Room in his basement

Ben and I have been playing phone tag for the last month or so, which is amusing trying to keep time tables straight as he is in Belgium and I’m in the US. I called him back tonight to chat because I wanted to talk to someone who made me laugh and if it’s anyone, it’s him.
I’m really upset I won’t get to meet him in France in a few months — something he and I were both looking forward to do. Unfortunately, he’s taking his finals during the week I’ll be there where as he had the week off when my trip was first arranged for the previous week. We’re now talking about meeting sometime in the summer, if ach gets me those tickets for the Reading Festival AS PROMISED or if Ben decides to take a trip to Canada and I’ll meet him there.
He’s completely disquieted about my relationship with Patrick and he doesn’t understand why I’m still seeing him. Maybe it’s a Euro vs American thing? Dunno, but he’s concerned about me, as long as I send him jelly belly jellybeans and Peeps.
I’m kidding.
I’m concerned as well, and the situation isn’t getting any easier. Having conversations with Patrick is like pulling teeth from a chicken. I was feeling particularly romantic today and I called him to tell him I missed him. Dumped me to vm. Called again several hours later and got dumped to VM again. Patrick called back and I was excited and happy, and I told him I missed him. “Why do you miss me?” he asked. Which, totally ruined the moment. This isn’t the first time he’s done this. He refuses to absolutely talk about his feelings with me at all and every conversation we have sounds like a business meeting. There is no romance and it bothers the living shit out of me. I’ve told Patrick this, this isn’t a new story. But I don’t get IT — if you love me then what the fuck is the difficulty in telling me that you do?
Because to Patrick, it’s “too painful to tell you.”
This is 180 degrees from the Patrick I started talking to back in November. I wrote this late december and he called me that day after he read it to tell me how much it meant to him. How crappy his ex-relationships were and how sensuality, love and meaning had gotten tossed out the window. How much he NEEDED, WANTED and DESIRED everything I wrote. We were on the same plane, finally. I was on the same plane as someone and it was going to work!
When did things start going downhill? Shortly before my last trip out there. Sex became mechanical and featureless. He kept harping on my stupid blow jobs — because yes, they are just that great. I swear to god, I’m never putting my mouth on another penis again. Ever. Because that is what sex was reduced to on the last trip – me giving blowjobs and okay sex. Not the great VAVOOM that it was two months prior. I’m supposed to take into consideration that his work and personal life were in an uproar, he was sick (as was I), but damnit, you have not seen me in two months! I don’t fucking get the 180 degree flip as for months you did nothing but tell me how you missed me, wanted me, loved me etc.
And now nothing.
Ben and I have had this long running joke for the last few years about saying “fuck you” to the world, giving up school, moving to the South of France and bearing giant amazonian children (he’s 6’7). When I came back from Denver all bummed and was talking to Ben about the trip, he was also equally remorse about his personal life. One of us had said, “We should have just chucked everything away and gone to the South of France.”
We both agreed we should have.