Diagnosis: Single at 40
I’ve had only one long-term relationship since my coming out, voyeuristic escapade in Memory Grove — and no, it was not with “my first,” Daniel, with whom I’m still in love, though I haven’t seen him since that surreal night, or even know if he’s still living. The two of us did experience a couple more sexually-charged outings in dense wooded areas, as well as one in my Audi, parked late-night in a vacant parking structure. However, we both happened to fall asleep naked in the back seat, wrapped in each other’s arms. Early the next morning, a security guard found us; he was so taken aback by our appearance that he quickly ordered us to leave the premises and scurried back to the safety of his ticket booth.
Our occasional rendezvous quickly turned sour as I usually fretted over having gay sex, after the fact. Daniel finally said to me, “Tommy, I’ve had it with your constant whining; you need to come to terms with your sexuality on your own. I can’t help you do it.” Daniel was always a bit blunt and harsh, but lord, he was good in the sack … and under the bare night sky.
A few years later, after many, many oat-sowing nights, I met Geoff, my three-year long-term relationship. I was 26 and he was 24. We had met at the Sun Tavern — just another oat-sowing night, I thought at the time. But, like the speed of lesbianism, we were living together two months later.
We were the quintessential gay couple: living in a quaint, two-bedroom home on a quiet suburban street, with a well-manicured lawn and vibrant garden; our baby was a terrier mix named Joey; and we hosted weekly dinner parties with other couples. At the time, it seemed what we both wanted in our relationship and in our lives; we were the best of friends, as well as lovers. So much so that I finally found the courage to ask Geoff to marry me … well, to “commit” to me (to be legally and deprecatingly correct).
He said yes, but soon after went all hetero on me and slept with his friend Jill … in our bed!
He begged forgiveness, but instead, I retaliated by sleeping with another man. Our relationship, our perfect gay life together, was over, though we continued it on eggshells and bitterness for a few more months.
We parted on fairly good terms; he stayed in the house with Joey — she was his to begin with — and I took most of the furniture.
We’ve remained close friends over the last 10 years, getting together once or twice a week. His boyfriend of eight years, Gregory, and I have also become close. At first, I was obviously jealous of someone … anyone taking my place in Geoff’s heart. But now the jealousy surges over them being a couple and me being a single man.
During the last 10 years, since our break up, I’ve had fleeting relationships: David, an old high school classmate, who, during that time, used to call me a fag as he knocked schoolbooks out from under my arm; Darryl, a very acrobatic one-night stand — I gave him my number, but as it goes …; Alfonso, a hot Latin guy who liked to “party” every night, and eventually stopped being hot; Carlton, a fairly nice guy, but who had low self esteem — I ended up liking more hanging out with his fag hag.
Now, having turned 40 years old, I’ve been reflecting on my personal life quite more often than in the past. I wonder how, especially in these more accepting times, I’m still single. I realize that I haven’t really pursued finding a relationship. I rarely find myself even trying to get a date — I don’t use Internet dating services, nor do I have any desire to, and I remember simply brushing off any signs of attraction or flirtation bestowed upon me. I don’t even want one-night stands anymore! I haven’t given up on the notion of another long-term relationship with another man — maybe even with one I don’t necessarily love with all my being (I mean, who wants to be alone to the end?). But the desire to search out a mate has disappeared, or is maybe in limbo.
Am I single at 40 because my parents still haven’t truly accepted me, once ordering me never to invite any of my “friends” to their house on the holidays and such? Was that enough of a slap in the face to figure I need to stay single? Am I single at 40 because my one true relationship ended because of heterosexual infidelity? Was that enough of a slap in the face for me to slip back into the impotent sexuality that Daniel once accused me of feeling?
Having just turned 40 years old, I’ve looked back on my 30s, the time I believed my personal life was all but over, so why bother doing more than sleeping around? And now in my 40s, I feel I have one foot so far into the grave that no one notices me.
Do other single gay men over 40 share similar thoughts? Or am I just pissing in the pot because it’s easier?