Monday, November 19, 2012

Of partnered guys and equity issues



Just lately I've had a lot of interest on Scruff from partnered guys. This, as you might imagine, is not good. It basically rubs my nose in the fact that my life, which appears perfectly adequate a lot of the time, would be an utterly unacceptable shitheap for most gay guys. 

I generally still chat with the partnered guys, because I have a complicated fantasy that we might become social, I might be invited to their parties, they might introduce me to their single friends, and I might meet someone. Yes, it's farfetched, but it could happen! And let's face it, I don't have a wealth of options. 

And so I chatted with this one. After we'd chatted back and forth for a few hours, I decided I needed to go to bed, and he declared he was going to "have a wank." 

 

It made me feel dizzy. Can you even conceive of the unfettered luxury of having a good-looking, horny man crawling into your bed and nuzzling you awake, wanting to have his way with you? 

Of course you can. I'm guessing you're a normal gay man, with a long-term boyfriend. But to me it's an astonishing fantasy. The idea of this scenario being so commonplace that you'd actually prefer to sleep is so foreign to me that it seems implausible. I literally can't imagine it. It's (apparently) a common situation, and I can't even picture it, let alone experience it! 

In fact, if you'll recall, it's a significant factor in the reason why Mr Singular and I fell apart. I was thrilled at the idea of sleeping with him. I counted the days until we could do it. He was so used to it that thought it less important than getting drunk with his cousins. When our attitudes collided it all blew up. 

Then last night and today I spoke with a cute young guy who'd met his partner within a week of moving to this country, and has been with him for the three years since then. He's only online to chat, to ogle, and to organise the occasional threeway with his partner. 

And this makes me swing between depression and rage. I 've been looking for a boy friend, any boyfriend, even a crap boyfriend for five years and the closest I've come is three weeks of a sort of pre-boyfriendom state with Mr Singular. He's in this country for SEVEN FUCKING DAYS AND HE FINDS HIS FUCKING SOULMATE! 

 Is there a Complaints Desk for this whole gay relationship thing? There appear to be equity issues here.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

A couple of encounters



I need to do something about my sex life. The last time I had good sex was more than six months ago, with UAM, and even the mediocre sex I've had since then has been sparse.

A couple of weeks ago I managed to get laid - I'd last had sex two months before, while my partner last had sex two days before. He was a lean, likeable 29 year old with a perfectly biteable ass. We were supposed to go out for a drink, but he asked me to come to his apartment instead and have a glass of wine. We did, and after we'd chatted for a bit he started ruffling my hair. I ran my fingers through his, and pretty soon we were wrestling in his bed. 

I learn something from every new sexual partner and/or experience. There were a bunch of firsts here: 

  • First time I've been offered amyl (I declined). 
  • First time I've worn a condom. 
  • First time I've wilted before being able to buttfuck someone (damn it!). 
  • First time I've brought a guy to orgasm via fingering.
  • First time I've had sex with a guy with long hair. His was shoulder-length, and while I didn't find it particularly attractive I did like grabbing a fistful of it while I kissed him. 
  • First time I've been accused of/praised for "tonguefucking". Apparently my kissing is... ardent. 

He chastised me for being "unprepared", in that I hadn't douched. Perhaps he'd forgotten that I'd come straight from work, or perhaps he just had unrealistic expectations of office bathroom etiquette.

So I'm facing the fact that, really, I should have a douche I can use to keep myself nice, and a cock ring to keep myself hard when faced with frustratingly tight assholes. I don't want to be the sort of guy for whom these things matter, but it looks like I'm going to be forced to. 

Then, just a couple of days later, I had more successful sex with someone else. 

There was no need for fingering this time - we just had straight forward, old fashioned sex. I wore a condom, and thanks in large part to my partner's abilities I came in it. Unfortunately I was concentrating so hard on, well, staying so hard that I couldn't just relax and enjoy it. 

To be honest, it's a good thing that he was a bottom because he had the smallest penis I've ever encountered. It was the length of one of my fingers and only slightly thicker, and he didn't get hard very easily. I couldn't stroke him at all while we were having sex, simply because there wasn't enough to hold on to: the most I could do was to form a ring between my index finger and my thumb and apply it like a quoit at a ring toss. 

But he was a nice, good-looking, sexy guy, and a very good kisser, soft and gentle and responsive. And it broke my run of first dates that go nowhere (this was our second date) and unsatisfying sex. It wasn't great sex, but at least we both came, and while his was a little arduous my coming following the standard Narrative of Sex (flirting, touching, kissing, caressing, licking, sucking, breaching, penetrating, fucking, coming... and feeling suddenly awkward and vulnerable). 

For a sensual kinda guy, my various body parts aren't terribly sensitive. Nipple play doesn't do much more me. Neither does rimming (the closest I came to actually getting something out of it was with Mr Singular, but he's fairly spectacular at all things sex-related). Stcking your tounge in my ear isn't endearing or hot. If you want to make me moan, it's down to the genitals. It makes me feel so unsophisticated and base.

Monday, July 30, 2012

The other kind of beard for gay men.



Sometimes when I'm on Scruff I save the pictures of guys I find particularly attractive, and I'm starting to detect a theme...







That last one has caused more than one of my friends to sigh with longing.

I have a minor beard myself - little more than advanced stubble, but I'm keeping it well trimmed and shaped. Now all I need to do is lose 10 kilograms and 20 years.

Friday, July 20, 2012

On being a consolation prize.



Following on from my last post, I've realised that just lately I've been hearing this a lot:

"Yeah, I broke up with my long term partner earlier this year. It was a mutual decision, and we're still really good friends. Anyway, I'm just looking around and seeing what's out there. My ex? Oh, he's been seeing someone for a while now. No, I'm totally happy for him."

"Mutual decision" my ass. You were dumped, he's moved on embarassingly quickly, and now you're fumbling around trying to find a rebound guy. You would much rather be back at home, in your old life, with your old partner. The only reason why you're sitting here with me is because he ended that little romantic idyll.

That makes me feel so special.

My date last night was like that. My previous date, two and half weeks ago, was like that too. The other guy with great potential who balked when I eventually insisted that we actually meet for coffee... he was just out of a twenty year relationship. Apparently it was still too raw for him to do more than chat online.

And as I discovered a few weeks ago, one of the main reasons why my nascent relationship with Mr Singular failed was because he was still mourning the end of his short relationship with the man he still regards as the love of his life. I didn't even know this guy existed until a few weeks ago. Mr Singular seems to have recovered from his broken heart sufficiently now to consider taking up with me again. How lovely - he's now recovered enough, and desperate enough, to settle for second best.

I'd like to be chosen by a man, but apparently the best I can hope for is to be half-heartedly accepted.

To use a chocolate box metaphor, I'm the strawberry creme that's only contemplated once the hazelnut truffles and almond pralines have been devoured.

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Getting between two guys... and not in a good way.



I had my 20th first date for the year earlier tonight. Let's call him Dan. We met at one of my favourite small bars, one that that is convenient to both of our workplaces. He had some wine, I had some excellent Polish vodka martinis, and we enjoyed some conversation and upmarket tapas.

Truth is, he was nice enough, but there were so many red flags it was like a Chinese military parade. He only split up with his husband a few weeks ago. He's a lightweight drinker. He's 32 and had never eaten pate before our date. He mentioned spending his Saturday nights watching True Blood marathons on his home cinema... alone. He loves McDonalds. And to judge from the way he baffled our cocktail waiter, he has no idea how to speak to servers.

Worst of all, it quickly became apparent that a guy I'd dated once a couple of months ago (let's call him Noel) was his ex. But according to Dan, their breakup was only a month old. It seems that Noel had broken up with Dan a while back, but only only informed Dan of it recently.

Classy.

I further transpired that Dan already knew that I'd met Noel, after he'd shown Noel my profile photo a few days earlier and Noel had confessed. He only told me because I realised the truth from things he mentioned in the conversation and, deciding that I needed to do the right thing, admitted it to him. So there's another red flag - he can't deal with breaking awkward news.

Perhaps it's fortuitous that my date with Noel had been one of the worst dates of my life. He'd shown up already tipsy and proceeded to get even more hammered. He had no social skills and seemed to think that sniping at me and mildly abusing me was charming. In retrospect, he may have been acting out on his frustration about his home life... not that he mentioned being involved with someone, of course.

Since then, apparently, the obnoxious Noel has moved on and is now in a satisfying relationship with someone else - his profile has duly vanished from Scruff - while I'm left to deal with his rejects. And so another blow to my sense of self-worth is recorded.

And in a final piece of humiliation... I have to admit that I'd see Dan again. He's gauche, not terribly attractive and a bit of a feeb, but he's nice, he seems to have a good heart, and hey, I like True Blood as much as the next homosexual. That's how low my expectations have sunk.

Friday, July 13, 2012

She knows a thing or two, honey.





If your mother forbids you to do something that involves dick, you should listen. She's probably speaking from experience. Bitter, painful experience.

Monday, July 9, 2012

Objectification: is it really so bad?



Sometimes you come across a picture of a guy who just pushes your buttons. Especially the big red button marked "Lust".


This is one of those pictures. Sigh.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

So on balance, we're equals.



Snooping around Scruff I came across a profile with this picture.


 The main thing that makes me feel inferior to this guy:

He's five years older than me but has the body of someone ten years younger and ten times hotter.

The main thing that makes me feel superior to this guy:

It's 2012... who the hell still uses a flip phone?

Monday, June 18, 2012

The end of a drought sometimes brings rain and gloom.



I've been feeling a bit down over the last week.

It started when I broke my three month sex drought the weekend before last. I went out on the Friday with a 28 year old travel agent, and there was instant chemistry between us. We kissed goodnight for a full five minutes in my car, and agreed to meet the next night for dinner. This we did, and we ended up back at my place by 9pm, kissing so passionately that my lips were badly chapped the next morning. He spent the night with me, we had breakfast together on Sunday morning, and over lingering kisses we eventually said goodbye.

To be brutally honest, the sex was lousy. He was a little sexually dysfunctional, which made it hard work to keep him erect amd virtually impossible to actually have sex. I eventually managed to blow him to orgasm - something I've never managed before - but other than that it was just stroking, kissing, sucking and caressing.

But he was very good at that. He's a natural cuddler; warm, affectionate and a good kisser. Plus he's sweet and adorably cute, and I genuinely like him.

However Sunday morning was the last I saw of him. Since then he's been busy every night I've suggested we go out again. And as of Friday, he's stopped responding to my texts.

The odd thing is that I had no sense that everything wasn't going well. He admitted that he almost never sleeps with someone on the second date, so I don't think he was just using me. My theory is that sometimes you get caught up in the moment and after a couple of days it dissipates and you think, "Wow, what just happened there? He's actually not what I want."

I was in this mindset when I went out to a concert on Friday with KCG and his boyfriend, and while it wasn't as hard as it sometimes is I still found it confronting. KCG has found someone who is attracted to him and to whom he's also attracted. If that weren't groundbreaking enough, they also appear to be in love.

How is that possible? How can two people not only be mutually attracted to each other, but also have that flower into love?

It must be possible, I guess, otherwise gay marriage wouldn't be such an issue and I wouldn't be tormented by gay couples making cow eyes at each other over cupcakes at the local cafe. But it's never happened to me so it's hard to believe that it really exists. I've never met someone to whom I was attracted who was also attracted to me. It's either me liking him and him rejecting me, or him liking me and me rejecting him, or, most often, mutual apathy.

And yet KCG has had it four times. HD has had it three times. Even my most desperate gay friends have at least one ex. 

In the meantime, I'm tortured by gorgeous guys like this glancing at me on Scruff, then shrugging and moving on.


So beautiful, and in an attainable way. But not for me. Sigh.


Friday, June 8, 2012

A change in paradigm.


It's been a couple of months since my last post, so I thought I'd write an update.

The big news is that, after eight or nine months of seeing my therapist, I've outed myself. I did it in the most distancing and controlled manner possible, via letter and email, which makes me a bit of a pathetic freak but nevertheless resulted in the least amount of anxiety, at least for me.

I started with letters to my family, then emails to my inner circle of friends, then emails to my outer circle of friends. The responses were a lot more positive than I expected: no one is exactly delighted, but they've all been encouraging and supportive and loving. Each stage was progressively easier, especially once I established a base level of support in what I call "old-growth relationships".

I am, frankly, surprised that people who always spoke snidely or with hostility about gays were so willing to accept me after I revealed myself to be one. I guess love does conquer prejudice after all. It's nice, if a little unexpected, to realise that my friends and family care so much about me. Perhaps because I've spent my entire life fighting or hiding the urge to love, I don't have much experience in seeing it freely expressed in relation to me.

Which brings me to a common mindset, which would be amusing if it hadn't been so destructive in my life. It was different each time, but generally it went a little something like this:

Person: Ugh, gays are so sick and disgusting. They won't be so gay when they're burning in Hell!

Me: I'm gay.

Person: OMG why have you waited so long to open up to me about this!?

Yes, why indeed?

My mother was the worst. When I spoke to her recently, she reminded me that she'd always told me that I could always talk to her and my father about anything. Yeah, I thought, and then you'd spit hatred at some gay character on TV... basically communicating that I could speak to you about anything EXCEPT THIS!

I didn't tell her that. It won't achieve anything and it would only damage the relationship.

So how has the outing affected me? Soon after I started my outing program, I had dinner with Mr Wednesday at a hip new deconstructionalist restaurant. As we were talking about some deep and emotional issues, he reached across the table and took my hands in his. After a few seconds I felt uncomfortable, but then I remembered, I'm out now. I don't have to worry about this getting back to anyone, because they already know. So we held hands for a while as we talked, witnessed only by our waiter, which didn't matter as he was gayer than both of us combined.

Ironically one thing it hasn't affected is my sex life. It's been something like three months since I got laid.

Saturday, March 24, 2012

The power and perks of popularity



Something very strange has happened, and I have no idea what's going on. I'm suddenly, inexplicably and intensely popular with gay men.

I'm inclined to blame my new iPhone, a superceded model that KCG gave me when he upgraded to the new one. It's battered and scratched, with a crack in the rear panel and a woeful battery life. However it's spent two years absorbing KCG's charisma and dating mojo into its curcuitry, and now it seems to be reflecting it back. I've never been so popular in my entire life.

It probably also has something to do with the fact that earlier this year I joined Scruff, a mobile dating app that's like a more beary, less twinky version of Grindr. As I am more beary and less twinky myself, it seems to be a good fit with me. Five of my seven dates in my now infamous Week of Dates came from Scruff; it's hard to argue with those numbers.

Speaking of the Week of Dates, I've kept up with Mr Tuesday and Mr Wednesday, although there's a lack of fire there that's kept me from sleeping with either of them. However, having them in my life has given me an excuse to nudge UAM out of my life, much to my relief and to his displeasure.

A funny thing happened on my third "date" with UAM. Instead of just fucking like monkeys, we actually had dinner together and talked... and then fucked like monkeys. While the fucking like monkeys part was as enjoyable as ever, getting to know him better and getting more of a feel for his character revealed that... well... he really isn't terribly likeable. He's spoilt, manipulative, calculating, dishonest and, much as I hate to admit it after all of the sex we've had, kinda creepy.

Afterwards I gave him a lift home in my car, and I was driving he put his hand on my thigh and stroked my leg. It took all of my self-control not to bellow "GET YOUR FUCKING HAND OFF MY LEG, YOU HORRIBLE MAN!" I knew at that point I'd be very happy never to see him again.

So when he texted me a couple of weeks later seeking to hook up, I twisted the truth slightly to say that I'd started seeing someone and didn't feel right about fooling around. 

Besides the whole creepiness thing, my other big problem with UAM was that he's married. Before you start declaring me a home-wrecking slut, you should know that it's a sham marriage. His wife is a lesbian who has a girlfriend back in their home country. He married her to take the heat off both of them from the religious police, and also so that he could come out to Australia on her student visa as she studies at a local college. They sleep in the same bed, for appearance's sake as neither of them are out to their local ethnic community, but they've never consummated their marriage as far as I can tell.

So I'm let off the hook, at least a little bit. Even so... the fact that he's married always made me very uncomfortable. It reinforced the immorality of the whole thing. It's easy to spin a sexual relationship with a single gay man in ways that can be said to conform to traditional morality, but to me banging a married man is beyond the pale, making a mockery of the sacred institution on virtually every level. His marriage means nothing to him, nothing to her, and apparently not enough to me.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Hold the front page: Empty sex is empty!



I've reached the stage in which each new date is less than unique.

Take last night. I met him on a prearranged street corner and we walked up to a local bar I like. He was pawing at me by the time we walked into the joint. We had some cocktails and tapas, then went for a walk along the river. As we crossed the park he kissed me, and we paused for a while to talk before continuing along the waterfront. Perhaps it's just because he was Gen Y, but he kept touching me, rubbing my back or holding my hand. As you might imagine, I found this very confronting, but I treated it as a challenge; to test my resolve to be more open about my sexuality.

Afterwards we went up to his apartment so that I could use the bathroom. He had a friend staying with him for a few days while she waited for the lease on her new apartment to be finalised, so he had to control himself. But he asked me if we could go to my place, and I agreed.

Once we got there, there was more kissing, caressing and ultimately sex. I'd rate the sex 5/10 - not terrible by any means, but not great either. Definitely middle level. The most notable thing about it was that he dragged me, fairly reluctantly, into topping him. After we'd had sex (fucking followed by him wanking), he asked me if I wanted to do him. I demurred, since I didn't particularly feel the need to get off. But he rolled on top of me and lubed me up, and I assumed he was planning frottage or a hand job. But before I knew it he had slipped my cock into his ass, and was enjoying himself with it.

About all I can say about it was that it was hotter than I expected, both in the senses of temperature and pleasure. I came pretty quickly, pulling out of him just in time to avoid a safe sex faux pas.

So it was a notable encounter for three main things. One, at 28 he was the youngest guy with whom I've had sex. Two, he was the first guy I've ever topped. And three... it's been a long time since I felt that bad after sex. I sent him home afterwards because I knew I wouldn't sleep well with him in my bed, and although it was only 10.30pm or so I had to stay up another two or three hours watching TV just to put some distance between it and my going to sleep. As it was, I had a stomach ache from the stress.

You may be wondering why I was so stressed. It was purely existential. When did I become this person, who has joyless, non-intimate sex with lonely young men? Why was I kissing and fucking a not terribly attractive man with whom I had little in common?

Sunday, February 26, 2012

Seven dates with seven men in seven days



Over the last week I've had, as the title above suggests, seven dates with seven men in seven days. Or at least I've organised seven dates with seven men in seven days. The breakdown is as follows:

Saturday: I had a lunch date scheduled with a 37 year old restauranteur, but, for the first time in my life, I was stood up.

We were supposed to meet in a little cafe at 11.30am. I prettied myself up, drove for half an hour to his part of the city, found somewhere to park, walked ten minutes to the cafe, arrived dead on 11.30am and ordered a coffee. Three minutes later I texted him to let him know I was there. Twenty five minutes after that, I texted him to let him know that I was no longer there. I spent half an hour window shopping, just in case he texted or called, but there was nothing. So I walked back to my car and drove home.

That afternoon I contacted him through Scruff, but there was no response. The texts have gone unanswered too. His Scruff profile still exists but it hasn't shown any activity since Saturday morning, about two hours before our date was supposed to be.

The funny thing is that he messaged me the previous night to make sure the date was still on. I'd replied enthusiastically.

I can only guess that he had some major mental breakdown and couldn't handle meeting the guy he's been gushing at for the last week. In which case I've dodged a bullet.

Sunday: Late at night I had another date with UAM... if you can call two hours of hot, hard and extremely noisy sex a "date".

Monday: I had a date with a 29 year old catering worker.

It was an odd experience. When I got to the smart inner city bar I texted him to let him know I'd arrived, and ordered myself a vodka martini. A couple of minutes later he texted me back, saying that he was still at home, having been cleaning and rearranging furniture all afternoon.

Apparently this date was so unimportant that he'd missed the start because he'd become caught up in housework and lost track of time.

I texted back to tell him that I'd be there for another half an hour finishing my drink, so whether he wanted to come down, reschedule or cancel was up to him.

Nearly half an hour later, just as I was finishing my martini, he texted to say that he'd finished the job, had a shower, and was heading out the door. So having missed the start of the date, he'd actually stayed and finished what he was doing before getting ready and coming down.

Whatever. In many ways he was a bit of a feral - beer drinker, low grade job, badly in need of some remedial dentistry. But every time I thought I had him pegged he's use an obscure word, or mention an interest, or refer to a course of study, that marked him as being clever or well-cultivated.

We hugged each other goodbye, with promises to get together again, but I strongly suspect that I'll never see or hear from him again.

Tuesday: I had a drink with a 40 year old Italian pianist.

We met at one of my favourite small bars, full of hipsters in flannelette shirts and unruly beards. We had a little trouble with the bouncers, who were keen to uphold a bizarre law that patrons were not allowed in after 7.30pm with open shoes, and my date was wearing sandals. The fact that there were patrons inside in thongs, who'd arrived before 7.30pm, wasn't an issue in their minds. Fortunately the bartenders stepped in for me and persuaded the bouncers to bend the (incredibly stupid) rules, and soon my date and I were chatting and sipping swanky cocktails.

He was a nice guy, very easy to talk to, and we got on well. We've already made plans to go out again.

Wednesday: I had dinner with the guy with whom I had a stripper-mandated pash on Valentine's Day.

We went to a cool new Japanese fusion restaurant for dinner. Then he drove me up to a secluded park with views out over the city skyscrapers, and when we got out of the car, he produced a picnic blanket, a bottle of champagne, and a basket of strawberries and chocolates. We lay on the blanket, talking and kissing and drinking champagne.

It's the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. Which says more about my mediocre love life than the grandeur of the gesture.

Thursday: I met up with a 37 year old insurance underwriter.

The date did not start auspiciously. I'd asked to meet him at a franchised coffee house in a nearby suburb. Just as I got there, dead on time, he texted to say that he was inside. But when I got inside, he was nowhere to be seen.

I instantly guessed what had happened. Despite the fact that I'd given him the exact address, and despite the fact that this cafe was closer to his house, he'd gone to another branch of the same franchise in the next suburb over.

To add insult to injury, he insisted that I come to him, since he'd already bought me a coffee.

So I had to walk back to my car, drive over to the next suburb, find a parking space (which wasn't easy... one of the reasons why I'd chosen the OTHER cafe over this one), then walk to the cafe and find him.

He seemed nice enough. Relatively easy to talk to, and only a little weird.

Friday: I saw this guy again, whom I have continued to see even though he remains a model of sang froid.

Much as it helps the ego to date a different man every night for a week, I don't think I'll be attempting it again. It was exhausting.

And of course I'd much rather just date one man every night for a week. But that doesn't seem to be on the cards right now.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

The perverse tricks of St Valentine.



I've never celebrated Valentine's Day. I've never had a card, or flowers, or chocolate, or some schmucky poem. This year was the closest I've come to observing it, albeit rather unusually.

On Valentine's night I went to see some fringe theatre with KCG and his boyfriend, HD and his boyfriend, and, at the last minute, a guy I'd met on Scruff with whom I'd had coffee on Sunday. He'd expressed an interest in the theatre I was seeing, and asked if he could come along too. I told him that was fine, and he met us there.

He's bald and more than a little overweight, but strong and confident and fun and full of life. As soon as his back was turned HD and his boyfriend expressed, unprompted and with a little too much alacrity, that they liked him a lot more than Mr Singular. I like him too, although I wonder if I'm not too boring for him to be willing to sustain a relationship with me in the long term.

But I get ahead of myself. The late night show was an extremely edgy caberet, filled with full frontal nudity, magic tricks involving vaginas, and some audience participation that I'm pretty sure left the participants completely traumatised. But we knew what to expect, and the weird stuff was leavened with humour, song and dance numbers, and kitschy vaudeville tricks.

Following the aforementioned traumatic audience participation act, the performers told all of us in the audience that, in honour of Valentine's Day, they wanted us to turn to the person next to us and kiss them, for ten seconds. They didn't say it directly, but there was an ominous implication that non-compliance would be noted. The audience giggled nervously. As they counted down 3.. 2... 1... my date looked at me and said, "Do you want to?", and I looked at him, shrugged and said, "Yeah, sure," so when the performers cried "Go!" we kissed.

Not just a liplock-and-hold for ten seconds, but a genuine, ardent kiss, with just a hint of tongue on each others' lips.

Being forced into your first kiss by a naked, sweaty, beer-drenched man (don't ask) is an unusual way to reach a milestone in a relationship, but hey, it's something to blog about. And it definitley broke the ice. When the show got out at midnight, he walked me back to my car and he kissed me again, twice, in the street.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

The good things that come from having low expectations.



I had a date last night with someone I'll call UAM, or Unexpectedly Appealing Man. It's not much of a nom de blog, but they can't all be gems.

On paper poor UAM didn't have a lot going for him. He's a Pakistani muslim with mediocre English skills, a hand-to-mouth existence, and a barely semi-legal status in this country. I had to pick him up to go on our date because his Pakistani drivers' license had expired.

But in person he was good looking, well-educated, friendly and charming. Not to mention sexy - there was an instant chemistry. We got in my car and drove to a local bar for a drink. By halfway there he was rubbing my stomach, ostensibly to feel the quality of the cloth of my shirt. By three quarters of the way there he was holding my hand between gear changes. By the time we'd parked, he was kissing me.

We went into the bar and had a drink and chatted. He told me many things about himself, 90% of which I consider apocraphal. But I didn't see the harm even if they weren't true.

When we got back to the car, he said, "What shall we do now?"

"I'd like to take you back to my place so I can kiss you properly," I replied.

"Okay. Perfect."

And so I did. When we got in the front door I offered him another drink, but it was five minutes before I could get to the liquor cabinet because he grabbed me and kissed me. He was a sublime kisser - sensitive, erotic and passionate. Soon we were kissing and caressing on the couch. Soon after that, we were in the bedroom and naked.

I hadn't known what to expect from this date, but there was a welcome sign of good things to come when I pulled off his shorts.

He was amazing. His technique was fair to good, but his sensuality made everything more erotic. Unlike the last guy I had sex with, who treated it almost as a process, UAM did it right: as if sex was simply a byproduct of enjoying each other, body and spirit, to the fullest extent.

The other thing that made an unexpected difference was the fact that UAM is 29 years old. From an aesthetic standpoint this meant strong muscles, soft smooth skin and an ass that felt as if it had been carved from granite. But from a practical standpoint, it meant that his body just worked. When I've slept with older men, there's a sense of urgency once he's hard to get him sheathed and lubed and in before things start to wilt. When UAM got hard, he rolled off the bed, found the condoms box, dug one out, tore it open, put the wrapper in the bin, found the lube... all while his cock continued to jut out as hard and erect as a flagpole.

And this was for our second round. That's the other great thing about younger men: stamina. Later, when I nuzzled against him and suggested Round Three, he just smiled and nodded and plunged back into it.

Around midnight I drove him home, not particularly because I didn't want him to spend the night, but because it would have been even less convenient to drive him home in the morning, and I didn't think it right to make him take a taxi. This morning he sent me a text once I'd arrived at work: Good morning gorgeous. Hope u slept well last night. It was so amazing and I enjoyed alot. Happy valentines day. Am missing u xox

And then late this evening: Sweet dreams gorgeous... cant wait to hold u in my arms again... missing u alot... sleep well sexy...

We're never going to be serious boyfriends - for a variety of reasons that I'll go into in later posts - but it could be that we'll make great fuckbuddies.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

From rainbow robber to ass bandit.



So that's how it happens!



And here I was blaming my mother.

Friday, February 3, 2012

Silence isn't golden.



A little followup to this post: on Wednesday night HD's ex contacted me on my Gaydar profile, in a message full of charm and interest. It took me a moment to realise that he had no idea who I was - my OKCupid profile and my Gaydar profile don't have a username or photos in common.

So I wrote back, responding to his questions and jokes with some of my own, and adding at the end, "By the way, just in case you haven't realised, I'm GTR (your ex HD's good friend). But if that doesn't bother you then it doesn't bother me." I didn't want to spoil the mood, but it's the sort of thing I needed to say at the outset, because it would have been weird not to mention it straight away.

Clearly it did bother him, because his response was... silence.

I am actually rather irritated. As far as I'm concerned, there were two acceptable responses to my message.

The first is: "Oh hey, wow, it's an embarassingly small world! No, I don't have a problem with that. Althought I worry about what HD might have told you about me..." and so on.

The second is: "Oh crap, really? Um... sorry, but I really don't feel comfortable with that. Too close to home, you know? I hope you don't mind."

Because although our paths haven't crossed in the real world, it's inevitable that they will one day, and having received the silent treatment online, let's just say that I'm not going to feel disposed to be particularly polite.

Monday, January 30, 2012

Me love your kitchen long time



On Saturday afternoon I had a brief date with a guy who contacted me on Manhunt. He's a recently graduated student and part time chef, only 25 years old, and another Chinese Malaysian - it seems I'm a magnet for them.

It was interesting that I was only the second guy he'd ever met from online dating, and the first he'd seen on a proper, meeting-each-in-a-bar kind of date. He was very nervous at first, but he quickly relaxed and we chatted over drinks for an hour or so before I had to go to another appointment.

It's also interesting that all of the Chinese Malaysian guys I've met have been into older caucasian men. The Virtuoso admitted that it's a subconscious cultural thing - bagging an older white man to be your sugar daddy is a potent status symbol. Even if you earn more than he does and expect nothing monetary from him, it still has an image of prestige.

But while it was subconscious with The Virtuoso, with the 25 year old it was explicit. He admitted that he'd be absolutely fine with being a mail order bride. Give me a big gourmet kitchen, he said, and I'm yours. I laughed... but he stressed that he was serious.

I'm not interested in him - he's a total bottom, he uses more drugs than I'm comfortable with, and he's not terribly attractive - but I'm planning to invite him along to some gay social things I'm involved in because he doesn't have many gay outlets. And hey, these things are usually full of older white men who lick their lips at the thought of an eager 25 year old. I'll be doing both parties a favour.

Friday, January 27, 2012

A big fat fish in a small gay pond



It's a little odd that although I've known the Human Dynamo for more than a year now - attending his parties, giving and receiving personal advice and support, going on holiday together - I've never met his ex, despite the fact that they're both still prominent in each others' lives. Neither has KCG, for that matter. There's now even a running gag between us that his ex is a figment of his imagination, created to make him less lonely during the many years of their so-called "relationship". There is, after all, nothing other than his anecdotes to prove that this man exists.

HD and his ex were together for eight years (which is the equivalent of about four and a half centuries in gay relationship years). From what little I know about their eventual parting of ways, it was somewhat mutual but more driven by the ex. And although HD swears that there was nothing going on prior to the breakup, it seems a little odd that within two months his ex was living with a piece of fluff half his age.

In a cosmic irony, the piece of fluff recently dumped the ex just as HD took up with his new boyfriend. The ex is thus gone from being a partnered man on good terms with his single ex to being a single man on good terms with his partnered ex. The shoe is, as they say, on the other foot.

The reason why I am mentioning this now is because OKCupid, in its infinite algorythmic wisdom, has decided that HD's ex and I are a great match, and told us both so with the eagerness of a meddling aunt matchmaking as if her life depended on it.

Beyond the fact that it made this match while HD was showing his ex how to use OKCupid - and so he knows all about it - it's also shown me some flaws in OKCupid's idea of matching. HD's ex is a militant atheist, a strict vegetarian, and a Greens voter... three things I am decidedly not. I mean, kudos to OKCupid for trying to keep my hopes up in a small, shallow pool of possible men, but that's just ridiculous.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

And now a ruling on human sexuality from those who don't live in the real world.



The internet (or at least the pink, sequined, Liza-worshipping portions of the internet) has been atwitter over the last few days about Cynthia Nixon, and comments she has made about her decision to become gay.

Cynthia doesn't understand why her "choosing" to be gay is an issue. Which suggests that she is living in a rather privileged bubble.

There are at least four problems with her position:

1. If one can choose to be gay, then logically one must also be able to choose NOT to be gay. If this were true, with so many people desperately wanting not to be gay - to the point of suicide - you'd think that at least some of them might have noticed.

2. She doesn't seem to realise that she is trivialising a factor in some people's lives that has made them the brunt of hatred and rejection.

3. In making this statement, she is siding with the Marcus Bachmanns of this world. If sexuality is a choice, it stands to reason that "praying the gay away" is a valid course of action, if one wishes to do it.

4. She's also playing right into the mindset that homosexuality is something that people DO, not something that people just ARE.

Her counter-argument, and that of her enablers, is that we should be "allowed" to "have" whatever sexuality we want. The idea that we are biological victims of our sexuality allows us to function, to an extent, within existing moral frameworks, whereas she argues that those moral frameworks should be dismantled entirely. But let's face it, outside of her elite NYC and LA enclaves, that ain't gonna happen. Besides which, traditional moral frameworks exist for a reason, and dismantling them on a society-wide scale will have unwelcome and harmful outcomes that I guarantee Cynthia and her supporters haven't considered.

But beyond all of that, the simple truth, of course, is that she is wrong. She can no more become gay than she can become black. If she started listening to gangsta rap, got hair extensions and talon-like acrylic nails, subscribed to the Black Entertainment Television Network and started speaking Ebonics... that wouldn't make her black. She'd simply be living a (rather offensively stereotyped) black lifestyle. Similarly if she has sex with women, goes to Pride marches, buys a motorbike and starts baking her own organic bread, that won't make her a lesbian. It'll just make her more annoying.

Friday, January 20, 2012

Frequently Asinine Questions



As part of an eventual coming out strategy, I've created a FAQ about being gay which attempts to answer most of the questions that people will have. The plan is to put it online and then refer people to it, so that I don't have to keep explaining the same things over and over again. The questions I've anticipated range from the salient, like, "How long have you known you were gay?" to the dumbass, like "Have you tried not being gay?".

But after I discussed the concept with another closeted friend, he suggested a whole bunch of other questions that I hadn't anticipated but which he has heard. Questions like, "Does this mean you want to be a woman?" and "So you like little boys, then?"

These questions are imbecilic, to put it mildly. And yet they demonstrate the vast gulf that separates some heterosexuals from homosexuals. Homosexuality is so bafflingly contrary to the core drives of many heterosexuals, and so unnecessary for them to research as part of their ordinary lives, that they harbour beliefs and opinions about it that are stunningly ignorant.

For example, the idea that transexuality, paedophilia and homosexuality are linked in many people's minds demonstrates that they lump any sexual behaviour separate from the heterosexual norm in a single category: that of "Being A Pervert". In this mindset, being sexually attracted to men, wanting to be a woman and molesting little boys are all different manifestations of the same abberent thing. And because they never have to deal with it themselves (unless a close friend or family member comes out), they are never challenged on their assumptions.

On the other side of the equation, it's also easy for me to forget that I've been traveling down a certain path for the last few years, and not only have my friends and family not joined me on that path, but they're scarcely aware that the path even exists. In extreme cases, coming out to them would be like lobbing an eight year old who'd never been to school into the third grade and expecting him to suddenly understand arithmatic, spelling and state capitals.

Monday, January 16, 2012

Been there, done him.



Following the failure with the South American, I organised a date last Monday with another guy on Gaydar. We had drinks for a couple of hours after work at a cool city bar. On Friday we met up again, this time at a suburban pub, then had dinner at a nice little restaurant, followed by gelati at a corner cafe and a mild evening stroll. When I walked him back to his car I could tell that he wanted to kiss me, but the street was surprisingly crowded so we simply said our goodbyes.

For the third date, last night, I invited this guy over to my house for dinner and a DVD, a scenario in which there would be no surprising crowds. Dinner went well, and the DVD was good. The implicit negotiation about how far we were going to go danced its way through the conversation. Eventually he asked me questions about my favoured choice of underwear, questions that could really only be answered by showing them off. And once you've shown a man your underwear, there's really no going back.

It wasn't the worst sex I've ever had, nor the best. Normally when I have sex with a guy there's a lot of eroticism: kissing, exploring with fingers and tongues, nibbles and strokes. With this guy, it was very functional. Nothing we did seemed to be about the pleasure of two people heated with desire for each other, but rather actions in the service of getting off. It was a process rather than an encounter.

Which may give the impression that the sex was bad or brusque, but this was not the case. His favourite sex position is on his back with his partner straddling him, a position I'd never tried before, and I found it intensely enjoyable, so much so that I came all over his chest while he was hard inside me. I came, then he came, then we chatted for a while before going to sleep. In the morning he seemed almost surprised when I kissed him and indicated that I was more than willing to go again. After a couple of other positions, he fucked me bent over the edge of the bed and came across my back. Then I had a shower, he had a shower, we got dressed, I made him breakfast, we went our separate ways and I got to work only 15 minutes later than normal.

At this point it's pretty certain that I'll see him again. And yet, despite all of my moaning about the lack of men in my life, I don't feel excited by this knowledge. It's one of those "it all looks good on paper" situations. We're about the same age, same weight, same height and in the same League. He's a top and I'm a bottom. He's enjoyable company and we hold many of the same values and priorities in life. But there's no instant sense of connection.

Perhaps the most profound issue is that I get the impression that he's a bit jaded. He's done threeways and fourways, beats and beaches, sex trains and saunas, one hour stands and Long Term Relationships: he's seen it all. While there were things about me he liked and things we did that he enjoyed, there was nothing new or special going on.

Monday, January 9, 2012

I hate being right.



Well, I guess I'm right and my friends are wrong: there are leagues, and my date last Monday was out of mine. I texted the South American yesterday to confirm plans for tonight, and around four hours later he texted to apologise that he just couldn't do "this date thing", but thanking me for a nice time last week. It seems he's still in NSA mode and he didn't see anything in me to make him want to change that.

I was half expecting this so I wasn't devastated. In fact I genuinely appreciated his honesty - most guys just mutter something about being really busy, keeping you in a holding pattern of uncertainty until you eventually come to your own conclusion that they aren't interested. But the South American respected me enough to give it to me straight, and I'm grateful for that.

The good news is that I went back on Manhunt and Gaydar and within a few hours had lined up a different date for tonight. A different, more league-appropriate date, as far as I can tell from the pictures. I also chatted with a hot but flaky 34 year old and a lonely 23 year old. So even if I'm not having much success, at least there's interest around.

Friday, January 6, 2012

The theory of being able to do better.



I went out for coffee last night with The Human Dynamo and KCG, and during the course of our conversation I said to them, "So, what did you think of Mr Singular?"

There was a telling pause. "How honest do you want us to be?" asked HD.

"Brutally", I replied. "I doubt you'll tell me anything that I haven't thought myself."

"I don't think he's a very nice person, and I think you can do a lot better."

KCG was actually a little scandalised at HD's blunt assessment - HD normally has nothing but kind words to say about any and every person he meets. HD went on to mention that, following one disasterous conversation on the verandah during our camping trip, his boyfriend now refuses to be in Mr Singular's company by himself. Mr Singular was apparently uncommunicative or, when he did decide to communicate, he was rude.

Mr Singular is abrasive at the best of times, but never moreso than with people he considers beneath him: shop assistants, waiters, and, it seems, the friends of the guy he's kinda sorta dating. I must admit that while HDs criticism is nothing I've not considered myself, hearing it from someone else sets back any resurgent interest I had in Mr Singular. When HD and I were alone, he went even further, telling me he thought that Mr Singular was toxic and he didn't want me to get in too deep and get damaged myself.

All well and good, I responded, but what's the alternative? Men aren't exactly breaking down my door. He and KCG both opined that it's better to be alone than to be with the wrong person. Which coming from two men in fulfilling, monogamous, loving relationships is a little like a couple of stockbrokers telling you that money isn't everything and it can't buy you happiness while idly polishing their Porsches.

They both criticised me further when I told them about the guy I went out with last Monday. We'd chatted briefly a couple of months ago on Manhunt but found that our objectives were incompatible - he wanted an anonymous fuck, I wanted a more meaningful relationship. But we'd both shown ourselves to be considerate and understanding of the other's position, and agreed in theory to let each other know if we changed our minds.

By last weekend he was tiring a little of NSA, and I was getting frustrated by a lack of interest from anyone decent, so I suggested meeting up. After some discussion, we agreed to go out for a drink, with no sex on the agenda, just to see what we thought of each other.

He turned out to be a good looking 36 year old South American with a sexy Spanish accent. We had our drinks at an upmarket pub, then walked up the street to one of my favourite restaurants, both of which met with his approval. By then it was getting late and he had a long drive home before work in the morning, so I walked him back to his car, gave me a little kiss good night, and we parted company. We're now planning to go out again this coming Monday.

The reason why HD and KCG criticised me is because I mentioned that I don't see much future in this relationship, primarily because the South American is in a different league. He's go-getting, good looking, exotic and sexy. He's had several long term relationships, which he seems to have acquired with less fuss than getting TiVo. "Hmmm... a long term relationship might be nice... okay... eeny, meeny, miney, mo... I'll take that one." He's from the league in which one chooses a boyfriend from the available pool when one decides that one is ready for it. I'm from the league in which one searches desperately for a man and then thanks his lucky stars when one consents to spend time with him. I'm the man chasing oasis mirages in the desert; he's the man browsing for just the right brand of gin at Liquorland. There's a gulf between us - he's a Successful Gay, and I'm not.

Perhaps because they're both in higher leagues than me, KCG and HD didn't seem to get the distinction. In fact both of them claimed not to believe in leagues at all. In the most breathtaking piece of wrongheaded thinking of the evening, one of them actually suggested that maybe when I contact a guy, and he looks at my profile but doesn't respond, it's because he's intimidated. Not, as one might guess, because he looks at me and thinks, Eww, how would you even think you had a chance with me, loser? No, it's because he sees me and is crippled with self-doubt because I'm so awesome.

I was actually a little insulted that they'd try to feed me such an implausible line.

Sunday, January 1, 2012

The Sexual Inventory: not as dirty as it sounds.



As the new year commences I've been taking stock of what I've achieved over 2011. Although I didn't find a boyfriend or out myself, I did manage to realise some smaller milestones. I had sex in my own bed for the first time. I acquired my first Friend with Benefits. I had my first gay dinner party. I had bareback sex for the first time (a milestone of dubious worth, but it exists nevertheless). I had a drink at my first gay bar. I bought my first tube of lube. I started seeing my first gay-friendly therapist.

True, some of those milestones are, not to put too fine a point on it, dumb. But there they are anyway.

As part of this reflection I've realised that I've also reached the stage of being unable to keep track of all of the guys I've seen over the last few years since I first decided to venture outside my closet. So I decided to sit down and do a Sexual Inventory.

Sexual partners is the easiest one... at least according to my definition of "sex". If you take my definition (sex = one or more partners achieving orgasm), then I have had seven partners. If you take another popular but looser definition (sex = nudity and indecent fondling), then the number bounces up to thirteen. But I find that definition unsatisfying: if that equalled sex, then logically every time a straight guy got a lap dance from a stripper, he'd technically be having sex with her... and I don't think many people would argue that.

Beyond sex, if I'm simply counting guys with whom I've gone on at least one physical date, then we're talking a group of twenty nine... twenty five of whom were in the last four years, and fourteen of whom were in the last twelve months.

Here's the breakdown of the stats:

2011

Had sex (by my definition) on roughly eleven occasions with four men: The Virtuoso, Mr Singular, Guy One and another guy I never mentioned in this blog. Interestingly, the two best lays (The Virtuoso and Mr Singular) and the one worst (the unnamed guy) of my life were this year.

I got hot and naked with two other guys, but as we stopped short of actual sex (by my definition) I've not included them. In addition I dated another eight at least once without it leading to anything more lewd than a hug or a handshake.

2010

Had sex on four occasions with two men: FHBG and this guy. I got hot and naked with one other. This was also the year that I met and became friends with KCG and The Human Dynamo. I went on one date with one other guy that I can recall.

2009

Nothing. No sex, no kissing, no dating. Zilch. It's a wonder I didn't kill myself.

2008

I had sex on around six occasions with one man: BN2. He was my first. I got hot and naked with two others (BN1 and this guy), and I dated two more.

But here's the irritating thing. Three of the seven sexual partners were one-offs. Two of them were three-offs, and the remaining two were, as far as I can recall, six-offs. This means that I have had sex on 21 occasions. Furthermore, only five of the seven were ever penetrative sex partners, and two of those five were among the one-offs. So long story short, I worked out that I've only had penetrative sex on 13 occasions... in my entire life.

No wonder I feel uncertain of my appeal and abilities in bed. I've been to the dentist for a filling more often that I've been to a horny naked guy for one.

While my number of partners is edging out of freakish demi-virgin territory, my number of actual sexual encounters remains infinitesimal. By contrast, The Human Dynamo was in a committed relationship for eight years, and KCG was in what was basically a gay marriage in all but the eyes of the law for two years. Over those respective periods, I'm guessing they both had sex more than 21 times. Hell, they might have covered that in a better than average month.

Leaving that aside, it's interesting how much I'd forgotten over the last few years. Names, dates, even entire existences had fallen by the wayside. It took a thorough audit of my email folders, Gaydar and Manhunt message bins, my phone's memory and the archives of this blog to get it all. But now it's stored here for posterity, so it'll make an interesting resource for future reference.

Here's hoping that 2012 continues the onward and upward trend!