Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Batman reveals his true colours



Not so much The Dark Knight as The Pink Queen.




Robin's trying to spin it as "red", but who am I going to believe; him or my own eyes? He's not fooling anyone.

One can only assume that Batman is heading out to save the Gotham Pride Parade from arch-nemesis Heteroman and his evil gang of Breeders.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Yes, I am trying to reassure myself.



Normally when I see a picture of a hot guy on the internet my attraction is tempered with a keen sense of the ridiculous. "Why is that man only wearing the top half of a football uniform?" I find myself wondering, for example. "Did he get distracted halfway through changing? Did the team run out of pants? What gives?"

But occasionally a guy is so stunning that even I'm lost for snark.



He's abundantly blessed in all three aspects of gay attraction. One, he has an absolutely beautiful face. Two, he has a spectacular body. And three, he has a strikingly massive... er... silhouette.

What must it be like, to look this perfect? What must it be like to effortlessly attract the sorts of lovers that normal people like you and me could only dream about?

I imagine that there are downsides. For a start, there'd be absolutely no drive to improve your personality. Adoration would simply flock after you. You'd never need to think, "I should be less judgemental" or "I'm going to try to be more generous", because people would yearn to be with you no matter what you did. Then when your looks finally abandoned you, what would you have left?

It must be terribly corrosive to the soul to be so hot.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

I may be pathetic, but at least I have good taste.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Friday, November 14, 2008

A question we've all asked ourselves



I've always had a thing for this photo, but not for the obvious reason. I just love the expression on this guy's face. I'm pretty sure he's thinking, "Wait... did I leave the iron on?"


Okay, so that's not the only reason why I like this photo...

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Grappling with a 13 year age difference



It's been a while between posts, largely because I haven't done anything gay for several weeks... other than buying some new bed linen and listening to The Presets. I've been spending a lot of time with a new gang of straight friends, and with my social life full I really haven't felt desperate enough to wade back into the gay dating scene, with all of its irritations and weirdos and random photos of unattractive penises.

There's one exception.
A while ago I mentioned that an unusually appealing guy had emailed me, and I complained that attractive men were annoying because they get one's hopes up.

Since then we've been emailing each other back and forth every few days, comparing interests and cracking jokes. He's a lovely guy, if a little uncultured, and I would go out with him in a second.

But I haven't become carried away with it, because I don't think it's gonna happen, largely because he's too young and I'm too old. At my advanced age (late-30s) sending chatty emails back and forth a dozen times means that you're Definitely Interested. But at his age (mid-20s) sending a dozen emails is just... well... one of those things you do. This is the age group that made Facebook what it is - a place where you can talk every day to people whom you have no intention of ever actually meeting, even if they live on the same street.


He's just gone off for a few weeks on a South American holiday. When he gets back, perhaps I should let him know what I thinking. Chiefly, "I like you, I think you're way cute, and I'm interested in more than just emails. Are we just shooting the breeze here or do you want something more?"

Closely followed by, "Can I have your permission to get you drunk and naked (in the nicest, most respectful way, naturally)."

Friday, September 5, 2008

Anatomy of a Turnoff



I was idly catching up on GMM earlier, checking out the guys who had checked me out, and I discovered a guy with thirty four profile photos.

I've never come across a guy with thirty four profile photos before. For the record, I have two. Most people have one. Some have as many as ten. Nobody has thirty four. That seems a little overabundant. What, one may well ask, gives?

Perhaps it's just his way of showing his many moods, I thought. Such a large number of photos may give a more rounded impression of his depth as a person. So I started scrolling through them.

#1 - a photo of him posing by the window, looking blithe and contented.
Not much to look at, but not actively hideous either.

#15 - a photo of him standing next to a rainbow flag.
Just in case his presence on GMM wasn't enough of a giveaway regarding his sexuality.

#20 - a photo of him with his Waterford crystal collection.
His alarmingly comprehensive Waterford crystal collection.

#22 - a photo of his genitals, amongst his Waterford crystal collection.
Oooookay. We have confirmation of creepiness. Deactivate the benefitofthedoubterator.

#25 - a photo of his erect genitals, amongst his Waterford crystal collection.
If this goes any further, his cleaning lady is going to get the fright of her life tomorrow morning.

#33 - a photo of him sticking a bunch of roses down the front of his underpants.
I hope they're fake. Not to mention thornless.

Sometimes it's best if people don't get a more rounded impression of your depths straight away.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Wait, was I gay? I can't remember...



I was looking at this guy and wondering what, besides the obvious, was so appealing about him?


It took me a while to realise that he has a shaved head, and we all know how I feel about shaved heads. I'd just forgotten.

What can you say about a man who forgets what his own turn ons are? I am so lame.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

But can I salary package this?



I just received the following email from my employers:

This is a reminder to all staff that the Security Department provides an after hours escort service to carparks and accommodation immediately adjacent to our offices.

If an escort is required please call the Security Department and a uniformed officer will respond. There may be a delay of 15-30 minutes before an officer is available so please plan ahead.


I had no idea that such a service is on offer. I suppose it's a good way for them to earn a little extra cash. And the uniform is a definite turn on.

I wonder if they do requests? What I'm really after is a brunette, 5'11" to 6'2", who makes particularly good use of his gym membership.


Thursday, August 21, 2008

Eat Handsome Your Way



While checking my hotmail just now, I noticed that MSN had thrown up this picture to accompany a link to an article entitled “Eat Your Way Handsome”.



“Handsome”?

Perhaps handsome is in the eye of the beholder, but even so I think they could have chosen a better model. This one looks positively freaky… as if somebody bleached Grace Jones.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Stop taunting me with your agreeableness and nice ass!



Maybe I'm just one of nature's pessimists, but I hate it when I get messaged at my GMM profile by a really cute guy.

You see, if I'm messaged by an ugly guy, or one with so many issues that he almost seems to have "FREAK" written on his forehead, it's easy to say, "Hey, I may be desperate and dateless, but I'm not that desperate and dateless. Back to the loch with you, Nessie! Hell, this actually makes me feel pretty good about myself, comparatively speaking."

And off I go, whistling a jaunty tune.

However, if I'm messaged by an attractive guy, then I have to take the whole deal a little more seriously. Such a situation began a couple of days ago. When I opened the message and saw some photos of the guy who sent it, for a second or two I wondered if he'd sent it to the wrong person. He seemed too good to be true. He was just my physical type: tall and lean to the point of gangliness, and although he didn't shave his head he had chaotic chocolate-coloured curls that I could easily get used to. The photos showed a rugged, fun-loving, unpretentious guy... who seemed to find my profile interesting enough to warrant a comment.

Since then we've sent a couple of messages back and forth, and I'm finding him more attractive with every exchange. Somewhere at the back of my mind I suspect that he's too young and too extroverted and too rough for someone as old and introverted and soft as me... but I don't want this to be so. And besides, if I rebuffed every cute gay guy who found me interesting just because there was a probability that it wouldn't develop into pet names and snogging, when would I ever go out?

So now of course I'm checking my email every hour or two to see if he's been in touch, and suffering the pangs of self-doubt every time the inbox shows up empty, and questioning whether I'm ever going to find someone I can care about or just die alone and unloved. You know, the usual. It'd be so much simpler if he was just another ugly weirdo.

Maybe I should amend my profile. "No hotties please! Only losers whom I feel comfortable rejecting!"

Friday, August 15, 2008

Leave cuddliness for the fabric softeners



While browsing through online dating profiles last night, I was reminded of yet another one of my pet peeves...

Although, if I may digress for a moment, I have so many peeves nowadays that it's misleading to call any of them "pet". "Pet" suggests a beloved, cossetted individual, and nobody has as many pets as I have peeves unless they're one of those crazy old cat ladies. It would be more accurate to say that I have a vast herd of peeves, roaming proud and free across the wide open praries of my psyche.

But leaving that aside, as I was saying I stumbled across one of my pet peeves: gay men who think that "cuddling" is a good idea.

To my mind, a cuddle is not a laudable goal, unless you are a particularly clingy toddler. The desire to be cuddled is cute in little kids but rather pathetic in grown men. There's an element of wanting intimacy without any of the adult connotations, and a sense of neediness. And most of the time neediness is a very unattractive quality.

Maybe I'm being unfair. Maybe it's just the word itself. Cuddle. It looks and sounds childish, like "Muggle" or "giggle". If you removed it from a profile and replaced it with "embrace" or "hold you in my arms", the idea would start to look a little more mature. "I want to hold you" sounds romantic; "I want to cuddle you" sounds wet.

Still, if I see a profile which states "I like cuddling and snuggling on the couch," I automatically assume that he is not the man for me. There's a chance I'm missing out in doing this, but there's an even bigger chance that I'm avoiding a whole bunch of girly flakes.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Watch out William Shakespeare, WH Auden and Russell Davies



I’ve discovered that if you run the taglines from gaymatchmaker.com.au profiles together, you get poetry:

Hi Mate…
howdy
horny all the time
seeking same…
Are you Game???
fill me up big boy

And that’s just the taglines from one week’s worth of new members. If I had the time I could probably compile a poignant masterpiece of verse...
or at least the script for an episode of ‘Queer As Folk’.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Come for the smile, stay for the... er... nice sheets



Ahhhhh...



That sound you hear is me giving a lonely, pathetic little sigh of longing.



That other sound you hear is me giving a lonely, pathetic little sigh of longing significantly coloured with rampaging lust. AhhhhhGrrr!!!

Plus I really like those sheets and the matching pillowcases.

Hmmm. I guess I really am gay after all.

Thursday, July 24, 2008

An update on my down dates



As much for my own benefit as the benefit of any (largely hypothetical) readers of this blog, I feel that I should post an update on my love life. Of course calling it a "love life" is like calling a stubbed toe a "life-threatening injury", but it is what it is and if I don't write it down now I'll probably forget the details sooner rather than later.

Firstly, the "friendly, funny guy" I mentioned nearly six weeks ago. We had a good time on our first date, and we met a week later for dinner and a movie at his place. Then I went on holiday for a week, and then was sick for a few days, and when I finally emailed him to say hello he blasted me for being "distant". Which I suppose was fair enough - he seems to like me, whereas to be brutally honest I'm fairly ambivalent about him. However I don't deal very well at all with highly strung people. I am a laid back person with possibly more sang-froid than is healthy, so any hint of passionate drama queeniness is a big turn off.

Still, we talked about it and I think we understand each other a little better now. We're still chatting every couple of days on email and we'll see what happens.

Secondly, BN2, the man with whom I had the most intense relationship in my short and underdeveloped gay personal life. Despite our promises to each other when we had
this conversation, our relationship crumbled after that. I withdrew a little, he became somewhat aloof, and then he decided to take up a job overseas. I wanted to see him before he left, but neither of us were sufficiently enthusiastic about it so it just didn't happen.

I do miss BN2 more than I thought I would. But I don't regret calling things off with him. The things I miss about him aren't aspects like his sense of humour, or his intelligence, or his conversational skills. I miss the erotica and Adult Themes. He was a great kisser and an enjoyable partner in his very large, soft bed. So basically I miss the kissing and the sex.

Oh, and his cooking. Man, I miss his cooking. Best cook I ever met.


There may be some guys who read this and say, "Good food and good sex? And you gave him up? What the hell is wrong with you!"

To them I'd reply: Well, excuse me for wanting more depth in my relationships.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

And a nice ass is no excuse!



Questionable choices in online dating profiles aren’t limited to alliterate taglines. Sometimes it’s the photo itself that lets you down.


Isn't it always the way; you're posing for your online dating profile picture, and just as the camera flashes... whoops, you fall down! I wonder what tripped him up first - the junk strewn across the floor or the loose underpants?

Perilous things, loose underpants.

Tha meny benifits ov freinds



The quality of taglines on GMM has been going up, or going down, depending on your perspective. The only amusing one I've been able to find lately is this from Moose268:

Looking for freinds with benifits

An ability to spell would be particularly beneficial. You never know when it might come in handy.

Monday, June 16, 2008

With apologies to Norman Bates



I've got a date tonight with a friendly, funny guy I met on GMM, and I just typed out the following email to him:

Hi, I'm looking forward to seeing you tonight. I don't think I'll be late as I'm coming straight from work. Feel free to text me if you run into any problems yourself.

Oh, did I mention that I'd be bringing my mother along tonight? Mother goes with me on all of my dates, to see if she approves of the guy and to make sure that we don't do any of the Devil's Dancing, as she calls it. It's very good of her to take such an interest in my wellbeing, and I'm sure you'll like her - a boy's best friend really is his mother.


Ha ha! I'm such a laugh riot. Content with my work, I pushed the mouse over to click Send, and then suddenly I remembered the most important piece of advice I have ever given to myself:

"DO NOT FREAK OUT POTENTIAL MEN WITH YOUR WEIRDASS SENSE OF HUMOUR!"

This advice is hard won and profound, if I do say so myself. So I deleted that last paragraph. If I like him there'll be plenty of time for him to discover the fathomless depths of my weirdness later.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Is that a 10-inch spanner in your toolbelt, or are you just happy to see me?



I've been chatting over email with a guy who contacted me through gaymatchmaker.com.au, and while we're getting to know each other we've fallen into the subject of hot tradesmen. As you do. His most memorable blue-collar lust object was his TV antenna installer:

"I had a TV antenna installed a while back by an absolute GOD! He was about 30, 6"2', tanned... the face of an angel and a body for sin. He was really chatty and friendly. After the installation, I gave him a can of coke and he saw my guitar. He picked it up and played a tune - he even sang to me - and I melted and nearly had to be scraped off the floor. I was so tempted to get on the roof and rip the antenna out so that I could call him back to re-install it."

I'm jealous; I've never been serenaded by a deity. The best I could manage was the delivery guy who brought me my new bed last year. He was a complete lowlife, but quite cute under all the mullet and checked flannel. Not to mention the fact that he could lift my double bed mattress over his head without so much as a grunt, while I could barely drag it across the floor. I was tempted to lay on the old GTR charm, pat my new bed and say, "So, wanna see what this baby can do?"... but then I remembered that I live in real life, not a porn video, so I thought better of it and let him go on his way unmolested.

Maybe my correspondent lives in a better suburb than me. I have a theory that the really hot tradesmen gravitate to servicing the wealthy areas of the city, where image is more important than cost. Obviously the trophy wives of the riverside precincts can't tolerate having ugly, flabby men digging out their koi pond or designing their coordinated garden lighting scheme. Put yourself in their position: what would your friends say if they've used 30 year old hunks in tight blue singlets to install their antique Italian fountains, and you've used a fat hairy 50 year old named Lou?

It scarcely bears thinking about.

If you have any hot tradesman tales of your own to tell, I'd love to hear about them in comments.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

In which I get my bitch on, big time



Yesterday, while I was looking through an online shopping review site and thinking, "Who in this world really needs an electric wine bottle opener?" I noticed a banner ad for something called interracialgaydating.com.

It seemed rather specific, not to mention old fashioned. In these enlightened times who cares about race anymore, especially in the gay world, where possession of hard abs and a penis is more important than colour, creed or number of arms? But I was intrigued, so I had a look.

And I'm glad I did. If I were a cruel man I could make fun of interracialgaydating.com... and hey, since I am a cruel man, I will!

At best the tone of the site suggests that nobody should go there looking for love, but rather to collect the entire United Colors of Benetton Bedpost Notches. Black, brown, white, yellow - collect the whole set! Reducing a man to the colour of his skin rather than the content of his character is the sort of thing that should have gone out with segregated schools and smoking in hospitals, but it lives on here.

Of course this isn't the glossy high end of gay internet dating. If gaydar gets the gold medal in the Gay Dating Website marathon, and gaymatchmaker gets the silver or the bronze, then interracialgaydating gets the Tries Hard award. You remember, the award they gave to the Special Needs kid back in high school when he wheezed his way over the finish line half an hour after everyone else.

Excuse me for getting my bitch on, but I'm forced to this conclusion by the site itself. You only need to have a look at the membership, which is equally divided between unloveable losers and the ex-cons who prey on them. Old, fat weirdos with the social skills of an autistic toddler, versus hardened, skeezy men with cold eyes and bad tattoos. It seems to have evolved from an interracial dating site into Prison Pen Pals: The Inevitable Consequences.









I don't know about you, but I am so turned on right now.

In reality there are a few hotties - for example a hunky homeboy from Memphis with the sort of body that makes the average gay man drool. But if you read his profile you'll discover that he doesn't have a permanent address but does have a child, and that he works casually in "construction", and that he doesn't believe that age or looks matter in a relationship... all of which suggest a dim but crafty straight boy looking for a desperate gay man to exploit. From his perspective it probably doesn't seem like such a bad idea - you've just got out of prison, you've no job and nowhere to live, no woman with any money will touch you with a barge pole, but there's a number of gainfully employed gay guys who quiver at the thought of being your bitch. You could do worse.

And then, back on the other side of the equation, there are guys like this:




In my mind his name is Gunther, and he's looking for men who share his polymer glue fetish. Look at that creepy, unsmiling stare and feel your heart race!

It's enough to make you a) go straight and b) join the racial supremacy group of your choice.

Hey, I did warn you I was getting my bitch on big time.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Just somethng I came across online



While browsing the profiles on gaydar recently, I happened upon one containing a link to a video website.

'This might be cool', I thought, not really noting what the URL was. If I'd know that it was to xtube.com, I must have been more circumspect.

After I'd looked at the 30 second video, I had to ask myself a couple of questions: who posts a video of himself wanking on the internet? And who puts a link to that video on his online dating profile?

No guy I'd ever want to meet, that's who.

Did he really think this through? What are we supposed to learn from this video - that he has a penis and can ejaculate? Wow, that's a really uncommon skill among the gay male population.

Frankly I'd be more impressed by a guy who knew the value of restraint. The thrill of anticipation beats instant gratification any day.

Monday, May 26, 2008

I hope my many thousands of readers can enlighten me



I've decided to up the font size on my blog to make it more readable. Does it help? Was it fine before?

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Quit toying with my sense of self-worth!



I’ve discovered a new annoying aspect of internet dating: guys who misrepresent themselves.

Pshaw, you may say… especially if you are some kind of weird 19th century throwback. Misrepresentation in internet dating is as old as the internet itself. Indeed, the very first internet dating profile was probably Tim Berners-Lee boasting that he could benchpress his own weight and that he drove a Porsche.

Well, while it’s true that misrepresentation itself isn’t new, I believe I’ve discovered a new angle – guys who misrepresent down.

I’ve been chatting to a guy on gaydar whom I thought seemed nice. His profile picture showed an average-looking guy, perhaps a little out of shape and perhaps a little awkward. Since I’m a fairly average sort of guy, I thought that maybe he and I might be suitable for each other. So we arranged to have a coffee date.

However, when I rolled up to the café, the guy in the profile photo was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he’d sent his considerably hotter brother. If he was the same person, as he claimed, then the profile photo must have been taken under fluorescent lights, after he’d been awake for 24 hours, and possibly after he’d just heard that his boyhood puppy had died.

I mean, what sort of guy posts a profile photo that actually makes him look worse than he really is?

So we had our coffees and chatted. He was a nice guy, and interesting to talk to, but we both seemed to realize that he was way out of my league. We parted after an hour with no more intention to meet again other than a basic, “I’ll message you.”

The annoying thing is that if I’d known how tall, dark and handsome he really was, I never would have bothered to express an interest in him in the first place. But now, thanks to his misrepresenting down, he’d wasted an hour of his life and I’d had my nose rubbed in the fact that there’s a world of hot, desirable men out there that I can’t have.

I’ll be charitable and assume that because he’s just come out of a relationship with another hot guy, and that they were probably surrounded by a social circle of other hot guys, maybe he just assumed that being hot was normal. Maybe the fact that he’s been out of circulation a while means that he’s forgotten what truly average looks like.

Still, it kind of pisses me off.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Getting around to it at last



It took some discipline, but I finally managed to sit down with BN2 and discuss our relationship. Even the phrase "discuss our relationship" sends cold shivers down my spine, so I'm glad we've got it out of the way. "Discussing our relationship" always reminds me of Samantha Jones' famous summation of lesbianism; "nothing but taking baths together and talking about our relationship!"

Contrary to my apprehensions, BN2 claimed that he's not interested in a relationship. He likes the travel and the potential that his current career affords him, and he doesn't want to be tied down to a home and a partner. In fact he wants considerably less than a relationship, as this part of our conversation demonstrated:

Me: So we'll sorta be "friends with benefits".

BN2: I already have plenty of friends. I don't need any more friends.

Me: Okay. So just the "benefits" part, then.

I guess that makes us booty caller and booty callee. I've never been the object of a booty call before. How modern!

The only question is, do I believe him? As great relationship philosophers have noted since the dawn of time, "Whoever cares least, wins": maybe he's just defending himself by claiming to be less interested in me than he really is. Certainly his recent behaviour hasn't suggested that he's just in this for the booty.

Then again, I'm not exactly an expert in these things. I guess I just wait and continue to see how things unfold.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Why are things so damn complicated?



Last Thursday I saw BN2 for the first time in over two weeks, thanks to him being away on business overseas, and as usual we ended up in his bed. And maybe it’s because we hadn’t seen each other in a while, but it was the wildest sex we’ve ever had.

Lying there afterwards, exhausted and drenched in sweat, he told me he hadn’t had sex like that since he was a teenager. I was just impressed that he’d come five or six times (yes, I was counting) in barely an hour.

But there was something that troubled me. When we were talking later I noticed that he’d lost the flirtatious banter that characterizes most of our pillow talk. His kisses were suddenly gentle and tender, rather than rough and sexy. It was as if in his mind we’d suddenly evolved from being a couple of gay guys fooling around with each other and become something… more.

And I didn’t like that one bit.

Here I was worrying about me falling for him, and now it seems that he’s falling for me instead. Over the last few weeks I’ve realized that while I like BN2 and enjoy the making out and the sex, I’m not particularly interested in taking things further. He’s masculine, intelligent, reasonably good-looking, kindly and successful… but there’s still something missing. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s there. Or rather it’s not there. I don’t want him to be my boyfriend and I don’t want to be his.

To be brutally honest, if he met someone else and wanted to put an end to our relationship, I might feel a little rejected for a few days but I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. Even as it is, I see him once or twice a fortnight and I have no desire to see him any more often than that. If he moved away to a distant city tomorrow, I’d barely miss him. Does that sound like love to you?

All of this might be easier to deal with if we didn’t have this strong physical component to our relationship. Unfortunately BN2 has a talent for getting my motor running. The preliminary kisses and touches quickly become more ardent and intense… and from there it’s only a few minutes until the clothes come off and the porn soundtrack begins. I don’t feel anything particularly special for him, but hey, I enjoy getting laid as much as the next guy.

But if he feels more than I do I’ve got to deal with that.

Monday, May 5, 2008

Rejected by strangers



One of the little things that irks me about the blogosphere is invitation-only blogs.

I like blog surfing. I skip around, following link to link, pursuing different perspectives on an issue or lines of relationship across the planet. But then bang! I hit a wall. After the general cordiality of the previous pages I’ve been reading, it feels like hostility. I’ve been enjoying sharing people’s thoughts and aspirations, and then suddenly I’m denied access.

It’s like going to a big, open party and talking with lots of fascinating people, then meandering into the kitchen to see who’s there only to have the door slammed in your face.

Or perhaps its like going into your local library and browsing through the books, finding one that a friend has recommended and which looks interesting, only to find that the book has a lock on it and the librarian refuses to give you a key. You expect that sort of thing in a fascist dictatorship or under a communist regime, but not on the internet.

Or perhaps most accurately of all, it’s like high school all over again… only even more unfair.

Of course people have a right to privacy. But in pursuing that right in such a brusque fashion, they help to damage the free and open nature of the blogosphere. Personally, if I want to keep my identity a secret, I’d rather mind what I say and anonymize than turn away people who might be interested in what I have to say.

Monday, April 28, 2008

I do wonder why this happens



Every once in a while I come across a blog written by a gay man whose situation seems to mirror my own. Never precisely, of course, but close enough for me to empathize with his issues. There’s a handful of them now that I read regularly. Unfortunately, however, one of them has been slowly but steadily losing its appeal.

The problem is that the blogger in question seems to be getting gayer by the day. I don’t mean that he’s getting a lot of man on man action. I mean that it’s become almost literally impossible to tell if he’s really a gay man or just a straight guy doing an offensively over the top caricature of a gay man. He’s evolving into a walking amalgam of every poof joke ever to flounce its way across the stage of a footy club end of year revue.

He’s become the sort of guy who I imagine flaps his hands a lot when he speaks. You know the type: “Darling (flap), I just (flap) got home from seeing the new Almodovar film and I was soooo (flap) bored I just thought I’d die (flap, roll eyes for effect, check frosted tips in mirror).

Picture a younger Jeannie Little with testicles and you’re pretty much there.

It’s a shame, because a few months ago he had interesting things to say, moments of serious reflection on his life and ideas that demonstrated a lively intelligence. And now it’s all “lovely” and “fabulous” and “soooo cute”, as trite and shallow as a soap starlet’s first pop song.

Why has this happened? I suppose that either he’s coming out of his shell and becoming the flappy, shrieky queen he was always meant to be, or he’s under the impression that to be a proper gay man he has to act like a cross between Samantha Jones and a terminally insecure 14 year old girl. The first option is tragic; the second option is worse.

I’ll probably still keep reading his blog… just to see if the flapping girly-man persona ever subsides and allows the real man to show himself again.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

The curse of divergent drives



Last night I drove up to BN2's place after work for dinner. I was hoping that over the course of the evening we would have a chance to talk about our relationship, discerning where each of us wanted to go and how quickly each of us thought we should go there. Once dinner was over I was hoping that there would be an opportunity to suggest that maybe it would be wise to slow down a bit, to concentrate on friendship for a while and see if anything more profound naturally evolved from that.

Instead I just had sex with him. Twice.

I don't think my brain and my hormones are quite on the same page.

Monday, April 21, 2008

I'm never satisfied, or so it would seem



You may think that the lack of posting over the last couple of weeks is due to reasons of romance. Perhaps you have a mental picture of BN2 and me skipping hand in hand in slow motion through a field of daisies, possibly while The Turtles' 'So Happy Together' plays in the background.

Sorry to burst your conceptual bubble, but no. We're still dating, but I've been finding the pace of things a little too fast and I've been prodding the brakes. BN2 is a spontaneous, impulsive kind of guy, and if we were moving at his pace we'd have met each other's parents and be picking out china patterns for our bridal registery by now. Not because we're made for each other, but I think we both feel the need to have a lover beside us. I just see it because I'm a more cautious and analytical person than he is.

While I like BN2 and find him reasonably attractive, he's not The One. I'm prepared to keep seeing him in case he becomes The One, but I'm already fairly sure that he won't.

This was brought home to me on Saturday night, when I was hanging out at my place with some friends, including this guy. At one point he was in the kitchen making himself a snack while I lounged on the couch, watching him prepare the food, and I had a sudden daydream about what life together would be like... just the ordinary domestic routines given significance by doing them with a man you love. Not that I love my snack-making friend, but I think I could if he was a) not straight and b) reciprocated.

I don't think the same about BN2, sadly. We'll just have to see what happens.

Monday, April 7, 2008

Sleep deprivation at midnight... and 2am... and 7am...



After much begging, pleading and demanding from BN2, I spent the entire night with him on Friday. It's the first time I've ever done it, and it was an oddly mixed experience.

I'm a big fan of body contact and gentle caresses, but not, as it turns out, when I'm trying to sleep. He wanted to spoon me and while I appreciate that in theory, in practice it made me feel claustrophobic. He also tended to migrate to the middle of his queen-sized bed, so if I wanted my own space I had to balance perilously on the edge of the mattress. In addition neither of us is used to sleeping with someone else in the bed, so any little movement from either of us would wake the other one up.

Ironically as a result we just had a hell of a lot of sex. Let's face it, if you've got insomnia, getting dirty with the hot naked man in your bed beats counting sheep or drinking a glass of warm milk any day.

Monday, March 31, 2008

TISM



I rolled up for my third date with BN2 at his house on an estate in the north of the city. The suburb seemed pretty ordinary until I turned into his street, at which point the houses suddenly doubled in size and grandeur. When I found his place it turned out to be an elegant Italian-style villa, with french doors, terra cotta tiled floors and a honking great indoor swimming pool.

Whoa, I thought to myself. I am so out of my socio-economic league.

But BN2 carries his urbanity and privilege very lightly: there are garbage collectors who are more pretentious. He made me a drink and showed me around the place, then we sat and talked while we listened to jazz. Whenever the opportunity arose, as I walked past him or leaned over to reach my drink, he would run his fingers across my arm or my shoulder or my hip, and if I was especially close, he would catch my lips with his.

When we sat down to eat, it turned out that on top of his many other qualities he’s also a sensational cook. He made a delicious French chicken dish with asparagus, served with the last bottle of his favourite merlot. We talked some more, then tidied up the dishes.

“So, do you want to watch a movie?” he asked.

“No, I do not want to watch a movie,” I said, and I grabbed him before he could even think about picking the DVD up off the kitchen counter.

Memorable moments of the next four hours included;

* The way he threw me onto his bed with a lusty growl the moment we got up to his bedroom.

* Lying naked together, exploring each other’s skin, with the glass doors to the balcony open letting the cool, evanescent night breeze slip over us.

* Getting the little salty tang of pre-cum as I sucked his cock, and hearing his gentle moans.

* The way his body tensed up excitedly when I wrapped my legs around his waist.

* The little jolts of pain that came with him thrusting inside me, made so much easier to bear by the way he whispered and gasped and cried out my name.

* Lying in each other’s arms in the darkness, clean and dry after our shower, his hand stroking across my shoulders, so warm and soft.

* Looking down on his handsome, contented face as I reclined across his chest, tracing its outline with the back of my fingers.

However all good things come to an end. Even though he wanted me to stay the night, I had a full day ahead of me and I needed to go home. But it was so hard to leave – every time I said goodnight he enfolded me in his arms and kissed me, then nuzzled against my neck with a warm hum or a deep, satisfied chuckle.

I have a terrifying feeling that some time in the future I am going to fall for this hot, sweet, intelligent, easygoing man like a ton of bricks. And after so many years of safe, secure singleness, I don’t think I will handle that kind of vulnerability well.

Saturday, March 29, 2008

In which I let him twist for a bit



Tonight I went on a second date with Bachelor Number 2 (or BN2 for short). We had a couple of drinks at the pub, then walked up the street to a little Japanese restaurant staffed by delicate Japanese girls as uniformly sweet and perky as a gang of Hello Kitties. Then we walked back down the street to a café for a cup of coffee, and followed that with a late night stroll through the park. It was around midnight when we got back to our cars, and this time when he kissed me goodnight it wasn’t just a quick touch of the lips. It was long, slow and deep, with us cradling each other’s heads in our hands.

The most memorable part of the evening for me, however, occurred as we were standing in the queue to get into the restaurant. That was when he asked me to come for dinner at his house tomorrow night, and I noticed that he was nervously twisting the paper bag around the neck of the wine bottle he was carrying, almost to the point of tearing it.


He’s so cute when he’s nervous. How could I refuse?

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

When it's rainin' men, it pours... Part II



I met Bachelor Number Two at an oceanside cafe, and had a bit of trouble recognising him since he looked nothing like his photos. This is not, however, to say that he didn't look good. As is always the case it took us a little while to get comfortable with each other, both being too busy analysing this new person to put too much thought into sparkling conversation. But once we'd found a place to have dinner and got ourselves seated, we found we had a lot of common interests. It's not often that I meet someone who makes me feel like an unsophisticated rube, but this guy had travelled more than Henry Kissinger, read everything worth reading, followed his career through all sorts of high profile institutions and mixed with all of the most important power gays in the country. Now this may make him sound like a preening gasbag, but all of this experience just came out in the natural course of conversation, and he mentioned it as humbly and inconsequentially as if he was mentioning what kind of vacuum cleaner he owned. He was also the very antithesis of a girly man... not a leather-clad macho man, but just deeply, refreshingly ordinary. I could never imagine him flouncing, or shrieking, or getting hysterical over the announcement of a 50% sale at Dolce & Gabbana. He was just a man, and I like that.

After dinner we went for a long walk along the beach, then repaired for coffee at another cafe. We finished up around 10.30, he walked me back to my car, and I in turn gave him a lift to his car. As he gave me a quick kiss and got out of my car, he invited me to a party he was having in a couple of weeks, and added:

"But I'd really like to see you again before then."

And I thought, Cool!

"And it'd be great if you could come to the party, and if you wanted to bring someone that'd be fine."

And I thought, Er... okay.

"Or you could just come by yourself, which would be even better."

And I thought, Hee hee... nice save! And you know what? I think I respected him more for that recovery than I did for anything else he'd said all evening.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

When it's rainin' men, it pours... Part I

Well, that was an unusual Easter.

After months of man drought, I found myself going on two dates within 24 hours. And in both cases, it was with an interesting, good-looking and very masculine guy who'd approached me online.

I had dinner with Bachelor Number One on Sunday night. He lives right on the outskirts of the city, almost an hour's drive from my place. I'd accepted his invitation without a lot of interest, since the single photo on his online profile showed an odd, slightly feral man in dorky sunglasses. But I figured that it's always interesting to meet new people, and if he turned out to be a complete creep I hadn't really lost anything other than a few dollars in petrol.

I managed to find his place after a few wrong turns and knocked on the door. The man who opened the door was not an odd, slightly feral creep. The man who opened the door was a big strapping lunk with a ready smile and an oddball sense of humour. Well, I thought to myself, this changes everything. Damn it.

I don't deal well with change. It unsettles me.

So we had drinks, and dinner, and talked, and the sexual tension got wound tighter and tighter until it almost seemed to be thrumming in the air between us. He turned out to be a nervous talker, and eventually, as we sat on his couch late at night with him chattering away and me smiling and nodding, I reached over and stroked the back of his neck, partly because I really wanted to run my fingers across his skin, and partly to shut him up before he did himself an injury.

So we stroked, and then we kissed, and then we fondled, and then we moved to the bedroom and got naked. It was a little while after that that the stress of the evening caught up with me. I'd intended to spend a pleasant couple of hours talking to someone over dinner... and here I was with his tongue jammed in my ass while I sucked his cock. When we reached a bit of a natural hiatus, an hour or two after we'd started, I felt physically and emotionally wrung out, so I told him I had to head home, and I got dressed and let him walk me out to my car.

And thus now, by the cold light of day, I have to decide where to go from here. On the downside he's a smoker (which I find gross), he's a lousy kisser, he talks and drinks too much and I don't relish the idea of having to drive for two hours every time I want to see him. On the upside, though, he's sweet and kind, he's got a very sexy physical presence in bed, and, most importantly, he seems very interested in me. I almost wish that he had been the creepy feral, so that I wouldn't have to confront these issues.

As for Bachelor Number Two... well, that story can wait until tomorrow.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

The rest of him isn't so bad either



It seems that suddenly everyone is realising that Shaven Head = Hot Stuff.




I feel so validated.

Monday, March 10, 2008

The Gayest Songs Of All Time, assuming that time began somewhere around 1977



In the interests of helping struggling gay men to fag up their iPods, samesame.com.au has published a list of the 50 Gayest Songs of All Time. For the record, I have five of the fifty tracks in my collection:

42. Culture Club 'Do You Really Want To Hurt Me'
40. Wham 'Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go'
28. Cyndi Lauper 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun'
6. Pet Shop Boys 'Go West'
1. ABBA 'Dancing Queen'

Three of these are in my collection as part of 80s nostalgia compilations. Who knew the 80s were so gay? In fact, who knew that 80s music is gayer than disco?

With the exception of 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow', apparently all music was straight before the mid-70s. Prior to that, the campy tunes of Marilyn Monroe and Marlene Dietrich were never regarded by anyone as "fabulous", and Tchaikovsky's 'Waltz of the Flowers' was only enjoyed by women.

How many of these songs do you have, and which pink sparkly tunes have they omitted?

Saturday, March 8, 2008

My tastes are backed up by an impeccable source



Am I the only one who finds men who shave their heads irresistible?



Judging from this image that gaydar splashes all over its homepage, I guess not.

Friday, March 7, 2008

Suck it down, beach.



A short while ago I mentioned to an email correspondent that I'm not really a beach person. Of course in Australia that's tantamount to disliking beer, not understanding football or hating puppies, but it's true. Partly it stems from a lifelong body image issues, and a resultant aversion to wandering around in public in little more than my underwear.

But maybe there's more. I'd like to like the beach, and it frustrates me that I don't. I find myself wondering if my attitude to the beach is similar to my attitude to women: I can understand the attraction, but I don't feel it myself, and try as I might I can never get into it.

It leads me to wonder if it might not be a gay thing. The beach is a raw, wild, natural place. At the beach you are stripped (literally) to your basics, both in appearance and in relation to nature. On the other hand, your stereotypical gay is a creature of artifice and contrivance. The classic gay professions - floristry, interior design, fashion, the theatre - are all about creating fanciful facades to either cover over the baseness of reality or to frame it in such a way that its beautiful aspects become all the more apparent. Whereas the cliched straight man enjoys the beach because it provides him opportunites to pit himself against nature, the cliched gay man is more comfortable with the inner city cafe or nightclub scene where his carefully cultivated image can be shown to its best advantage.

Of course there a plenty of gay guys who love the beach, and plenty of straight guys who don't. But I'm looking for a broad generalisation here. Plus I am more or less completely pulling this theory out of my ass.

At the end of the day I'm sure many gay guys will claim to adore the beach, but perhaps not purely for the presence of waves and sand.



Thursday, March 6, 2008

There's no need to be rude... unless it's fun.



More recent GMM (Grammar Merits Mangling) taglines for your edification:

mmmm WHATS OUT THERE?
Apostrophes! Free apostrophes for all!

look for casual sex
Is that an order? Well, if you insist. Just let me finish writing this blog post before I start looking, okay?

Hi..........
It's not a good sign when your conversation skills fail you one word into a tagline.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

My life is like a Romantic Comedy, but not in a good way



I've been in a perpetual bad mood lately. It ebbs and flows, increasing and decreasing, but it always seems to be there. I'm snappish, intolerant, snide and officious, with a simmering hostility to everything and everyone who doesn't meet whatever criteria I consider applicable. I've been demanding at work, sullen with my friends, and pugilistic towards myself.

And to my embarrassment, over the last couple of days it occurred to me that if people said behind my back, "Whoa, does that guy need to get laid or what", it'd actually be true.

I'm a walking example of that sad cliche seen in a hundred movies and TV shows; the petty uptight tyrant who would be transformed into a mellow cruiser with a judicious dose of hot lovin'. I'm that pathetic character redirecting all of his frustration and thwarted desire onto the hapless people around him. If my life were a movie, it'd be at around this point that the hero organises a sexy friend to go out with me and jump my bones, and then we'd have a scene of me bounding into the office the next morning with a big stupid smile on my face, while the soundtrack plays an upbeat pop song (I'm thinking "I'm Walkin' On Sunshine" myself). Everyone relaxes and the hero's plans can resume unimpeded.

Unfortunately, there's no hero with a sexy friend in my life. I do know a couple of guys who would be happy to get me naked, but they're not sexy. They're very definitely unsexy - my skin crawls at the thought of them touching me. If such a coupling ever came to pass, it'd be even more miserable and unpleasant to be around than I am now.

Maybe I just need to be an even bigger bastard, so that someone eventually snaps and says, "Damn it, I'm either going to have to get him laid or kill him, and I've run out of bullets!"

Thursday, February 28, 2008

And to think I used to have standards

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Maths: is there anything it can't do?

And now, the power of mathematics applied to the world of popular song.








And my favourite:



"It's fantastic!" Go here for more.

Sunday, February 17, 2008

I was never terribly good at chemistry



Over the last few days I’ve been out on a couple of dates with a guy I met through GMM.

On paper we’re a very good match. We both like jazz and respect the English language, we’re both intelligent and articulate, and we’re both professionals who are unusually clean-living (for gay men). We’re both relatively straight-acting, and neither of us has any inclination to visit a gym.

The problem is… well, I’m not exactly sure. Our first date ended chastely but with both of us wanting to go out again. Our second date, two days later, also ended chastely, with an agreement to go out again but perhaps not quite as much excitement at the prospect. During the second date our conversation lagged a few times, and I noticed that he didn’t respond to my sense of humour as well as most people do. Maybe that was the problem.

On the other hand, maybe the problem is just that he’s so damn sexy. He’s boyishly good looking and well-built, with a gorgeous smile and pretty blue eyes I could gaze into for hours. During pauses in our conversations I wanted nothing more than to lean over, stroke my fingers through his hair and kiss him long and slow. But I didn’t, because I wasn’t getting any cues from him that he wanted me to. If he were less attractive, maybe it would be easier for me to decide that we were lacking in chemistry and shift my attention elsewhere.

So now I’m wondering if I just want him for what he represents rather than him personally. He’s a handsome, available gay man who wants to spend time with me, and as a result I’m seeing him as object for all of the sensuality that’s been bottled up inside me. I don’t just want to kiss him – I want to caress him, run my hands all over his body, and gently cup his head or his shoulders in my hands as I pull him close.

Oh, and obviously I want to fuck his brains out. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. But that’s just the icing on the cake, not the cake itself.

I’ve decided that something has to happen on our third date, even if it’s just a goodnight kiss. If we don’t take that step, I can see us sliding into an uneventful friendship, and I think I have enough friends. What I want is a lover.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

My morning routine



It’s always a pleasure to wake in the morning, stretch luxuriously against my rumpled sheets, then roll out of bed. After a moment to get my sleepy head together, I shuffle my way out into the kitchen, and the first thing I see is my happy friend, perched on the bench, enjoying his first coffee of the day and giving me that wry little smile of his. And I have that sudden unwavering certainty that today is going to be another monumentally great day, one far better than I deserve.



Then I wake up. Stupid dreams and their habit of surpassing reality in every way.

*Hot man stolen from Yarraville Paul. Dreams stolen from my own turbid subconscious.

More cream of the crop



Further recent taglines at GMM, annotated for your pleasure:

Bi married guy looking for sensuous times
Translation: creepy middle-aged man who wants to do everything that stops just short of sex so that if his wife finds out he can claim it isn't adultery.

Hot Guy seeks Hot Guy for Hot Times
Also seeks Hot Thesaurus.

big guy who fucks good!
Actually, I'm pretty impressed that someone managed to distill the essence of what most guys on GMM are looking for into five syllables. Here's lookin' at you, bgwfg!

In which I'm honoured to be someone's worst case scenario



I started a low-key correspondence with a guy on GMM who sounded sort of interesting. We chatted back and forth a couple of times, then he fell silent for a few days... right after I'd sent him some photos of me.

My photos seem to have that effect. I don't know why - I'd go out with the guy in them. I guess there's no accounting for taste.

Then today I got an email from him, stating that while I was a handsom (sic) man, he'd "just met someone that has caught (his) full attention" and so he was going to be concentrating on that nascent relationship for the moment.

I've checked the Big Book of Gay Interpersonal Relationships, and I haven't found the rule that disallows you from corresponding with anyone except your prospective boyfriend. I guess maybe my version is out of date. Still, it's nice that he's met someone.

The real kicker was the final line, however:

"so please forgive me - who knows if your still interested and things dont work out as hoped - can we take a rain check?"

Rough translation: "if things turn out the opposite of the way I want them to, I may yet go out with you."

Wow, thanks dude, that's so big of you.

I'm feeling something right now, but it sure as hell isn't gratitude.

Monday, February 11, 2008

The Power of Pong



I spent part of Saturday in the city’s largest independent music store, flipping through racks of cut-price CDs and trying to work out if I could indeed live without ‘A James Brown Christmas’.

At one point I noticed a guy in a grey tank top and shorts walk in. He was tall, reasonably well-built and scruffily good-looking. But in a groovy inner city music store there are a lot of tall, reasonably well-built and scruffily good-looking men wandering about, so I didn’t really give him a second glance… until he passed behind me.

He was still throwing off heat from the very hot day outside, and with it came a heady waft of cologne. It smelt like hot sex and spice, and coming off a carelessly dressed unshaven guy it was as incongruous as finding Bob Dylan dancing in the audience at a Britney Spears concert.

And suddenly it was as if he was the only guy in the store. Without even thinking about it, I found myself browsing the CDs next to him, then virtually chasing him around the premises to catch further draughts of that delicious, sensual scent. When I did catch it, I came very close to purring.

The guy eventually made it out of the store without getting pawed, but only just. Never underestimate the power of a good cologne.

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

All I want is a room somewhere... stuffed with horny naked firemen



Sometimes you'll hear a guy say something along the lines of, "All I'm looking for is someone who loves me." Usually followed by the coda, "Is that so much to ask? I mean really?"

I've occasionally had thoughts that run along similar lines. It really helped get my attitude into perspective when I actually met someone who seemed happy to oblige. That forced me to challenge and refine my preconception.

Let's be frank: finding someone who might love you isn't an impossible task. You just need to set your standards at the appropriate depth. If you're a fairly plain 20-something with a mediocre job and listless conversation skills, try looking for an ugly 40-something unemployed man with more issues than The New Yorker. Faced with a (comparatively) hot (comparatively) young thing, he'll think all of his Christmases have come at once and woo you like there's no tomorrow.

But that's not what you meant when you said, "All I'm looking for is someone who loves me", is it? When we say that all we want is to find someone to love us, what we really want is for the people whom we consider loveable to love us. We want to be considered attractive by the people we find attractive. We want to be deemed amusing by the people we find amusing, worldly by the people we consider worldly, clever and stylish by the people we identify as clever and stylish. It's not good enough for them to love us - it has to be a lovefest in both directions.

That's what we want. It's just important that we admit it and stop deluding ourselves that "all I'm looking for is someone who loves me."

Monday, February 4, 2008

A curvy, dimpled, shadowy gift to the world



Many men on gaymatchmaker.com.au choose to display their photo in a way that obscures rather than displays. Sometimes it's because they want to veil their identity. Sometimes it's because Mother Nature was having a bitchy kind of day when they were born and she withheld their quota of hunkiness. Sometimes it's just because a clear photo of their face would draw interest away from far more important body parts. I mean, who wants to see what a guy looks like when you can just have another interchangable ass picture?

But even the ass can be portrayed with more elan than a simple depiction that says, "Here is my ass. Make of it what you will." I noticed this picture recently on someone's profile (reproduced here without a skerrick of permission), and I really do appreciate the effort he put into doing something a little more creative than usual...



Ah, the classic bare-butt-in-the-moonlight shot so beloved of Hollywood when they want to add a dash of softcore spice to an otherwise plain scene. In soft focus black and white like this, it could almost be some "romantic" poster on a teenage girl's bedroom wall.

And it does the job: we know this guy has an ass, but we have absolutely no idea what he looks like, the colour of his skin or even if he ever smiles. I guess for a certain subset of GMM users the fact that he has an ass is all they really want to know.

Of course I'm hardly in a position to criticise this picture - it would take a hell of a lot more artful chiaoscuro than that to make my ass look presentable.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

I thought gay men were supposed to be good communicators?



Recent taglines on gaymatchmaker.com.au, annotated for ease of comprehension:

DISCREET GAY GUY LOOKING FOR HOT RAUNCHY SEX
IF YOU’RE SO DISCREET WHY ARE YOU SHOUTING?

Im new Need to be tort what to do....
Okay. Step one, activate your spellcheck…

can i spoil u
Yes, you can. By using the shift key. Apparently that’s a lot to ask, but it seems I'm high maintenance.

bi couris 28 yr old perth guy
This goes beyond bad spelling. It’s closer to good anti-spelling. I’d go so far as to say excellent anti-spelling. Somebody buy that man a drink!

Friday, January 18, 2008

And now a different example of my sense of humour getting me into trouble



Witness the following true conversation I had with a rather prim, spectacularly annoying and very stupid girl...

Her: GTR, do you like quiche?

Me: I guess. Everyone likes quiche, don’t they?

Her: I thought only gay men liked quiche.

Me: One, the saying is that real men don’t like quiche, not that gay men do like it, and two, I think most men like the same sorts of things, whether they’re gay or straight.

Her: Oh.

Me: Well, other than butt sex, of course.

Her: (chokes on her chardonnay)

That shut her up for a good two minutes, which is something of a record.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Finally, proof that there is more to me than just gay fretting


Over the last few weeks I’ve been forced to deal with a somewhat unusual houseguest. Many people get a kitten or a puppy for Christmas, but I got a squirrel. An inflatable squirrel. A psychedelic, psychopathic inflatable squirrel.

I call him Psycho Squirrel for short.

I loved Psycho Squirrel right from the start, what with those huge adorable anime eyes and that acid colour scheme. But it didn’t take long for me to realize that he had a few, well, antisocial tendencies.

First I caught him on the couch with one of the kitchen knives:


Then I found him outside with a packet of matches, on the bale of hay I was planning to use for garden mulch. He claimed he was “just playing”:


But my patience was really stretched when I found him trying to garrote my stuffed walrus with my iPod headphones. His explanation was that he was “just taking out the competition”:


So as you can see he’s a bit of a handful. Fortunately, I have a pack of specially trained wild monkeys to take him down as needed:


We’ll eventually learn to sort out our differences in a civilized and enlightened manner. Until then, I’ll just make sure I keep the hedge trimmer locked up.

Monday, January 14, 2008

A lesson to be learned


I logged in under my old GMM profile yesterday afternoon to check some information held there, and almost immediately I was contacted by two random guys. I haven't even looked at it in weeks, and suddenly as soon as I open it two guys pounce. Go figure.

The first was a little on the old side and "bi-curious", which I generally take as GMM shorthand for "more trouble than he's worth". But I was bored so I sent him a return message.

Meanwhile I'd been winked by another, younger guy. His profile was somewhat listless and there was no photo, but I gave a mental shrug and sent him a positive message anyway.

Over a few exchanges the older guy sent me sentences unmarred by punctuation, seemingly thrown together at random in an idiosyncratic patois of English and SMS. He mentioned that he was drinking scotch and coke, and I had a mental image of him swaying in his chair, taking slugs from the bottle and banging it occasionally against the keyboard then hitting 'Send'. The conversation ended when I made I mild joke and he logged off.

Note to self: Don't make jokes to hammered older men who are scanning GMM for a root.

The younger guy and I sent a few short messages back and forth, then he gave me access to his photo file. Mild interest became more intense interest; he was really cute, in a Japanese tourist kind of way. We traded a few more messages and I sent him a slightly jokey photo of myself. And he logged off without a further word.

Note to self: Don't send jokey photos to cute Asian boys that might put them off.

So the lesson to be learned here, presumably, is that my sense of humour needs to be weighed down with a big rock and thrown off a bridge if I'm ever going to successfully chat up a guy.

The Line of Presentableness


I watched the first episode of the BBC miniseries version of 'The Line of Beauty' last night. It's based on a Booker Prize-winning novel, which I must confess I have not read, and frankly I'm not in a hurry to. While I enjoyed the program, it did make me feel as if someone was trying to make a point rather than tell a story, especially as the story (young middle class man falls under spell of decadent upper class family and thus into trials and tribulations) has been done so many, many times before, from Brideshead Revisited to The Go-Between to The Talented Mr Ripley.

I'm always suspicious of gay-themed productions that are set in the past. Making a story a period piece tends to mean that the makers can make all sorts of clumsy, didactic statements about homophobia, making the characters say and do things that we can all smugly condemn with the benefit of hindsight.

This using-the-past-to-make-a-loaded-point-about-the-present was exacerbated in this instance by the design practice of dressing a period piece to look as little like the period as possible. The designers used every trick in the book to make the supposedly 1983 setting look, at best, temporally ambivalent. You occasionally see a Sloane Ranger scuttling across the background of a scene, but in the foreground it's all low, sleek, modern hair, subdued modern makeup and timeless little black dresses.

Excuse me, it's 1983 and no one has New Romatic hair? None of the girls are wearing jackets with shoulder pads? Even the cars are as unspecific as possible - the main characters have a Range Rover and a VW Golf, two cars which barely looked different in their 1973, 1983 or 1993 iterations.

That said, the program did capture a couple of strong aspects of gay sexuality. The first is the depth to which AIDS has affected gay sex: the characters hook up and get it on without a shadow of a thought about infection or disease. You see it and you want to shout, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? ARE YOU PEOPLE INSANE!?" Now that disease (of various kinds) stalks all sexual relationships (gay and straight), this sort of thoughtlessness looks suicidal.

The second is more positive (no pun intended): the program captured the electric thrill of gay sexual possibility. Two people pursuing a secretive, illicit coupling, both walking on the razor's edge, both aware that a hint too much interest, a brush against the back of the hand that comes too early, a divulgence of too much need or a simple issue of time or location will make the opportunity evaporate like morning dew. I'm sure you've all felt it. I know I have - it feels like your blood is sizzling.

Tuesday, January 8, 2008

So apparently I'm one step away from being turned on by the Chesty Bonds logo.



Over the last few days I've been playing a computer game which allows you to create your own avatar, and in so doing I've been forced to ask myself an important question: is it pathetic to design a really hot avatar and then spend the entire game lusting after his sweet ass?

Okay, let me rephrase that... is it the most pathetic thing ever? Especially considering that he looks like this:




Actually most of the time he's running around in armour wielding a sword - but you can take away all of his gear, leaving him with nothing but his little green trunks and that twinkle in his eye. I sent him into battle like this and nearly got him killed, since I kept getting distracted by the way his butt undulated under his shorts as he ran.

Hey, stop judging me! I mean, look at it!




If you had that to watch, you'd forget you were supposed to be fighting the legions of the undead too.

Sometimes it seems I just can't get a break.



I went to a largely gay party just before Christmas, and was pleasantly surprised by a couple of the guys I met. Sure, there was a sizeable contingent of bitchy queens who formed a tight little cluster to compare hair products and tanning secrets, but there were also some nice, normal, masculine guys who seemed happy to talk and mingle, and didn't even ping my (admittedly weak) gaydar until they mentioned "my ex-boyfriend" or something similar.

How refreshing! I was begining to believe that gay guys who don't act like total fairies were confined to preachy progressive sitcoms and 'Brokeback Mountain'.

One of them was tall, lean and laconic; dressed in a worn T-shirt, old jeans, thongs and stubble, swigging cheap beer and telling bad dirty jokes all night. Attractive? Hell yeah; not in a male model way but certainly in attitude.

The other one was shorter and skinnier, quiet and perhaps lacking in confidence. But underneath the mousiness he was good-looking and intelligent, without that meanness of heart one often finds in gay guys. While the other guy was more fun to talk to and be around, this guy had a certain something. I liked him, and he seemed to like me.

So a few days later I got his email address from a mutual friend and sent him some photos I'd taken relating to the party. No pressure, and the photos were relevant to a little joke that we'd shared.

That was ten days ago... and he hasn't replied. Not even a brief note of thanks. For the first few days I thought that maybe he was just away from his email for a while, but in the modern age no one is away from email for ten days. Maybe he's just pissed at me for dividing my attention between him and the other, more charismatic guy.

It's sort of depressing, especially since I've realised that if I ever want to meet any decent men, it's most likely going to be through friends, not through the internet.

Monday, January 7, 2008

The many moods of one man's ass



After pretty much ignoring it for several months, I recently decided to give GMM another shot. I took a flattering new picture of myself (looking very bedroom eyes-y, if I do say so myself), wrote a snappy new profile (not too long, peppered with intriguing details, not asking for too much or too little), and posted it all up on the site.

Within a few hours it'd been opened by dozens of people, mainly falling into two catagories - dirty old men and Asian students. I guess they're the ones who have their computers on all day, although possibly for different reasons.

Within a few days I'd been winked by half a dozen guys, mainly falling into two catagories - weirdos and sluts. In both cases, I got the impression that they wanted me not because I was witty or charming or attractive, but because I had a pulse. The weirdos were all very off-putting because of the painful stink of desperation hanging over them like the haze of grease over a KFC deep fryer. The sluts were more presentable - even kinda hot, in one case - but all of them bluntly stated that they were solely interested in anonymous, meaningless screwing... and I just don't operate on that level. Most of them got the "thanks but no thanks" reply, and the rest just got ignored.

Only one of the guys who winked me is worth noting in more detail, but sadly not for a good reason. He has ten, repeat ten pictures of his ass on his profile. It's certainly a nice enough ass, as asses go, but ten pictures? Does it really have that many moods that it takes ten pictures to capture them all?

"Here's my ass being happy, and here's it looking sultry, and here it is being just a little bit coy. And here's one of it ruminating on the state of the stock market as the aftershocks of the sub-prime mortgage collapse in the US work their way through the global economy..."