Outvoted two to one, Griselda, my teenage girlish heart, was relegated to a back seat and told, by Brain, to keep quiet while “the grownups” steered us toward what could only be described as a carnal relationship with our new found Canadian poster bear.
Days and weeks of innuendo-laced sexual flirting followed. As one does in this modern age we exchanged ever more revealing photos. At the tender age of 64, I turned my iPhone’s camera on myself and posed for pictures I’d never dreamt I’d be taking, much less shipping across continent via the Internet. What the hell, I thought, I have no plans on running for congress.
During our chats I made jokes, he laughed or rather replied lol, even to the bad ones.
Little by little, however, our conversations grew longer and less and less explicit. He told me about his day and asked about mine. I began asking about his life and offering up anything he wanted to know about mine.
He knew how to look directly into the lens and right into the eyes of the viewer.
One day while reviewing some of the pictures he’d sent along, I was struck by the fact that most of them were much, much more than just handsome selfies or suggestive in nature. Pictures taken of him by friends looked pretty much like ordinary snapshots, but the ones he’d taken of himself were all beautifully composed and well lit.
He knew his way around a camera and the camera loved him. He was clearly his own best model. All of his pictures had the look of being taken by a professional photographer. He knew how to look directly into the lens and right into the eyes of the viewer.
I was even more surprised to learn he’d taken all these photos with an iPhone 5.
Athletically inclined and physically active all his life, he’d only recently taken up powerlifting, which, along with photography, was another of his passions and interests and yet another thing we had in common; the photography not the powerlifting. Although, just prior to meeting Jon, I had joined WorkOUT Gym Palm Springs and began weight training—my thinking being if I was going to behave like a teenager, I’d better start acting like an adult and take better care of myself—I was light years away from his level of strength and skill.
By this time I’d had enough of texting via the GROWLr app. I sent him an email message telling him how much I was enjoying our conversations and how little I liked typing with my thumbs. I asked if we could move our conversations to the Apple messaging app, which would allow me to use a proper keyboard—my weapon of choice—or, better yet, chat via FaceTime, Apple’s live online video app.
He said yes to both.
We learned more and more about each other. I discovered he’d returned to Ontario the previous year to pursue Power Engineering certification. He had been living in British Columbia. Additionally, he’d only recently ended a long-distance relationship with a man living somewhere in the US Pacific Northwest.
He was currently staying with his mother and stepfather while completing a required Co-Op, what in the U.S. we’d call an internship, at a nearby power plant before returning to an engineering college northwest of Toronto for the summer semester.
I appreciated how organized he was in his thinking. Not only had he studied and mapped out his education and career path, he had an entire spring and summer of activities lined up. He planned on making up for lost time, having postponed, for one reason or another, taking part in things he’d always wanted to experience, not the least of which was meeting in person many of the friends he only knew from chatting online, which had proven to be a rather frustrating experience for him.
In a few weeks he was going to take off for a five-week stay in London and the English countryside. He and his best friend of nearly 18 years, Brodie, were planning on a bear-themed weekend camping trip. Montreal and Toronto pride celebrations were on the agenda, as well as a week at the biggest summertime bear gathering in North America, Provincetown Bear Week.
I shared his frustration with online friendships. Up until this time, it had been my experience that the online Bear Community was a thousand miles wide and, unfortunately, only about three inches deep.
There had been my disastrous early social networking attempts and, thanks to Palm Springs being a gay resort destination, I was able to meet many of the men I was “friends” with online. Quite a few of these men obviously hadn’t updated their profile pictures for several years, some of them hadn’t done it in decades.
Still, others, despite having been more than willing to share compliments and flirtatious messages from a safe distance, would do little more than offer a limp handshake and a promise of getting together later for drinks before evaporating into thin air. This was especially true of the men who had neglected to mention they had a husband or significant other with whom they had yet to “open” their relationship.
As time went on, Jon began taking advantage of the three hour time difference, to send me what I found to be endearing good morning pictures or videos either heading to or from the plant he was working in, which I would find each morning when I woke.
…if I was going to behave like a teenager I’d better start acting like and adult and take better care of myself.
Finally I’d worked up enough courage to ask him if he’d like to meet in person. He said yes, but as a starving student whose last spare funds were already committed to his summer of fun, he wasn’t sure how we’d go about it. As luck would have it shortly before meeting Jon, I had finally received a settlement check from a 2012 multi-car accident I’d been on the receiving end of.
I told Jon I’d set that money aside to do something nice for myself and I couldn’t think of anything nicer than the two of us spending some time together. Although we both agreed spending some time together would be nice, with his rather full summer schedule we left time and place an open question.
With each passing day I began looking forward to our text and video chats more and more. I also began noticing some changes in myself. I was happier than I’d been in years. My eyes were a gleaming blue once again and not only had the sparkle in them returned, there was a light that shone from within me that I’d never seen before.
I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the difference. During Fur Fridays at Hunters, friends had begun to comment I was often as silly as a kid after his first beer and how frequently I went about with a smile on my face. The phrase “shit eating grin” came up more than once.
“I don’t think any of this is the slightest bit amusing,” Brain would say on the drive home from the bar.
Questions began to be asked and I had to admit I’d struck up a regular online conversation with a very handsome man.
“Oh?” would come the response. “Who is he? Is he local? Where does he come from? How old is he?” In Palm Springs, by the way, a difference in ages is no big deal as the town is positively littered with May, December, couples of every possible description.
Meanwhile Griselda not only took my joy at spending so much time with Jon as a positive sign, she began, much to the consternation of Brain, dropping all sorts of not so subtle hints that Jonny Bear appeared to be interested in us as well.
“You’re looking at venturing out on a very dangerous limb,” Brain told me. “The next time we’re out among friends, don’t do or say anything more than refer to him as a really hot man.”
“Can I at least mention that we seem to have a lot in common?” I asked my logical mind.
He looked at me sternly then said, “As long as you finish that sentence with, ‘sexually.’”
Coy became the order of the day.
Next Up: April Showers
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