Constantly Mourning Relationships I never had

He looked similar to this, always shirtless too...

He was perfect. An American alpha male, bearded and ready to fight to the death like Leonidas. He worked that beefy body out daily and it showed. Every time I went to his place, he answered his door shirtless. He was strong, beefy and had a commanding presence. He was also humble and easy to talk to. He had dark features and deep fiery eyes that looked into mine every time I spoke. He was attentive and supportive. After drinks at the straight bars, he would allow me to crash on his couch. I yearned to enter his bedroom as my erection pressed against his couch pillows. I wanted him to take my mind, body and soul. I wanted him to unleash his fury and turn my ass into a battlefield. However, those thoughts did not overshadow my appreciation for the bromance. He was heterosexual after all, at least that's what he called himself. He never made a move on me, but his presence was addictive. We lost touch and he moved away. I miss him everyday. But what exactly am I missing? He gave me so much more than any of the gay men were willing to give. He was foreplay without sex. We had late night conversations and we laughed together. I felt human around him and his laid-back personality was refreshing. He had that organic manliness that I craved. Grindr or Craigslist Personals, made me feel dirty afterward. They weren't interested in simply going out and having a good time. It was almost as if I experienced dating, with a straight man; Something gay men refused to provide.

The Jamaican's Patois talked me out of my pants and he fucked me on the floor. For several days, I pulled at his locs as he entered me. We spoke of my parents, grandparents, my fears, my past, my dreams and my insecurities. He had a boyfriend back on the island, but that Summer, he was all mine. I knew he would depart eventually. I understood that the stroke of his tongue against my neck and the scent of natural oils from his body would dissipate. I knew I'd be back to reality, but I submerged myself in his dark brown skin. He wore tank tops like a uniform, His rippling muscles flexed as he raised his glass at the bar. He danced with me at a club and I remember the elation on his face. He called me beautiful, in the way only an island man could. He went back to his little boyfriend in Jamaica, but somehow, I went into shock. I can still taste his dick.

Actual Photo. LEFT: He was delicious in every way possible

Often, I feel like the universe is teasing me. It allows me to taste the sweetest, juiciest fruits, only to snatch them away and deem them forbidden. I can't seem to keep anyone around, or meet someone who is even available. The moments I have shared with so many are beautiful, breath-taking, others not so much. However, those beautiful moments of sitting on a Ferris Wheel or bowling with my straight friend, I wouldn't take back. I miss Daylin, the beautiful heterosexual who I often wondered about. How drunk do I have to get him? Why is his dick erect while he is sitting next to me? I recall Benn, the tall, dark and handsome gay man who had a good job but the mind of a child. He was only interested in playing with my emotions. He was the type to celebrate my birthday and come to my graduation party as my "Date", only to never commit. After ghosting, he drunkenly told me he loved me, then he went ATV'ing with his new lover in the desert. 

I miss bowling with this STUD

The father of all of the ghosts was De'Andre. I was naive, insecure and seventeen. He was twenty-three and afraid of himself, hiding in a masquerade of heterosexual images for the world. He was light skin, fit with long cornrows. I was his dirty secret. I was his long ride around Rock Creek Park, Washington DC in the late of night. I was sex in his apartment but I was never to say hello to him in public. I was his shame behind the tinted windows of his Cadillac. I went away to Atlanta for college and learned to love myself more. It took catharsis to realize that he was never a boyfriend. Yet I miss the way he got inside of my head and kept me at the edge of reason. 

Why do I torture myself? Why do I even attempt with these men? I've been a slut just to feel wanted, just to feel SOMETHING because there always nothing. Voids never filled. The men were never too thrilled about anything consistent or long term. I knew I'd feel the burn, but what is to learn? Should I just be a recluse and take no risks at all? Bitterness isn't healthy either. People say that love will find me and to stop looking for it. But I rarely am even in situations where I believe I will meet someone. Most gay men like myself are relegated to apps since there aren't many venues for us beyond bars. Even when I think I find someone, it always appears that I am the only one sending a text. I am often left on "READ" and I hear excuses about busy schedules. Kissing stopped meaning anything over a decade ago. They can french kiss me for hours, then leave me dehydrated. 

I try not to be cynical, I try to maintain hope but it truly is a challenge. I want to FEEL that feeling and have it stay. I know what I want. I understand the law of attraction but that new age shit hasn't even delivered an appetizer. 

What if this gay lifestyle is just so sexually driven, that I am more easily impressed by any hint of depth? Even the gay couples I come across are in open relationships. They are often more promiscuous than they were when they were single. I've been invited into numerous marital bedrooms. I often wonder if there is such a thing as a monogamous gay couple. Then again, the straights seem to have difficulty in that area as well. But for this purpose, I will focus on the gay lifestyle because it is my perspective. 

Just like the film "MOONLIGHT" I miss what I never had. They constantly had me wanting more

When a gay man like myself comes across a guy on say,... Grindr, you're already being asked about sex. "What do you get into?" Is the first line of questioning, typically before your name is asked, if at all. Your name isn't important. Your identity is a sex role. Top, bottom or versatile. I've had great sex, but little to no real connections. I mourn the loss of those who brought me feelings, but butterflies have a short life span. I don't want to lead with body parts, I want a guy to investigate my Zodiac sign. I've never truly had a romantic relationship. I've never been fulfilled. I am mourning moments, rather than rings. I am naked on an island of orgies, waiting for someone to dress me up and respond to the dissertations in my mind. 

I am Waiting...

I'm a gay man, kissed by straight men. I've had dates with straights and parted ways with gays. I miss sex as if it mattered. I miss bowling when it was all a mind game. I've lived in houses that were never built. I am constantly mourning because every package is always fleeting. I go forward armored with spectacular moments that I want duplicated and merged into one man. One man who stays. One man who wants my mind, body and soul. One man who can penetrate my mental like the hetero's have, but fucks my body like no gay man ever has. One man who calls to hear my voice. One man who is moment after spine tingling moment. One man, who makes me forget about the men I never had. The men I never needed. One man who kisses me on a beach after years of playing in the sandbox. One man whose eyes communicate with one single glance, that he will never, ever leave my side. 

Like "MOONLIGHT", I hope the years of confusion and unrequited love, reward my lack of patience