Rejection sucks. There’s really no other way to put it. It is one of those softballs to the abdomen that just leaves one with a horrible feeling, like a black hole draining life of all joy.
Setting oneself up for rejection is one thing. I can handle being turned down by a guy I actively choose to cruise. Hey, I’m just not their type. Whatever. I’m a big boy. I get it.
But that isn’t the only kind of rejection.
How about the rejection one feels when someone you fucked with once (and had a good time with) goes out of their way to ignore you? Especially when they remain on good terms (i.e. fucking terms) with acquaintances you have in common.
There’s this guy. We’ll call him Charlie, because no other name suits him (and it is, in fact, his real name). He is the sweetest guy. Dark hair. Dark, winning eyes. Charming smile. Great lips. He’s at least 5 inches shorter than me and ten years younger. His body is not worked out, but it is nice. His skin is deeply tan and there is just something so sexy about him. In part, it is his sweetness and his style of seduction; which I guess I would characterize as surprising – as in I am totally surprised when he seduces me. If he wasn’t gay, he’d be a total lady killer.
We have a bit of history between us, although I can’t recall the specifics. We hooked up on-line years ago and then disappeared from each other’s lives. The details of that tryst remain pretty vague for me. Earlier this summer, however, he hit on me at the Prairie. He was very complimentary about my body and didn’t seem to remember our previous involvement (or at least he didn’t acknowledge it). He was very charming and sweet as he sidled up beside me. He was also very direct. He intended to fuck me, which I was all for.
It was a nice fuck; one of my first this summer. It was a hot scene, getting naked and writhing away in the tall grass. His kisses were an added bonus. His dick, uncut, while average in size, performed nicely. We both got off and left each other on good terms. I asked him his name and kidded him that he indeed looked like a ‘Charlie’. He left me with a warm feeling, and I’m not just talking about the after glow that was heating my just-fucked hole.
I must admit, I do not have a good memory for people and places. I saw Charlie a few days later and wasn’t sure if it was him, or some other guy. The next time I saw Charlie, and each subsequent time, he has silently walked away from me like I was a dog that had bitten him once. He seemed wary of me and made it clear with his body language that he is not interested in me on any level. I’ve done my best to put on a brave face. I still make a point of saying ‘hello’ each time I see him, but he never stops to talk.
The other day I arrived at the Prairie and noticed a little threesome near one of my favorite sunning spots. It was Charlie, and Kyle (this guy I spoke of last week) with whom I am on good terms with, and a very tall guy named Eddie (not his real name), who is very unfriendly and rather anti-social. I’d heard through the grape vine that Eddie has a huge dick, but I have yet to see it. I doubt I ever will. I chose a spot nearby (one of my regular spots, but not my favorite) and made a point of not looking over in their direction or going over to bother them. Once I dropped off my stuff, I walked in the opposite direction to see if anyone else was around.
My friend Kyle was busy being pig roasted by Charlie and Eddie. By the time I got back, it was all over except for the huge smiles and group small talk. I sat on my blanket and made no attempt to join in their conversation. Charlie was all smiles. Charlie has a great smile. It made me sad that I no longer get to see it radiate in my direction. I felt odd about being in such close proximity to them; so again, I walked off to another corner of the Prairie. Giving people their privacy is important in my book. Respecting personal space is something that I believe earns one brownie points in the big picture. By the time I returned, Eddie and Charlie had gone their separate ways. I approached Kyle and we began to chat.
Kyle, flush with his recent activity, shared a few details about how it all came about. He had a great time and only griped that he wished it had been Eddie ramming his ass with his gigantic cock, instead of just Charlie. I was happy for him. Envious, too. I can’t help it. I hate feeling like the ugly stepsister.
I commented that Charlie and I had hooked up, but that he no longer talked to me much. I almost immediately regretted saying anything. I seem to make this mistake often. But the fact is, I’m just looking for insight and information – something I could learn from. I really would like to know why it is someone stops talking to me. It’s one of the reasons I think I seek out anonymous sexual situations – I don’t want to risk personal rejection, and in a no-strings relationship, other than being turned away at the door, there is no risk of being rejected. No, that only happens in the long run.
In moments
like these I try to take comfort in one thought, or in this case, one line. It’s a line from a really intriguing film by Joel Schumacher. Joel is a frequently horrible director. His instincts are almost always over-the-top in a bad way. The film is titled Flawless, but is anything but. It stars Robert De Niro as a tough guy cop who recently suffered a stroke and Phillip Seymour Hoffman as a vocal coach / drag queen who wants to transition into becoming female. It is worth checking out, as it features interesting work by the actors, a nice story and a soundtrack by one of my all-time favorite composer/performers Bruce Roberts.
At one point during the film, De Niro’s character is down in the dumps after being rejected by a sexy dance hall hostess who used to lavish attention on him due to his status as a cop and the fact that he had money. Now, suffering from the effects of the stroke and living on a small pension, he has nothing of value to offer her and she dismisses him rather cruelly. Not that it should matter, for waiting in the wings is another dance hall girl who has long burned a torch for De Niro, though he has never paid her any attention. She is a lot less glamorous than the dance hall hostess, but is incredibly beautiful none-the-less. De Niro is whining to Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s character about how no one finds him attractive anymore, how he isn’t getting any and isn’t likely to given his current situation. That’s when the Phillip the drag queen says something to the effect that it’s not the ones who won’t that matter. It’s the ones who will.
Of course De Niro ends up in bed with the less glamorous dance hall girl. His lack of coordination doesn’t matter to her. She loves him for who is, not what he was. And later in the film, when he has recovered from the stroke, he get a chance to rebuff the advances of the dance hall hostess who had rejected him earlier. He ends up finding happiness and the tango of his dreams in the arms of the dance
hall girl that would.
Which brings home the lesson that it’s not the ones who won’t that matter. It’s the ones who will.
That is the gem that keeps this movie alive in my memory. And that is the little gem that I try to comfort myself with when faced with rejection. Or when faced with situations like the one I am currently experiencing with Charlie.
A few days later I ran into Charlie at the Prairie. I called out to him and he said hello back, but kept walking. He disappeared in the shadows beneath an area lined with trees where people hook-up. After ten minutes or so I decided I would go see what was up. I knew no one else was back there. Maybe Charlie was waiting for me to follow? But, alas, that was not the case. There he sat, on a rock, eating a bag of potato chips. As soon as I caught sight of the potato chip bag I turned around and returned to my blanket in the grass. Let the man eat in peace.
I may never learn why Charlie has an issue with me. I could ask. But what if he doesn’t want to share? What if I don’t want to hear? What if there is nothing to learn? In asking, I can only come off as desperate. So I will spare myself that little bit of deprecation.
The next day, I decided that my days on the Prairie are over for now. I’ve had a hell of a summer. Fucked a lot, sucked a lot. But it’s all gotten to be a bit too high school for my taste. People are complicated. People and their sexuality? Even more so. I need some simplicity. Enough with being social. I want to return to the anonymity of the internet. I need to concentrate my efforts and energies elsewhere. I need to go find me a whole new group of the ones who will.
I need to figure out what I’m going to do now that the weather is turning colder.
So the next time you are put on in your place in that chat room, or some guy emails you back to tell you that you are not his type, or the next time you’re at a bar using all the arsenal in your little bag of tricks to line up a trick that just isn’t happening, just remember: it’s not the ones who won’t that matter. It’s the ones who will.
And you better be damn grateful that there are those who will. Because without them we’d all be sitting at home jerking our gherkins to whatever kinky little perverted posting catches our eye on Xtube. And keep in mind… that someday… there won’t be as many who will. And then one day… there won’t be any.
But until then? Perch proudly on the barstool of your choice and raise a glass to: the ones who will.
