You don't learn anything in the chattering classes‏

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.

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...‏

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.

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?

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?

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.

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.