No, Socially, ----------

I opened my arms wide for a hug.  We hugged, and for some reason my arms were decided to be above his.  We separated quickly, and before anything was said, he took another giant's step back toward me.  And then a half step.  And a quarter step, leaning from his back and bowing his head down toward me.  My memory tells me the sun was completely eclipsed for a second before it became clear that his mouth was headed to mine.  It happened.  And then it happened again.  And then one more time.  Each time was no more reassuring of the total package.

"Are you content now?" said the Caterpillar.

"Well, I should like to be a little larger, sir if you wouldn't mind," said Alice: "three inches is such a wretched height to be."

"It is a very good height indeed!" said the Caterpillar angrily, rearing itself upright as it spoke (it was exactly three inches high).

"But I'm not used to it!" pleaded poor Alice in a piteous tone. And she thought to herself, "I wish the creatures wouldn't be so easily offended!"

"You'll get used to it in time," said the Caterpillar; and it put the hookah into its mouth and began smoking again.

-Lewis Carroll

I had a bunny for more than half of my life.  She was my baby.  I was her dad.  I went to "work" during the day, and every time I would leave, I would tell her to be a good girl as I blew her kisses until I couldn't see her anymore.

When I like you, I nuzzle.  When I sleep, I want to sleep close.  When I appreciate something, when I'm thankful for you, when I feel you're on my side, I kiss you.  When I perceive that you're scared, I know how to creep slowly toward you, innocently, until you let me by your side.  If you pet me under my chin, I will bite you.  If you try to tell me what to do, I may scratch you.  If I'm happy, I skip.  If I need your attention, I will...drink from my water bottle to make noise...passive aggressively.

I learned how to show affection from my bunny.

Learned from a past lover:  I know how I like to kiss.  I know where I like to be touched.  I know how I like to be held.  When we meet someone new, and we move to show affection, we don't yet know how that person likes to be touched; we show affection using our experience, what our past loves enjoyed.  I can kiss you like I used to kiss someone else, and I can feel the same thing, or try to, but you will not understand.

I'm excited by the new, silent, conversation of affection with a new guy.  Let's take it slow.  Let's make eye contact.  Let's listen and respond.  Let's find our own way.  Our own way.

And down the Rabbit Hole I went...

I traveled 45 minutes to the Kingdom of the Upper West Side.  I met him outside the coffee shop near his work.  I made small talk as we got in line for hot beverages.  He ordered a cappuccino and "whatever this guy wants."  I wanted tea.  We sat in the area that was less crowded.  We talked and related for an hour.

Somewhere along the way, there was that pause.  I don't know if anyone else knows that pause; it happens to me because I am a romantically inclined individual.  You feel yourself finishing talking for a long period of time, and neither of you have something new to say, so instead you stop talking and stare into each other's eyes.  As if existing as a pair in a moment of unplanned silence were any indication that you are soul mates.  The thing about this pause is that it can be very real.  The other thing about this pause is that it rarely ever is.

"I could tell you my adventures-beginning from this morning," said Alice a little timidly; "but it's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then."

-Lewis Carroll

Gay people are great because they are often overachievers (overcompensating for shame)...but that means, for me who is dating a lot all of a sudden, that I can no longer go to that dance studio in Harlem, or use Vimeo, or go to a drag show...IF THEY KISS YOU AFTER A COFFEE DATE AND TOTALLY WEIRD YOU OUT BUT YOU'RE TOO COMPLACENT TO STOP IT.

Shit.  I'm trapped.  I'm nowhere near my home.  I fell down this rabbit hole and now I'm trapped.  I didn't pay for the tea...and neither did he; he paid for the kiss.  He's tall, so he'll see if I run.  Once the kiss started, I couldn't stop it.  The subway is delayed.  I'm far from home.  I'm far from home and I'm scared.

If they are confident and productive, you're not good enough/worth it.  If they are awkward and productive, they feel they need to jump you before you run away, and heck, they deserve you because they make that money and get signed by agents.

This was not a meeting of brothers.  This was a date.  With expectation.  Conversation, yes, but to get familiar enough to kiss, not familiar enough to understand.  Like a movie I saw recently, every action in the beginning to the middle to the end was in service of the surprise ending.  And here I thought we were really connecting.

He turned me into something I'm not.  Painted me red when I'm supposed to be white.

When Life gives you Roses, paint them Red.

When you hold out your hand to a bunny, it pauses, assesses danger, and you can see her decide to smell your scent.  She decides to figure you out, to learn who you are by where you've been and what you ate that day and with whom you've been.  She takes the time to stop and smell the roses.  She learns to love you because you smell like you.

"I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says "Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again."

-Lewis Carroll