..::|:.: Scattered Words

"in brokeness, I could see, that this was your will for me..." :: Jeremy Camp



Paul isn't his real name, I'll tell you, but I've wanted to write more about him for a long time now. There are a few things I've wanted to write about for a long time now, but I've really not the time.

So, Paul. We met at, you got it, a bath house. I saw him not five minutes after I got there and started to follow him throughout. Eventually, we met up in a dark room on the lower level, he told me he'd been following me around, too. We didn't have sex, but instead went to my room, where, we also didn't have sex. We talked for a long time, then went our seperate ways in the bath house. But we kept running into each other, talking and such. Eventually he invited me back to his apartment. Then to his bedroom -- where we still didn't have sex.

We slept there together, in each other's arms. I left the next morning, more confused than ever. I'd never spent the night in another guy's bed without having sex. I didn't expect to see him again, anyway. But then, I called him, two nights later.

We hung out at his apartment. We watched movies with his friends, went out to eat, talked, etc. I said before that I've never been "out and proud" -- but with Paul, and his friends (and even his family eventually), I guess I really was out. But it wasn't me. They didn't know me. Paul didn't know me.

I hid everything from him: where I lived, what I did, what I believed (my faith), my real name... With Paul, I was a completely different person. A person I made up as I went along. Fake.

We visited his family one day -- and I came to a startling conclusion. They were nice people, I guess. His father left the family at an early age and his mom's new guy isn't / wasn't completely accepting of Paul's sexuality. Mom was more than accepting, a little too accepting, if you ask me (read: emasculating). He seemed to get along great with his older brother (by 10 years), at least I thought. Later he told me that he and his brother used to "mess around" (that healthy experimentation so many of you say is normal). My conclusion, was that these people used Paul, his brother, his mom and his dad, to fulfill their own needs. And so was I.

I knew that there was no hope for Paul and I. A long term relationship was never in our future. I would never have let it happen; I knew the whole time that I was destined to hurt him. I was using him to fill a hole in my life -- feeding of him like his entire family had for most of his life. My love / affection for him wasn't pure or patient or even kind -- it was selfish and conceited.

I stopped calling Paul pretty abruptly, and he stopped calling me when I stopped returning messages. I guess in the end, it was better for both of us to cut it off. He's free to pursue whatever with his life now, without me to lead him on. But I think about him a lot. I wish I had it to do over, so I could end things better. So he could at least hear they "why" from me (not that I'm sure I'm yet brave enough to tell him).