I’ve started to read Gide’s “The Counterfeiters,” which I quite like. There are lots of characters, so I’ll need to read it through quickly or it’ll be difficult to put it down for a while without returning, utterly lost. His writing has an odd feeling to it, which may simply be a reflection of the time when it was written. The ideas and themes seem modern, but the setting, the world, seems a bit Dickensian. The writing of Proust, who wrote nearly contemporaneously, feels a little more congruous—the salon society of Paris is never assaulted with modernist notions. Proust was always looking to the past. Gide’s writing, with its rough edges and modernist streaks, feels as if it’s at a fault line between the old world and modernism. It’s very odd how this novel, written in 1925, is essentially a queer novel, with gay and bisexual characters and story lines. It’s not exactly explicit in its queer themes, but queerness permeates the book, or rather, such distinctions as straight and gay aren’t recognized. Characters and passions seem to move seamlessly between the sexes, so that people don’t seem straight or gay. I like it.

Early in the book there’s a section in which a young man of 18 or so abandons his home and his family, arriving at his friend’s room to stay the night. Instead of sleeping on the floor, his friend allows him to share his bed. Nothing explicitly refers to a homosexual relationship, but the scene is dripping with homoerotic tenderness. The run-away boy removes all but his shirt, crawling beside his friend under the covers, and falling asleep, kept warm by the body beside him. He wakes up early to find his friend still asleep, the boy’s arm draped over his torso. And I read it and sighed with a school girl’s longing. Hehe So nice, and so effective. When the boy gets up he notes, “I don’t know if everyone is like me, but as soon as I am awake, I like despising the people who are asleep.” I like that too.

It’s funny to contrast this novel with Proust, who seems very conflicted about gays. Nowhere in Proust is a gay character loved. Gays live as if members of a secret society, casting looks of recognition at each other as they pass on the street, but never looks of fraternity, empathy or compassion. For them, recognition breeds mistrust, fear, and self-loathing. I keep thinking they’re like vampires walking the streets in an Anne Rice novel—they see each other as only a vampire can recognize another vampire, but instead of taking comfort in their brotherhood, each fears what the other can do to expose and harm him.

Well, with extra time on my hands lately, I’ve been doing a fair amount of online chatting, even meeting a few people. It’s addictive. There’s great lure in meeting new people, and the tantalizing possibility of sex. But the potential rarely blossoms. I find myself hyper-sexualized by it all, but if I had other things to occupy me, like work, it wouldn’t be so. In the end what I really want is some nice moments, such as that depicted by Gide. All of the down-and-dirty-lube-it-up-and bend-over-fucking sex that one can get caught up in is not so satisfying. I just want some nice tenderness with a cute guy on a fairly regular basis, and then to come home to Ann afterward. Is that too much to ask? Well, many think it is. Ann seems remarkably tolerant of my chatting, etc. I’ve been struck lately by how surprised guys are about my situation--the incredulity when I tell them that my girlfriend knows about my dalliances with young men.

Let’s see. A recent inventory:

There was the Italian boy, a student of something or other at the university, and a nice guy all around, dark hair, handsome face, big dick. We met quite late one Sunday evening. There was little reason not to be completely overwhelmed by lust. And I might have been, except that things didn’t go as well as they should have. As a general rule, I don’t do these quick encounters. They never fail to disappoint.

The pharmaceuticals salesman, a 24-year-old guy who seems older than his years, mature, intelligent, engaging, at times playful. He’s partnered to an older guy, and they’ve just moved into a new house. We chat as much about career issues as about our more personal lives. I have a photo, but we’ve never met. I’d like to, as he has potential to be a good friend.

The coy, ex-army young man, 21-years old, and maybe a nice guy. He thought I was cute. I thought he was too. His ex-boyfriend is a casual acquaintance of mine. They broke up four months ago. He needs to be in a relationship or he’s not happy. We were to meet, but I doubt if it will happen. To what end? He knows I’m not looking for a bf, so that leaves… well, perhaps just to be chummy.

On video chat I’ve been chatting with a very fun, 24-year old Canadian customer service rep, or purser, who works on a cruise ship, a gay cruise ship. He’s leaving for Central America for 6 months. He’s very outgoing, effusive, and sweet. I would enjoy meeting him, though I’m far too quiet and inwardly drawn for him. But I may be able to keep up with him for short-term outings. But Vancouver is a nearly insurmountable distance.

Again on video chat there was a Puerto Rican guy of 24 (that seems to be the magic age), sultry, humorless, but sexy. We’re utterly incompatible; I could never meet him. He’s one of those serious men completely focused on the task at hand, incapable of diversion or whimsy. I become a little nervous around such people, especially when engaged in sex. He’d chat in awkward conversation for a few moments, as though fulfilling an obligatory but, to his mind, unnecessary introduction, and then quickly move to sex, the main feature. And throughout that he’d be overtaken in his own sphere of lust, uncommunicative except to convey certain directions, and I’d be intimidated, feeling pressure to measure up to such seriousness. No thank you. I can’t do it.

I chatted briefly the other day with a 24 year old (again, unless that is the in-vogue age to claim these days), another pharmaceuticals salesman who was terribly closeted and terribly horny. No photos were exchanged for the obvious reasons (what if he were outed!). We chatted (well, he whispered surreptitiously) on the phone briefly too. I believe he was screening me—to make sure I was no queen, which of course he would be able to discern by the tell-tale fairy lisp and homo intonation. He wants a “buddy” for occasional sex. This would work for me, except that I’ve no idea what he looks like, and he has roommates, which makes it impossible to meet at his place. Well, this may not be over. Stay tuned.

My Syracuse boy, such a nice gay boy, and such fun to play with, has finally met a boy he likes and is in the early stages of a relationship. I hope it works out for him. I imagine he’ll be good at the relationship thing.

My teacher friend remains, as enthusiastic and as likeable as ever.

Gide — “If one could recover the uncompromising spirit of one’s youth, one’s greatest indignation would be for what one has become.”