I do wonder why this happens

Every once in a while I come across a blog written by a gay man whose situation seems to mirror my own. Never precisely, of course, but close enough for me to empathize with his issues. There’s a handful of them now that I read regularly. Unfortunately, however, one of them has been slowly but steadily losing its appeal.

The problem is that the blogger in question seems to be getting gayer by the day. I don’t mean that he’s getting a lot of man on man action. I mean that it’s become almost literally impossible to tell if he’s really a gay man or just a straight guy doing an offensively over the top caricature of a gay man. He’s evolving into a walking amalgam of every poof joke ever to flounce its way across the stage of a footy club end of year revue.

He’s become the sort of guy who I imagine flaps his hands a lot when he speaks. You know the type: “Darling (flap), I just (flap) got home from seeing the new Almodovar film and I was soooo (flap) bored I just thought I’d die (flap, roll eyes for effect, check frosted tips in mirror).

Picture a younger Jeannie Little with testicles and you’re pretty much there.

It’s a shame, because a few months ago he had interesting things to say, moments of serious reflection on his life and ideas that demonstrated a lively intelligence. And now it’s all “lovely” and “fabulous” and “soooo cute”, as trite and shallow as a soap starlet’s first pop song.

Why has this happened? I suppose that either he’s coming out of his shell and becoming the flappy, shrieky queen he was always meant to be, or he’s under the impression that to be a proper gay man he has to act like a cross between Samantha Jones and a terminally insecure 14 year old girl. The first option is tragic; the second option is worse.

I’ll probably still keep reading his blog… just to see if the flapping girly-man persona ever subsides and allows the real man to show himself again.

The curse of divergent drives

Last night I drove up to BN2's place after work for dinner. I was hoping that over the course of the evening we would have a chance to talk about our relationship, discerning where each of us wanted to go and how quickly each of us thought we should go there. Once dinner was over I was hoping that there would be an opportunity to suggest that maybe it would be wise to slow down a bit, to concentrate on friendship for a while and see if anything more profound naturally evolved from that.

Instead I just had sex with him. Twice.

I don't think my brain and my hormones are quite on the same page.

I'm never satisfied, or so it would seem

You may think that the lack of posting over the last couple of weeks is due to reasons of romance. Perhaps you have a mental picture of BN2 and me skipping hand in hand in slow motion through a field of daisies, possibly while The Turtles' 'So Happy Together' plays in the background.

Sorry to burst your conceptual bubble, but no. We're still dating, but I've been finding the pace of things a little too fast and I've been prodding the brakes. BN2 is a spontaneous, impulsive kind of guy, and if we were moving at his pace we'd have met each other's parents and be picking out china patterns for our bridal registery by now. Not because we're made for each other, but I think we both feel the need to have a lover beside us. I just see it because I'm a more cautious and analytical person than he is.

While I like BN2 and find him reasonably attractive, he's not The One. I'm prepared to keep seeing him in case he becomes The One, but I'm already fairly sure that he won't.

This was brought home to me on Saturday night, when I was hanging out at my place with some friends, including this guy. At one point he was in the kitchen making himself a snack while I lounged on the couch, watching him prepare the food, and I had a sudden daydream about what life together would be like... just the ordinary domestic routines given significance by doing them with a man you love. Not that I love my snack-making friend, but I think I could if he was a) not straight and b) reciprocated.

I don't think the same about BN2, sadly. We'll just have to see what happens.

Sleep deprivation at midnight... and 2am... and 7am...

After much begging, pleading and demanding from BN2, I spent the entire night with him on Friday. It's the first time I've ever done it, and it was an oddly mixed experience.

I'm a big fan of body contact and gentle caresses, but not, as it turns out, when I'm trying to sleep. He wanted to spoon me and while I appreciate that in theory, in practice it made me feel claustrophobic. He also tended to migrate to the middle of his queen-sized bed, so if I wanted my own space I had to balance perilously on the edge of the mattress. In addition neither of us is used to sleeping with someone else in the bed, so any little movement from either of us would wake the other one up.

Ironically as a result we just had a hell of a lot of sex. Let's face it, if you've got insomnia, getting dirty with the hot naked man in your bed beats counting sheep or drinking a glass of warm milk any day.