Today is the one-year anniversary of the day that I met Dianne. In fact, it’s also the one-year anniversary of the day that I moved to Louisville. Dianne was dating Cyd at the time and the three of us went to see Cape Fear at The Village 8. Cyd dropped by today and the three of us celebrated by eating lunch at some steak house on Preston Highway. Then we drove to Cherokee Park and sat at a picnic table, reminiscing, for a long time. Dianne and I decided to splurge again tonight, so we swung by The China Inn before heading home.
I open at work for the first time tomorrow. I’m going to hate getting up for work before daylight, but I’m going to love having the apartment all to myself, since Dianne’s new job is second shift. Dianne informed me today that she’s not going back to school next semester. She wants to take a year off in order to relax, and I don’t blame her-she’s been a real bitch lately. Besides, I sometimes wonder why she even bothers. I mean it’s not like she ever does any homework, and she definitely never talks about anything interesting that she’s learned. That is, unless you consider the latest gossip in the Student Union Building to be interesting.
On a lighter note, Cyd brought me back a set of freedom rings and a gay pride poster from The March on Washington. I’m still pissed at Dianne for knocking me out of going. I probably should have stood up to her and told her to “fuck off,” but I didn’t. I can be such a pussy sometimes (not so much a lighter not after all, huh?).
My sexual orientation has really put me in a quandary lately, because I’m not really sure how to identify. I mean I know that I prefer men, but I could have sex with a woman anytime I wanted (and have on many occasions). Plus, there’s the issue of me being married to Dianne and still identifying as gay-not that she ever hesitates to introduce me to total strangers as her gay husband (the girl has about as much tact as a twenty-dollar French whore in church). I mentioned the issue to Cyd the other day, and he suggested that I not over-analyze the situation; that things would just naturally work themselves out. He’s probably right.
I did manage to have my first pleasurable anal sex experience last night; his name was Booker. It seems I’ve developed quite an affinity for black men lately. Imagine that: me with jungle fever. I’m not really sure how I feel about all that just yet, since I’ve spent so much energy bitching about Todd and his “foreskin fetish.” God, he had never even slept with an uncut man until me, and that was just a little over a year ago. Now all he talks about is how his parents butchered him at birth and how he wants to begin some ritualistic foreskin restoration procedure. Not that I don’t sympathize with the guy, but there are a lot more pressing issues that he needs to deal with first, like those fifteen-minute-long psychotic mumbling episodes that he experiences every time he has an orgasm. You know what I’m saying? Anyway, I don’t think my current affinity for black men will ever develop into any sort of out right fetish, because being so narrow minded would just conflict with my mission statement. You know…so many men, so few hours in a day.
Well, I should probably go for now. Dianne just stretched out on the couch and plopped her big o’ feet in my lap. She’s getting ready to watch my copy of The African Queen, and I want to read at least a couple of chapters in my new book, Howards End, before crashing.
Till next time….
Robert
