GuysterRules (guysterrules) wrote,

  • Music:

Breakfast is served

The sweet cream relief of routine and the sanctity of schedule are starting to creep back into my life and not a moment too soon. Although I live in a large apartment building, its community feels small, almost intimate. The elevators provide an equalizer and its function encourages fellow riders to acknowledge one another. Most of us have just moved in, it being a new building, and many have dogs. Someone inevitably stoops to pet Bob and conversation flows. It’s friendly and it is certainly welcome.

Every morning, a spread of bagels, danish and toast along with orange juice and coffee is served in one of the common areas off the lobby. The plasma screen plays The Today Show and I’ll grab a Washington Post from the stack, eat some raisin toast and have a glass of juice before I head off to work. I see the same people everyday, on the same timetable and I can gauge, without even a glance at my watch, whether I’m running late or not.

The tall and beautiful librarian-type, who introduced herself today as Betina, could shake that tightened hair loose from its confinement, take her glasses off and she would steam up the windows. I always see the chick from LA who moved in the same week as me, on my floor, and who loves Bob. She’s so way totally Beverly Hills but now, displaced, she seems sweet and accessible. There’s a nervous little wiry guy, bearded and bespectacled, that flirts with me, usually asking me what he should have for breakfast. I oblige, mixing up his meal so he doesn’t eat the same thing all the time. I like to keep him off-balance. Even when I tell him to eat nothing but the apple crisps, he follows his orders.

Invariably I also see Triple H, not the famous wrestler but the Hairy Hunky Homo. In his early forties, he has cold eyes, downcast around me in fear I might (fill in the blank). This behavior is nothing new in the gay world; in fact it’s endemic. I’m certain I don’t understand it. Is he afraid I’ll find him attractive (I don’t) and he would have to momentarily deal a silent rejection? Does he believe he’s too attractive (he’s not) to acknowledge others in his orbit? Is he just too shy (I doubt it) to endorse conversation?

I’d vote for doors number one and two. Triple H is simply too good to bother returning a simple nod to a good day. He’s about my height, balding and muscled. Only the second trait I find physically attractive but it wouldn’t matter how bubbled that ass is, it’s those blank eyes that are the real problem. His face registers neither kindness nor compassion. He has no dog in him. Without a dogface and dog eyes, he’d never register in my pants. He doesn’t know that, of course. He’s so used to other men fawning over him, he blows right through the niceties of kinship and soldiers through to the next conquest.

I admit it. I’m Gomer Pyle in the city. I say hello to everyone. I really always have, even meeting people’s eyes while passing them on the street and giving a nod. I’m friendly, or rather polite, that way. I enjoy a certain power that accompanies good manners and I’ve learned to use it well in business as well as my day-to-day activities. Hot or not, you’re gonna get the same smile from me.

I feel like taking Triple H aside and saying, “Honey, calm down. If you loosen the grip you have on your vanity for just a moment, you might have a better life.” But some things people have to find out for themselves.

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