I have been aching to be able to write about my new friend for months, but now that I have the opportunity, calling each individual sentence into being is proving to be a laborious process. Some posts seem to write themselves (“… something, something, Burt Ward”); this is not one of them.
When I’d first thought of writing about him, I was struck by an irony: I had created this anonymous blog as a safe place to explore and talk about my sexuality and this topic fit the criteria, but he knew about the blog and so I’d have to consider him as part of my audience. I had a lot of raw thoughts that I just wasn’t ready to share with him in the early days, and so the perfect place to talk about it was also the worst place to talk about it.
But, happily, we (or, at least, I) have moved past that now. I naturally gravitate towards being reticent, which I suppose I knew, though I hadn’t thought much about it until he pointed it out. My parents didn’t model forthright communication, and then romantic experiences reinforced the perceived need to play my cards close to the vest. It’s one thing to spew the curated version of my private, but shareable, thoughts to an anonymous audience of a handful of strangers who might not even bother to read it. It’s quite another when someone who knows and likes me asks very personal questions. It took some bravery on my part to share myself at that level, but now I’d say he knows more about me than almost anyone else does. At this point, there’s not much that I’d want to say here that he doesn’t already know. Which is good.
Of course, I can share bits of myself here, but now that I can talk about him, what shall I say? There is a variety of things that I can’t say (such as what he’s thinking or planning) or won’t say (such as anything that might conceivably identify him or disclose details that he might not want shared). And so I’m keeping a lid on, well, almost everything. Since we remain separated by an awful lot of miles, there aren’t any adventure stories yet either. That doesn’t leave me with a whole lot to write about, other than the (still heavily curated) contents of my own brain.
But here’s something: he has picked a name for himself. He will be called Gawan (pronounced with a “v” in the middle, similar to “Gavin”), which is a variant spelling for Sir Gawain, a knight from Arthurian legend who is both a protector of ladies and a lover.
The fact that the character is generally called “Sir” is fitting: you see, my Gawan is a dom.