GTR

Silence isn't golden.

2012-02-03T16:09:00.001+08:00

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.

Me love your kitchen long time

2012-01-30T15:44:00.001+08:00

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.

A big fat fish in a small gay pond

2012-01-27T15:36:00.004+08:00

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.

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

2012-01-26T15:31:00.000+08:00

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.

Frequently Asinine Questions

2012-01-20T13:08:00.000+08:00

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.

Been there, done him.

2012-01-16T12:59:00.004+08:00

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.

I hate being right.

2012-01-09T13:29:00.001+08:00

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.

The theory of being able to do better.

2012-01-06T23:30:00.003+08:00

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.

The Sexual Inventory: not as dirty as it sounds.

2012-01-01T17:05:00.002+08:00

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!

Insert lame pun about "camping" here.

2011-12-31T16:55:00.000+08:00

A few posts ago I mentioned that I was going on an end of year camping trip with The Human Dynamo, KCG and their respective boyfriends, and I revealed that I was dreading it. So much so, in fact, that I emailed the Human Dynamo and told him that unless we could find some other singles to go with us, I didn't think I'd be able to handle it.

Fortunately The Virtuoso decided he'd like to join us, so I wouldn't be alone in my singleness. Then a couple of days beforehand, Mr Singular decided that he'd come down for a couple of days too. I was surprised, and a little trepidatious given that I thought he might be jealous of The Virtuoso, but I couldn't say no, and anyway it would be a good opportunity for him to meet my most important friends.

The rustic cabin we'd hired had three bedrooms. The master bedroom with a big double bed was claimed by The Human Dynamo, since he'd made the booking. The second bedroom with twin beds was claimed by KCG, who wasted no time in pushing the twins together to form a double. Mr Singular and I went into the tiny third bedroom, which had two sets of bunkbeds. Lastly The Virtuoso was banished to the living room, since his elephantine snoring would make it impossible for anyone else in the same room to sleep.

In the days prior to the trip I'd taken a vociferous position, only half jokingly, that there wasn't to be any sex on this trip. The walls were too thin, the mental pictures too gross, and my equanimity too fragile. KCG agreed, since he's far too shy to handle the thought of anyone overhearing his sexual exploits. The Human Dynamo just laughed at me and said that he would do whatever he wanted.

And so naturally, on the first night that we were both there, I had sex with Mr Singular.

It wasn't easy, in the lower bunk of a single bunk bed, while attempting to do it in near silence. But we managed. There was no penetration, given the space and noise constraints, but he rimmed me and I blew him until he came. And since there were no snide comments from The Human Dynamo or his boyfriend (who were in the adjoining room) the next morning, presumably no one was any the wiser.

The next evening we simply lay together while I stroked him, getting him so hard that his cock seemed about to burst out of its skin. I don't count that as sex, but he apparently did.

As for the other two couples... on the first morning I went bushwalking with The Human Dynamos, but the KCGs claimed they wanted to sleep in. We pretended that we believed them and made sure we had a nice and much longer than necessary walk.

Then on the third night, as we were preparing for dinner, I asked KCG where The Human Dynamo was.

"I think he's in the shower." KCG said.

"Oh, I though that was his boyfriend."

"No, I think he's in their room taking a nap."

I glanced into their room through the crack in the door, "No, there's no one in there."

KCG looked at me, I looked at him, our eyes widened, and we burst into scandalised giggles. Well, The Human Dynamo did warn me that he'd do whatever he wanted.

Because there should be the occasional post that isn't depressing.

2011-12-23T10:44:00.002+08:00

I love a big, hot, dumb man.

failure with a small 'f'. Because capitals are for winners.

2011-12-21T15:22:00.007+08:00

On Sunday afternoon I went to a summer outdoor concert with The Human Dynamo and KCG and their respective boyfriends.

It did not go well.

I have a new mantra that I am reciting to myself whenever I get mired in believing that I need a man in my life to make me happy - "I am responsible for my own happiness". No man will make me happy. Happiness comes from within.

Despite the fact that I recited it in my mind every minute or two, as we sat on the grass and watched a local band, I still struggled. This was actually the first time that the five of us had been together without anyone else, and without the distraction of other people, the dead weight of my failure was palpable. There's The Human Dynamo and his boyfriend whispering asides to each other. There's KCG and his boyfriend sharing a Coke. And here's me, trying not to swallow my beer too fast because it would leave me with nothing to do.

The music wasn't very good, so halfway through I told them I was going Christmas shopping. I left, reciting my mantra as if my life depended on it, and got a couple of things at some nearby stores. When The Human Dynamo texted me that the concert was over and they'd retired to a local pub, I wandered over there.

On the way to the concert earlier that day I had learnt that The Human Dynamo's boyfriend met the parents last week. It all went well, and another milestone of their developing relationship had been passed. When I got to the pub, I learnt that KCG and his boyfriend are meeting each other's parents over Christmas. So, isn't that cute? My best gay friends are racing neck and neck down the romantic path towards Happily Ever After, and they had so much advice and encouragement to share with each other.

Meanwhile I'm back in the starting stalls, all by myself. At this time last year we were all in roughly the same relationship position. Now, twelve months later, they've moved onward and upward, and I've gone nowhere at all. On the scale of gay relationships, where 1 is a fuckbuddy and 10 is a beloved and committed life partner, they're both already at a 4 or 5 and I'm at... 0.

Yep, that's right. I'm not even on the fucking scale.

I left early and walked back to my car alone, feeling like I'd been kicked in the chest. I was grateful for my mirrored aviators when the tears started to flow.

Here's hoping for mediocrity!

2011-12-18T11:13:00.004+08:00

I'm still spending time with Mr Singular, even though we are, as far as I can tell, on break from a realtionship which has never been defined. We've hung out together, and we chat on email every couple of days.

We had dinner at his place last night, then went out to a jazz club. While we were queueing to get in, there was a 20-something bleach blonde gay guy in front of us. When I mentioned to Mr Singular that I'd forgotten to print out our booking number, Bleach Blonde overheard and made a friendly comment. He and I exchanged a few sentences, and then his party went in and I immediately forgot him.

However later at our table Mr Singular opined that he'd been hitting on me.

"Yeah, right", I responded.

"While I was standing right there", Mr Singular continued. "I was just about ready to punch him out!"

I made a noncommital answer, but I thought, Okay, what is this? We're not together. What do you care if another guy allegedly flirts with me? Is it because you're jealous that I was getting attention and not you? Or because he assumed that you weren't important to me? Or because you don't like the idea of me getting attention from someone else?

The more I know about Mr Singular the more I believe that he isn't in the right place for a relationship at the moment. He's filled with hurt and hate, originating in things that happened to him months or years ago. He is trying to find a therapist, although his work schedule requires him to find someone who consults outside normal office hours. Until he does, I'm afraid he's going to be stuck in a rut of impotent anger, blame and corrosive behavior.

I'm very attracted to him. I enjoy spending time with him. But do I actually like him? I don't know. In light of the fulfilling, monogamous relationships that KCG and The Human Dynamo are in, I'm painfully aware that my relationship with Mr Singular is below mediocre. Even if it kinda worked out between us, it would only rise to the level of relationships that KCG and The Human Dynamo have tried and rejected as being inadequate. Let me state that again: if my relationship with Mr Singular worked out, it'd still be a scenario that they'd reject if it happened to them. The best I can hope for... the best I've managed in seven years of trying... is still sub-standard.

On being a 5th wheel.

2011-12-16T14:39:00.001+08:00

Now that KCG and the Human Dynamo have serious boyfriends, it's interesting to look at how my relationship with these new men is developing.

It's odd, but I think I have a high opinion of The Human Dynamo's boyfriend thanks to just one thing: he's made an effort to get to know me. Not much of an effort - just a couple of emails - but enough to make me feel as if he recognises that I'm an important part of The Human Dynamo's life and therefore a part of his life that needs to be important. One aspect of being in a successful relationship with someone is getting along with their friends.

By contrast, it seems that every time I talk to KCG's boyfriend, I learn something that makes me feel even worse about myself. I recently asked him, while we were out, to fire up Grindr and see who was nearby, just for our amusement. He gave me the condescending look that he habitually wears, at least around me, and said, "Oh, I deleted my Grindr weeks ago."

I had perhaps half a second of astonishment before I gleaned what he meant. People in fulfilling relationships don't need Grindr. Even so, a 21st century gay man deleting his Grindr profile is like a 1960s swinger throwing his Little Black Book into the trash - you only do it when you've found The One.

Then later, when a passing AIDS activitst gave everyone in our group a free condom, I internally reflected on my pathetic love life, heaved a sigh and said, "Well, at least you'll get to use yours."

He gave me that condescending look again, this time with a little smirk. "No, I won't."

Just like before it took me a moment to catch his meaning. He's been having purely monogamous sex for weeks - the time for condoms is past. Condoms are for players, not faithful partners.

Including The Tick Incident, I've met KCG's boyfriend exactly three times. If he has fine qualities - other than being young, rich and hardbodied (I gave him a friendly hug goodbye the last time I saw him, and it was like embracing an oak tree) - he hasn't thought it necessary to share them with me.

This was all much easier to deal with when I seemed to be on the cusp of having a boyfriend of my own. As it is, I actually find myself dreading the end of year camping trip that The Human Dynamo is organising. It will be KCG and his boyfriend, and the Human Dynamo and his boyfriend, and me and... nobody. Being a 5th wheel is almost as bad as being a 3rd wheel.

Ich war der Führer in einem früheren Leben

2011-12-08T22:51:00.003+08:00

Tonight I was supposed to be on my first date with Guy Two. Indeed, by this point, if all had gone well, we should have been naked, sweaty and deep in the throes of things that are a lot more fun than Angry Birds.

But around four hours before our date he texted me to cancel.

Sorry GTR I won't be able to make our date tonight. I'm away on leave in Germany for a while and will be back in mid January so will call u to make a new time. Thanks. Guy Two

Typical. The date I'm most looking forward to, the one that seems to have the best potential, cancels a few hours beforehand, by text, with no explanation.

I wasn't going to beg for an explanation, or express my frustration. I simply texted back:

Shame. I was really looking forward to it. Oh well, enjoy your vacation!

A few minutes later:

Same here buddy I have just moved into a new house and I have three days to get everything unpacked before going to Europe. Promise to meet u for a date when I'm back in late January.

Pfft. Whatever. Still, I texted back:

I'll hold you to that :-)

I won't, of course. If he doesn't contact me in January I'll shrug and chalk it up to karma (since judging from my history of utter romantic failure, obviously I was Hitler in previous life). You can't let these things get to you, even when you find that your evening consists of eating leftovers and playing computer games, when you'd planned on eating out and playing entirely different games.

Is this how normal people feel about every date?

2011-12-07T16:31:00.003+08:00

Last night I had a first date with the man I classed as "Guy Four" in my last post, who has slipped into my December dating schedule almost surreptitiously. Now I think I'll call him OON, for Out Of Nowhere, because it feels as if he just popped up without any sort of preamble.

He's a few years older than me but blessed with good genes. Neither good nor bad looking, neither fat nor thin, neither rich nor poor. However he was friendly, confident, intelligent and just wonderfully, refreshingly NORMAL. When we talked I got no sense of haunted vulnerability or bitchy condescension or dysfunctional attitudes. I was just talking to a pleasant, interesting man. We had drinks at a cool bar I'd never been to before, then dinner at an inexpensive Vietnamese restaurant with wonderful food.

We parted with a handshake and an agreement to have dinner again. I don't have a burning desire for him and as far as I could tell he didn't have a burning desire for me... but we seemed to like each other so why not do this again? It's all so relaxed and civilised.

The loneliness of the long-distance fucker

2011-12-06T14:25:00.003+08:00

After a reasonably long IM conversation on Sunday night, Guy One decided to drive up from his regional city to have dinner with me last night. I protested, but he said it was no big deal, and it seemed like a good way of establishing whether we were really interested in each other before we'd built up unrealistic mental images. We met at the coffee house at which I conduct a lot of my first dates.

He wasn't as attractive as he appeared in his photos, but then who does? Overall he was nice, but perhaps a little odd. Over the course of a couple of hours of conversation, I found out about his body image issues, his dysfunctional relationship with his ex, his frankly bizarre phobia about a common food group, and the fact that he has so enough sugar in his coffee to send a normal person into hypoglycemic shock. But he was intelligent enough to hold a conversation, and not unattractive, so we segued from coffee into dinner, and then from dinner into a walk.

It's a nearly nine hour round trip from his regional city to my capital one, and after all of our flirtatious banter over the last few days it seemed churlish to just have dinner with him and then send him off to find a hotel. So I invited him to spend the night with me. After all, it's been five weeks or so since my last sexual encounter, and he seemed like a nice enough guy. He followed me back to my place and after a Diet Coke we got down to it.

His kissing, when tender and tentative, was quite good. When he got more ardent it wasn't. It didn't help that his stubble abraded my lips and nose worse than usual, such that I currently look like Rudolph the Red Nosed Drag Queen. He also sucked on my neck so hard that there's a huge purple bruise there now. If I were a woman I could cover all of these things up with cosmetics, but instead I had to go to work looking like I'd been sandpapered and then smacked with a broomstick.

The sex was okay, but he's versatile rather than a natural top and it showed. He was also married for several years, and it showed too. At one point in the proceedings, as he was humping away in a missionary position frottage act, I thought, "This would be awesome if I were a woman with a vagina."

Credit where it's due; he did make me come, which almost never happens. In fact he managed it twice. The downside of this was that I experienced first hand the hormone drain that turns a horny lover dismissive within the space of a few minutes. To be honest, it was a little overwhelming in its intensity. I went from "Well, this is all very nice" to "Ugh, I'm trapped in a bed with this guy for the next eight hours! How do I get out of this!?" For half an hour I felt absoltutely wretched, so much so that I wondered if I was experiencing the first flutters of a panic attack. I had to literally fight the urge to roll over and keep my back to him.

But it wasn't like that when I spent the night with Mr Singular. Perhaps because I didn't come? Or perhaps because I felt a sense of connection with him that I decidedly didn't feel with Guy One?

This morning Guy One got back in his car and drove back to his regional city. He's already texted me twice, and I've responded in a friendly but noncommital fashion. Frankly I don't care if I never communicate with him again, but he seemed enamoured. From what I understand, he has a lonely life in this distant little city, with no lover and few friends, and that sort of loneliness can do strange things to a man's sense of proportion.

A whole wide world of marginal interest.

2011-12-01T23:18:00.003+08:00

So, an update on The Three Guys mentioned in my last post:

Guy One - we IM'd last night, and he sent me some larger pictures of himself. He's tall and slim and defined, and he looks a lot better when he smiles. The flirtatious banter was getting quite pronounced, especially after he sent me the X-rated pictures. After all this if I actually meet him and find that there's something really I don't like, or he meets me and feels something similar, it's going to be a dreadful disappointment. We'll catch up if he's in the city over the next few weeks, although the sturm und drang of Christmas tends to overwhelm everyone's schedules at this time of year. I've even tossed around the idea of driving out to his city for a couple of days during the holidays, but I don't want to seem too eager or desperate.

Guy Two - I spoke to him on the phone last night, and even over the phone it felt as if there was a crackle of sexual energy between us. At this risk of sounding like a giggly schoolgirl, he has an amazing aura of potency. We've agreed to go out to dinner next Thursday, and, providing we don't hate each other on sight, it's been pretty much agreed that we'll head back to his place afterwards.

He may turn out to be a bit of a find. It would appear that the only reason why he's unclaimed is that he's more closeted than I am - add up the facts that he's rich, accomplished, intelligent, well-presented and rather sexy and under most circumstances you'd expect him to have either a harem of hot younger boyfriends or a life partner just as successful as him. Additionally for most of his life he's classed himself as bisexual, which actually has a couple of benefits: he's very masculine and he's used to treating dates with a certain deference and charm that women expect. With gay guys it's usually a matter of "Hey, you wanna hook up sometime?", whereas with him it was, "Do you want to go out with me for dinner?" Even though sex has been on the table (as it were) since the very begining, there's still a sense of something more romantic going on.

Of course it could be that once we've slept together he'll lose all interest, but he's already offered to take me out to his weekender sometime, so he is at least glancing at the future.

Guy Three - I offered him four different days for going out for a drink. He was busy on all of them. The odd thing is that he keeps encouraging me, rather than just giving brusque responses that would indicate his loss of interest. I wish he'd either make some space for me in his schedule or just abandon the pretense of interest.

And, as a bonus...

Guy Four - He's a bit meh, but we're meeting for a drink next Wednesday. He's older and not terribly attractive, but hey, he could have a killer sense of humour and a keen insightful mind. I guess I'll find out. And unlike some people at least he's willing to actually meet me.

Once, twice, three times a horny frustrated loser.

2011-11-28T14:29:00.003+08:00

So I have three guys, mentioned in my last post, who are interested in me... but it's a vague interest. I exist in a twilight space in which I have a lot of potential but no actual activity.

I was supposed to have a first date with Guy Three last night, but he cancelled early that morning after waking up sick. This is the second time he's cancelled on me - the first due to work, the second due to illness - and while I believe his excuses to be genuine it's hard not to feel jerked around.

Meanwhile I'm hoping that Guy Two will get back in touch tonight, since he arrived home from interstate last night, but who knows if he actually will.

And Guy One had some minor surgery last week and hasn't been online much lately, so I have no idea what's happening there.

The thing is... I'm horny. Part of the sudden change in my attitude after Mr Singular rejected me has also ramped up my sex drive. I still don't want to go through the ordeal of No Strings Attached sex, which I can only see as sex with an unhappy ending. But I'm not demanding a partner or even a boyfriend. A Friend With Benefits or, at worst, a fuckbuddy would do me for the moment. I have three guys who would seem to fit the bill quite well, but between sickness, work, and a desire not to appear desperate we're simply not managing to get an introductory meeting, let alone a night together.

As for Mr Singular... I saw him on Saturday morning for a late breakfast, and as I was leaving I asked where we were at. There was forgiveness on both sides, yes, but did he want to get back togther or did he want to just be friends? He opted for friends, for the moment, with the door open for more. Although rather ominously he warned me that a few months down the track that door could well close.

I wasn't worried. It means I can pursue other relationships with a clear conscience.

However by evening we had arranged to meet at my place for drinks and a movie, and I found myself with his feet in my lap. I gave him a foot massage. He gave one in return, and then moved on to a hand massage. Is this something that "just friends" do? I wondered. What's he playing at?

I have a suspicion that he's trying to manoeuvre me into being his Standby Fag Fag: a sexually interested but impotent friend to entertain him when his Main Fag Fag is otherwise occupied. Needless to say that's not going to happen. But I also recognise that every suspicion I've ever had about Mr Singular has been utterly wrong, so for the moment I'm going to suspend judgement.

In the aftermath, potential.

2011-11-23T14:14:00.002+08:00

So Mr Singular has broken his silence.

After he'd ignored my texts and emails for a week, I decided that I didn't want to end this on such a sad, vituperative note, so I sent him an email on Monday morning basically stating that I was sorry for hurting him, I hoped he would eventually forgive me, and wishing him well. I imagined him and his fag fag* snickering to themselves at my old-fashioned preciousness and the fact that it took me so long to realise I was dumped, but I felt I had to do it, if only for the sake of closure.

Half an hour later, I noticed an email in my inbox. From Mr Singular. Great, I thought, it will be some scorn thinly disguised as acknowledgement.

But it wasn't. It was a sad admission that he was suffering under a mound of guilt and inability to move on, and hating himself for not being able to forgive me. He said I deserved better, but he hoped we could still be friends.

I replied in a noncomittal fashion. He replied to that. I replied again. By the time we'd both left work we were discussing the issues, albeit obliquely. He texted me later in the evening, and, after several exchanges, he admitted that he'd forced himself to forgive me, and asked for my forgiveness in return, which I gave.

And I thought, "Dammit, you total bastard! What are you doing? And why are you doing it now?"

Because something odd had happened. I think he broke me. It's as if I'm suddenly a slightly different person. Once the awful realisation that he was rejecting me sank in, about a week ago, I'd decided to get my life back on track. I went back online and chatted to some guys whom I'd been keeping at arm's length because of my relatonship Mr Singular. Now that that was over, by Monday night I had set up dates with three new guys.

And the thing is I don't want to cancel. They are all interesting in their own way. More problematically, they are all sexually interesting in their own way. As things stand at the moment it's pretty much guaranteed that I'll fuck at least two of them.

Guy One is a government manager based in a regional city, who is only up in my big city sporadically. He wants a proper relationship but hasn't been able to find anyone who fits the bill, so as a second choice he's interested in a long-term, committed, respectful fuckbuddy relationship. Basically he wants to find someone he can stay with, and fuck, when he's in the city. He's fit, intelligent, not unattractive, hung, and apparently has the sex drive of a herd of wild stallions. I've enjoyed our online chats, so I'd be interested to meet him, at least.

Guy Two is a stockbroker who appears to have brushed aside my insistence that I'm not into casual sex, but in a friendly, direct, no-nonsense way that I find perversely attractive. He's fit, nice looking, and very masculine. His attitude - "Of course we'll have sex. It'll be fun. Quit your bitching" - is refreshing because it's so unsleazy. I spoke to him on the phone last night and discovered that we have a surprising number of things in common, so it will be interesting to actually meet him.

An odd additional aspect is that Guy One, Guy Two and I all have the same first name. When I realised this I jokingly thought, "Man, three guys with the same name... we should totally have a threeway." And suddenly the idea seemed irresistibly hot. It's too early to suggest it - hell, I don't even know if I really want it - but it's lodged itself in my brain and is just sitting there, waiting.

Guy Three is a nurse, and does not have the same name (which is good, because I don't think I could handle a fourway), but he seems like a nice guy. He's sort of odd-looking, at least according to his profile photo, but the layout of a person's face is often the least important aspect of attraction. The fact that he's a nurse suggests a caring, compassionate nature, and after all the stress and heartache of Mr Singular I could really use that.

*a gay male version of a fag hag - a non-sexual, somewhat codependent gay best friend. Mr Singular spends a lot of time with his.

Life amid the wreckage.

2011-11-20T14:10:00.001+08:00

I didn't communicate with Mr Singular the next day, nor him with me. The day after I had to be up at 6.30am for an early meeting, a time when he's usually at work. I texted him, So this is what 6.30am looks like. I do not approve.

No response.

Later that morning I found a rubber band on a colleagues desk that looked hilariously like an erect penis. I snapped a photo with my phone, texted it to KCG, who finds these things amusing, and then to Mr Singular. KCG responded. Mr Singular didn't.

Friday passed without communication from either of us. On Saturday evening I went to the local Pride Parade. I took a photo and texted it to him, with Guess where I am!

No response.

When I don't respond to his texts for 48 hours, it's unacceptable game-playing and a deal-breaker. When he ignores me for almost a week, it's... well, who knows? But clearly I've been dumped. I stood there at the side of the Pride Parade, in the middle of a crowd of happy, laughing gay men. The one's who didn't have committed partners would have uncommitted partners within a few hours. And then there was me, unceremoniously brushed off by the only man he'd ever had serious feelings for. Despite the go-go boys in gold hotpants and brightly coloured drag queens swirling around me, I felt as if I was at the bottom of a dark hole. It was only though force of will that I didn't sink to the pavement and bawl my eyes out.

So instead of going to an afterparty I went home, and sobbed into my pillow.

In which it all comes apart like a cheap Ikea bookcase.

2011-11-15T23:50:00.002+08:00

The last few days have been excruciating.

It started on Saturday. I had an all day sporting event to go to, Mr Singular had an all day family event. We agreed to meet up in the evening for massive amounts of sex. Well, perhaps not so specifically, but with my cold sore finally healed, and it being Saturday night after nearly two weeks of chastity, it was understood.

I went to the barber early in the morning so that my hair would be looking its most stylish and sexiest. I met KCG, his new boyfriend, and the Human Dynamo's new boyfriend and went to our sporting event. Over the next few hours I allowed myself to tell KCG about the new man I was seeing. I also allowed myself the satisfaction of knowing that now that KCG, the Human Dynamo and I were all in nascent relationships, we'd crossed a line and "made it". If we weren't up on the winner's dais at the Gay Olympics, we were at least competing successfully.

At around 6pm we were in the car heading home. KCG's boyfriend had exhausted himself and was asleep in the front seat, and I watched as KCG stole cute, affectionate glances at him as he drove. The Human Dynamo's boyfriend was texting little love notes to the Human Dynamo, who couldn't be there because of work. Suddenly my phone chimed, and I saw that it was from Mr Singular.

I have to cancel tonight. Will not be home any time soon. Sorry.

I felt... numb. He'd been a bit standoffish when I'd seen him on Thursday, but I'd put that down to a lingering fear of my cold sore. I'd asked him to make sure that he didn't drink too much at his family thing (his family are apparently massive binge drinkers) so that he'd be in fit state to deal with me. But it seems that wasn't enough. The message was pretty clear: I'm okay, but when it comes down to a choice of spending the night with me and getting hammered with the cousins he gets hammered with at least once every few weeks... the cousins won.

Understood, I texted back. Meaning, "Oh, I understand all right. Fuck you too."

KCG dropped me off at home, making a ribald joke about hoping that his boyfriend still had enough energy for the evening's activities. I smiled, but only on the outside. Later that night Mr Singular sent me another text. So yet another family event that's left me feeling like shit. Not sure why I go to them, actually...

"Whatever", I said to myself in disgust, and tossed my phone onto an armchair.

The next morning, around 9am, he texted, Sorry about last night. It was longer than I thought. What are you up to today?

"Yeah, I'm really feeling the sorrow", I muttered, and I went off to have breakfast.

Throughout the day I checked my phone to see if there were any more messages. There weren't. Any missed calls? No. Any suggestion of, GTR, are you okay? or Is something wrong? Apparently not. Just silence.

He really had tired of me. I'd known him for less than three weeks, and he'd already grown bored with me. I cleaned the house and fretted. I went out with some friends in the evening just to take my mind off it. Then I barely slept all night. The next morning, Monday, I checked my email... nothing.

On Monday evening I went to see my therapist and discussed the matter with him. I knew I had to be the mature one and resolve this one way or another. He made some conflict resolution suggestions, and when the session was finished I called Mr Singular and asked if I could come over. He agreed.

As per my therapist's suggestions, I took him a little gift (a cookie) and started with an apology ("I'm sorry I didn't respond to your texts"). Then I waited to hear what he had to say.

It was all my fault, apparently. After I didn't respond to his second text he decided that he was never contacting me again. It was playing games, and he hates people who play games. It was a deal-breaker. I apologised again, not abjectly, but sincerely, for causing him pain... all the while thinking, "Do you really imagine that this is all about you? That you're the only one who suffered here?"

Slowly, over the next few hours, the anger dissipated. We had a glass of wine. We sat on the sofa and talked. We watched more Will & Grace with him resting his head in my lap and me stroking his hair. He was less brittle but still withdrawn, and uncommunicative. We kissed a little - tiny, passionless pecks - and left him around 11pm. As I drove away I thought that our relationship had been damaged, and maybe it could be healed, but it certainly wasn't going to be as smooth as either of us had hoped.

Cut to the next morning. Full of hope for the future, I flicked him an email to his work address around 11.30. There's no reply, but I assumed he was busy or maybe away from the office.

Around 2.15, I sent him a jokey little text. He usually responds pretty quickly, but this time there was nothing.

And slowly, horribly, sickeningly, it dawned on me. All of his talk about not communicating being "game-playing" and "a deal breaker"... it was a setup. He'd been tiring of me and my little stunt had pushed him over the edge, but he couldn't leave it with me having the final say over the relationship. So he went along with the reconciliation. He let me think that we had talked it out. He sent me on my way thinking that things were okay, all the while intending to turn the tables and ignore my every attempt at contact from now on.

The hypocricy was staggering. The vindictiveness even moreso. He said goodnight to me knowing that the truth of what was going on creep up on me, humiliatingly, over the next 24 hours.

I called his mobile around 5.45pm from my office phone. It went to voicemail and I didn't leave a message. When I got home from work I called again, this time from my mobile. There's no response, but by this time I would have been surprised if there was one. He's screening his calls. I was tempted to leave a nasty message, but I just asked him to call me. I didn't expect him to, but it was the adult thing to do to give him the option to do the right thing.

How do I get out of this on top? I wondered. There's no point trying to salvage the relationship. After battling with fury and anger and soul-crushing anguish for a few hours, I had an epiphany. Humility. Apologise to him, sincerely and from the heart, and say goodbye to him forever. Acknowledge that, whatever his behaviour, I did the wrong thing and I need to say that clearly and properly and without any hope of getting anything out of it. Basically, be the better man and genuinely wish him well.

I composed a message, right from the heart, but written down so that I didn't say anything stupid or give in to a sudden flash of hurt or anger. I wanted to do this right. I thought about leaving it right there and then on his voicemail, and get it all over and done with, but the timing seemed wrong so I decided to wait until morning.

Around 10pm, after setting up a date with a new guy on Manhunt, and with numbness starting to replace the hurt, I had a perverse desire to look at my last message to him again. I opened up the text app on my phone and suddenly saw the New Message light next to his name.

What the fuck?

The phone had been sitting next to me for the last few hours. It hadn't chimed. There'd been no icon for a new message. I tapped it open.

There was a response to my jokey little text, and then Wassup? Not at home and can't really talk.

WHAT THE FUCK???

What's he still doing out? I wondered. He works an early morning shift and he's usually asleep by now... I checked the timestamp next to the message. It's from three hours earlier!

WHAT. THE. FUCK???

MY FUCKING CARRIER HAS DELAYED HIS FUCKING MESSAGE FOR THREE FUCKING HOURS!!!

Working backwards, I determine that he must have texted me right after I phoned him.

I sent him a text saying that I only just got the message. A moment later my phone rang, so softly that it's barely audible even in a silent room. Somehow the ringer volume had been turned right down. It would explain why I didn't hear it chime, but not why there was no icon for a new message on the home screen.

"Hello?"

Hey, I just rolled over in bed and saw that you texted me.

"Uh, yeah. Fucking Vodafone. It only just gave me the message you sent three hours ago!"

It's shit. All telcos are shit.

"I know."

So what did you want to talk to me about?

All of my anger, my hurt, my hope, basically every feeling I have is crashing around my ears and I can't think straight. "I just wanted to know if you were okay."

Uh... yeah?

"Since you said you hadn't been sleeping well, and been tired all the time."

Yeah, I slept pretty well. Too short, but pretty well.

"Good. Good."

I ended the call as quickly as I could. I had no idea what to feel. This morning I had hopes we could start anew. This afternoon I realised he had betrayed me and was playing me for a sap. This evening I overcame my anger and hurt and resolved to end it with dignity and maturity. And then late at night I find out that everything I'd felt over the last ten hours was wrong.

Maybe.

I can't deal with this. Nothing has changed since I wistfully thought about how much I missed him this morning... but my feelings for him are dead. The stress has killed them.

The despair of a relationship in a straitjacket.

2011-11-09T13:44:00.000+08:00

My mouth is still a wretched place inhabited only by the herpes simplex virus and my own sense of despair. It's healing, but I think it's still infectious.

It's only been ten days since I had sex with Mr Singular, but it feels like a month. I've seen him three times, including last Saturday night, and we couldn't do anything racier than hug and watch Will & Grace.

Sure, you could argue that we could have jerked each other off, or something similar... but this isn't about getting off. This is about intimacy and connection, and the natural expression of the attraction we feel for each other. We can't be close to each other in the way that we want to be.

I'm still finding it hard to read this whole relationship. On Saturday night Mr Singular seemed a little bit distant in some ways. When I wrapped my arms around him he responded, but he didn't initiate any contact. He fell asleep lying on top of me in front of the TV, then stumbled off to bed with a mutter that he couldn't stay awake.

Okay, I thought. Maybe this isn't as profound a relationship as I thought. He's happy to have me around and even happier to fuck me, but he's not going to make any effort to make me happy in return. Perhaps he's realising that I'm not going to be anything special.

But then all through Sunday and today he was texting and emailing, telling me how much he missed me, and being romantic and affectionate. "I'm watching people kissing on TV and thinking, 'I can't wait to kiss my man again...'", he wrote at one point, and I thought, "So you're thinking of me as your man, then?" When I admitted to feeling flat, he asked if it was anything he'd done, or if there was anything he could do to make me feel better.

Then when I spent Tuesday evening with Mr Singular, everything was peachy. When I was standing at the stove stirring a pot he came up behind me, wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled my neck. When we were lying on the couch watching bad British renovation shows on TV, he held my hands in his, or stroked my leg.

So perhaps he was just down on Saturday because after a week of waiting I still wasn't able to kiss him, or enjoy myself in his bed.

The cold sore is just about healed. We probably could have kissed last night without infection, but it seemed silly to risk it. Plus giving the ulcer an extra two days to heal will be more comfortable for me.

Still having to wait.

2011-11-04T13:39:00.001+08:00

Last night I managed to catch up with Mr Singular - it's been three whole days since I last saw him, a record in our short relationship. We met at an invitation-only sale at a high end and extremely gay interior design store, and we spent a while looking at pretty things while sipping champagne. I was very gratified when we bumped into another gay friend of mine: as soon as Mr Singular's back was turned, gave me a split-second, wide-eyed "OMG HE'S HOT!" face, before he had to slip back into a neutral expression when Mr Singular turned to us again.

Afterwards we slipped off to a fashionable bar and just spent an hour together talking and enjoying each other's company. But I had to do some grocery shopping, and take a friend to the airport for a late night flight, so we had to part by 8pm. But for the rest of the evening we traded texts, ramping up the sexy banter until we were forced to admit that it wasn't really banter any more. I wanted him, and he wanted me.

We've had an arrangement all week to see each other on Saturday, and oh, the plans we had! Meet mid-afternoon and go shopping. Have dinner at a little Italian place around the corner from his house. Snuggle on the couch with a glass of wine. Go to bed early and tear into each other, releasing all the pent up sexual energy that we've been hoarding all week, voraciously, hungrily, creatively, late into the night. Wake up on Sunday morning and laze in bed, nuzzling and enjoying more langorously paced sex.

But... my cold sore is a very bad one - the skin across my whole face is dry and my eyes have a vague, constant itch. Despite the fact that I'm dilligently using the anti-viral cream it's only healing very slowly. I was hoping that it would be healed by tomorrow, but here we are the day before and it's still blistered. We're facing the horrible prospect of having to forgo sex even longer. I feel as if I'm letting him down. I feel diseased - here I am getting freaked out by unprotected sex, but I'm the one who's demonstrably infectious.

I'm longing for the touch of his hands on my naked skin, his lips brushing against my ear, his teeth biting just a little too hard on my nipple. I yearn for the prickle of his chest hair under my fingers and the soft downy fuzz of his shaven head on my cheek. And frustrated when we stop talking for a moment and just look at each other, and I see the flicker of hunger in his eyes.

A sore point.

2011-11-01T12:28:00.000+08:00

It's odd how small things can change the course of a relationship in ways that'd you'd never even expect.

Yesterday morning I noticed a slight tingle in the corner of my lip, and I realised that, thanks to a combination of stress and sucking face with a stubbly guy, I was developing a cold sore. By the time I went to Mr Singular's house for dinner at around 7pm, it had blossomed into its full, itchy, annoying maturity.

But this was, counterintuitively, a good thing. An infectious cold sore on my mouth meant that the most intimate thing we could do was hug. In fact, it puts me out of sexual action for around five or six days. Faced with no sex or even kissing, we had no excuses not to sit down and talk

We snuggled on the couch and watched some Will & Grace DVDs, with my head resting on his stomach and him leaning down every so often to kiss me gently on the forehead. I stroked his leg, perhaps mischeviously, in a way that made him sporadically hard; I could feel his erection pushing against the nape of my neck through his shorts. We talked for a bit and eventually shut the DVD off because we weren't really watching it.

I decided to be bold and give him an opportunity to get answers to any questions that had evolved over the last week. I asked him, "We've been dating for a week now. Would you like to ask me anything?"

He asked me why I didn't have a sexual history until my mid-30s. I told him the truth. He asked me my opinion about gay marriage. I told him the truth about that too. Wrapped up in each other on a couch, full of wine and with no anticipation of sexual activity on the horizon, we could open up to each other and clear the air. We shared what we wanted in the bedroom (apparently my kissing is too aggressive, but the things I'm doing when I blow him are driving him wild). Unfortunately we aren't yet in a place where we can discern where all of this is going, but hey, it's only been a week and we are coming from very different places. He's eleven years younger than me but for every man I've shagged he's had six or seven.

As for my fears raised by the barebacking episode of the previous night, he swore that he only did it because he knew that he was completely clean. As for my other fears... well, it's a little low, but when he went to the toilet I flipped open his wallet and glanced at his credit card. The name on the card matched the one he'd given me. Later I noticed some mail on a table, and it too had the correct name. So I was reassured that he was telling me the truth.

I still want to physically see the results of his last STD test. But everything about what he says and how he acts speaks of the fact that he wouldn't do anything to put me at harm.

Gay sex is no walk in the park.

2011-10-31T12:11:00.001+08:00

Last night I went for a long, romantic stroll with my new man, along the riverfront in the pink and purple glow of twilight. In a tiny park next to the highway, out of sight of the evening joggers and dog walkers, he grabbed me and kissed me with a sly little laugh and a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

When we got back to my place we had dinner, then lay on the couch and watched a movie, wrapped in each other's bodies. When the movie was over we kissed and he warned me that it was 10pm and he had to go home for an early start in the morning. I persuaded him to lie down with me for a while on the bed so that we could talk. We talked and kissed and caressed each other. We decided that he would leave at 10.30pm. We kissed some more, harder. We became entangeld in each other. 10.30pm came and went. He sighed and muttered "Oh fuck it", and had torn my clothes off within seconds.

At 11pm we were both exhausted and naked with our heads hanging over the foot of the bed.

We talked for a little while longer... and it possibly wasn't our best conversation. You see - and this will no doubt raise a chorus of "OMG ARE YOU INSANE!?" - he'd asked in the final moments of sex if he could come inside me, and I'd said yes. Once he'd blown his load and we'd both collapsed gasping back onto the bed, I became aware of the alarm bells going off inside my head.

Normally I'm scrupulous about safe sex, on the limited occasions that I actually get to practice sex at all. But my relationship with this guy has developed so fast, and with such a unique level of feeling, that I've let my guard down. Up to this point, in the four times we've had sex, he hasn't worn a condom but he's pulled out before coming. By the cold light of day that sounds like a completely inadequate gesture at "safe sex", but as we all know in the heat of the moment it's impossible to think straight.

I spent the next ten minutes grilling him about the results of his last STD test and his sexual history since then, hating the awkwardness of having to discuss it at all. His last test was two months ago (and clean, apparently), and his only sexual activity since then has been once with a stranger (non-penetrative) and once with his ex (with whom he wore a condom).

That's lightens the weight on my mind, but I'm going to have to insist on safe sex from now on. And get myself tested, of course, which will be a milestone I'd have prefered to avoid. Profound feelings of attraction don't prevent HIV. And given that I haven't taken a dump since then, I'm horribly aware that his cum is still inside me, allowing plenty of time for infection to transfer from him to me.

This cold dose of reality has also made me look at him a little more critically. I got his surname from him to create a proper contact entry on my phone, and despite the fact that both his first name and his surname are unusual I can't find any trace of him on the internet. No facebook, no professional associations, nothing. There's one person with the same name in Geneva, and another one in Houston who is actually a woman. I tried his brother, who has an equally unusual first name, and there was nothing there either.

In itself this is nothing - I'm not with facebook either and apart from my work nothing comes up about me in a google search. However in light of my epiphany about safe sex and bearing in mind what I learned about BN2, it freaks me out a little bit. When I see him tonight I'm going to make sure I see a credit card, or a license, or something that shows his name. Just to reassure myself.

The Singularity.

2011-10-29T21:06:00.001+08:00

Last night was my second date with the man I met on Wednesday. He needs a nom de blog, like KCG or the Human Dynamo, but I'm terrified of what to call him. He's already a profound episode in my gay life, but I have no idea what he will eventually be. All I know is that we're already connected in a way I haven't been with any other man.

I'll call him Mr Singular, because that's what he is.

We spent yesterday trading increasingly flirtatious texts. Some of them so charged with anticipation that when I read them I had to lean back in my chair and take a few deep breaths. We were meeting at my house to go out to dinner... but it was becoming obvious that we'd be doing a lot more than that.

He arrived. I brought him into my house. We kissed, as we'd been wanting to do since the bar two nights earlier, and he was confident and erotic. We had a pre-dinner drink and kissed again.

On the way to the restaurant he held my hand in the car, and as we sat, ordered, ate and got to know each other a little better, we were both clearly aware that this was just a necessary part of the evening, not something over which we wanted to linger. We were back at my place barely 90 minutes later.

We sat on opposite ends of the couch and had a cocktail. We talked some more, and drank our drinks. When I'd finished mine I put it down on the end table, got up, sat down close to him and kissed him, long and deep.

What followed next he later described as "a trail of sexual devastation". Couch cushions strewn across the room, my fine linen jacket crumpled up on the floor, shoes and other bits of clothing lost under armchairs. We stumbled to the bedroom, stripped off our remaining clothes, and spent the next four hours fucking as if our lives depended on it.

He's a masterful kisser, soft and then plunging. When he drifted down to suck my cock, he was a gentle as a butterfly, using just the tip of his tongue in a way that charged me like an electric shock. When he discovered that I was too tight - it's been months since I had penetrative sex - he took his time (almost an hour) with his fingers, his tongue and his cock to gently tease me open. Then once I was ready, he grabbed me tight and pounded me like a hurricane. He was even better than The Virtuoso - it felt so fucking good. He wasn't very vocal but I moaned and gasped and let him know, without a shadow of a doubt, just how incredible he was.

Around midnight, after our third round of bed-devastating sex, he asked if he should go, and I told him I wanted him to stay. I didn't sleep very much - this is only the second time in my life that I have spent the whole night with a man - but we spent the night wrapped up tightly in each others' arms. If he let go of my hand to scratch his nose in his sleep, he found it again and entwined our fingers.

When we woke at dawn, we whispered to each other how strange it was that we felt so comfortable together after having barely met. There was more kissing, more amazing sex. We eventually got up, got dressed, and went out to breakfast at my favourite cafe. When we came back, we went back to bed and did the same things fully clothed that we'd earlier done naked. If it hadn't been for another friend picking me up at 10.15am to go out, I've no doubt we would have shed our clothes and plunged back into it. Our first date was two and a half hours. Our second date was sixteen. Our third date will be tomorrow night, and who knows what will happen.

I'm dead tired from lack of sleep. My legs are sore from being slung over his shoulders or wrapped around his waist. My ass is sore from four rounds of hardcore sex. Nothing seems as important as seeing him again. I'm trying not to think too much, to overanalyse or project. But I like him so damn much. He's broad and strong, with a thickly haired chest and a sweet smile. He's intelligent and handsome. He's rough and passionate, and very, very sexy. Clearly I am falling for him, and hard.

Riding the World's Worst Rollercoaster.

2011-10-27T11:56:00.001+08:00

Following the events mentioned in my previous post, last week was mostly bad for me: a rollercoaster that spent a lot of time in the pits of despair with occasional lifts up into basic normalcy.

But I'd mostly recovered by Sunday, thanks to a couple of occurances. On Friday evening I had dinner with KCG at the same smart restaurant I took him to for his birthday last year... only this time he was paying. I didn't mention that he'd been the trigger for my depression, but I shared that I'd been low and from his attitude and body language I realised that my distress on Saturday night wasn't as well founded as I'd thought: perhaps we really have bonded and grown closer over the last few months. He was caring and attentive, and when we went our separate ways around 11pm he gave me a long, lingering hug that made me feel better than I had for several days.

Then on Sunday I went for a pleasant evening walk with a guy I went out with a few months ago. He's from one of those passionate, impulsive middle eastern cultures, and although it's clear that we're not going anywhere romantically the first thing he did when he saw me was to grab me and kiss me intensely. We went for our walk, came back, had a drink and kissed again. When it came time to leave, as he walked out the door he grabbed my hand with both of his and tenderly kissed the back of it, in a gesture so sweet and courtly that it melted even my cold heart. We're not compatible, and we both know it, but hey, it's nice to be wanted.

The biggest mood lift came early this week, however. On Monday evening I started chatting with a guy on Manhunt, which moved on to texting, then on to a phone call. He was young, good-looking, intelligent and unusually interesting. So we arranged to go on a date on Wednesday night to a cool neighbourhood bar. In real life he was chunkier than in his pictures, but in an attractive, bearish way. He was wearing one of those T-shirts with a buttoned opening between the midpoint of his chest and his throat, and whether intentionally or not he'd left them all undone. The glimpse of his hairy chest through the gap was the sexiest thing I'd seen in a long time. The conversation was a little stilted at first but we kept at it, and it got better, especially after a couple of drinks. It started to rain, and we had to move from our big balcony table to a couple of chairs in a tight space under the awning. The space was so cramped that our legs were nearly entwined, and it was then that I started getting The Vibe from him.

We agreed to see each other again on Friday, and when we left a little while later (I had a previous engagement I had to get to), I gave him a little peck on the lips and a hug as I got into my car. Even as I did it, it felt a bit lame. As he lumbered off to his own car, I sent him this text:

I hate the awkwardness of the first date goodnight kiss.

Glad we did though.

Then I drove away. Down the street. Onto the main road. Through the shopping precinct. Left into another road. Up onto the freeway. Through the city centre. Over the bridge leading to the southern suburbs. All the while glancing at my phone sitting silent and dead on the passenger seat.

Oh crap. I thought. I've screwed it up yet again. Scared off yet another guy with my gaucherie and cluelessness. When will I fucking learn?

Then my phone trilled and lit up. Despite the fact that I was driving in the rain at 100kph, I tapped the message open. Yeah me too. Really wanted to pash you at the bar though...

To call what I felt relief would have been like calling a tsunami a gentle ripple.

That would have just made that ugly bartender jealous... I tapped back, once I'd reached my destination and could do it safely.

Him: Ah who cares, let him be jealous. I would have felt better. Trying to think what we should do on Friday...

Me: Frankly I like your pashing idea, but I suppose we need a more formal anchor event :-)

Him: I like my pashing idea too; even more now that I know you like it.

Wow. Note to self: do NOT fuck this up.

Nothing hurts like discovering that you're not happy, you're just a fool.‏

2011-10-16T23:42:00.002+08:00

Yesterday KCG and I went hiking in the hills outside the city. It was a gruelling 9 hour, 28km trek but the scenery was spectacular and we both had a sense of achievement in completing it.

On the way back to the city around 9 - 10pm, I observed that KCG was brighter and chirpier than he usually is, singing along with the radio and hilariously shouting over-the-top abuse at the road workers who kept us sitting at a set of lights for several minutes. This is great, I thought. We've had a fun day, just the two of us for nearly 12 hours. We've bonded. We're becoming better friends. This is cool. Maybe you don't need to have a boyfriend to be successful in this world after all. I'm fun in my own right and people have fun when they're with me. I make people's lives better, just as they improve mine!

But no. It turns out that the truth was the complete and utter opposite.

I discovered later, quite by accident, that while we were hiking KCG had arranged by text to hook up with his new boyfriend late that evening, but hadn't told me. He wasn't in a bright and happy mood because we were at the end of a good day together, but because he was on the cusp of a great night with his lover. He wasn't pretending to be upset at the road workers holding us up - he was frustrated that every minute on the road was one he wasn't spending with his guy. And I hadn't made his day better - I was an obligation to finish up ASAP before the best part of his day could begin.

The worst part was the way that I found out. KCG didn't mention his plans - I assumed that like me he was going home to simply shower off the sweat and grime and rest his aching muscles. But after he dropped me off, I discovered that on our hike we had both acquired a bunch of ticks. I carefully tweezered off the ones of my legs and thighs, but there was one right in the centre of my back that I couldn't possibly reach. I couldn't leave it there until the morning, and it was nearly 11pm so most of my friends were out or asleep. But I knew that KCG would still be up, so I rang him, explained the situation and asked if I could drive over to his place (a 20 minute trip) and get him to tweezer it off. I vaguely noticed that he seemed put out on the phone, but I assumed it had something to do with the late hour.

Of course when I eventually got to his house I saw the strange car in the driveway, and I put two and two together quickly. He let me in and introduced me to his new man. The awkwardness hung in the air. It was clear that they'd been planning to get their boyfriend thing on and I was holding up proceedings. KCG got the tick off my back, and I left, being there all of two minutes.

So here was I; the weird, awkward loser friend who drives halfway across the city late at night to get a tick removed, and there was them; cool, good-looking young gay men in the most intoxicating stage of their relationship, about to do the sorts of things that normal, horny adults do, interrupted and having to patiently deal with the weirdo. KCG didn't have to go anywhere to get any unreachable ticks removed - he had a hot new boyfriend who had come around to do it... and a lot more besides.

Far from me not needing a boyfriend to be successful in this world, KCG's example was a harsh reminder than you really are nobody until somebody loves you. You can't even elegantly deal with a tick without someone special in your life.

Of course KCG did nothing wrong. He did everything that a good friend should do. I just misinterpreted his happiness as something that I'd contributed to, and when I found out the awful, opposite truth, I felt my sense of self worth get crushed like an empty aluminium can rolling along the freeway.

A vital difference between gay men and straight women

2011-10-14T11:36:00.000+08:00

I was reading an interesting article by Michael Kirby, former supreme court judge and gay marriage advocate, and I came across an anecdote that actually, if unintentionally, supports my anti gay marriage stance.

The meat of the anecdote was that in the late 1960s Kirby was dating Johan van Vloten, the man who would become his life partner. A few weeks into the relationship, Kirby's first love, a gorgeous European boy named Demo, phoned him in Sydney to say that he was going to be back in Australia and in Melbourne for the weekend, and would Kirby like to come down and hook up? Kirby said yes, and duly went down to Melbourne for his dirty weekend, although he mentioned that Johan van Vloten was hurt by the abandonment.

Here's the thing: one of the pro gay marriage arguments is that there's no real difference between a love between a man and a woman and a love between a man and a man. It's all just love, right? Well, no. Change the genders and this whole scenario changes. If Kirby was straight, and he told a woman he'd been dating for some weeks that he was popping down to Melbourne for the weekend to bang his ex... well, it's pretty certain she wouldn't be waiting for him when he got back. As a general rule, women need to know that they are at the top of any potential mate's priority list. With gay men, the expections of fidelity, and the line between partner and buddy, are blurred.

This is just one example of how the core criteria by which a relationship is judged to be a success or a failure are different between straights and gays. So how then can the formal expression of both those relationships be defined as "marriage" without stripping marriage down to its crudest base?

When men and women partner up, it's more than just their genitals that fit together like a plug and socket. It's also their psyches, their psychologies. They are different but complementary, and it's those complementary differences that lock them together.

Marriage is a thing that a man and a woman do to create a dual entity as ancient as human civilisation. Gay marriage, on the other hand, is just a hissy fit by power-crazed gay ideologues.

Pride cometh (sorry, cummeth) before the fall.

2011-10-12T14:59:00.001+08:00

Last Saturday afternoon I went to the local Pride Fair.

It was KCG's idea to go, and he sold it as having "stalls and entertainment and handbag dogs", and being set in a pretty park on a lovely spring day. In my mind's eye I envisaged it as your standard sort of street fair, with booths selling handicrafts and delicious little gourmet foodstuffs - two things gay men would do rather well - and crowds washing through as the mood took them, all within a carnival atmosphere. So I agreed.

The first bad sign was when I arrived at the park to find it fenced in, with a single entry point on the eastern side. There would be no anonymous wash of people for a closet case like me to lose himself in. They may as well have hung a sign over the gate reading "HOMOSEXUALS AND THEIR ENABLERS ONLY".

The second bad sign was the fact that it cost $15, each, to enter.

The third bad sign crept up on me as we wandered into the avenues of stalls. There was a stall promoting gay marriage, then one promoting safe sex, then one promoting STD checks, then one about the local Bears club, then an AIDS hospice, then another promoting safe sex, then one offering frendliness between Anglicans and gays, then another asking for yet more signatures on yet another gay marriage petition...

"Do any of these stalls sell anything cool?" I asked KCG with a narrowed glare.

"There's a donut truck over in the corner," he offered, obliviously.

Over on the main stage a choir of lesbians started singing renditions of camp classics - including 'Somewhere Over The Rainbow', naturally - and while we listened I scanned the people around me. The crowd consisted of friends and families of gay people wandering around with rainbow stickers and wide-eyed, "I'm helping!" expressions on their faces, and gay men with their heads down cruising Grindr on their iPhones. There wasn't even a lot of talent on display: just a lot of skinny, femme-y twinks in tacky outfits, a couple of leather daddies, a terrifying obese drag queen, KCG and me. The only eye candy was two hot shirtless 20-something PR bois handing out leaflets for some Pride festival activities... because apparently you can't advertise to gay men except through their groins.

After running into a couple of KCG's friends we fell to doing the only thing there was to do there: we sat down on the grass and drank. Nearby some lesbians, slaves to their sexuality, started playing football. We gay men, slaves to our sexuality, just sat around swilling pinot and looking fabulous.

I realised, as I sat on the lawn watching the lesbians run and lunge for the only ball they were likely to run and lunge for, that the Pride Fair was a holdover from an outmoded gay paradigm. Sure, it created a safe place for gays and lesbians to hang out and meet up... but there are dozens of safe places for gays and lesbians to hang out and meet up, and they're either cheaper or they offer better entertainment for the money. And you're probably less likely to meet someone new than if you just logged onto Grindr, Manhunt or Gaydar and did it from the comfort of your home. In 2011, with openly gay cabinet ministers, sporting heroes, movie stars and prime time TV characters, what's the point of creating a fenced off enclosure for gays? It's like we're here, we're queer, and we're not used to it.

Pot. Kettle. Black. Idiot.

2011-10-10T22:02:00.004+08:00

From among the ranks of the fine young men of Manhunt:

Hypocrisy thy name is... Luke, apparently.

If you pride yourself in scorning both femme queens and Asians, then perhaps you shouldn't display a photo of you peering coyly out from behind a stuffed toy with a loveheart, like some cross between Justin Bieber and a giggling Japanese schoolgirl?

"But WHY do you want gay marriage?": some reasons you may not have considered.

2011-09-29T11:55:00.003+08:00

I'm against gay marriage. The reasons why are complicated, but they boil down to a belief that marriage is about a lot more than love and commitment. It's about societal leadership, a balanced structure for children, reproductive stability, nurturing environments for both men and women, and a host of other things that form the foundations of our civilisation. It's true that in recent decades the institution of marriage has become a ridiculous farce, at least in some circles. But it is only pushed further into ignominy by offering it to same sex couples, and we as a civilisation should be trying to draw it back, not push it further.

Which is not to say that I'm against gay partnerships, enjoying the same status under the law. I'm just against gay marriage.

But that's not what this post is really about. This post is a reflection on why gay marriage is so forward in the minds of modern homosexuals. After all, the whole idea of gay marriage is a very modern one, dating back a couple of decades at best. So why has it become so gosh-darned important to gay men now?

There are a number of considerations:

Gay marriage as identity

Sometimes when one is denied something one has a vague inclination toward, the desire for that thing becomes more pronounced. If the reason why one cannot have it appears arbitrary or philosophical, this can accentuate both the desire and the stubbornness of refusing to take no for an answer. In extreme cases, it can escalate into full blown hysteria, in which one can sense nothing but an attack on one's sense of self-worth.

If you tie up your sense of self worth with a cause, whether it be gay marriage, the rights of asylum seekers, or the election of Barack Obama, then anything that threatens that cause is a serious blow to your self-esteem. Many gay marriage supporters have indeed tied their sense of self worth to their cause, so a rejection, however calm and rational, is a rejection of them as individuals. They lash out in response, describing disapproval as hate, or, more likely, “H8”.

Ironically if gay marriage is enshrined in law, many supporters may experience the same deflation and sense of emptiness that Obama’s supporters felt when he was elected. When you’ve defined yourself in terms of a fight for something, who are you when the fight is won?

Gay marriage as an exercise in power

Gays love power, possibly because they’re often excluded from traditional male expressions of it. There’s an element of “I am homo, hear me roar” in the calls of gay marriage. We can do and have whatever we want. We don't particularly want marriage, but we do know that you don't want us to have it... and if we force you to, then we prove that we are superior. We'll take a foundational part of your culture from you and screw around with it, and you'll be powerless to stop us. Eat that, bitches!

Gay marriage as a sign of tribal identification

Like many small and distinctive groups, gay culture is very homogenous, and highly intolerant of contradiction to internal popular opinion. This is understandable, since gays have to band together to protect themselves from the bigotry of the outside world. However this homogeneity can lead to certain ideas or philosophies becoming a lot more potent than they should be. To be pro gay marriage is to conspicuously identify yourself as part of the tribe. It may even inure you to criticism if you do something questionable - modern tribal cultures (for example evangelical christians, anti-war activists, or green groups) accept all sorts of awful behaviour from people, providing they parrot back a few important ideologies correctly.

Gay marriage as an elitist fashion statement

You may think I'm being facetious, but hear me out. According to the latest figures, only 6% of women who possess a four year university degree have a child outside of marriage. For women who failed to finish high school, the figure is 54%. Far from being the tool of male oppression as claimed by 1970s feminists, marriage is now a fairly powerful status indicator. The poor, the ignorant and the vulgar form common-law relationships… if they’re lucky. The clever, the rich and the classy get married.

This is not lost on gays, who regard being poor, ignorant and vulgar as worse than polyester. Gays are all about the icons of status, whether it be the Ben Sherman shirts, hybrid SUVs, Danish Modern furniture or the right brand of vodka. To be married is to claim membership in middle classes and up, which is exactly where most gay men want to be.

Now you may be thinking, "Gay men want to get married for the same reasons that straight people do - it's as simple as that!" But it isn't. Men and women are very different creatures. Take the woman (or the man) out of the equation of marriage and the thing is no longer marriage. Lacking one half of the biology, it's an entirely different dynamic. Pretending otherwise just drives the paradigm of marriage further into the mud.

You may also be thinking, "Marriage can be whatever I want it to be!" If so... I'm afraid I can't meaningfully respond to dim-witted, "all truth is relative" moral equivalency like that, so the argument must end there.

The Caffeine-Free Diet Coke of Love

2011-06-15T14:38:00.005+08:00

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.

2011-06-02T14:56:00.002+08:00

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.

At least guys are still asking me out.

2011-05-31T17:10:00.002+08:00

Within five days of returning from a fortnight's holidays abroad last week, I had two dates with different men. Hooray for me!

The first date was with a man who just barely meets the old requirement that one can only date people half their age plus seven years. Still, he is very mature, intelligent, professional, easy company and not bad looking. He is one of these spontaneous, jump-in-feet-first kind of people, which sits a little unevenly with my careful, analytical personality, but hey, it could also be good for me to be around someone who takes chances.

He comes from a very conservative and repressive ethnic background, and occasionally he appeared to be forcing himself to break through some internal barrier to share personal information. His livewire personality and buttoned-down heritage seemed to be in uneasy tension. However, as I mentioned, he was intelligent, easy to talk to and engaging, and there did seem to be a mutual frisson of potential when we hugged and chastely kissed each other goodnight.

Spontaneous, jump-in-feet-first people have a tendency to declare things in the heat of one moment that dissipate in the cool of the next. So I'm trying to take his observations that I have a "beautiful smile" and "kissable lips" with a realistic mind. Still, it's nice to be admired, even if you suspect that the admiration is shallow and transient.

The second date was more problematic. I want to see him again, not because I think there's any romantic potential in the relationship, but because I'd like to finesse my psychological profiling. He was obsessed with controlling his identity, to the point of making me promise that I wouldn't talk about him to any of my friends. Not that I have a lot to talk about - getting simple social data like his living situation or his work was like trying to uncover an Egyptian tomb during a sandstorm. Despite this, he talked incessantly, leaving me little space to do anything other than smile and nod. Amateur psychologist that I am, I'd interpret this as bluffing behaviour - filling the conversation with white noise to cover the lack of anything real being said.

He'd complain about men misinterpreting his gaydar profile, and when I explained why they would have misinterpreted it (drawing on my own experience and a university degree in semantics and language signifiers), he didn't seem able to understand that tweaking the profile would be a good thing. I'm always delighted when people offer constructive advice on how to make my profile more appealing, but he seemed to feel that it would be an admission of failure on his part, or pandering to the failings of his readers.

I also wonder if this inflexibility explains why he listed himself as a pure top despite having some fairly swishy moments: he doesn't like letting another man in, literally or metaphorically. It's not so much a desire to be dominant and in control as a deep, fervent desire not to be open or vulnerable.

Oh well. They both seem eager enough for second dates, so we'll see where this goes in both cases.

When I like you more than you like me.

2011-05-03T17:24:00.002+08:00

More misery, I'm afraid. This time centring around my friend KCG.

You see, KCG is evolving as a person. He used to be quiet, intellectual, and hanging out with a circle of friends who were generally older, more cultivated and philsophical.

But since he's fallen in with his new friend Sexy D (so named because his name starts with D and he's sexy as hell) he seems to have realised that there will be plenty of time for the life of the mind after he's dead (ie 40). His new circle of friends is younger, shallower, more extroverted and, from all accounts, hotter.

I say "by all accounts" because I've only met Sexy D once, and I've never met his coterie. I've only heard about them.

Sexy D is a white collar worker but he has no interest in philosophy, theology, psychology or any other the other -ologies that KCG and I used to discuss. He's clearly intelligent but no intellectual. He's good with his hands, he has a great body, and he likes drinking, clubbing and fucking. His friends are, apparently, just like him, only moreso. From what I've heard, from both KCG and the Human Dynamo, they're a bunch of loud, buff, venal queens... Sexy D is the quietest and most introspective of them.

A year out from his breakup with his ex, KCG is either throwing off the last shackles of his old life and becoming the man he always should have been, or he's experimenting with a new and different persona, like a teenager who goes goth for a couple of years before settling down into polo shirts and jeans. There's hope for our relationship if it's the latter, but not if it's the former.

That's the sad thing. If he gets free of the neuroses and inner conflicts that have plagued him his whole life, KCG has the charm, the humour and the boyish good looks to be a very successful gay man. If he plays his cards right, he could have the fabulous life partner, the inner city designer terrace, the cool interior design, the luxury mid-size SUV, the chocolate labrador, the Saturday morning couple trips to the gourmet bakery for croissants... basically he could be living the cookie-cutter modern gay dream.

I could never achieve that - I'm too old, too fat, too lazy and too uncharismatic. And people who CAN manage that don't have people like me in their social circle, so I can't even expect to be invited to the occasional dinner party.

I had such high hopes for KCG. I thought that, if I played my cards right, he could be my introduction to a life that would be a dream come true. But even though I have played my cards well, it turns out he's been playing his own cards, and is moving on up to the sort of gay elite that simply isn't for the likes of me.

I miss him. Any idea of a romantic relationship between us has dissipated, but I really like having him as a friend. When I discovered BN2's cheating ways, KCG was the only person I felt I could call to talk about it. The sad truth is that he can do better than me. Our friendship is looking increasingly like a momentary aberation - a lucky confluence of spare time, need and low expectations on his part.

When high maintenance isn't worth it.

2011-04-27T15:56:00.003+08:00

A few nights ago, when I logged onto gaydar to check my messages, I had a brief exchange with a new man. Like Tania Zaetta Man, the subject of my last post, this man's glasses were hideous, but he had a refreshing ability to joke about them, and thus didn't seem like a bad kinda guy.

It still wasn't smooth sailing. He asked to see a "full-on" picture of me, and when I replied that I'm not that sort of boy he clarified that he meant a more obvious face photo. This misunderstanding made things a little awkward, especially when he sent me a "full-on" picture of himself. When, I wonder, will gay men learn that a webcam picture of yourself staring unsmilingly at your monitor is not the most attractive look? Team that with the creepily out-of-date hairstyle (I remember wearing something similar in 1991) and the aforementioned hideous glasses, and you'll understand why I didn't hold much hope for the relationship. When I tired of browsing and exchanging messages with a couple of other people, I simply logged off and went to bed.

The next night, when I logged onto gaydar, there were SEVEN messages waiting for me from Mr Full-on. Begining with a normal statement, then a Why Haven't You Responded?, then Seriously, Why Haven't You Responded?, then Did I Say Something Wrong?, then Is There Something Wrong With Gaydar?, then FINE, BE LIKE THAT, BUT I THOUGHT WE WERE REALLY CONNECTING!, then a Let Me Know If You Change Your Mind.

Sheesh.

I did message him to say that I'd logged off the previous night (which you'd think he'd have noticed) so I didn't receive any of his messages. Then we chatted for a bit before I pointedly excused myself to go do some exercise... and I've avoided gaydar ever since.

Win versus Fail

2011-04-12T20:41:00.001+08:00

Here's a little comparison that sums up my current dating life:

Over the weekend, KCG went out and had a beer with a man to whom he'd been talking on gaydar. Despite being from a hardscrabble industrial suburb, this man had a conversational knowledge of Jung's collective consciousness and Nietzche's will to power. He was also, apparently, even hotter in the flesh than he is in his profile pictures... which are pretty damn hot. And he's all of 23 years old.

By contrast, last night I got into my first conversation in weeks with a gaydar man. Bearing in mind that my profile mentions that I have a deep aversion to guys who wear oversized, femme sunglasses, here's a rough idea of how the conversation went:

Him: Hey, read your profile, liked it, check me out and see what you think.

Me: I don't know... the sunglasses might be a bit of an issue... (smiley icon)

Him: Er... you're joking, right? They're perfectly normal sunglasses.

He seemed to be dead serious. At this point it should be noted that in EVERY ONE of his profile pictures he's wearing huge, rimless, smoky brown sunglasses with thick gold arms, making me think that somewhere a trophy wife is searching under the seats of her Mercedes SLK200 and muttering "Where the hell did my sunglasses go?"

Me: Um... yes... just my little attempt at humour... ha ha ha...

And then I quickly logged out before I said anything even stupider.

So while KCG is flirting with a 23 year old philosopher-hunk, I'm getting interest from a 51 year old man with Tania Zaetta's sunglasses.

I hate it when problems don't have clear solutions.

2011-03-21T12:50:00.002+08:00

The business with BN2, as covered in my last post, has thrown me off more than I could have realised. I've been cheerfully asserting that 2011 will be my year, the year in which I meet many new men and attain many milestones in my gay relationship journey... but I'm starting to realise how tenuous this can be. It doesn't take much - an unanswered text, a "postponed" date - for my self-confidence to be rattled.

Beyond my friends KCG and the Human Dynamo, up until recently I had six men whom I was seeing in some sort of capacity. I was rather excited by this, but it seems that they are all dead ends. I'm only attracted to half of them and I'm not hopeful about any of them. And I get the impression that none of them are terribly fussed about me either. This may simply be in response to my own inertia, but there it is.

In the last few days, I've discovered that one of them has reunited with his ex, another is seeing someone else, and a third has turned down my last two suggestions for dates, which implies that he regrets his initial interest. Of the remaining three, one is a very poor match who seems to be communicating with me largely because he has nothing better to do. Another is a lovely guy with whom I have much in common, but he's a little strange and occasionally off-putting and there's zero sexual chemistry. And finally there's The Virtuoso, probably the best dating relationship I have right now... whom I haven't seen for more than two weeks.

Combined with the fact that KCG and the Human Dynamo are both seeing new guys (KCG claims that his new man is just a friend, but I'm sensing vibes), and I'm suddenly feeling very lonely and depressed. I've realised that while I was supposed to go out on five dates last week, none of them actually resulted in me and another gay man being in the same room together. A couple got held up at work, two guys were ill, and one had to do emergency babysitting. Or at least those were their respective stories.

In short it seems that everyone is, very suddenly, having more success than me. And I was doing so well there for a while.

Disconcerting, to say the least.

2011-03-10T12:39:00.002+08:00

Things have been going well lately. I've met a lot of interesting guys through gaydar. My social and dating life has been too busy rather than not busy enough. I'm getting as much hot sex as I want thanks to The Virtuoso. However my feeling that things are finally coming together for me has been dealt a fairly hard blow.

It all started with a date on Monday night. He was a nice guy, professional, intelligent and easy to talk to. He mentioned that he'd broken up with his partner a couple of months ago, but that they were still living in the same house before the partner moved to another city. Over the course of the conversation he mentioned the partner's first name, ethnic background and profession. It rang a bell, so I asked what his surname was. And that clinched it. His partner was none other than my first lover, BN2.

This sort of thing doesn't happen in normal heterosexual relationships. A straight man doesn't go out with a straight woman only to discover that they share the same ex. It certainly makes things a little awkward, and you just need to put it aside and keep concentrating on what's happening here and now.

However there was an added complication in this instance. My date mentioned that he and BN2 had been together for three and a half years. But BN2 and I were deep in the throes of our short relationship just a little under three years ago.

Cue record scratch sound effect.

Now I never had even an inkling that BN2 was so much as seeing anyone else when we were together, never mind being in another relationship. But my date mentioned the figure of three and half years a couple of times, so the overlap is undeniable. Fortunately my only mention of my relationship with BN2 was that I'd been seeing him "a few years ago", so my date evidently assumed that it was more than three and a half years. Frankly, revealing that your date's ex cheated on him is not something you want to do on a first date.

Of course it's possible that my date misspoke. Maybe he meant two and half years, which would place the begining of his relationship about three months after BN2 and I parted ways. But that's still bad news for me. Back then BN2 told me that he was taking a job overseas. He'd even bought a house. He was leaving within a month. But even if I assume that my date's relationship was two and half years rather than three and a half, that means that the whole overseas job/house/life thing was a barefaced lie.

Of course if my date didn't misspeak, and it really was three and a half years, then BN2 was lying to us both, which is even worse.

There may be some innocent explanation for everything. Maybe it really was only two and half years. And maybe they were only friends initially and my date counts that as part of the relationship. And maybe BN2's overseas job fell through at the last minute or after a very brief time.

But Occam's Razor tells us that the simplest answer is usually the right one. Most likely he was just a dirty dog, chewing on two bones at once.

Of course that hurts, just as you'd expect, but it actually goes a lot deeper than that. I'd always recalled my relationship with BN2 with fondness. I occassionally had a vague little fantasy that he might pop up out of the blue, and we could try again and, with the benefit of a little more maturity on my part, see where our relationship might take us.

But now I discover that he's been around this city for years, he may have had a boyfriend for all of the time that I knew him, and basically he lied to me about his life, his job, his plans and his relationships. In even the best scenario, he wasn't the nice guy I thought he was. He was, in this best case scenario, a manipulative liar.

Have you any idea how devastating it is to be confronted with the fact that the closest thing you've had to a boyfriend was really just a dishonest dude enjoying a bit of fun on the side?

My adventures in sluttery.

2011-01-17T21:34:00.001+08:00

As I mentioned in my last post I dated two men this week, and on Thursday night and Friday night I got naked with each of them respectively. Both men were outside my normal age range of interest - the first a dozen years older than me and the second a dozen years younger - but both of them were interesting dates. And not just because of the nakedness... although that did play a significant role.

The Thursday night guy and I met at an inner city cafe for a cup of coffee, then went for a walk, then we went for a drive in his car so that I could listen to some music he'd been telling me about. When we got back to my car we kissed... and while we both agreed that we didin't want to have sex, he invited me back to his place for a drink.

Half a hour later, at his pleasant house in the suburbs, we sat outside enjoying the balmy evening air and a couple of glasses of wine. We got into a fairly deep philosophical discussion (is it preferable to follow the Buddhist philosophy of seeking joy in ever simpler things, or is it also important to follow an Enlightenment ideal of seeking joy in ever more complex things?). Then we decided that, as it was getting late, we'd just round the evening off with a little more kissing.

One thing, however, lead to another. Soon we were lying on his bed rather than his couch. Soon after we'd lost most of our clothes. And soon after that there were tongues being applied to places where tongues are usually discouraged on first dates, even in gay circles. We stopped short of sex, but only just.

In retrospect I'm not sure about how I feel about him. His body was as impressive as his photos had suggested, and he was intelligent and good-natured. But he tended to monopolise the conversation, and he was of the school of kissing in which a man seeks to insert as much of his face into his recipient's mouth as humanly possible. By the next day my tongue hurt and I was lacerated all around the insides of my lips. I told him I'd contact him again, but I haven't yet and frankly I'm in two minds as to whether I want to. It's rude not to, but then again, he hasn't contacted me either.

Oh well... back to the story.

On Friday night I decided to put aside my reservations and have sex with the Chinese Malaysian guy I mentioned in my last post. After all, as an out-of-shape man in his early 40s, how often will I get a chance to get laid by a hot-bodied 30 year old? We met at a city bar for a drink, then walked over to a Chinese restaurant for dinner, then drove back to my place to get each other naked.

I already knew that he was a good kisser: very gentle and tentative and sensual, the antithesis of the guy I'd kissed the previous night. As we started shedding our clothes I saw that his body was just what I'd hoped for; smooth and muscled with honeyed dark skin, with a pale line around his ass where his speedos usually sit. I was a little disappointed when I pulled his underwear off and found that he was slightly smaller than average, but within a few minutes he'd provided proof of the old adage that it's not the size of the wand but the power of the wizard behind it that matters.

In one of my few coherent moments over the next two hours, I decided that his designation on this blog would be The Virtuoso. Because he was prodigiously, spectacularly talented at sex.

As he sucked and licked and tickled at my cock, the feeling was so intense that it was 95% of the way to being actual pain. When we moved on to anal it was much the same - pleasure so electric that it straddled the line between ecstacy and torment. I kept asking to change position, partly because my feet were cramping, but also to give me a brief respite, and as soon as we'd changed off he'd go again, driving deep and hard, with an apparently infinite ability to withhold his orgasm. Every time his vigorous thrusting got faster, and his breath quickened and his body shuddered I thought, "Okay, he's come... we can relax for a moment". But then after a few more gentle thrusts off he'd go again, so that all I could do was grip and twist the edge of the mattress and hope that I didn't tear it apart. After the third or fourth time he did this, I asked if he'd just come, but he said no, in a tone that suggested that such a thing would only happen to premature ejaculators.

Normally I regard the gasping and moaning during sex as a sign of appreciation - not pretending enjoyment but rather adding to the theatre. With The Virtuoso, the ragged gasps and cries of "OH FUCK!" were more involuntary, a way of releasing energy that was otherwise threatening to overwhelm me. It didn't hurt, but it was so intense that it was hard to handle.

Not that I'm complaining. As I said to him in a tone that I tried to keep from being gushy or besotted, "I'm so not sorry that I asked you to come home with me."

The only serious downside came at the end of the evening, when he warned me that he was a loud snorer. He wasn't kidding. He fell asleep as he spooned me, with his cheek resting on the nape of my neck, and it sounded as if some sadist was running over a flock of panicked geese with a steamroller. Full on, deafening, sleep apnea-riddled snoring. I lay there for half an hour, marvelling at the constant changes in pitch, duration and vibrato, until with a particularly loud snort he woke himself up, and then offered to leave. I liked the feel of his hot naked skin against mine, but seriously, I was never going to get to sleep with that cacophany in my ear. So I let him go.

I expect that I will see him again; he texted me saying words to that effect, and he seemed very excited that he'd finally met someone who was mostly into bottoming. As for me, I'm just hoping that I can appreciate the literally eye-popping pleasure better next time.

Take the moral high ground, or dive into the sexy, sexy gutter?

2011-01-12T15:03:00.004+08:00

Date-wise, it's going to be a busy week. I'm seeing three guys this week: one last night, one on Thursday, and one on Saturday. It's not a bad start for a year in which I've resolved to be more proactive and open in my dating.

I didn't have much expectation for last night's candidate. He's eleven years my junior, Chinese Malaysian, and rather ill-disposed to anglosphere books and culture and other things I love. I agreed to have a coffee with him largely because I couldn't see any good reason not to.

As it turned out, however, in the flesh he was friendly and intelligent, and a lot more tanned and buff than he appeared in his gaydar photos, and I won't pretend that I didn't enjoy letting my gaze linger on his body. For his part, he had a habit of half-consciously smoothing down the front of his snug black T-shirt, and rubbing the sleeves so that they rose up over his biceps. He also had moments of more direct flirting, gazing into my eyes and asking suggestive questions, in a way that betrayed that he was more than just a little bit into me.

It was hard for me to get my head around this, but apparently he likes older, chunkier, scruffier, causcasian men - the antithesis of the young, skinny, over-waxed Asian femmes that one often sees at gay venues. As I'm old, chunky, scruffy and caucasian, it seems I fit the bill quite nicely.

After we'd talked for an hour or two we left the cafe and I walked him back to his car. When we got there, he left no question as to whether or not he wanted a goodnight kiss. We did, and he asked me to let him give me a lift back to my vehicle. On the way we kissed three more times, gently, tenderly, and with an electric charge that seemed to make the cabin of the car sizzle. He asked me if I was really sure that I had to go home, and I replied that I wasn't 100% sure. But it was quite late, and instead we agreed to go out to dinner on Friday night.

After I had sex with FHBG back in October, I stated that I was adamant that I wanted my sex life to be part of a loving relationship, not a procession of semi-anonymous shags. That's still my position, but sexual attraction is a conniving thing. Part of me wants to keep to the moral high ground... but another part wonders how often I'm going to get another opportunity to get laid by a hot-bodied 30 year old.

We'll see how things progress.

State of play

2011-01-12T14:32:00.002+08:00

It's still a sexless menage a trois, but over the last few weeks KCG and the Human Dynamo have evolved from faux dates into real friends. As we were having dinner together a few nights ago, I commented to KCG that it's amazing how quickly he, I and the Human Dynamo have become close. A few months ago we didn't know of each others' existence. Now we've formed a trio of apparently happy friendship.

This is not to say that there isn't sexual tension, or at least an element of one-sided desire. Foolish though it may be I'm still interested in KCG. KCG is interested (or at least more interested than he claims to be) in the Human Dynamo. The Human Dynamo is interested in another guy entirely. I haven't met this other guy, but from what I've heard he's a) a boyishly good-looking athlete and b) an unhinged prima donna. The fact that he's an unhinged prima donna is neither here nor there, of course: he has a beautiful body, and in the gay world that's enough to compensate for every gaping flaw in character, mind and personality. The Human Dynamo is very frustrated with him but can't get past the physical attraction.

Ironically I have something of the opposite problem. On Thursday I have a date with a man to whom I've been chatting online. He's out of my normal age range (12 years older than me), but he has a nice face, a good sense of humour and an engaging personality. I'd hold hopes for the situation except for the issue of his body. It's not that it's bad; it's actually too good. The man has better abs than most 30 year olds, and as we all know, in the gay world awesome abs are the ultimate trump card. You can fall down in every other area, but if you have great stomach muscles you will still be feted and adored.

This likely means that he'll have certain high standards, which an ordinary man like me isn't going to fulfill. Oh well. We'll see what happens.

A sexless menage a trois. At least as far as I know.

2010-11-30T16:20:00.003+08:00

For someone who is struggling under the aching weight of lonliness, I seem to be spending a lot of my time with attractive single gay men these days.

Firstly there's KCG, with whom I'm developing an exceedingly odd relationship. The last time I saw him in the flesh was two weeks ago, when I took him out to a fancy and rather expensive restaurant for his birthday. Perhaps that was too much for him - since then he's made no attempt to see me. We've chatted online and by text, usually at his instigation, but the one time I asked him out, last Thursday, he was busy. He doesn't know that I know that it was because he had a date.

How do I know it was a date? Because I was with the same guy over the weekend. He's the Human Dynamo I mentioned in this post, and I've seen him on average once a week over the last month, always at his invitation. We spent the Saturday before last at a sporting event, at which I got to meet some of his friends, and we spent last Saturday and Sunday with different friends of his at a house party in the country. The house party may sound like an excuse for a dirty weekend, but absolutely nothing happened. I made a couple of subtle overtures, but I got no response. Although everyone there knew we were gay, we didn't do anything that a couple of perfectly straight guys wouldn't have done.

So there's a weird relationship triangle going on between me, KCG and the Human Dynamo. I commented to KCG a while back that this sort of thing never happens in straight dating. He responded that it could easily happen that two guys might find themselves dating the same girl... HD being the girl. And by that he clearly means that he sees our relationship as being as unromantic as that between a couple of buddies.

So HD likes me... as a friend. And KCG likes me... as a friend. I don't think that they're getting heavy with each other, but if they did, that'd be just typical.

To be honest, beyond mere lust I don't have much interest in HD. He's fun-loving and we make each other laugh, but we're very different people and he's clearly not interested in anything physical. If he wants to keep inviting me to interesting places and introducing me to fun people, I'm more than happy to go along for the ride.

With KCG, on the other hand, I'd welcome something more serious, but we both know he's out of my league and I can't offer him what he wants in a boyfriend. The sad truth is that while KCG is entertaining, intelligent, funny and kinda cute, I'd be tempted to simply give up on him if I weren't absolutely convinced that he's my passport to a better life. Yesterday as a tangent to something we were discussing online he sent me the Facebook profile of his ex-ex-ex-boyfriend, and he was perfect. Not perfect in the hard-bodied, golden-tanned sex god kind of way, but perfect for me. Not too good looking or fit, but caring and thoughtful and confident, with similar interests and values to me... exactly the sort of man I imagine when I dream of someone at my side. Unfortunately he has a long term partner now, but he's exactly the type that I never meet but KCG seems to know in abundance. If I ever want to meet a great guy, it appears I have no choice but to cultivate my pathetic friendship with KCG.

Some friendly advice for a guy I saw on gaydar.

2010-11-26T11:04:00.001+08:00

Don't claim to have a large penis if a) you have a picture of it on your profile and b) it isn't.

We can all see through your subterfuge, you know.

The reason why I'm feeling stressed today.

2010-11-18T16:39:00.002+08:00

There's nothing quite like the feeling you get when an advanced spam bot hijacks your email account then sends cunningly personalised spam to every guy with whom you've ever flirted, chatted, rejected or been rejected by. All of these relationships, some held in a delicate detente, are suddenly ambushed by a computer program that leaps into them like a large, brainless dog bounding into a pond full of sleeping flamingos.

Make that a large, brainless, EVIL dog.

Aim for the moon!

2010-11-11T00:19:00.006+08:00

It occurs to me that when I mope around fantasizing about a relationship with someone like KCG, I'm being a poor excuse for a gay man. He is, after all, only kinda cute.

If I'm going to wistfully yearn for men I can't have, I should at least go for the top shelf models.

That ass is so perfect you just want to grab it and sink your teeth into it. Suddenly KCG isn't quite as important as he was...

Dial M for Moping

2010-10-31T16:00:00.003+08:00

The last couple of weeks have been an emotionally turbulent time for me.

I haven't so much as communicated with FHBG since the night we had sex, but frankly I'm okay with that. I also had a date last Thursday with an interesting guy, but more about that in a minute.

The turbulence arises with KCG. I've seen him on a few occasions, although he's been snowed under in his studies, so I haven't been demanding too much of his time. We went out to dinner, I made him dinner at my place, we had a coffee together. And every time I see him, I fall for him a little bit more. When I saw him yesterday afternoon the urge to a gather him in my arms and kiss him was so powerful that it almost made me giddy. Since then I've been moping about wondering how to go about making my feelings known without scaring him, freaking him, annoying him or generally messing our relationship up.

As for his feelings, who knows? He's not a demonstative person and he doesn't tend to take the initiative, so for all I know he could feel exactly the same way or not romantically interested at all.

I'm also trying very hard to discern the exact nature of my feelings. Am I latching onto him just because he's the first reasonably acceptable guy I've come across? And am I being realistic? He's a little out of my league. He's had three serious boyfriends before, and I've had zero, so he's probably a bit choosier than me. I find myself wishing that I knew more about his ex so that I could judge how I measure up against him, to see if I have even a remote chance.

And it occurs to me that this is a huge gulf between us. He mentioned, in passing, that a year ago he and his ex had gone to his sister's wedding, and it struck me that I've never been to a wedding with anyone. It must be fun, not to mention romantic, to go to a wedding as part of a couple. I've always gone to weddings by myself or with my family. And there's the issue: he's done the holidays together, going to weddings together, waking up in the morning together thing... and I haven't. I'm so literally retarded, in a romantic sense, that I've never done a lot of the most basic activities that even casual couples do. Why would he want a retard like me?

Why would anyone? Indeed, would I myself want someone like me?

So while I was wallowing in self-doubt and recrimination, I was contacted by a guy on gaydar who, after a few message exchanges, asked me out for coffee. I'm still not quite sure why. He's a very good looking, awesomely fit, larger-than-life human dynamo. I'm a lazy, flabby, uncoordinated idler who prefers to think, observe and discuss rather than "do". So I'm not seeing that we have a lot in common. However we had a good chat and a laugh over drinks in a suburban cafe, and after I texted him the next morning to give him the appropriate "thanks for a nice time, great to meet you" line, he texted me back to tell me that I was funny, cute and smart and he'd really like to see me again. So there you go. Apparently I can make a good impression occasionally. I don't see much of a future in it, but I may as well enjoy it while it lasts.

The ironic thing is that it turns out KCG went out with him, twice, a few weeks ago. They didn't click, but this kind of spoils things for me. I suppose every halfway presentable gay man in this city has, at some point, dated at least one of the gay guys I know. Still, I don't want to have that shoved in my face.

There's a reason why "hook up" and "hooker" have the same root

2010-10-06T11:27:00.002+08:00

On Monday night FHBG and I got our schedules aligned and hooked up at his place. While it wasn't quite what I'd had in mind, what it lacked in romance it made up for in hot, heavy action.

I stand by my earlier assessment of FHBG as a sweet and good-natured person. However he is also promiscuous, amoral and fairly shallow. The majority of his partners are married men cheating on their wives, or couples wanting some extra action. He's no stranger to the threeway or the sex party. The idea of going for two and a half years without penetrative sex, as I have since parting ways with BN2, was baffling to him. "Why didn't you just go on gaydar and find someone?" he asked, as if the personal qualities of the various men there had no bearing on the issue.

I'm not drawing from a vast reservoir of experience, but the sex was good. He wasn't up for any repeat performances, but his one showing was a good, long, hard shag. The best compliment he offered was to appreciatively moan, halfway through, "What stupid fuck let you go?" It occured to me that the lack of claim on me is mostly my own fault, but I was too busy trying to brace myself against the headboard to say anything coherent.

The telling part of any sexual encounter is in the aftermath, and so it was with us. We chatted and nuzzled for a while, naked on his bed, but I noticed that he was looking at the ceiling rather than me.

After sex there's three basic modes of expression. There's Hostile, which is the scenario in which your partner makes it quite clear he wants you gone right now. There's Affection, which is the lying together all night scenario. Then somewhere between the two there's Mild Embarassment. Suddenly being naked, sweaty and spent with another person seems odd, and rather off-putting. He's too polite, or relaxed, or grateful to want you gone, but then the absurdity and awkwardness of having had such intimacy with a virtual stranger is still there.

When I had sex with BN2 he always wanted me to stay around and spend the night with him, so there was genuine affection there. With FHBG, there was the sense that a mutual itch had been scratched. As I was driving home I almost felt like a hooker who wasn't getting paid. So while I wouldn't be averse to another good, long, hard shag with FHBG, I'm not in any hurry.

All of this reinforces what I already knew: I want sex to be a natural extension of the meaningful relationship I have with another man, not the core of that relationship. Now I just have to find a meaningful relationship with another man.

Diet Angst is even more pathetic than Diet Coke

2010-10-04T10:47:00.001+08:00

I had a couple of drinks last night at the pub with KCG, and it made me realise that our immediate future isn't rosy. He's friendly enough, but his position appears to be something like this: "You're a nice guy. Not really what I'm looking for, but hey, I don't see the harm in letting you hang around. On the periphery."

This isn't the absolutely worst thing that could have happened - that would be if he decided he never wanted to see me again - but it's not far off the bottom of the list of preferable outcomes. I accept that I'm unlikely to be able to have a romantic relationship with KCG, but my sights are aimed lower than that. KCG's wider social circle seems to include the kind of thoughtful, accepting, good-hearted gay men I want to know but have been unable to find on my own, and it seems logical that there'd be potential for meeting someone suitable for me in their ranks. For example when he described the ex with whom he parted ways earlier this year ("attractive, deep, caring, intelligent"), it took all of my self-control not to blurt out, "Well if you're finished with him, can I have his phone number?"

Unfortunately KCG is a bit of an introvert, and apparently not given to hosting dinner parties or gatherings at which I might meet any of these wonderful men. I find myself tantalisingly close to a paradise of possibility, but I can't quite reach it. The only course of action at the moment appears to be one of patience: eventually he'll slip up and actually introduce me to somebody. I just have to not come on too strong and freak him out with my neediness before that.

And that's how pathetic I am. Normal gay men get themselves worked up over a guy they love who only wants to be their friend. I get myself worked up over a guy I like who only wants to be an acquaintance. It's like romantic angst with only half the calories.

Notes from two realities

2010-09-29T13:18:00.003+08:00

So... my report on last night's date:

Last night was the worst date ever. FHBG, when he eventually turned up, was nothing like his pictures... and he had the audacity to suggest that my picture put me in a good light! The conversation was boring and stilted, as if we were both going through the motions and secretly thinking about something more interesting, like our tax returns. When we parted barely an hour after we met, we saw me off with, "Well, I guess I'll see you around," which is quite possibly the lamest thing one can say after a bad date. What a boorish, unattractive, unpleasant man, I thought. I am lucky to be rid of him.

Or at least that's how the date went in a parallel universe in which my life is a lot simpler.

The TRUTH is that the date was wonderful. Besides being smokin' hot, FHBG is also a delightful person. Within ten minutes of meeting we were bantering back and forth like old friends. I felt comfortable enough to ask him about bisexuality, and it seems that he really is genuinely sexually attracted to both genders. His gay friends tell him that he's wrong and just in denial, but to me that's the equivalent of Westboro Baptists telling them that they've made a lifestyle choice to be gay. FHBG's personal experience is the best measure of who he is and how he feels, and it's a little patronising to make blanket judgements from outside.

We chatted about life and work, bitched about gaydar and the freaky men within, and discovered a mutual devotion to martinis. And over the course of the evening there was a definite, and mutual, increase in flirting and attraction. After coffee we walked to another cafe and had some food, then I walked him back to his car, and got him to give me a lift back to mine.

Then I gave him a flash of the old GTR charm and demanded that he prove to me that he really was interested in men as well as women.

So we kissed, and it was the sort of rough, fierce, passionate kiss that left us both gasping. I'd forgotten how good it can be to kiss a guy who knows what he's doing. He dragged me into the crook of his shoulder, so that his bicep was pressed into the back of my head, while his hands stroked my shoulder, arm and my thigh. I ran my fingers through his hair and caressed the line of his jaw, and teased the hairs at the hollow of his throat. We kissed so hard and so long that my lips are still chafed. And when we pulled back and gazed into each other's eyes, it was pretty clear that we were both buzzing with the same thought: we need to fuck, at length, as soon as humanly possible.

If we'd been anywhere near a bed, rather than in his cramped Toyota, we probably would have gone for it then and there. As it is we'll just have to see how our schedules align.

So there you have it. A month ago I was aching with lonliness. Now suddenly I have two sweet, good-natured men stepping into my life, one who makes my head spin and my heart yearn, and one who makes me weak at the knees. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

Why now? Why not three months ago? DAMN IT!

2010-09-28T13:07:00.004+08:00

Like an irritating older sibling, my life seems to be intent on teasing me to breaking point.

I spent yesterday getting gradually more and more wound up about KCG. He hadn't communicated with me other than a couple of texts on Saturday morning, even after I emailed him on Sunday afternoon. We've established that I really like him, and the thought that he might be ambivalent about me fills me with pain and dread. Having glimpsed what it might be like to know someone I really care about, I was becoming not so much "interested" as "obsessed".

Clearly I am high maintenance and do not deserve human relationships. And I'm nuts. But you've probably already worked that out.

So when I left my office and went home I looked for distractions. I did some hard digging work in my garden until it got too dark, then went on gaydar for a while. I noticed that a guy I'd looked at a while ago had tagged me as "nice". I messaged him to say thanks and to return the compliment, since he was, not to put too fine a point on it, hot. Before I knew it he was asking me out.

I actually messaged him back saying, "Really? I'm not sure I'm your type." But even after I sent him a clearer picture of what I look like, and stressed that any meeting we had definitely wasn't going to segue into a hook up, he was still keen. So we're meeting at a local cafe this evening.

If KCG is the Kinda Cute Guy, then I think this man will have to be FHBG... Frankly Hot Bi Guy. That's one of the reasons why I'm interested in meeting him. I don't think I've ever met a genuine bisexual before, and I'm intrigued to know how it works. Scientific studies have suggested that true bisexuality is extremely rare, so I'd like to know how he identifies as such. There's nothing like the spirit of scientific enquiry... mixed with the appeal of rugged good looks, a charming smile and a tasty body.

So, mission accomplished - I spent very little time last night thinking about KCG. And naturally within a couple of hours of setting up a date with FHBG, KCG had sent me not one but two emails, including an adorable in-joke photo that more or less melted my heart. Then two more messages this morning.

DAMN IT ALL TO HELL!

I have to remind myself that seeing FHBG tonight doesn't mean anything. KCG and I are nothing more than new friends right now. FHBG might not show up. He may show up, take one look at me and suddenly remember that he needs to be somewhere else. Or he may be a complete asshole. And it'll probably do me good to have my attention divided for a day or two, as we've already seen how crazy I get when it's focused on one person.

But if FHBG turns out to be a nice guy? Well, let's just say that it would be outrageously cruel of Fate to introduce me to a guy who appeals to my mind and my heart, then go and throw me a different guy who appeals to a somewhat lower part of my anatomy.

Still, on the bright side, I don't seem to be lonely any more.

Gays v Homosexuals: only one of them has "sex" in it

2010-09-27T15:44:00.002+08:00

Some time ago I came across this fascinating infographic representing responses to the question of whether homosexuals should be allowed to serve in the US military.

As you can see, when the term "homosexuals" was used, the Strongly Opposed was more than 50% higher than when the term "gay men and lesbians" was used. Similarly, the Strongly Favor vote was considerably higher when "homosexuals" was replaced with "gay men and lesbians". Apparently people don't like homosexuals being in the miliary, but they have less of a problem with gays.

It's an interesting quirk, showing just how much good marketing can affect prejudices in the community. In the popular imagination, "Gays" are the fun, fabulous creatures you see on sitcoms and romcoms, spouting bitchy one-liners and helping straight girls choose a new outfit in a montage sequence. "Homosexuals" are the creepy old men who stare too long at your teenaged son at the beach. It's as if "Gay" is the spicy fashionable image, while "Homosexual" is the icky unfashionable reality.

Loving the way he makes me feel about myself

2010-09-25T16:37:00.000+08:00

The Kinda Cute Guy and I had our second ‘date’ last night, starting at a bar and ending up later in the evening at a café. I say ‘date’ in inverted commas because romance is not officially on our agenda – we’re just gay guys looking to expand our social horizons and find a new friend. Officially.

Our first “date” lasted three hours and had several awkward pauses. The second “date” lasted six hours and flowed pretty smoothly (especially after we’d packed away a couple of martinis). And I’m pretty sure I didn’t imagine the faintest thrum of sexual tension between us.

Naturally I’m delighted by all this. He really is wonderful. He’s cheery and thoughtful and intelligent, good-hearted and generous, and… well, kinda cute. I recall at one point, fairly late in the evening, he was telling me something and I wasn't paying a blind bit of attention because I was gazing into his eyes and noticing how they seemed to sparkle, and how the day’s worth of stubble he wore gave him a little hint of grrrrr that he hadn’t had the previous time.

Later as we walked back to our cars I had a strong urge to put my arm around him. Not to initiate some sort of sexual activity, or to lay some claim to him, or to affect some sort of “buddy” thing. I just wanted to have a sense of physical contact with someone who was touching me in an intellectual and emotional sense.

But I resisted, because I don’t want to screw this up. Instead we said our goodbyes and agreed to meet up again in the middle of next week.

He’s like no other guy I’ve ever met, and more importantly, he makes me feel like I’ve never felt before. He fills my mind with possibilities and potential, and makes me feel as if good things might happen. So I hope he genuinely likes me, because I’m sure as hell falling for him.

But I’m mindful of the pivotal line in ‘There’s Something About Mary’: “You don’t love her. You just love the way she makes you feel about yourself.” And I worry that this is exactly what I’m projecting onto Kinda Cute Guy.

When the milestones are all blank

2010-09-23T14:05:00.002+08:00

I'm sure I'm not the first person to wonder what effect the lack of romantic milestones in gay life has on gay people.

This has come to my mind because of the Kinda Cute Guy mentioned in the last post. He recently broke up with his partner of two years and, as a result, had to move out of his ex's house. There's no messy divorce because there wasn't a marriage to begin with. Unlike a married couple, with their shared bank accounts and shared ownership of everything, the breakup appears to have been no more complicated than a couple of housemates going their separate ways.

I'm full of questions that are not, at this stage, appropriate to ask. How did he decide when it was right to move in? What was the goal? How did it even work? Was he just some sort of sexual houseguest? But it never occurs to me to ask these questions of my straight married friends, because it's perfectly obvious how it will all work. They are following a clear and ancient script.

Consider the milestones in straight romance. First date, first kiss, first girlfriend, school balls, meeting the parents, engagement and engagement rings, wedding, marriage, anniversaries, pregnancy, first child. Cuddling up in the cinema. Sending flowers to her workplace. The lazy or unimaginative man can virtually sleepwalk through the whole thing and still have a pretty good idea of where he stands.

Now consider the milestones in gay romance. There aren't many. Instead there's an ongoing, amorphous sense of something contrary to social expectation. There are no engagement rings and no pregnancies. Things like anniversaries are arbitrary, and "weddings" are hollow. School balls are sociopolitical minefields. Meeting the parents or cuddling in the cinema could end in a beatdown. If a girl flirts with a hot guy on the bus the worst she can expect is rejection: if a guy does it, he could get the shit kicked out of him. Even the language rebels against gay romance: the equivalents of "wife" or "fiance" sound trite and feeble. "Hello, I'm Dale, and this is my life partner Sean." Ugh.

Even in these enlightened times, there isn't the sheer weight of historical tradition, or the vast numbers of participants, to guide gay men through romantic activities. If there are gay rites of passage, they remain underground, largely ignored by mainstream culture. Gay boys don't learn the romantic rites of passage from their parents, or TV, or pop songs, or advertising, or architecture, or cliches, or greeting cards, or (ironically) fairy stories. If they are lead (rather than finding their own way), it'll be at the instruction of an older gay man whose intentions probably aren't entirely altruisitic.

This lack of deep, old, unspoken example makes life difficult. For example, there's a difference between telling your mother that you're enagaged to a wonderful girl and telling her that you've decided to commit to your boyfriend. One fits perfectly with the accepted narrative. The other is a forced fit: a gear that doesn't quite mesh. Even the most accepting mother in the world will find her delight muted, if only because she has to mentally rein herself in before sharing the good news with her friends and colleagues. However happy she is, somewhere underneath, it's not quite the RIGHT thing to happen.

It seems that gay men travel a road with few signposts, and have few shared understandings other than those based in sexual attraction. Simple things like taking your date a bouquet of flowers aren't a given as they are in the straight world. EVERY SINGLE THING needs to be appraised, negotiated, assessed... not just once, but every time you encounter someone new.

It's exhausting, but it appears to be unavoidable.

The Brioche Potential

2010-09-17T07:42:00.002+08:00

Last night I had coffee with a guy I met on gaydar. He's not your usual gaydar boy - he's looking to make new friends, rather than trying to source an anonymous blowjob. We chatted for about three hours, discovering that we had very similar backgrounds and some shared interest in design and culture and other things. We separated at the end of the evening with a agreement to see each other again next week, and I'm pretty sure we both meant it.

So why do I feel so wretched?

The thing is, he's a nice, kinda cute guy. He's seven years younger than me, but that's not an insurmountable gap. He's not a male model, he doesn't have a chiselled physique, he's not rich, he's not a man of action and he doesn't have one of those senses of humour that have you laughing from the moment you meet him. But he's nice, and kinda cute... and out of my league. He's just a fairly normal guy, and I can already tell that I can't attain him. Maybe I could have seven years ago, when I was a little slimmer and had more hair, but now that I'm in my 40s and getting soft, "ordinary" is out of reach.

When I'm just living my normal life, doing my job, banging along with my friends, going shopping, and so on, life can be eminently bearable. It can even be pleasant, on occasions. But meeting someone like The Kinda Cute Guy is an agonising reminder that life could actually be GOOD.

Not just comfortable, or safe, or mildly diverting. It could be GOOD. It could even be GREAT, theoretically. And that rubs my nose in the fact that it's neither.

It's the difference between going through life on living on white rice and water and knowing, academically, that something called "brioche" exists, and actually walking past a bakery and getting a faceful of the aroma of a fresh batch coming out of the oven. Then looking in the window and seeing ordinary people, people exactly like me, sitting there eating them as if it's no big deal. And me having no means to go in and buy one myself. Having seen and smelled that, how do I then go back to my white rice and water?

The really depressing part is that, if nothing else, I hope we can be friends. I like him, and it's better than nothing. After all, once you've had a smell of the bakery's fresh brioche, you're going to find excuses to keep walking past it, even though it's hopeless and pathetic.

Getting older: much worse than you think

2010-08-18T15:23:00.001+08:00

Just recently I've felt an incredible sense of lonliness. I think it stems from the realisation that my social circle has shrunk dramatically over the last couple of years.

Here's an example. Ten years ago I threw a cocktail party, inviting a very select group of guests whom I thought would appreciate this swanky affair. More than 40 people showed up. One year ago I threw another cocktail party, inviting every single person I knew. Barely 20 people turned up. I put out double the number of invites... and got half the guests.

I get the impression that after the age of 40, most people don't want friends per se. They have spouses, children, and the parents of their childrens' friends. Those that do want friends demand that they be fabulous and entertaining, and while I can hold my own at a dinner party I am never the life of it. I get the impression that for most people being friends with someone over the age of 40 is just too much effort. And sort of icky.

I've even broken down the demographics in order to understand it better.

1. Straight couples. They don't want anything to do with singles. Look at it from their perspective: what are they supposed to do with a 40 year old single man? It's weird. Where will he sit at dinner parties? The table will be unbalanced. Easier to just not invite him. Plus (in the more extreme cases) do we really want someone like that around the children? I mean, he's 40, no girlfriend or boyfriend, no kids of his own... it's all just a tiny bit suspicious.

2. Straight singles. Our ancestors took long-term bachelors and spinsters in their stride, but nowadays it seems that to be single is to be suspect. With relaxed class and social norms and ease of travel and communication, many of the old excuses for singledom are gone... leaving only the excuse of being a loser. Most of my straight single friends are significantly flawed: casting my mind over my social circle, there's a bipolar, two clinical depressions, an Asperger's Syndrome... the only reason that most of them aren't partnered up is because nobody wants them. Straight singles also tend to be lousy hosts who throw parties about as successfully as I throw Volkswagens.

3. Gay couples. They regard the single man as a threat, a resource to be exploited for threesomes or, perversely, an embarassment - a deviation from the white picket fence version of coupledom that a lot of gay partnerships create. They attempt to be even more cookie-cutter perfect that the straights, meaning that they MUST have the golden retriever, the luxury compact SUV, the designer tableware and the Martha Stewart dinner parties with exactly the right other couples.

4. Gay singles. You would think that gay singles would tend to befriend each other, but it seems that most want boyfriends, not boy friends. I've had a couple of single gay friends who've hung around for a while, but once it becomes clear that a "relationship" isn't going to form, they drift off in search of one.

While I'd love to have someone to love, I find that when my social life is thriving I don't feel any sort of aching need for a lover. I guess I'm easily contented. However the rest of the world appears to believe that without someone by your side, you're nothing.

If only I could control this stuff I'd rule the world. Or at least gaydar.

2010-08-11T15:18:00.001+08:00

Perhaps it's just our human quirk of seeing patterns where there's really only coincidence, but I can't get over the feeling that my appeal on online dating sites ebbs and flows like the tide. It's like there's some sort of electronic pheremone that I occasionally give out, and it's totally beyond my control.

Take last week. I hadn't done anything out of the ordinary, but I suddenly found myself in communication with three separate guys. Firstly, a fashion designer who wasn't my type but seemed to be very interesting. Secondly, a rough-around-the-edges charmer who seemed willing to have a decent conversation. And thirdly, a hunky miner who if nothing else seemed to promise the possibility of hot hard sex.

Too many times in the past I've had a flood of interest come out of the blue, and ignored all but the most appealing one. Then of course when that appealing one faltered I had no other irons in the fire. This time I decided to work smarter. I made sure to chat with all three of them as if they were the only one, turning on the old GTR charm, asking pertinent questions, demonstrating interest but not desperation. They all responded with eagerness.

And suddenly, like a portcullis slamming down, all three of them fell silent. No warning. No suggestion of waning interest. Just silence. At the same time.

My supply of pheremone must have run out.

Be careful what you wish for

2010-07-01T14:39:00.002+08:00

My post of March 12 was about a first date I'd had with a nice guy I met online. I ended the post with a note that we'd agreed to go out on a second date. Well, the second date went ahead, as did the third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth and so on.

"Whoo!", you may be thinking. And yes, as far as it goes, Whoo! indeed. But unfortunately it doesn't go very far.

Neither of our hearts seem to be really in it. It's like we're playing at being in a relationship. I don't know why he continues to put up with me, but I suspect it's for the same reason as I put up with him: the alternatives aren't exactly thick on the ground.

Does this happen in straight relationships? I imagine that most women would be sensible enough to have ended things already, or determined enough to just put their heads down and plough on into the respectability of coupledom.

I like him. I find him attractive. But I can go days or even weeks without seeing him and not care. Our emails don't exactly bubble with enthusiasm. We get on well, but we don't click. In all areas - personal priorities, movies, alcohol, travel, kissing, even sex - we don't quite mesh. We function, but it's not easy. At this stage in the relationship, it should be easy. I want to see many of my friends at least every second day, but not my... er... dating partner. If that's what one calls such a person.

So it would seem that we're just keeping each other around in case no one better turns up, because it's better to have someone barely adequate than to have no one at all. It's also fractionally less depressing.

Beer goggles for the soul.

2010-03-14T15:51:00.004+08:00

Last night I went to a party in a cool city bar, hosted by a friend of mine. This friend knows everybody in the world who is cooler than anyone I know, which means that he has a vast social circle. I always meet interesting new people at his parties, and since most of them are gay it's always a good way to make connections.

When I arrived I bought an expensive martini from the cute gap-toothed barman and found a friendly acquaintance to catch up with. After a while he in turn introduced me to a flamboyantly charming man with a pronounced beer gut that he was given to stroking, with a sort of absent-minded tenderness. He also chattered entertainingly at high speed in almost non sequiturs that you could only follow if you were paying attention. When I finished my expensive (and exquisite) martini he grandly bought me another one, probably without realising just how exhorbitantly priced they were.

The host came over and I caught up with his life, as I haven't seen him in nearly six months. He introduced us to a friend of his who was visiting from overseas, a tall, drawling blonde with a short scruffy beard and raw sex appeal oozing from every pore. After we'd all chatted for a while, the host and his visiting friend drifted away to do some more mingling. A few minutes later, I looked over and saw the friend standing by himself in a corner.

I'm usually very shy, but it's amazing how forward I can be with a couple of martinis in me. I got up and went over to talk with him. I felt it was a kind thing to do, since he didn't really know anyone there. The fact that he was golden tanned, hot bodied and head-spinningly gorgeous had nothing to do with it.

Interestingly enough, he matched a suspicion I've long had about the very good-looking. Firstly, he was boring. He talked endlessly about the minutae of his work and his opinions about the world. Secondly, he seemed to assume that I held exactly the same social and political views as he did. Perhaps he'd never been contradicted before - everyone he met just smiled and nodded and said, "Hmmm, you're so right."

I wasn't quite that bad. Sure, I smiled and nodded, but if I didn't actually tell him he was wrong, I at least suggested that there were alternate ways of looking at things. All while thinking, Yes, yes, whatever, enough of this; I just want to tear your clothes off right here and now.

Eventually tedium overcame even the advanced case of lust I was experiencing, and I introduced him to some other guys in order to ditch him. Then I went off to find someone ugly and fascinating to talk to.

In which I follow my own advice.

2010-03-12T22:46:00.001+08:00

Last night I had the first date I've had in weeks, and the first in more than a year that didn't leave me feeling as if I'd just wasted several hours of my life. It was a coffee date with the chat guy from my last post - following my own advice I'd boldly asked him out for a drink, and fortunately he'd agreed.

As I walked down the street to the cafe at which we were meeting, I felt that rising terror that you get on first dates. Would he be weird, or painfully stilted, or a living testament to the power of flattering lighting and camera angles in profile photos? I'd forgotten how strong that nervous fear can be. You'd think it would get easier as you get older, but it's actually worse. Maybe because the opportunities are fewer and further apart, or because it brings back to mind all of the pain of previous rejections.

I actually took a risky route down a dark alley to the cafe rather than walk along the well-lit street, because I dreaded bumping into him and having to spend those awkward first few seconds in the noise and bustle rather than in a nice cafe. I arrived dead on the agreed time, but didn't see him there. When I bought a coffee my hands were visibly shaking as I reached over to pay.

He arrived about two minutes later. We barreled through those awkward first few seconds, then slowly relaxed and got to chatting. He was a little taller and more wiry than he appeared in his picture, and his hair was cut differently, but he was still good looking. His smile, when he gave it, was small but gorgeous.

To my mind the purpose of a first date is to establish whether the other guy is overtly unsuitable. Is he a swishy, lisping queen, for example, which is a bigger turnoff than him actually being a woman? Are there long, horrible silences in the conversation? Does he have a nasty sense of humour, or display signs of having a cruel heart? Does he simply smell bad?

Fortunately my new friend passed on all these counts, and all the other important ones. He's not a big femme, the conversation flowed smoothly, he seems like a nice guy and I didn't notice any lingering scents of unpleasantness.

After a couple of hours we parted, with the awkward last few seconds you get on a first date. Should we shake hands? Should we kiss? Should one of us suggest something else? The tension of not knowing what to do, wanting to be neither offputtingly familiar nor seemingly aloof, is like a thick syrup infusing the air.

We settled on an agreement to go out again next week. We both seemed genuine. Since then we've traded emails reiterating this.

I think that only time will tell how far this relationship goes. I like him, and I'm attracted to him. At the very least I'd be happy to be his friend.

You don't learn anything in the chattering classes‏

2010-03-09T21:39:00.000+08:00

I've been in communication with a nice guy who contacted me on gaydar, and while it's been very pleasant trading quips back and forth, it makes me feel old.

I often get this feeling when communicating with guys over the internet. You see, I really don't do "chat". I like a good chat, but only when it's backed up by some sort of relationship. I can chat with my friends, but chat with strangers via websites just seems pointless. This is why I'm not on Facebook, and why I never spend time in chatrooms.

I mean seriously, why would anyone want to spend hours trading subliterate messages with people they don't know and have no intention of ever knowing? What's the point? If it's not leading into something more intimate, in any sense of the word, why do it? Do other people really find endless smalltalk that engaging?

There's something about trading messages with this particular guy that makes me suspect that he's content to just send snippets of news and gossip back and forth, while I'm regarding our conversation as the precursor to something more tangible. I'm conversing in order to establish that he isn't a loser or a bastard, with the intention of eventually seguing into going out for a drink. But I'm aware that a lot of guys (especially the much younger ones) regard chat as an end in itself.

The odd thing is that he's only one year younger than me. Perhaps he's just hip to the vibes of Gen Y in a way that goes over my head.

At some point soon I'm going to have to email him and say, "Look, are we just spinning our wheels here, or are you interesting in actually taking this somewhere?"

I too am thinking about congress.

2010-02-08T23:07:00.005+08:00

Gays in the United States tend to vote Democrat, but sometimes there can be inducements to go over to the other team. Such as Adam Kinzinger, Illinois congressional hopeful, currently giving serious wood to every self-respecting Log Cabin Republican.

University graduate, Air Force Special Ops pilot, heroic good samaritan, and smokin' hot hunk. Oh, and he’s single. Be still my ~~beating heart~~ burning groin.

Of course, you may argue that Washington is no place for an inexperienced Illinois politician cynically using his good looks and personal background to win a top level government position that’s probably beyond his abilities. But I think we should leave Obama out of this – this is Adam’s moment.

Adam, I suspect you’re against gay marriage. I say don’t knock it until you’ve tried it… and I’m happy to help in any way I can.

I finally start posting again, and THIS is what you get...‏

2010-02-04T12:29:00.001+08:00

The good thing about an anonymous blog like this one is that it allows perfectly honest expression. There's no need to be trying to make a good impression, or spare someone's feelings, or maintain a facade.

Ever since the start of the year I've been in a bad way. Having bloated up on idle feasting over the Christmas holidays, I've put myself on a hard diet. Perhaps it's the low blood sugar levels, but I've been in a sour mood ever since. Always tired. Always hungry. And as a result, always curt, misanthropic and unhappy.

I've also been to three weddings in two months, and had two long-time friends, on whom I'd thought I could rely to be my companions in singledom, suddenly fall into separate serious relationships. All of my remaining single friends are at least ten years younger than me. ALL of my gay friends are partnered. I find myself walking down a once crowded path that has suddenly been cleared of everyone but me.

I did go on my first date in several months a few weeks ago. He wasn't overblessed in the looks department. He was a little swishy. We struggled to find things to talk about: he had no interest in books, and his tastes in movies and music could best be described as "pedestrian". He probably would have been up for a shag if either of us had raised the possibility - in a you know, hey, why not, it's not like I have anything else I need to be doing kind of way - but it would have been a pointless one night stand, and I don't want to be that kind of person. In the end the most intimate we got was simply a little peck goodnight, which only served to remind me how much I miss kissing.

Human beings are comparative. Right now I feel as if all I want is a good fuck buddy. But of course, if I actually had one, I'd be pining for a proper boyfriend. If I had one of those, I'd be wishing I had a partner. And if I had a partner, I'd just want a better partner. Once I settled into each style of relationship, I'd only be moping after the next one up the chain.

Or at least that's what I tell myself. In most areas of my life I tend to be contented with what I have. My job is a little boring but I like it. I have a 12 year old car but it suits me and it's fun. I have a couple of niggling health problems but I'm intensely grateful that I don't have some of the conditions that my friends suffer. Maybe in matters romantic I'd be the same. "Sure, Mr X has a spare tyre, and he talks too much, and he's a bit of a cheapskate, but he's fun in the sack and he has a good heart."

As we close in on the two year anniverary of The Last Time I Had Sex, I have moments of thinking, "Why did I let things fall apart with BN2? He was nice and he wanted to have sex with me. Let me repeat that. He was NICE! He wanted to have SEX! With ME! Why did I think that there might be more to life than that?"

Of course it's possible that I'm fooling myself. Perhaps the reason why we drifted apart was because he was begining to tire of me, and my hesitation about the relationship just hastened the process? But I can't know. I doubt we could have ever fallen in love, but at least we could have had a lot of fun together. I could use a bit of fun in my life.

Dismissing the loser.

2009-08-29T00:08:00.003+08:00

Someone (I think it may have been Joe.My.God) once chronicled the phenomenon of the sudden cruising backpedal. You see a guy who looks mighty good, so you turn on the smile and the encouraging body language... then he changes position or steps into better light and you suddenly see that he's actually far from good. There follows a furious reversing as you try to undo the body language and make the smile polite rather than sexy.

This phenomenon is even more pronounced online. People tend to put their best pictures up on their profiles, where the angle of the head hides the double chin or cropping hides the big ears. They have also had time to carefully edit their text to hide the hints of neediness, bitchiness and/or stupidity that come out in spontaneous communication. It can be almost impossible to tell if a guy is worthy or not from such profiles, and you don't eventually find out until you've been chatting for an hour and he's sent you other, less flattering photos. Then you just want to get the hell out... but you want to do it with an element of dignity for everyone concerned.

So what do you say when a guy you thought was a 10 turns out to be a 1.0? From my experience there's a lot of remarkably ingenious psychology in use out there. Competently handled, a subtle dismissal can almost be a compliment. Observe the following true life examples, with ratings based on style and effectiveness.

1. (Following a date, in response to "Do you want to go out again?") "I'm all tied up this week, but maybe some time after that?"

I rather like this one. It pushes any possible communication far enough into the future to allow interest to cool (and realisation to dawn), but close enough to the present that it doesn't instantly make him feel completely unimportant. It allows for a gentle, gradual let down. Rating: A-

2. "Give me your number - I'm going out now but I'll buzz you when I get back."

A little amateurish, but still quite effective. It prevents a guy to whom you've given your number from calling you for at least a few hours, during which time he'll hopefully click that you regret showing an interest in him in the first place. Of course he might eventually call you, but if he's that clueless you're entitled to be a little more direct when you dismiss him. Rating: B-

3. "Well, I'm off to bed. I'll catch you again over the weekend."

"Off to bed" is a valid excuse - I've used it myself more than once - but frankly its effectiveness is a little blunted when you try using it at 9.30pm, as was the case with one guy who used it on me recently. The "catch you over the weekend", too, is not the best line. It's too specific in timeframe, and it's not specific enough in who'll take the initiative. Rating: C-

4. "I gotta go, but I look forward to chatting with you again."

I've used this one myself. I like to think that it validates the other guy (ie you're worth communicating with) without giving him any reason to think that I'm desperate to see him. Rating: C+

5. "I'm sort of putting all of my effort into someone else right now, but if that falls through maybe we can get together?"

Ironically I think this is unintentional genius. It's so completely clumsy, self-centred and clueless that you feel you've dodged a bullet in getting rejected. It's so idiotic that it's actually clever. Rating: B+

5. (dead silence)

This isn't a good idea. It doesn't say "Oops, you're worth less than I thought" so much as "You're worth nothing." And people tend to get cranky and vindictive when you say that. Go figure. Rating: F

Frot you talkin' 'bout, Willis?

2009-08-28T23:58:00.002+08:00

I'm sure I'm not the first person to have thought that "frottage" sounds less like a sex act and more like a rather sour French cheese. It must be one of the least onompatopaeic words in the English language. I'm also sure that I'm not the first person to have thought that it seems like a bit of a waste of time. It's basically an aspect of foreplay that's been inexplicably upgraded to sex in its own right, like an anonymous chorus girl who suddenly pushes the lead actress out of her way to grab centre stage.

Frottage as a core sexual activity has a reputation as something for those either in the closet or in denial. There's an element of blokiness to it as, to put it delicately, no orifice gets invaded. If necessary it can be dismissed as two curious guys having a bit of fun, in a way that other forms of sex can't.

Frottage has been brought to my attention as I've been chatting to a guy online who lists it as the self-imposed limit of his sexual activity. He gave me a link to the frottage website frotmen.org, and exploring it has been an interesting peek into yet another specialised sexual community.

First of all, never trust a website with clashing fonts, a lack of frames and less structure than a bowl of custard.

Second of all, never trust any sex-based group that feels the need to publish "policy papers".

Third of all, a minor activity cannot be used a define a larger morality. Symbolise it, yes, but not define it. I'm all for monogamy, fidelity and love, but these things are grandly out of scale with the act of rubbing one's penis against another man.

Fourthly, fifthly, and so on until well into the triple figures, frottage is not a "holy sacrament". It's not the act of a "warrior". It doesn't result in "salvation", unless of course the particular problem from which you need saving is not having a penis rubbed against you. And doing it rather than anal sex doesn't make you less gay.

My online friend is very excited about being a Frotman. I feel like saying to him, "Call it whatever you like, dude, but I know a cult when I see one." There's nothing particularly noble or warrior-like about any niche sexual activity. Sex is primarily an intimate act of love, not a philosophical statement.

Do the warning signs say Stop or Give Way?

2009-08-10T15:45:00.002+08:00

Over the last couple of weeks I've been chatting to an interesting guy online.

On paper he looks bad. Not Charles Manson bad, but certainly Earl Hickey bad. He's unemployed and not entirely clear about his prospects. His writing suggets an education that sputtered and died somewhere in his mid-teens. He's suffered from depression and been through a range of therapies, from the professional to the quack. I can see that he's created a psychological coping structure to deal with his issues, which is good, but the fact that I can see it is bad: well-adjusted people don't need noticeable coping structures.

So as you can see, getting involved with this guy would seem to be a disaster.

But in spite of all that, he seems like a nice, genuine person, and nice, genuine people are rare in the sleazy and occasionally psychotic world of gay online dating. I get the impression that he needs a sane and sensible friend to be on his side, and it feels good to be able to encourage him and offer advice. In my breezier moments I think that it would be fun and/or interesting to meet him face to face and learn more about his journey. But then when I'm feeling a little more realistic, I wonder if I'm risking one of those toxic relationships that destroy lives. Especially if he turns out to be really hot, and all of my level-headed analysis gets flattened by hormones.

There's the rub, you see. Sometimes loneliness makes us ignore warning signs that would be pretty bloody self-evident if were viewing them objectively.

Pretty is as pretty does.

2009-07-15T22:30:00.004+08:00

Early this evening I got a flirtatious message on gaydar from a very attractive man:

We chatted for a bit, and I got to see that this very attractive man has a very hot body:

I asked why a very attractive man with a very hot body was fluttering his eyelashes at someone sixteen years older than him and of rather more marginal appeal. He replied that it was his idea of community service, which made me laugh.

We swapped phone numbers and he offered to give me a call once he got back from the gym. And either he has the longest workout routine in the history of physical effort, or the gym he’s returning from is in Reykjavik. It’s been over three hours.

People are odd creatures. Maybe he enjoys the electronic flirting rather than the follow through. Or maybe he was messaging half a dozen other guys at the same time and in the end chose one of them. Or, most likely, maybe he bumped into friends while at the gym and went out for waffles.

I hope they were nice waffles.

Bring back the dignity! And the pool hunks!

2009-06-15T16:59:00.003+08:00

The process of updating my gaydar profile has made me consider that particular website in a new way. If you've used it for more than a few months you'll know that they've recently overhauled their title screens. The hot yet G-rated hunks lounging around the swimming pool are gone. They've been replaced, as far as I can tell, by the contents of Jean Paul Gaultier's subconscious. Gym-honed clowns in fantasy sailor outfits and silly mirrored sunglasses. Three guys who look like rutting cavemen. An older man who seems to have dieted and exercised so much that his skin no longer fits properly. And a neatly dressed geek guy who appears to have accidentally wandered in from a generic clip art photoshoot next door.

The effect is one of bizarre randomness. The old design suggested snapshots taken at a hot pool party. The new one suggests that the web designers just threw up their hands and said, "Fine, gay stuff, whatever, just pull some images out of the file."

Gaydar is a funny old place. With the redesign it seems to be trying to reassert its identity as a gay swinger site; a resource for finding that particular variation of twink or bear you need to fulfill a very specific sexual fantasy. But I would have thought that, as society become more and more accepting of homosexuality and more willing to consider it as "normal", sites like gaydar would evolve into something based less on hardcore sex and more on love and relationships. After all, while there are heterosexual sex personals, they tend to be out on the fringe, while rsvp.com and match.com are in the centre.

But it seems that gay men aren't much interested in such things. Match.com and rsvp.com both have male-for-male sections, but they aren't worth the effort. I did some searches on them last night, looking for guys between the ages of 29 and 49 in my city... and the numbers speak for themselves:

match.com - 25 guys.
rsvp.com - 31 guys.
gaydar.net - 847 guys.

So it seems that when gay men write personal ads, they tend to be sex-based rather than love-based.

Forgive me if I'm out of touch, but aren't we supposed to be normal people? Haven't gay activists spent considerable time and effort telling straight society that we want the same things they want - solid relationships, marriage, families, and acceptance into mainstream culture? And yet in the places where straights don't go, where we can most be ourselves... we reveal ourselves to be the same sex-obsessed and shallow creatures that activists dismiss as hateful caricatures in the outside world.

Go figure.

Working to my strengths isn't working.

2009-06-11T19:36:00.004+08:00

I always tend to feel lonlier in the cooler months. It's the long dark evenings, I guess. In addition while the spark of hope ignited by my colleague at work didn't come to anything, it does seem to have reawoken my need for love.

So I've renovated my gaydar profile. I took some photos with my new camera, chose the best one, and after a bit of careful cropping and colour balancing I got a result I liked. I looked good. The structure of the picture makes it stand out, and if I saw it online, amidst the photos of bare decapitated torsos with sucked in stomachs and skinny naked asses, I'd think to myself, "Hey, there's a good looking guy I'd like to get to know."

I tinkered with the text but only barely. It says all that I want it to say, and let's face it, the text is only an adjunct to the picture. The picture is what draws guys in, and it's generally all they need to decide if they're going to contact you or not. In my experience the text only reinforces impressions made by the picture.

I put the revised profile up late on Monday night, then checked in 24 hours later to see if it had generated any interest.

Cue crickets chirping, and the occasional tumbleweed rolling across the pages of gaydar.

Eventually, after spending a few hours online and leaving my virtual footprints everywhere, I got a few twinges of interest. Hey, nice picture, said one. Another gave me the old "I think you're nice" tag. A third engaged me in a brief conversation about our favourite authors, but it didn't particularly go anywhere.

Why was no one interested? The picture made me look attractive, masculine and confident, with a warm smile and a spark in my eye. What else could men want?

I got my answer while browsing some of the other profiles:

Well that explains a lot. How in the hell am I supposed to compete with this?

My attractive, interesting headshots are all very good, but when there's plain photographic evidence of a young man's gymnastic flexibility and spectacular ass available elsewhere, the headshots don't stand a chance. Given the choice between a date with this and a date with my headshot, even I'd go with Bubble Butt Boy. I'm only human.

My ass is never going to look that good. I'd better get used to crickets and tumbleweeds.

What doesn't make a man gay?

2009-06-10T13:20:00.003+08:00

Almost all of the traffic that this blog gets from Google searches comes via one specific search: "what makes a man gay?" The traffic comes to me because of this post, and because it's a question that few blogs bother to consider. This is odd, when you think about it, because it's a question that every gay man asks himself as part of his search for identity.

Of course my blog isn't the only place that this Google search identifies. While checking my stats the other day, I clicked on this link to a Times review from 2007 of Desmond Morris' book 'The Naked Man'.

Desmond Morris is best known as the author of the seminal 1967 anthropological work 'The Naked Ape'. His theory, as outlined in the review, is that homosexuals are men who do not break away from the all-male bonding that boys seem to prefer for a roughly ten year stretch between toddlerhood and puberty. For some reason - possibly a misfiring of hormones - they stay stuck in a preference for the company of men, even as their interests turn sexual.

This is, of course, utter bunk.

I've met several little boys who couldn't be more proto-gay if they minced around wearing pink feather boas singing Liza Minnelli medleys... which they occasionally do. We've all met such boys. Their homosexuality isn't an upcoming failure to make the leap into an interest in girls. It's already part of who they are, something they started expressing from the very first moment they could express anything. Puberty does nothing other than ramp up the testosterone and supercharge their orientation with horniness and lust.

Reading this review makes me suspect that research into the causes of homosexuality is a young person's game. When looking for reasons and influences, it seems that every generation of researchers latches onto the scientific discipline du jour and clings to it, like a barnacle on a ship's hull, for the rest of their days. It's kind of alarming to witness otherwise impeccably-credentialed scientists supporting theories that are about as scientifically rigorous as phrenology and perpetual motion. It seems that young researchers are the only ones who have any chance of coming to the issue with open minds.

Desmond Morris was 80 years old when 'The Naked Man' was published. Candidly, he may be too old to be able or willing to consider fresh ideas or advancements in other fields. He's viewing the world though the mindset of his 1967 heyday, when homosexuality was still considered a psychiatric disorder. Weighed down by the baggage of more than half a century of misinformation and misinterpretation, he fails to grasp truths that are self-evident to any gay man.

Apart from being set in his ways, why does Morris support such a ridiculous theory? Part of the answer, I think, comes from the comment thread following the review. "Why are you even asking this question", demand several commenters. "Stop trying to put me in a box. I am who I am and I'm fabulous!" To which I can only reply, "Well good for you, honey, but if scientists listened to you and stopped trying to find out how the world worked, we'd still think the earth was flat and cower in terror during every thunderstorm."

There's no use in pretending that people don't want to know why some men are gay. It's probably for the best if gay men themselves look into it, tell scientists when their theories are off-kilter, and try to get to the bottom of the puzzle. Knowledge is always a good thing.

Another mirage

2009-06-08T13:24:00.004+08:00

Around three thirty on Friday afternoon I had a phone call from the guy mentioned in my last post. Friday was the last day of his project with my department, and he had some final pieces of paperwork to give me. He wanted to make sure I was still going to be there at five o'clock. I was, as I had some extra work to do, but everyone else was leaving at four so I'd be there by myself.

I hadn't expected to hear from him again. I'd thought that he'd already given me all the documents I needed. Was this just an excuse to see me at a time when the office wasn't crowded with people?

After the blushing episode I was filled with trepidation. I concentrated on my work and did a lot of deep breathing. Every time I heard someone walking up the hall outside my office my heart started beating faster.

And finally, just before five, he was there. Looking good in a snug blue sweater. He gave me his paperwork and we chatted about the project. I managed to keep my side of the conversation rolling along. I leaned against my desk. He hooked his hand over the top of the doorframe and leaned against it in a relaxed way. I kept the papers and a pen in my hands, because I found that if I put them down my hands started to shake. I smiled, I chuckled, I made jokes, and most importantly, I didn't blush. I gave every impression of being a normal person, which under the circumstances was something of an achievement.

And then the conversation finished, we wished each other well, and he left. I listlessly banged away at some work for ten more minutes, then I went home.

I'd done my best. I'd given him an opportunity, and he'd decided not to take it. If you're wondering, "Why the hell didn't you just ask him out?", well, there are two answers. One, it's not my style to be so forward. And two, technically I'm one of his supervisors (a kind of adjunct to his boss), and I'm pretty sure that asking an underling out on a date is frowned upon, perhaps even an outright offense. If he initiates, on the other hand, it's probably okay. Which is a moot point, since he didn't.

I'm satisfied that I did the best I could. As I drove home that evening I didn't have any of those "Damn, that's what I should have said!" moments. But it seems my subconscious wasn't as satisfied. All through the weekend it seemed that everywhere I looked there was a happy gay couple - in the checkout line at the deli, having breakfast at the coffee shop, browsing the shelves at Blockbuster. At several moments across Saturday and Sunday I realised that I was 90% of the way to bursting into tears. Who are these people? For what secret source did they find these significant others? Why haven't I been told about it?

I suppose my point is that it's easy to tolerate loneliness when you don't have your nose rubbed in the possibility of making a connection. But when everyone around you seems to have achieved what you want without all that much effort, it just hurts.

Thwarted by my own hormones and blood vessels.

2009-06-05T14:35:00.003+08:00

There's a guy who has had reason to come into my department at work about four or five times in the last couple of months. Other than setting my gaydar off every time he came in, he didn't make much of an impression on me. About my age, average looks... I treated him with the same professional amiability that I treat everyone.

Then a couple of days ago he dropped by the office to give me some paperwork, and instead of a suit he was wearing casual clothes. The top three buttons of his light cotton shirt were undone, and as he handed me the documents I got a momentary glimpse of the curve of his pecs, the light dusting of hair on his chest... and it was if someone had flicked the sexual attraction switch in my brain and set off an alarm.

I was trying to answer his question on some point of bureaucracy but all I could hear was CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! I struggled to look him in the eye, much less give a smooth and professional answer to his question.

The next day he dropped by to give me another piece of paper I needed, and it was terrible. As soon as he walked into my office I felt myself starting to blush. I'm pretty sure that my ears were turning so red that they could have been used as traffic lights. As a result it was all I could do to say the right words like "good morning" and "thank you", rather than turning on the old GTR charm and delicately probing to see if my gaydar was reading true. Maybe it's my imagination, but he seemed quite happy to get out of there, no doubt wondering why this GTR guy was blushing furiously while discussing quarterly reviews.

If this were television he'd come back later, even after I'd made a fool of myself, and quietly ask me if I wanted to go out and get a drink sometime.

But unfortunately this isn't television. This is life, and it's a bitch.

Suddenly I'm feelin' it.

2009-06-04T15:45:00.001+08:00

Number of days since I went on a date: 346

Number of days since I kissed a guy: 346

Number of days since I had sex: 392

All of these things were so long ago that I don't actually remember the exact times. It's a good thing I wrote them down in my blog.

You what would be an even better thing? If the numbers were a lot smaller.

Batman reveals his true colours

2008-12-23T14:56:00.002+09:00

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.

Yes, I am trying to reassure myself.

2008-11-22T16:22:00.006+09:00

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.

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

2008-11-19T23:01:00.003+09:00

I'm a regular reader of several gay blogs, and occasionally I get the feeling that they're ganging up on me.

I go to the first one, and read about some sweet romantic thing that the writer's boyfriend did for him. I go to a second one, and read about the glorious holiday that the writer and his long-time partner are taking. Then I go to a third one and read about how crazy in love the writer is, and a fourth one in which the writer laments that his sex life with his partner has fallen off to only a couple of times a week.

Then I go and stick my head in the oven. Which is sort of futile, since it's electric, but the thought is there.

Reading about the romantic success of other men can make me feel as if my heart is actually turning to stone inside my chest. It hurts so much. Love seems to be a lottery that everyone wins, with the exception of me. And possibly Jennifer Aniston.

And while Big Jen may be unlucky in love, she's done it with every celebrity hunk from Brad Pitt to John Mayer, which kinda balances the karmic ledger if you ask me.

However, even though I'm surrounded by the blogs of upbeat, life-affirming sons of bitches, I've discovered an antidote. When other people's tales of happiness and love get me down, I just take a stroll through luriddigs.com.

It's been around a while, but if you don't know it, it's a (very NSFW) site that looks past the man in the online dating profile photo and critiques the revolting interior design in the background. I'm sure we've all seen a profile photo and thought, "He looks nice, but can I really trust a man who hasn't bought new bedlinen since 1993?", but luriddigs manages to find men who are approximately one thousand times worse.

Yes, one thousand times worse. I've crunched the numbers and it's official.

Apparently there are some men who think that lolling naked on their bed with their collection of Sesame Street beanie babies watching over them is sexy. Some others seem to believe that a photo of them masturbating on a sagging chintz-covered Queen Anne couch will bring in the boys. Still others don't seem to realise that they might get laid more often if they did the vacuuming and threw out all of those empty pizza boxes and Diet Coke cans and dead squirrels.

Put simply, reading luriddigs makes me feel better. I may be alone. I may be unloved. I may not have anyone who thinks I'm anything special. But at least I'm not a hideous, gap-toothed, scraggle-haired lunatic posing in a cheap leather bondage outfit on a dirty sofa in his grandma's fake wood paneled double-wide trailer.

And that's something.

"He's trying to style my hair!"

2008-11-18T00:11:00.001+09:00

Gays + Zombies = Gay Zombie

A question we've all asked ourselves

2008-11-14T21:48:00.004+09:00

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...

Grappling with a 13 year age difference

2008-10-29T16:25:00.003+09:00

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)."

Anatomy of a Turnoff

2008-09-05T00:08:00.004+08:00

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.

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

2008-09-03T23:43:00.004+08:00

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.

But can I salary package this?

2008-08-26T13:09:00.003+08:00

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.

Eat Handsome Your Way

2008-08-21T11:50:00.005+08:00

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.

Stop taunting me with your agreeableness and nice ass!

2008-08-18T16:24:00.002+08:00

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!"

Leave cuddliness for the fabric softeners

2008-08-15T12:17:00.003+08:00

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.

Watch out William Shakespeare, WH Auden and Russell Davies

2008-08-14T15:50:00.002+08:00

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’.

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

2008-07-29T20:47:00.005+08:00

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.

An update on my down dates

2008-07-24T12:27:00.002+08:00

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.

And a nice ass is no excuse!

2008-07-16T23:33:00.003+08:00

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

2008-07-16T23:26:00.004+08:00

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.

With apologies to Norman Bates

2008-06-16T14:32:00.000+08:00

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.

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

2008-06-12T14:50:00.000+08:00

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.

In which I get my bitch on, big time

2008-06-10T11:19:00.000+08:00

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.

Just somethng I came across online

2008-05-27T14:13:00.000+08:00

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.

I hope my many thousands of readers can enlighten me

2008-05-26T13:29:00.000+08:00

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

Quit toying with my sense of self-worth!

2008-05-22T16:20:00.000+08:00

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.

Getting around to it at last

2008-05-15T16:37:00.000+08:00

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.

Why are things so damn complicated?

2008-05-13T10:15:00.000+08:00

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.