Turkish Bakery?

I know this is sort of eleventh hour and all, but I haven't heard from anyone about dinner tonight. I'm not feeling so crappy I don't want to go out, but I definitely don't feel like waiting around a restaurant for people who might or might not show. So if you were planning to come, respond here so we can confirm/revise plans.

OWGA, part 1

For months now, I've been contemplating an entry or entries on past crushes. Mingled in with the handful of men I've had some sort of significant ongoing relationship with are dozens who were never more than one-night stands, make-out partners, fuck buddies, or--the vast majority--nothing but eye-candy. Years later, I still think, even fantasise, about them. Is there regret? As little as I can manage. Is there curiosity about what might have been, about all the possible worlds that came into existence with a glance and evapourated with a sigh? You betcha.

I've considered the best way to organise these: By degree of involvement, by time period, by region, etc. But since comprehensivity is a chimaera in such endeavours, I think I'll stick to the most natural organising principle for journal entries: As I remember them. Some I still see, memories of others will float into my consciousness with little or no warning. I wasn't thinking of anyone in particular when I began writing this, but I've since recalled Opera Bear, who's a classic case in many ways.

Opera Bear He was ottr4bear's discovery, which is how he got to name him. An opera singer by trade, he left the biz some years back--though not before getting to sing with Renee Fleming (the goddess!). We saw him in the bars from time to time, but almost always in the company of some small creepy guy we later nicknamed "Evil Cub". At first, we thought they were dating, but that turned out to be a misconception. Kinda. They lived together and, from the two times I visited their place, I got the impression they weren't quite just roommates.

Here's how that came about:

During Bear Pride one year, Ottr and I were sitting on a bench in the back of Cellblock. The scheduled event there had run its course and bears were trickling away. Opera Bear was still there, though, and alone. He came over and we three starting chatting. This morphed into heavy flirting: Opera Bear standing between my legs and rubbing against me in a friendly way. Ever a dear friend, Ottr saw where things were headed and made himself scarce. Minutes later, I was in Opera Bear's apartment just off Halstead having a wicked good time.

We arranged another meeting after that. Evil Cub was at home napping and we had to tiptoe around. Once in Opera Bear's room, however, we could play a tape and so I got to hear his beautiful tenor voice. Shortly afterward, I stopped seeing him around. I heard through the grapevine that his father was ill and he had moved back home to be with him. Yet I didn't take his phone number out of my wallet until last summer.

A couples years ago, I ran into Opera Bear on the street--in the company of his aggressive new boyfriend. I told him to give me a call if he ever wanted to do something together, which he never has. I don't know if he's still in the city anymore. I wouldn't mind getting together with him for a drink again, but mostly I just wish I'd nailed him when I had the chance--or at least visited his boudoir more than twice.