My addiction lives between my ears and it’s a liar. It feeds my ego, myself-centeredness, and self-esteem. It told me that I was a better person when I drank. That my decision to drink again was my choice and it wouldn’t affect anyone around me. It whispered that alcohol would give me the confidence to be the person I wanted to be; outgoing and connected with others. When I drank, I would no longer be standing on the outside of my life but would live it. My relapse began long before I took my first drink. I knew something was wrong and had to tried to reconnect to recovery over the previous six months, however I had also not told anyone that I was thinking of drinking again. I consulted the therapist in my head, and he assured me that this time would be different. That I could control it. I could set rules around my drinking, and I would be okay. I deserved to live the out and gay life I had never experienced. I wanted so badly to be part of the group instead of sitting outside of all the fun. I didn’t want to be alone anymore, and I remembered the good times. The crazy fun times. The laughter, the late nights, the confidence and the sense of belonging. Not feeling damaged anymore, no longer being less than. My life would be better. I forgot what happens to me when I drink.
February 2022
Puerto Vallarta
I left my hotel room and headed down to meet The Singer in front of Starbucks in the Zona Romantica in Puerto Vallarta. It was close to 1 am. I picked the place to meet. Outside on a busy street across from Margarita Grill. It is an outside restaurant bar that is a combination of straight and gay. It is always crowded and blares classic American songs out onto the cobblestone streets. Whenever I walked by that bar, I felt a pull to join in the festivities. I still wasn’t convinced that The Singer was real, and this wasn’t some sort of set up, but we had been chatting for the past several hours, minus an hour I had had sex with another guy. The Singer knew I was leaving in the morning and had really wanted to meet before I left. He is a hopeless romantic like me. Maybe we were the ones for each other, ran through my head as well as his, he later told me. He had said I was the most handsome man he had ever seen. My ego loved it. I’ve learned not to project my insecurities on to other men on the apps. You never know what they might like about me and what they are willing to overlook. The Singer liked my face, my beard, eyes and my age. My body shape wasn’t a concern for him. I might have trouble taking my shirt off at the beach, but I’ll strip naked without trouble when I’m with a guy or four ready to have sex. I figure by the time we get to that stage they know what they are getting and if they wanted to bail out before then, they would. My face gets me a lot of attention, but my body sends most away. I feel rejected at times, but then I remind myself that I like what I like, why can’t another guy like what he likes? Physical attraction is a starting point and then chemistry follows for me.
It was about a 10 minute walk and when I came around the corner, he was already there. Sitting on a brick wall ringed in light from above, in short shorts, a muscle tee and a thick silver chain around his neck. He looked like he just stepped off a photo shoot from a Versace cologne ad. His black curly hair, dark eyes, chiseled features, wash board stomach, perfect smile, caramel colored skin; checked all the boxes for me. To know that he was also sexually versatile was icing on the cake and I began picking out the flowers for our wedding. He stood up and we hugged. I could feel the chemistry between us, my body felt electrified. We sat next to each other and began chatting. I don’t remember what was said, but not long into our conversation he said, his situation was complicated. I remember saying, I love complicated. A bird with a broken wing that I can swoop in and fix. There was a cheating husband, somewhere in the States, an abusive man he had just left and had recently arrived in Puerto Vallarta with nothing to start his singer career. We shared our hopes and dreams for our lives over the next hour. At one point, we got up and began walking, holding hands, stopping and kissing. I felt uncomfortable holding hands, I remember, even in one of the gayest cities in the world. Public affection is difficult for me. I had just come out Facebook gay the day before. I see straight couples walk around holding hands or kissing without thinking and I want that for me. I lived hiding in the straight world for 50 years and was conditioned to the negative talk and beliefs that most straight people say about gays when they think one of us isn’t present. So, to walk through the streets holding hands with another man even at 2 am in Puerto Vallarta, was a big deal for me. When I saw a straight couple approaching, I wanted to pull my hand away, but I had to remind myself that my love is equal to theirs. Not that I was in love with The Singer, however, I had the right to show my feelings and be comfortable in my own skin. I was not less than for who I am.
We got to a fork in the road. I had to head to the airport in 9 hours and the plan had been to meet with no real agenda, but we had discussed no sex. Which was ok with me as I was sexed out from the week. We exchanged numbers, kissed and parted ways. In my mind I was already planning a return trip soon. I wasn’t going to let him get away. We texted back and forth as I walked back to my hotel and continued while I was laying in bed. It went on for another hour and I asked him if he wanted to come over so we could spend the last few hours together before I left. He made a comment that I had not sent him any nudes, which is unusual on the gay apps. Typically, after the first hello on an app, dick pics are flying. I sent the pictures, and he told me he was on his way. We spent the next 8 hours talking, cuddling and having sex. I left for the airport with tears in my eyes. I didn’t want it to end. Messages were being exchanged up to the point I lost service in the air after takeoff.
Phoenix
I landed back in Phoenix to a waiting message. I have a combination of an avoidant and anxious attachment styles. Get too close and I’ll push you away and at the same time I need reassurance that I am still part of your life. I move fast to ingratiate myself into someone’s life that I am attracted to, offering gifts, advice and an ear. Within a week of being home I had booked a return trip to Puerto Vallarta with a 4 night stay at an Airbnb the second week of March. Over the next 5 weeks we video chatted daily, sometimes 2 or 3 times a day. He was alone in PV, and I felt alone in Phoenix, but we had each other. He never asked me for money, even though he was struggling to find his way. Not only is he beautiful on the outside he is a beautiful person on the inside. He has such a deep and caring heart. I opened up to him about my past a bit, that I didn’t drink, but never shared the painful stuff. I still carried around the belief that if he knew who I really was, he wouldn’t like me. Even though I was completed infatuated with him, I continued to have random sex during those five weeks. Bigger, better, more. Never satisfied.
Colorado
The third week of February I headed to Colorado for an annual ski trip with some long-time straight friends. This would be my first time seeing them after coming out and them knowing. I had decided to push off going back to work until after I got back from Puerto Vallarta in March. The ski trip was a success, even better than years previous. This time I felt comfortable in my skin around my friends. They knew who I was, however, there was still shame I carried over my past exploits. So, there was a barrier between us. A wall I created.
Phoenix-Furr Trade
The following weekend, my friend from El Paso came for a visit. It had been a few months since we had seen each other. We met on an app in March of 2019, 6 months after I had come out. He lived in Los Angeles at the time, and I was in Phoenix. We started out chatting online in a flirtatious way, but it quickly moved into the friend zone. He was the closest person to know me and all my exploits, but I still wasn’t talking to him about my thoughts of drinking. The weekend he came to town there happened to be a bear event at one of the local gay bars. He loved bears and had never been to an event. When we walked into the bar, I saw the young Latino I had hooked up with three weeks earlier at Beef Dip, in Puerto Vallarta. I was shocked as he lives in North Carolina. I went up and gave him and his husband a hug and introduced my friend. I was into the Latino and my friend was into the husband. By the end of the night, my friend was in the blackout room the bar had set up for the event getting a blow job by the husband. My friend and I still laugh about that night and how I had the one spouse in Puerto Vallarta, and he had the other in Phoenix. My friend loved the taste he got of a bear event, and we decided to book a trip to Dallas at the end of March for the Texas Bear Roundup. He headed back to El Paso, and I began getting ready for my trip to see The Singer.
March 2022
Back in Puerto Vallarta
I arrived Monday March 7, 2022, in Puerto Vallarta, for the third time within 7 months. I had come to spend time with The Singer and figured out what was going on between us. I knew he was still married, but that hadn’t stopped me from moving to Brazil for a guy the year before. Just complications in my mind that could be sorted out. He was planning on staying with me for the week at the place I rented. We had no real plans other than to spend time together. I would be there for 4 nights. I had bought for him a portable Bose speaker that he could use for singing and brought an extra iPad I had to give to him. He had not asked for those items, but I knew he needed them, and it was a way for me to curry favor. At this point I was living off credit cards and hadn’t worked in a year, but he didn’t need to know that detail. I could wear any mask I needed, and I had an arsenal of them.
I met him on the street outside the luxury high rise where the Airbnb was located. He was wearing short shorts, a muscle tee and the silver chain. His favorite attire. He looked even more spectacular in the daylight. We greeted each other with a hug and a kiss and headed upstairs. Over the next 4 days, we hung out at the place, leaving to hang on the roof top pool or out to dinner. He opened up more about his situation; it was more complicated than I thought. He had two broken wings, even better for me to help fix. On the third night The Singer told me he wasn’t looking for a relationship. He had just gotten out of two bad situations and had never been alone and wanted to find himself. I put on my supportive mask and assured him that was the right decision for him and that I would be there anyway so I could get him back on track and get his singing career going. Inside I was shattered. My mind went into overdrive in how to salvage the situation. I write about this like I was making a conscious decision about what I was doing. I was more damaged than him I realize now, and it was how I had learned to cope with my own pain. If I helped others, gave them of myself, it would somehow fix me. It always made me feel better about myself, it just wasn’t a long-term solution to my problem. I would spend a lot of time, energy and resources helping others and when I didn’t get the expected results, I would be devastated and angry. I would build resentments towards them and further work on ways to get the results I wanted. It is a twisted way to view relationships, but I didn’t know any different. I looked at relationships as transactional. I give you this and I get a beautiful boyfriend, or I get whatever I determined that you could give me later. I now understand this about myself. I’m not perfect, however I constantly check my motivations.
On my last night in town, we headed out for a sushi dinner. We had a good time. I was acting as if everything was great between us and that I was ok to move into the friend zone with benefits. I was not. I was hurting. Everything I think I wanted in a man was falling through my fingertips. I didn’t like the way I was feeling, and I wanted to change it. I had spent the last year traveling the world, being irresponsible, doing whatever I felt like, bought whatever I had wanted and had sex with hundreds of men, and I still felt an emptiness inside. None of it had worked long term. My life was unmanageable, and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to ask for help. So, when we walked by Margarita Grill, with its inviting music, giant margaritas, festive atmosphere and two open barstools, I saw my solution. I looked at The Singer and said, “Let’s have a drink.”
I have since learned that I was at a decision point. The moment where I have a choice to drink or not to drink. My system was dis-regulated, and I had not been able to manage life. I had no recovery, no support system, no solid coping skills, and I was not spiritually fit, so the only option that I had was to go back to my old rescuer, alcohol. I had gone through an emotional relapse over the past year, a mental relapse and now I was at the point for the physical one. I had convinced myself that alcohol had never been my real problem, that it was just the drugs. So, I had come up with a set of rules during the mental relapse. I would only drink out at bars, never at home. I would always take an uber. I would only drink on the weekends and if I stayed away from cocaine, I would be okay. Cocaine was my real problem, I told myself, and that is what caused all my problems 14.5 years ago. I also told myself that this wasn’t a relapse. I lied to myself and said I had decided to begin drinking again. This time it would be different.
The Singer looked at me and said “no.” I said yes and that I had been thinking about it for a while and I would be okay. He reluctantly agreed. We sat at the bar and decided to split one margarita. I was almost in a dream like state. I could feel my body calming down and I was full of excitement and apprehension. I kept telling myself that I could control it. I wasn’t sure what to expect to be honest other than I know I would like the effect. I would belong again. The bartender asked what kind we wanted, and I left it up to The Singer to decide. It didn’t matter to me. I watched eagerly as the frozen margarita was being made. I watched as the strawberries were put in the blender, the lime juice, the ice, the Cointreau and finally the tequila. I counted the pour, like my old bartender days, thinking how much tequila would be in the drink. I watched the bartender pour the blended drink into the sugar rimmed metal goblet and garnish it with a strawberry and rosemary and a straw. He slid the drink between us. The Singer looked at me and asked me again if, I was sure. The music was blaring, the place was packed with people, everyone laughing, and I thought this is exactly where I wanted to be, “yes,” I said.
I took the first sip of alcohol for the first time in 14.5 years and three things happened almost simultaneously to me. First, I felt complete and connected. The hole inside was gone. Second, I wanted more and lastly it felt like I was on back of a runaway mustang, and I was trying to grab the reigns to slow him down. I then thought, I am back. The real Jeff is back. The fun Jeff is back. The Jeff everyone likes is back. Why did I wait so long? What was I thinking? Why did I suffer all these past years alone and not drink? I had unleashed something inside and all I thought about was I could control it. I had rules in place. I immediately began pacing my sips, letting him have more of the drink so as to appear on the outside calm and cool, while on the inside I was off to the races, already thinking about the next one. Thinking about getting home and going to the bars and nightclubs. I drink and use for the effects. I love them. Once I start, I cannot get high enough or drunk enough. I go until I can’t stand or pass out. We finished the first drink and looked at each other and I gave a nod, like let’s have another. Just one more. We did. We left after the two drinks, went back to the room and had sex. I woke up the next morning and I thought, see the world didn’t end. I had two drinks, my plan worked, and I could control this. It would be different this time and I headed to the airport. I left The Singer where I met him, on the corner. My dreams of going off into the sunset with him were over for now, but I wasn’t going to let him go that easy. I’m always playing the long game and I’m good at it.