Love, Genesis.
Jordan Daniel Brown,
is how I met you; Back last June.
On the night we first connected, I knew I’d write about you soon.
The story I’ve been dying to tell; Our love until death does do us part.
My love, how I love you, with every bit of my body and being.
To be yours and all yours, and you mine and all mine, is a dream that’s now realized; a fantasy finally fulfilled!
This story, my love, is for you.
And, of course, for those outside of our loop.
Those who have yet to be told just how we came about.
May 2024.
Nearing midsommar, and for the first time in my life, the sun nearing climax felt suited. Days were lagging on for weeks – perfectly fitting my life’s schedule as my writing fell into the groove of her passion. I was memorializing foundational sects of my queerness on a weekly basis.
Ethical penmanship: refreshing my mind, honoring my inner child.
It had been over a year since I began a relationship, nearly an entire-gestation had passed since its demise. At the time, I had thought love called my name. I believed it was due; I craved it. I found it, and I found myself unfulfilled. As the guilt grew, it became impossible to respect love. I should expect not to achieve love, if I cannot reciprocate when its given.
Abstaining from sex: creating harmony in my body.
The air in my home was artificially cooled as the flames raged warmer outside. The soul of our nation was floundering as two elderly men dementedly battled for the throne. Floods in the south, tornadoes leveled the midwest, and artificial intelligence clumsily ‘demanded’ all eyes on Rafah. For the past month of my life I relished a newfound ideology:
synchronicity in bipolar dichotomy.
I think, perhaps, every day of my life thus far had bore witness to my dreams of achieving romantic love, realizing an innately tethered connection to a partner, and navigating its multidimensional labyrinth of development. The broader focus had always been to find a love; my love. Yet, after my last relationship, I had finally unchained myself.
A note to nature boy: I am sorry.
June 9.
By this time, I was back on the apps. To come off the apps, at this time, had become rarer in my life. I wasn’t looking to experience anything more than exactly what I asked for. And quite frankly, all I was asking for, was to tease whomever I was speaking to with an illicit and lustrous idea of what may happen if I did allow their existence and demand their presence. Most nights, the suitors weren’t quite worthy of even attempting to tarnish my body’s sanctity – much less, disrupting a carefully crafted climate of peace. Still, one or two got to say hello to heaven.
Statistically speaking, Sundays are the most popular time for queer men to be online. I certainly fell into this populous too. Grindr was quieter during the summer months with students out of town, so on June 9th, I took to Tinder instead. As I passed through different men, constantly adjusting settings to see more, and more, and more, I would come across a handful of profiles to actually read, rather than just approve or deny. Out of these handful, one took me much longer than all the others.
He was a twink, dishwater blonde, had multiple tattoos, a septum piercing, and had the same silver chain in all of his photos. His first picture showcased a smile, the one I would soon come to learn is photogenic. The second photo was taken in the mirror, missing a shirt, with a week-old skin-fade cut, and the tops of his black Hanes peeking out of sweats. Third in line was a traditional selfie, highlighting his defined jaw, adorable pointy ears, and now, glasses? Finally, the last two pictures are pictures that, until only recently, would have resulted in an immediate missed opportunity. In the final two pictures, he was wearing a white tank-top – arms out in one, arms covered by a flannel in the other – and his lips were pursed tightly around a Lucky Strike Silver 100.
His name, of course, is Jordan.
Though the double-appearance of a faggot made me reluctant; I swiped right, and we matched… Jordan had swiped right on me first. Now, the pressure was on me: socially, I needed to send the first message. So, with no expectation of outcome, no desire to depthfully pursue, and regrets, I messaged him: “What’s up”, then continued swiping. He didn’t respond til that evening because he was sitting poolside, roasting under our sun. From there, we talked about where we are from and our tastes in music, moved the conversation to Snapchat, and, instead of sending each other nudes, we talked about our plans for the next few days. Both of us were busy, and it was clear that we would not be meeting anytime soon. Effectively ending any interest I had in continuing to chat.
A rookie mistake was made though: We had already migrated from Tinder to Snapchat.
June 10.
This night had left me feeling lonely. Not necessarily horny, but perhaps the investment in a hook-up would provide the body to alleviate the feeling of isolation. Grindr wasn’t supplying. Locals were away. Tinder wouldn’t produce. I could only choose from the men I was already in contact with.
Half past nine, I’d message Jordan, who lived over an hour away, but according to his profile, he loved long drives. In fact, he was already out on a drive. To him though, that worked against my favor. He would have to drive back home and shower, pack a bag, and get gas before heading over. Admittedly, Jordan agreed that he drives fast though.
He made it to Lawrence by 11p, under the condition that we were not fucking. The purpose of meeting was to fulfill the literal meaning of sleeping together. Upon arriving, he got the grand tour of my 850sqft apartment in pitch darkness, illuminated only by my phone’s flashlight. His comments, giving rise to one of my favorite parts to his existence: a subtle country accent.
We made our way to my room upstairs with darkness mitigated only by a lamp. Here, Jordan was introduced to Benji, my cat, and one true love. We smoked and began getting to know each other, discussing our hometowns, friends, and our careers. After an hour or so, the lamp was turned off and we tucked ourselves in for the night.
June 11.
Without much light, I hadn’t realized how sunburned Jordan was from being out at the pool a few days prior and earlier that day. He suggested he leave his shirt on though, so as to not shed his peeling skin across my sheets. Our shorts met the floor, and our underwear remained. For the first time, our bodies met, connected, and synchronized their rhythms to each other. Our hearts beating in tandem. Quick, shallow inhalations relaxed. The scorns left by our sun radiated past his shirt, warming a body that should have been used to sub-seventy-conditioning. As our physicality was leveled – as our homeostasis intertwined – our bodies would meet again: sharing a series of kisses.
A series of kisses that would become many. A series of kisses, unbeknownst to us at the time, would last a lifetime. A series of kisses that would ignite those sharing them.
As they so often do, the series of kisses shared overcame an unspoken barrier. Jordan and I had now unlocked comfortability around the other. We had been together for nearly two hours now, at just past 1a, but I had only just now gotten to really meet him.
Worse: he only just now got to really meet me. I needed to awake for work in less than six hours, but only just now, after a series of kisses, had I realized that more was due.
Better: there was more to do.
I decided to accept being exhausted at work; I wanted more of Jordan.
He wanted more of me too, but urged me to sleep. He contested being the reason I get in trouble at work. I vollied back, determined that my adhd medication and a redbull – on this occasion, with sugar – would get me through the day. Jordan conceded, for the time being, sparking up, and continuing conversation. With all obstacles out of the way, we could finally get down to the thoughts that occupied both of our minds: who the fuck am I sharing a bed with right now?
We cut to the chase. I told Jordan the key stories of my life: self-determination, chosen family, my experience of queerness, struggles with passions, addiction, and education, physical capabilities and diagnoses, and the trauma of growing up with abusive parents. Jordan shared with me his: self-determination, chosen family, his experience of queerness, struggles with passions, addiction, and education, physical capabilities and diagnoses, and the trauma of growing up with abusive parents. In our sharing, we discovered something about the other that we had never witnessed before: synchronicity in bipolar dichotomy.
Every achievement and failure, trauma and ecstasy, desire and need, abuse and compliment, was mirrored in the other. Our experiences by no means are the same. Rather, along the spectrum of similarity and difference, our experiences represent the spectrum’s poles; Our experiences are reflective opposites. We are similar in many ways, but our similarities are marked by their extreme differences. Where they should clash, and where they sometimes attempt to, the resolution is always harmonious.
It’s, quite literally, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced.
Jordan and I fell asleep around 6a, only after telling me he knows I’m a lover boy. My alarm went off at 7:15a. Jordan got up and began getting dressed and packing his things. I dressed myself and proceeded to the apartment’s shared bathroom to piss and brush my teeth. Most of the time, I tried to be quiet, so I wouldn’t wake up my roommate, Sam, who shared the bathroom wall too. As I was brushing my teeth, there was a knock on the door. I figured I had woken up Sam and she had urgently needed the bathroom. I opened the door, and a shirtless Jordan rushed in, and tried to vocalize that he was gonna be sick as he lunged toward the toilet and retched. He gagged, and retched, and heaved over the toilet contorting his – already twisted – spine, into an inhuman shape. Mind you, and unbeknownst to me until this occurrence, Jordan uses every ounce of his masculine might and power to get his body to unleash something from his seemingly stomach. That is to say, Jordan is screaming, full bass and tenacity, into the toilet, at a gorgeous 7:30a.
Eventually, some bile came out. I told Sam that the storm had passed, Jordan left back to Missouri, and I went to work bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
June 29.
Weeks had passed since Jordan and I met. We had gone on multiple dates, explored each other’s cities, and he had shared my bed a number of times more. Sometimes, we would actually sleep, but most of the time, we were torn between exploring our minds, our histories, our holes, and our poles. With each day, we talked more; With each night, we longed to be closer than an interstate drive. It quickly became clear that hooking up was not a sufficient label. We were quickly developing into something more.
My friends had heard me mention Jordan, and plans were being made for them to meet. First though, I would meet Jordan’s at their annual summer party. I was nervous to go to this party and voiced my concerns to my friends. The issue was not the party itself, but rather, was the demographic. Specifically, Jordan is nearly four years younger than me, and I was incredibly scared to lose our spark based on my perceived level of his friends maturity. This gave way to discussion of my qualms with Jordan’s age in general and my inexperience with a gap in age. With support and encouragement, I went to the party with an open-mind, hoping to enjoy whatever may come of it.
Personally, I think the party was totally fine. There weren’t as many people as I was expecting, and everyone I talked to, I got along great with. I didn’t drink, but had a wonderful time listening to their stories as I was passed their blunts. For a brief moment, I would get to see Mario – the man who virtually adopted Jordan, and treated him as a son – through the kitchen window overlooking the backyard’s deck. He smiled and waved at us and we all gave him a smile and waved back. I wish I had the chance to thank him for everything he’s done for Jordan; without Mario, I’m not so certain I’d have him. Just a few weeks after the party, Mario would die in an accident.
Though the party seemed like another annual hit to most of its attendees, Jordan did not have as great of a time. An anxiety was triggered by something said, with a mix of intoxication and tears, resulting in Jordan not staying quite as long as he had wanted to. Regardless, I was delighted to have met his friends, and was incredibly interested in the stories they shared as well. The ages of his friends had no impact on the situation; The thought didn’t even cross my mind after we arrived.
Jordan stayed over that night. Before we went to sleep, we talked about how we may be moving towards a relationship in our future. We were both excited for him to meet my friends soon.
July 4.
Instead of celebrating the failure of our country, Jordan and I took the day to do what we do best: understanding each other. The day started with Jordan driving me around his hometown, giving me another tour of special memories, favorite smoking spots, and his beautiful smiles. Heading back towards Lawrence, we took a more scenic route through Kansas City, enjoying the time we were spending together. Conveniently located along our route was my best friend, Alyx. With her consent, we picked her up for lunch, she got to meet Jordan, and we chatted in her living room for a few hours. Afterwards, she described our connection as electric, tangible, something beautiful. She, too, at this time was experiencing a connection of similar voltage, giving me confidence in her clairvoyance.
Jordan and I left her home in a giddy state of joy. Speaking with Alyx, Jordan said, allowed him to truly understand how I exist, why I act, when I speak. We passed our destination of my home, making our way towards Topeka, where we were due to stop in at the White Family’s house. Jordan would be meeting my family before I met his, and he was nervous. Still, he persevered, and quickly realized that any fears were wholly unnecessary. The White’s have a special way of producing comfort, allowing openness, and expressing genuine care in a welcoming, inviting manner.
Jordan expressed how much he absolutely loved them as soon as our car doors closed. He had always wanted to meet a partner’s family and be welcomed with open arms, for every high and every low. A sentiment I had wanted for my own family, a sentiment that the White’s afforded me too.
We drove back to Lawrence, fingers interlaced.
July 5.
Before we slept that night, we cuddled, talked, and shared the love of the day we had experienced together. I had previously made Jordan aware that I was not looking for a relationship when I met him. Before we slept, I told him I was ready when he was. So, he asked me to be his, and I delightfully obliged.
In the coming few days, Alyx and I would debrief on their meeting; It was undoubtable that Jordan’s soul and mine were kindred. In our debrief, I would tell Alyx, “Jordan will one day be my husband.”
August.
I attended my third Lollapalooza in Chicago at the beginning of August. By this time, Jordan and I were sharing my bed nearly every other night. Outside of work, we spent most of our time together; understanding deeper, meeting more friends and family, fostering our blooming love. For Lollapalooza, I was gone for nearly six days. It was the longest period of time that we had spent apart from each other since meeting in June. My Lollapalooza experience was as beautiful as ever, but I came home missing Jordan with a fiercity I had yet to experience. I longed for his touch, his comfort, his voice, his very presence. Of course, his metaphorical presence did appear in Chicago as I told my fellow festival-goers that he could be the one.
Being back in his arms and having him back in mine, realized the love we were building as one we hadn’t constructed before. Jordan and I were creating the love we both dreamt of.
Jordan met more of my family at a cousin’s wedding, where he was again welcomed with open arms – mainly as a result of the radical catholic members of the family refusing attendance since it occurred outside the catholic church. Still, it was delightful for Jordan to meet cousins I love dearly, supportive aunts, and spend quality time with my sister’s family. My first plus-one was moving towards becoming my forever plus-one.
With weddings on the mind, Jordan and I discussed the potential future of our relationship. We had no intention of rushing our lives, but as we grew fonder of each other, we understood our commitment to be durable and adaptable. We became committed towards achieving our dreams with the support of the other, moving in unison, towards our own goals.
Fires were burning larger though; the race for presidency was up in the air, and it was uncertain how long marriage would be an option for us. Regardless, we loved each other. We vowed to love through the fire.
September.
For Jordan’s birthday, I bought his plane ticket for my trip to Las Vegas, for my cousin’s wedding in November. We would be in Vegas mere days after the election would be called.
October.
Alyx and I had tickets to the SWEAT Tour in Denver, Colorado – we were GA for Charli XCX and Troye Sivan on the release day of the brat remix album. This show, this trip, would be blissful for Alyx and I; However, a stomach bug would cause chaos for Alyx, and she offered Jordan go in her place. With some juggling, Jordan was able to get his shifts covered at work. He and I were embarking on our first road trip together, our first vacation together, our first concert together. The firsts kept coming.
Our eight-hour drive had stunning first-time views for Jordan as he witnessed just how flat Kansas is. We sang together, to each other, and at each other. We talked about our dream vacations, favorite trips, and our most feral sexual desires.
Upon arriving in Denver, our AirBNB had not been cleaned since the last renter. We promptly booked a new place, and went on an exploratory drive of the area we were staying in. At sunset, we stumbled upon a small lake, where we took a walk. We smoked a joint as the sun ducked behind the mountains, creating a beautiful, dusty, orange-blue gradient. I could feel our existences melding as the sky shifted horizons; as the hues became one.
The following morning, we woke up early to visit the mountains. We stopped first at Red Rocks Amphitheatre, where we took the photo that’s been Jordan’s lockscreen since. After a self-guided mini-tour of the theatre, we drove half an hour further towards a trail picked the night prior. We gained as much elevation as we could, taking breaks to watch deer feeding in the brush and listen to the stream gently babbling on. At our peak, we took a moment to mark our love with a kiss. Trekking back down, our paths crossed directly with a wandering deer. With great peace and respect, Jordan and I watched the deer pass within feet of us – closer than either of us had ever been to a wild animal of its size.
With brat and it’s completely different but also still the same soundtracking our journey, we ventured deeper into the mountains, coming to eat breakfast on top of the world – or at least, it felt like the top of the world to us. After breakfast, we took another exploratory drive before heading back to the rental. We slutted ourselves up to the faggiest of our comfortabilities and left for the venue. We met a mutual queer in line – who we agreed to split with as soon as we got inside. The rest is gaggy, faggy, history.
Driving back to Kansas the following morning, we had two main topics of conversation:
- Jordan and I were absolutely smitten with each other.
- The results of the following month’s election will play a major role in our relationship.
November 4.
Jordan and I watched the election results come in. The dichotomy was clear: dreams vs. nightmares. The nightmare won. Yet in the wake of the nation’s nightmare, our dream came true: Love, Genesis turned Love, for Life.