It is 04.30 (a.m.) Central European Time at the Jules Ferry Youth Hostel in Paris (10.30 pm Eastern). Some 3,834 miles away. TC has felt a disturbance in the force. He is calling me on Skype which automatically rolls to my mobile. I just happen to be at a gay meet-up group and previously engaged with two very cute physicians (at my age Medicare isn’t likely to totally cover my needs).
How he knows what I’m up to, I have no idea. He just knows. Why some 26 yo cute guy roaming the streets of Paris with his high school friend finds some need to call is beyond me? But he does.
It was good to go out, I met a range of people. But I am a predator. I consume fresh meat. I scan quickly. Determine my targets. Move in for the kill. I tried hard and did engage with the dumpy white guy, the scrawny boy from a farm in Iowa. Things outside of my food group. But I am a hunter. I can smell blood from far away.
The call from TC was timely and it served it’s purpose to right me. I immediately left the venue, 3 hours was enough.
It is a huge burden I have undertaken with TC. He is a mere boy. 26 years old. Christ, I have underwear that old. He is terribly possessive of me. Jealous. But he has bloomed. He is coming of age. Despite his growling, he listens to me. My elderly advice, my thoughts, my wisdom. But he has his own strong inner voice. He steers his own course. I am not his captain, but I am a trusted advisor. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
I struggle with his love. Perhaps he is scared. For many a month, I worried he was using me, a vehicle to see Europe, a base in the U.S., a sugar daddy. I conjured up complex scenarios. Ultimately and after much careful thought, the most obvious of all outcomes is likely the correct answer. He simply loves me.
How lucky a man am I? To tumble out of one relationship almost directly into another. I do not think about his taut tanned body or other physical attribute. I hear his heart beating. The sound of his breath. The warmth of his skin. For I have fallen as well.