His name is Nathan

I’m not sure how we met. I know it was on the web site Seeksolder.com. His profile caught my eye, I think. I was trolling for likely partners since my reaching out to Rahim was going nowhere fast, despite his protestations that we were a match made in heaven.

At first we had an easy exchange of texts and emails. He was finishing his nursing studies in San Jose (a man on this side of the continent!) but, alas, his student visa was running out and he was heading back to Turkey (imminently) to look for work. So, off he flew. My hopes dashed again.

I confessed to Scott on Friday night I was feeling restless, contemplating selling the house and moving to Palm Springs. He supported the idea. He cautioned that, given what he thought the house would go for, I could probably swing even a modest house payment in PS if I had to with my income. I didn’t argue. But, getting home, I compulsively texted Nathan whom I hadn’t heard from since he flew off to Istanbul at the end of July.

He texted back saying that he was still looking for work and feeling glum about his employment prospects, wishing he was still in the States, allowing that he had a nursing license in California. He further disclosed that he lacked the funds for a worker visa ($870) to return to the US for work.

What’s with the extra expense for visas that “travel agents in foreign countries charge”?

So, one thing leads to another, and I send Nathan the funds for the work visa. This entailed a trip to Walmart which I endured only for the sake of being useful. I hadn’t been in that dreadful place since 2011. It is still disgusting. I also asked Joe to consider “Plan B” in holding off on disposing of his Nissan Sentra. I would relieve him of it and fix it up so that Nathan could drive it to work.

I checked my IRA in Seal Beach. I plan on a withdrawal on Monday to cover the cost of the visa fee. I also need to call my insurance man. I got a vague letter from the home office saying something dire about my coverage. I dunno what that’s about. The agent didn’t call Friday per appointment. Something’s afoot.

Nathan has called twice. Last night as I was getting ready to go to Mass with Dignity, and this morning while I was having breakfast. We texted last night as I was getting into bed. He forgot about the time differences! But he’s affectionate, loving, his voice sounds kind of quacky, but I’m sure I don’t sound so mellifilous either. He says his mother is happy for us. I pondered this morning about sending her an email. Maybe as we get closer to an actual date of meeting up I will.

I will need to tell Rahim what I’m up to. I dread doing that. How funny. I’m uncomfortable upsetting a 19 year old gay Arab petroqueen over 10,000 miles away held captive by a mean old uncle. Really! What’s my problem?

So, who is Nathan? He’s the son of an Israeli father (deceased) and a Turkish mother. He was raised in Istanbul after the death of his father when he was about 9 (I think). He studied Intensive Care Nursing at San Jose in California. He’s had a couple of relationships — apparently one ended badly — and he’s out to his mother. He’s 5’10, about 170 lbs, black hair, blue eyes, he looks Greek or Mediterranean. He’s very good looking, I think. He also posted an x-rated photo of himself showing just his cock. A nice organ it is.

Oh, and he likes older men.

He says that he stares at the photos I’ve sent him (all clad of course) and he seems eager to start a new relationship away from Turkey. Apparently the atmosphere in Turkey for acceptance of gays has turned sour and cold.

In meditation this morning, Marcel Proust says that the real adventure happens when we begin to see with “new eyes.” At this stage of my life, I will need new eyes to think about living in relationship with another. Not just something physical, but emotional, mental, spiritual, sensual. I’ll need to maintain my connections with AA, Dignity and St. Joseph the Worker (and yes, the family) while embarking on the new relationship with Nathan.

I suppose I’m more mature now (hah!) to handle a relationship than I have been before. But, I hesitate. I fumble for words, unsure if I dare say what I want to say or even if I know what I want to say. Practice, I suppose. It all comes down to trying to say what I want to say, and asking for patience to let me grow into this new experience.

And away we go.

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