Of partnered guys and equity issues

Just lately I've had a lot of interest on Scruff from partnered guys. This, as you might imagine, is not good. It basically rubs my nose in the fact that my life, which appears perfectly adequate a lot of the time, would be an utterly unacceptable shitheap for most gay guys. 

I generally still chat with the partnered guys, because I have a complicated fantasy that we might become social, I might be invited to their parties, they might introduce me to their single friends, and I might meet someone. Yes, it's farfetched, but it could happen! And let's face it, I don't have a wealth of options. 

And so I chatted with this one. After we'd chatted back and forth for a few hours, I decided I needed to go to bed, and he declared he was going to "have a wank." 

 

It made me feel dizzy. Can you even conceive of the unfettered luxury of having a good-looking, horny man crawling into your bed and nuzzling you awake, wanting to have his way with you? 

Of course you can. I'm guessing you're a normal gay man, with a long-term boyfriend. But to me it's an astonishing fantasy. The idea of this scenario being so commonplace that you'd actually prefer to sleep is so foreign to me that it seems implausible. I literally can't imagine it. It's (apparently) a common situation, and I can't even picture it, let alone experience it! 

In fact, if you'll recall, it's a significant factor in the reason why Mr Singular and I fell apart. I was thrilled at the idea of sleeping with him. I counted the days until we could do it. He was so used to it that thought it less important than getting drunk with his cousins. When our attitudes collided it all blew up. 

Then last night and today I spoke with a cute young guy who'd met his partner within a week of moving to this country, and has been with him for the three years since then. He's only online to chat, to ogle, and to organise the occasional threeway with his partner. 

And this makes me swing between depression and rage. I 've been looking for a boy friend, any boyfriend, even a crap boyfriend for five years and the closest I've come is three weeks of a sort of pre-boyfriendom state with Mr Singular. He's in this country for SEVEN FUCKING DAYS AND HE FINDS HIS FUCKING SOULMATE! 

 Is there a Complaints Desk for this whole gay relationship thing? There appear to be equity issues here.

A couple of encounters

I need to do something about my sex life. The last time I had good sex was more than six months ago, with UAM, and even the mediocre sex I've had since then has been sparse.

A couple of weeks ago I managed to get laid - I'd last had sex two months before, while my partner last had sex two days before. He was a lean, likeable 29 year old with a perfectly biteable ass. We were supposed to go out for a drink, but he asked me to come to his apartment instead and have a glass of wine. We did, and after we'd chatted for a bit he started ruffling my hair. I ran my fingers through his, and pretty soon we were wrestling in his bed. 

I learn something from every new sexual partner and/or experience. There were a bunch of firsts here: 

• First time I've been offered amyl (I declined). 
• First time I've worn a condom. 
• First time I've wilted before being able to buttfuck someone (damn it!). 
• First time I've brought a guy to orgasm via fingering.
• First time I've had sex with a guy with long hair. His was shoulder-length, and while I didn't find it particularly attractive I did like grabbing a fistful of it while I kissed him. 
• First time I've been accused of/praised for "tonguefucking". Apparently my kissing is... ardent. 

He chastised me for being "unprepared", in that I hadn't douched. Perhaps he'd forgotten that I'd come straight from work, or perhaps he just had unrealistic expectations of office bathroom etiquette.

So I'm facing the fact that, really, I should have a douche I can use to keep myself nice, and a cock ring to keep myself hard when faced with frustratingly tight assholes. I don't want to be the sort of guy for whom these things matter, but it looks like I'm going to be forced to. 

Then, just a couple of days later, I had more successful sex with someone else. 

There was no need for fingering this time - we just had straight forward, old fashioned sex. I wore a condom, and thanks in large part to my partner's abilities I came in it. Unfortunately I was concentrating so hard on, well, staying so hard that I couldn't just relax and enjoy it. 

To be honest, it's a good thing that he was a bottom because he had the smallest penis I've ever encountered. It was the length of one of my fingers and only slightly thicker, and he didn't get hard very easily. I couldn't stroke him at all while we were having sex, simply because there wasn't enough to hold on to: the most I could do was to form a ring between my index finger and my thumb and apply it like a quoit at a ring toss. 

But he was a nice, good-looking, sexy guy, and a very good kisser, soft and gentle and responsive. And it broke my run of first dates that go nowhere (this was our second date) and unsatisfying sex. It wasn't great sex, but at least we both came, and while his was a little arduous my coming following the standard Narrative of Sex (flirting, touching, kissing, caressing, licking, sucking, breaching, penetrating, fucking, coming... and feeling suddenly awkward and vulnerable). 

For a sensual kinda guy, my various body parts aren't terribly sensitive. Nipple play doesn't do much more me. Neither does rimming (the closest I came to actually getting something out of it was with Mr Singular, but he's fairly spectacular at all things sex-related). Stcking your tounge in my ear isn't endearing or hot. If you want to make me moan, it's down to the genitals. It makes me feel so unsophisticated and base.

The other kind of beard for gay men.

Sometimes when I'm on Scruff I save the pictures of guys I find particularly attractive, and I'm starting to detect a theme...







That last one has caused more than one of my friends to sigh with longing.

I have a minor beard myself - little more than advanced stubble, but I'm keeping it well trimmed and shaped. Now all I need to do is lose 10 kilograms and 20 years.

On being a consolation prize.

Following on from my last post, I've realised that just lately I've been hearing this a lot:

"Yeah, I broke up with my long term partner earlier this year. It was a mutual decision, and we're still really good friends. Anyway, I'm just looking around and seeing what's out there. My ex? Oh, he's been seeing someone for a while now. No, I'm totally happy for him."

"Mutual decision" my ass. You were dumped, he's moved on embarassingly quickly, and now you're fumbling around trying to find a rebound guy. You would much rather be back at home, in your old life, with your old partner. The only reason why you're sitting here with me is because he ended that little romantic idyll.

That makes me feel so special.

My date last night was like that. My previous date, two and half weeks ago, was like that too. The other guy with great potential who balked when I eventually insisted that we actually meet for coffee... he was just out of a twenty year relationship. Apparently it was still too raw for him to do more than chat online.

And as I discovered a few weeks ago, one of the main reasons why my nascent relationship with Mr Singular failed was because he was still mourning the end of his short relationship with the man he still regards as the love of his life. I didn't even know this guy existed until a few weeks ago. Mr Singular seems to have recovered from his broken heart sufficiently now to consider taking up with me again. How lovely - he's now recovered enough, and desperate enough, to settle for second best.

I'd like to be chosen by a man, but apparently the best I can hope for is to be half-heartedly accepted.

To use a chocolate box metaphor, I'm the strawberry creme that's only contemplated once the hazelnut truffles and almond pralines have been devoured.

Getting between two guys... and not in a good way.

I had my 20th first date for the year earlier tonight. Let's call him Dan. We met at one of my favourite small bars, one that that is convenient to both of our workplaces. He had some wine, I had some excellent Polish vodka martinis, and we enjoyed some conversation and upmarket tapas.

Truth is, he was nice enough, but there were so many red flags it was like a Chinese military parade. He only split up with his husband a few weeks ago. He's a lightweight drinker. He's 32 and had never eaten pate before our date. He mentioned spending his Saturday nights watching True Blood marathons on his home cinema... alone. He loves McDonalds. And to judge from the way he baffled our cocktail waiter, he has no idea how to speak to servers.

Worst of all, it quickly became apparent that a guy I'd dated once a couple of months ago (let's call him Noel) was his ex. But according to Dan, their breakup was only a month old. It seems that Noel had broken up with Dan a while back, but only only informed Dan of it recently.

Classy.

I further transpired that Dan already knew that I'd met Noel, after he'd shown Noel my profile photo a few days earlier and Noel had confessed. He only told me because I realised the truth from things he mentioned in the conversation and, deciding that I needed to do the right thing, admitted it to him. So there's another red flag - he can't deal with breaking awkward news.

Perhaps it's fortuitous that my date with Noel had been one of the worst dates of my life. He'd shown up already tipsy and proceeded to get even more hammered. He had no social skills and seemed to think that sniping at me and mildly abusing me was charming. In retrospect, he may have been acting out on his frustration about his home life... not that he mentioned being involved with someone, of course.

Since then, apparently, the obnoxious Noel has moved on and is now in a satisfying relationship with someone else - his profile has duly vanished from Scruff - while I'm left to deal with his rejects. And so another blow to my sense of self-worth is recorded.

And in a final piece of humiliation... I have to admit that I'd see Dan again. He's gauche, not terribly attractive and a bit of a feeb, but he's nice, he seems to have a good heart, and hey, I like True Blood as much as the next homosexual. That's how low my expectations have sunk.

She knows a thing or two, honey.

If your mother forbids you to do something that involves dick, you should listen. She's probably speaking from experience. Bitter, painful experience.

Objectification: is it really so bad?

Sometimes you come across a picture of a guy who just pushes your buttons. Especially the big red button marked "Lust".

This is one of those pictures. Sigh.