tight lipped lately about my marriage.

Brent.


Abbey responded with the following:

Hi Brent,

This is a relief to hear. I was actually going to have the same conversation with you when you got back, so you beat me to the punch :-)

It's been extremely difficult for me to be somewhat "caught in the middle" of you two for so long and it has put a strain on me. I am by no means upset or angry with you (or Sean) about this and I was really happy to help support both of you through a difficult time, and despite the crappiness of the whole thing, I think it helped you and I connect as friends.

There's no secret that I struggle with my relationship with Sean (as he struggles with his relationship with me) and hearing negativities from you about him probably doesn't help, as you hearing negativities about him from me probably doesn't help you. I think it can become a destructive cycle for both of us.

I'm glad you've come to this decision. I was a bit worried about having to talk to you about this. I think this is going to make it so much more pleasant (and less awkward) when we hang out together.

Cheers,

Abbey

P.S. Now we can move on to happier topics like music, reading, hiking, gym excursions, cute boys :-)

So not only have I embarked on a new journey with Sean, I’ve also changed the dynamics between Abbey and I. Our future coffee dates will be all about music, books, the gym (I’m a bit of gym junkie), and of course, everyone’s favourite topic – cute boys. No more bitching!

Brent.

Making it work

‘Once it’s gone, it’s gone, Brent. It’s not coming back.’
That’s the advice I was given two months ago by my friend/casual-make-out-buddy Andy. No, we weren’t discussing circumcision (I know a guy who’s trying to stretch his crewneck back into a turtleneck – a topic for another time). Andy and I were discussing my romantic feelings, or lack thereof, for Sean. Sean’s been my partner for nearly five years; the man I legally married; the man I moved countries for; the one with whom I share the mortgage, electricity bills, the blender, and a growing list of grievances.

Andy and I were dining at crowded Chinese restaurant when I brought up the topic of my marriage.

‘Do you think I should rekindle things with Sean?’ I’d asked.

Andy stared at me incredulously. In his mind, I’m sure he was saying Wow, I’ve really wasted my time with you. Up until that moment, I’d given Andy the impression that my marriage was pretty much over, except for the fact I still lived with my husband. What can I say? I was pretty confused at the time.

Andy finally answered with a question of his own. Was I still attracted Sean?
I couldn’t answer immediately. He had me. No, I really wasn’t feeling the heat for Sean anymore.

‘But I used to have those feelings! They’re in there somewhere,’ I defended pointing a chopstick at my cranium.

And that’s when Andy told me that passion (like foreskin) is gone the moment it disappears. It can’t be regrown. At least that was his never-to-be-humble opinion. Then he called for the cheque.

Driving home from dinner that night I felt angry and confused. Why did my romantic life with Sean have to fizzle? Fizzled relationships are such a boring, redundant phenomenon. I’d become one of those unhappy gay guys who bitch about their marriage with make-out buddies. And yet when I met Sean, I’d thought, I’ll never fall out of love with this one. I’ll never want someone else.

I decided to get away for awhile. Away from Sean, away from casual make-out buddies and cheap Chinese food. I’d go home for a short vacation and hope for an epiphany of sorts. Would I return determined to make my relationship with Sean work and grow? Or would I take Andy’s advice that passion is a non-renewable resource and breakup?

I left for my vacation feeling doubtful I’d come to a decision about the future of my marriage. Sean and I had been having troubles for nearly a year. I’d spent endless hours thinking already. Would a vacation really offer any clarity?

Yes.

I had the epiphany. I was camping in the Rocky Mountains and I got the answer I’d hoped would come. I realized I wanted nothing more than for my marriage work. I realized my love for Sean had only grown deeper during our ‘rocky’ patch. Sorry Andy. Passion is a renewable resource.

I make it sound rather mystical that all of a sudden I had clarity about my relationship. There were tangible factors and experiences during my vacation that helped bring me to this decision. I’ll share those in future entries.

Making it work will require effort from both of us. But I’ve abandoned my previous approach in trying to make Sean see the things he’s done wrong in my eyes. Instead, I want to be more aware of my actions and behaviours and see how they affect the relationship.

In essence, I’ve decided to make it my personal daily mission to work at my marriage, for the sake of its survival.

Now would be a good time to mention that despite all of our conflict, Sean is very willing to work things out. That makes me lucky. Half the battle is already won. When I sent Sean an email after my epiphany in the Rocky Mountains saying I wanted to rekindle things, he responded enthusiastically. Then he told me he loved me. Like I said, I’m lucky to have such a willing partner.

On flight home from vacation, I decided I’d write a blog about my daily experiences and adventures in making my marriage work. My intention in writing this is two-fold:

1) It will hold me accountable and be my daily reminder that I’ve made a commitment to working things with Sean.
2) I want to communicate the daily challenges and rewards of this undertaking with other gay men in relationships. Maybe I can support and encourage others who are committed to the same goal. Maybe you can support me too.

The final comment I’ll make for this first, and giant entry is that I’ve changed my name, and the names of those involved in my story. But I promise to be open and honest about the rest.

I look forward to sharing my journey with you.

Brent.