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.

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.

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.

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.

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.