Getting older: much worse than you think

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.