My Nose is Open


This will not do. This is no good.

I have let a negro get my “nose open.” I’m sprung. Strung out. Like a man on drugs.

Here I am, a 45-year-old dude, anxiously awaiting a text message from “Oliver” like a teenager. Poring over each message, deciphering every word and phrase. Feeling content each time a text comes. Like a silly bitch.

This will not do. This is no good.

I hang out with buddies and have even gone on dates with new friends to distract myself. “Linton” is a professional, successful black male with an adopted son. I ran across him in my professional life years before I got into dudes so imagine my surprise to find out we are now hanging out in the gay world. He is an intelligent, handsome, light-skinned black man with a sly smile and laser sharp sense of observation.

Linton’s comfortable, stylish home is full of art and photos and books — I joke with him that it’s like seeing the inside of his mind. And he offers me sage advice on moving into the gay world and half kids me that eventually I will be his boyfriend. But even he says “Oliver” has me hooked.

“You talk about him all the time,” he says to me this morning while we have a breakfast of omelettes, eggs and bacon at a popular local diner.

“Oh, I do?” I answer, surprised. But then I think, “Damn, I do talk about that lanky motherfucker a lot.”

“You are both playing games with each other. I bet he is on the other side, waiting to see who will text the other first, just like you are.”

Linton is a great dude and I see a long friendship ahead. But he is smart enough to know I have to either get Oliver or get Oliver out of my system. He breaks the situation down and his advice is good.

Oliver reads my blog and knows of my sexual exploits, Linton explains. So why would he want to give time to me just to get burnt? Men are sexual animals, and Oliver and I are acting like college frat boys when it comes to sex, but in the end that doesn’t lead to intimacy, Linton says.

“Your blog is a bit TMI (too much information),” Linton says, staring at me with his heavy-lidded languid eyes.

Linton is right. This blog is a blessing and a curse. What Oliver doesn’t know or believe is I’m tired of all the chasing. I want something deeper.

Last night on New Year’s Eve I went to church, then over to a small get-together at “Andre’s” place. We watch Dick Clark’s show and feel sympathy for Clark’s appearance…he is now aged and sick and should really no longer do the countdown. When the ball comes down the group, a mixture of gay and straight folks, raises champagne flutes to toast.

But in the back of my mind I’m thinking, “When will I hear from Oliver.” He says he is out getting drunk but I’m thinking to myself that someone else has his attention.

I break down first and send out a text: “Happy New Year’s baby.”

I keep talking to the other guests, smiling, laughing, being my usual charming self. But my body is taut as a violin string, waiting on him to respond.

Several messages come in but it’s not him. Just my buddies and family wishing me Happy New Years. Minutes crawl by. My phone buzzes again. It is a text from him.


“Happy New Year baby boi.”

My body relaxes and I understand how a heroin addict feels when the drug courses through his veins.

I must learn how to handle this shit or detach from Oliver and go through withdrawal from this addiction.

Because this is no good. This will not do.

6 thoughts on “My Nose is Open

  1. Immanuel, I am in the exact same boat my friend. I will be continuing to follow your blog closely. I think I may need a 12-step program to get over my “Oliver” too. Keep sharing your insights. Its good to know that it's not just me .

  2. Glad that you are experiencing more than just the sexual side of men. It can be a joy to have something real and something that really has value that no one can take away from you. Just you and that person. You need to move on if you feel this is not right for you….but always keep your head up and know what to say and when to say it.

  3. Hopefully he'll come to his senses and see that he's lucky to have you as a friend. If he doesn't and you need someone else to occupy your time…hit me up! LOL.

  4. Pingback: Five Years Later… | CONFESSIONS OF A DOWN-LOW BROTHER: THE SEQUEL

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