2004-12-09

baby's got (less) back

This DL was started to explore topics more deeply, toss around a bon mot or two, flex my authorial muscles. There's a pressure to make sure what goes in here is "significant," "deep," or, worst of all, "well-written." At least, well-conceived.

The intention was also to make this one's writing more personal, sharing bits that I probably wouldn't want people to stumble across in my other DL, as it shares a certain instant messaging client screen name. (Previously, I've mentioned that that one was discovered by an ex.)

Hence, my quiet spell.

This entry won't be a treatise on life or love or relationships, just a little worrisome trend I've notice on Mr. Man.

He mentioned how he may have to get some new underwear, as his current ones keep slipping down. I teased him it's because he has no butt (affectionally called C.B.A by our downstairs neighbor—Chicken Breast Ass). Before you assume that it's an issue of elastic, since men are notoriously bad at replacing undergarments, let me yank you out of your sit-com/talk-show stereotype world. It ain't the underwear's fault.

He's a fag. And a gay, gay fag at that. He has been purchasing tones of underwear in the five-plus years we've been together, unable to pass up a treasure found at Marshall's or a Macy's sale. On our trip to Australia, he found Bond's for the first time and bought all he could find in the hipster trunk, size M. He's a pretty princess who's also OCD and loves to overstock. On my trip to Melbourne this year, I was commanded not to return empty-handed. So the panties are fresh. Elastic is fine, thanks for asking.

Besides, I also have the same underwear in the same size. Granted I have a different butt, more convex than concave. So one would assume that my bulbosity would stretch it out faster than his lil' handful. It hasn't. My manties, full as they are in trunk, ain't falling down in any way, shape or form.

I've noticed that his waist does appear to be getting thinner, right around the iliac crest, which is odd for someone with such low body fat. However, his tonnage has been steadily increasing according to doctor's visits. Not that he needs to lose weight; we take gaining as a good sign, and an inevitable factor of age.

I also notice his legs are looking more sinewy. The muscles around his knees are more defined, as they wrap around the thigh, like gigantic leeches spiralling down toward the ground. He likes vein-y muscles, and took pride in his legs and calfs when he was riding more. These days it's just bike commuting to work (more often than not sitting next to me in the car with his bike on the roof for the ride in, two-wheeling it home). So it's understandable that his past weekends of hill-climbing aren't being maintained.

He's wasting. That's severe. Getting a little more AIDS-y. His metabolism is out of whack. He's got the full belly and deeper organ-packed fat and none of the subcutaneous curves that hide my abs. His face is aging, 44 years will do that to you. At least the hollow cheeks aren't there. The creases may eventually appear.

Not to worry, he's heatlthy and active, swimming a few times a week and riding his bike around town. He eats a ton (a lot of crap and fat and fruits and ice cream and meat, just not in that order). His only side effects from the medication are frequent and liquidy poops (bye-bye excess food) and occasional days of feeling "under the weather." Sure, he's fatigue-y and falls asleep on the couch nightly, more often than not before 9:00 pm. Heck, life's hard in the "big city." (He rises at 6:45 and does a couple of doses of caffiene throughout the day.)

He may not be one of the models in pharmaceutical ads on top of mountains and laughing with friends, and, all in all, he's in great health. Yet, the spectre is still there. Millimeter by milliliter, his body is changing. I knew this getting into the relationship. (Heck, could argue that I'm attracted to some of the physical characteristics of urban HIV+ men, since he ain't my first?) I've never been in anything this long or ever had to consider the future implications.

Maybe it's just having seen And the Band Played On..., my father's insistence that I rent Angels in America, catching the end of a documentary on Paul Monnette, or the recent World AIDS Day. But it's also right there. Lying next to me in bed each night. Shaving his face wearing a towel in the bathroom. Complaining about his underwear.

I don't know what to do with this other than witness and love. And, sadly, document so I never, ever forget him.

earlier - later