The Caffeine-Free Diet Coke of Love

As I mentioned in my last post, love is in the air!

Well, not actual love. Gay love. It's not quite the same thing. I've become convinced that gay love is just a combination of lust and desperation that's close enough to regular love providing you don't look too carefully.

What brings me to such a cynical conclusion? Let us look at the current relationship statuses of some of the main characters in this blog.

KCG is in the most serious relationship he's had since he broke up with his ex early last year... but the relationship with this new man is looking shaky. The new man has displayed some odd behaviour that suggests a slightly toxic personality and/or undiagnosed bipolar disorder - he's temperamental, unreliable and unempathetic. But given that KCG hasn't had a boyfriend in over a year, and given that the new man is pretty darn hot, I cynically suspect they'll patch things up.

Meanwhile the Human Dynamo was reaching a bad place with his love interest, in which they'd both reached a point where they couldn't see a way around their mutual obstacles. But apparently he's met a thoroughly delightful new man and they've been spending every spare moment together for the past week or so. The fact that they've been on several dates and communicate electronically every day without having had sex yet is about as close to the romantic ideal as gay love ever gets.

Lastly there's the Virtuoso, with whom I had dinner on Sunday night. Unfortunately for me, I've discovered that he's taking himself off my sexual menu because he's started seeing someone. They met at the gym, after their respective versions of Grindr introduced them. This new man is a) old enough to be the Virtuoso's father, b) a millionaire and c) still letting his psycho ex live in his house. Said pyscho ex is on worker's compensation following an indeterminate injury and threatens suicide whenever it's suggested that he might like to move out. When I raised an eyebrow at this, the Virtuoso merely heaved a sigh, as if to say that beggars can't be choosers.

But what of me, you may ask? In my own burst of lust and desperation I signed up to Manhunt.com over the weekend, after KCG assured me that it wasn't any sleazier than Gaydar.net.

If you've ever been on Manhunt, you'll know that KCG is, at best, delusional.

I punched up my standard profile to make it more aggressive, to match the tone of the Manhunt profiles I'd seen. And it got me noticed! On my first night I attracted interest from a weird guy 19 years my junior, a weird guy 18 years my senior, and a weird partnered guy who's been stalking me on Gaydar.

On my second night I had a brief conversation with one unattached, age-appropriate man who wanted to know about something in the background of my profile photo. He spent most of his time boasting of the number of hot guys he'd banged, with the heavy implication that if I couldn't match him shag for shag, I wasn't worth knowing.

Time to head back to Gaydar, perhaps? Well, back on Gaydar I got a several hundred word message from a guy who thought we were compatible simply because I am younger than him, shorter than him and a non-smoker. By that logic George Clooney and I are also soulmates. Even so, I sent him a message thanking him for his kind and effusive words. It must be gay love.

In which I share my sexy powers, fool that I am.

I had some very bad insomnia on Tuesday night, leaving me still wide awake at 3am on Wednesday morning. Which was kind of handy, since it was at 2.52am that my phone decided to trill to let me know that I had received a text... one that The Virtuoso had sent me, at a more civilised hour, three days earlier.

Yes, I am changing carriers when my contract expires.

But back to the insomnia. In searching for causes, I can only come up with one.

You see, earlier this year I hosted a fancy dinner party for some of my gay, unattached friends. There was five of us in total, and it was a lovely affair.

On Tuesday evening, following a catch up with one of them, I came to the sudden realisation that, three months after the dinner party, four of the five gay, unattached men who'd attended now had boyfriends.

AND GUESS WHICH ONE OF THE FIVE IS THE ONE WHO DOESN'T HAVE A BOYFRIEND! GO ON, GUESS!

I could view this as evidence that I have mysterious gay love guru powers, somehow magically granting the gift of boyfriends to all who fall within my social influence. But I prefer to simply regard it as further, ego-crushing proof that I am a loser.

Oh well. I have a second date tonight with the guy I saw last Sunday. I'm not excited, but I suppose it beats sitting alone at home.