I see you have some older [there's a huge gap between your age and theirs, do the fucking maths!] gys [sic, gays or guys?] in your friends list [that's because they're FRIENDS], that's why I'm giving it a try! I'm around 60 years old [don't lie to me, 66 is your age], a big [you certainly have a pot belly] strong [fat ain't muscle, you know] bear living 12 km from College Town [this doesn't match your profile] and I want to get to know you! [is the exclamation mark supposed to make me feel special?]
I'm single with a relationship [I love this one], 24 years old but he's not the one [I wonder if I know him]. I live in a village, have my own business [you're drawing a pension, dude] am romantic (cancer), have integrity [haven't seen any sign of that] if you want to mail me with picture [very romantic... NOT], then please do. Chat? Hope to talk to you soon, kisses, J [gross].
PS. Refer to my mail otherwise I don't know who you are [let me guess: you're mailing every younger guy in the entire province, aren't you?]
Saturday, 29 September 2007
Three different, independent sources have told me this. I've been told he's a regular in one particular place. He is, I've been told, at the top of the list of players who should come out.
Much as I want him to be one of us, I don't buy it. According to much of the gay community, everyone's closeted, in denial or at least bisexual with a preference to men. It's an obsession to some to link celebrities to homosexuality.
And it just doesn't make sense. Football is probably the hardest place for a gay guy to survive, I'll acknowledge that, and to my knowledge only one active player has ever come out, I think in England. It ended in suicide.
So unless you're brilliant (which Klaas-Jan in my admittedly biased opinion is) and too good to be ostracised, coming out in that world is no option. Unless a group of players from different teams does it simultaneously, I guess. The player would be fodder for rival teams' cat calls, and arch rivals Feyenoord Rotterdam have some vicious fans.
There must be gay professional players out there, and there are lots of rumours like this one as a result. The hotshots running the league are superficially supportive and tolerant of homosexuality, but trainers, players and fans often are not. Former Ajax coach Ronald Koeman even went on TV a few years ago to deny rumours about two unspecified players. Still, I have a feeling a star wouldn't suffer at the hands of his team's own supporters. If and when homosexuality and football are no longer abstract concepts or subjects of rumour, but have names and faces attached to them, sentiments could well change.
In the mean time, the closet will be the only place for players to survive. I've heard stories of Italian giants AC Milan's closet program. Allegedly, they're well experienced with this problem and take care of everything: a girlfriend, secret visits to clubs, houses etc. Much as it is despicable, it is a very pragmatic way of dealing with one of life's realities whilst keeping the player active and on your payroll.
So if you're a closeted football player, a star, a celebrity in your own right and a sometime member of the national team (move over, Van Nistelrooij!), I don't think you'd visit gay bars in your own damn town. But then again, I don't know what it's like to be famous and closeted.
*By the way, even though we screwed up in the run up to the Champions League, had a hard UEFA Cup match in Zagreb (0-1), are plagued by injuries and barely managed to win for the National Cup against an amateur team in extra time (1-2, shameful!), we're back at the top of the league, partly thanks to Klaas-Jan's classy touch. It will be a tough season, because there's just no way to replace midfielder Wesley Sneijder, who now does his brilliant stuff for Real Madrid.
Thursday, 27 September 2007
She's back! With a great tune! I love Roisin Murphy, including her crazy outfits and her awful dancing. Can't wait till the end of November, when she'll be in town. Can't wait for the album, coming out the day before Underworld's (what a crazy music week that's gonna be!).
Roisin, let me know when you're lonely, baby...
(Yes, I know she has small tits.)
Wednesday, 26 September 2007
Why? Because the ones that are most likely to be complaining about somebody else's characteristics are likely to be the most effeminate of all.
Don't get me wrong, I actually don't mind it if the guy's hot. It makes things very clear: if you hook up with one of those guys, your role and his are predefined. There's no uncertainty about what's going to happen and who's going to do what.
I must admit that having somebody prancing about the house like that all the time must be one of those nuisances that gets gradually worse. An irritation that eats at you. But again, I never think ahead that far and few others probably do.
And the fact that the guy's effeminate, doesn't mean he won't chase. Neither does it mean that he'll be subtle about it. It just means you'll have to read the body language and do all the hard work. It's easier than it sounds, because, hey, there is little subtlety involved in it all. If you don't react to it, you're likely to find somebody standing or sitting next to you trying to get at you with one of their "looks". They seem to like the eye thing. And they manage to stick around for a long time, and the shortest ones are often the most determined.
I'm not the most masculine person around. I hate getting my hands dirty, don't leave the house without looking at least somewhat close to immaculate (IMHO of course) and I enjoy a touch of glamour. Still, I'm fairly good at fixing things and using power tools. I don't mind carrying heavy loads. Maybe I'm just average, in a eurometro kind of way, on the straight scale.
On the gay scale, I'm one of the most masculine around. I think it's because I don't act the out-and-about gay guy, possibly because I'm not quite that out, but more likely because I don't like superficial acts.
Because that's what it is: an act. If a guy comes to tell you he just came out last month and "shocked" his friends, flopping arm, limp wrist and over-excited tone of voice and all, his friends must either be fools or he must have changed his behaviour since. Which means he's either acting or just not suppressing it any more.
I don't buy the suppression thing. I don't suppress anything in a gay environment, and still don't feel the need to match my body language to the stereotype and get all "floppy" with my right arm.
They're not doing it to be more attractive, because everyone around is busy declaring undying hatred of all things effeminate. Besides, they're often not looking to score.
It could be gaydar fodder, but what's the point of that when you're assumed to be gay in a particular place, a place where the straight have some explaining to do? And they're all perfectly capable of turning it down a little out in the street, where a little more dignified behaviour is expected.
So when a guy like that rejects someone because the he's too effeminate, I find it hard not to say: take a look in the mirror. But to keep a straight face during a situation like that is probably hardest.
Still, best to approach it like an episode of Ab Fab, with a lot of Eddies around. ;-)
Monday, 24 September 2007
Appreciating the joy of inebriated cooking, I did just that: iPod in my pocket, earphones plugged in, the Shapeshifters album on, volume: high. Pre-partying music at it's best, with me dancing behind the stove. I was feeling tired, but good. My flatmates, usually absent on Friday nights, had never seen me like this, and were probably a little shocked. That night, Lola's Theme was my theme.
I had my dinner, polished off a bottle and a half and walked into town. I had a destination: Text Guy would be waiting for me. I found him at the bar, sitting next to his best friend, who I find, you guessed it, quite attractive.
Progressively, the three of us got hammered. At a certain stage, when none of us was capable of intelligent speech any more, it was decided all three of us should go to Text Guy's place nearby to sleep.
On the way, we talked to two more guys, probably unaware of what was going on but none of us could remember what we talked about. Text Guy and Best Mate were discussing the best way to arrange the sleeping; I got a bit annoyed and told them the bed was large enough for the three of us.
We all undressed, Text Guy went out like a light and Best Mate and I made love. I can't remember the details, but he had a real nice body.
I woke up hoping it was all a bad dream, but Best Mate had wisely disappeared early in the morning.
I feel quite good about it now, after apologizing to everyone around (even though nobody seems to care much). It was honestly just hot, and why feel bad about that?
Him: [Taps me on shoulder] That's a woman! Wo-man! [Makes international tits sign]
Me: Thank God. Not a drag queen.
Fem 1: Darling, he's much too effeminate for me! [Moves right arm along with exclamation, limp wrist included]
Me: [Struggling not to laugh] He's just a little emo. Nice eyes, too.
Him: [about Fem 1]: He's only just out, you know.
Me: It must have been a paper closet.
Fem 2: [featuring 28 inch waist] I don't have a relationship! I'm only 20, 22 is much too old for me. [shakes butt]
Me: I wish I could say that.
Him: His boyfriend's a little older than that.
Fem 2: I'm going back to [insert name of gay bar frequented almost exclusively by old men].
Fem 2: [to Him] I would go for you but your almost-boyfriend's here.
[turns to me] What kind of relationship do you two have?
Me: [shocked] Hell, I don't know.
Hot young bartender: Stop kissing so sensually, you're turning me on!
Me: [sly smile]
Saturday, 22 September 2007
Friday, 21 September 2007
Thursday, 20 September 2007
I was a little depressed after the last weekend. I have honestly little to complain about: OK job, grad school is almost done, I am apparently capable of scoring good-looking guys. It gives me confidence, and experience which I could always use, but little true satisfaction.
I think it's because I'm more into romance, cuddling and kissing, then the harder, more physical stuff. Sure, I'd like to do that with someone I'm really into, but it's not my main goal when I go out. On the other hand, being desired by someone cool is a wonderful feeling, the biggest confidence booster one can imagine.
And it's a two way street, isn't it? You gotta please yourself but also take the other person into account, but not that much, because it's not a relationship. It's hard to stop at kissing and cuddling, even though I'd sometimes like to. And, I have to admit, I'm still curious about some aspects of the sex.
Do I want a date? Not sure. Dinner, a bottle of wine and a movie appeal to me, but a first date is really just a close compatibility inspection. I'm not sure that's better than being on the meat market, where inspections are fleeting, and conclusions not reached during after dinner awkwardness, and strange, unspoken rituals that have to be performed in order to pass each other's tests.
Do I want a relationship? It will have to be a loose one. I don't want someone around me all of the time, definitely don't want to contemplate moving in with someone. I'd like to have someone I could call though, and spend nice, quiet, romantic evenings with. Have dinner with. But where do I find such a person? Someone who understands my need to have some serious space?
In the somewhat dirty club that's mostly just a place to hook up? Unlikely, but possible. It's huge fun to be there though; it's nihilism and decadence at their best. That's what truly living should be about, in my most vapid fantasy: music, dancing, alcohol and sex, all within easy reach. Ripe for the picking, like a buffet of pleasure.
The other, more civilized place? More probable, I think. Maybe I should just focus on that, getting to know people, making friends, taking things where they go. Hooking up is far to self-centred an activity to combine with making friends, and I have been neglecting that part of my new life. I was well on my way there last Friday, except I got stalked and lost the plot.
I have since the weekend shopped myself out of depression, added a new secret weapon to my collection of partying clothes. For the first time, I bought something I doubt I would ever dare to wear in Straightland. Yes, my new Armani shirt is a very, very tight fit. And owning it does make me feel better, even though it's a very superficial thing, possessing goods.
What about Friday night? I'm gonna dance all the doubt away... staying in is just too depressing at the moment. Gotta move a bit, and I guess it's fairly healthy too ;-).
Tuesday, 18 September 2007
I had decided to meet up with last week's guy on Saturday night, but I didn't really feel up to it. A couple of glasses of wine calmed me down sufficiently to make it to town, but later than usual.
Here I met ex-crush and last week's guy, but I didn't really feel comfortable about staying. I had enough of that place, so I decided to have a drink at the other place which is a bit less in-your-face about everything.
Suddenly Friday's guy's started texting me that he was gonna be back in town soon. His birthday party was over a little earlier than expected, and he asked me if I wanted him to come over. I wasn't sure what to answer so I just replied: "if you feel like it".
In the mean time I just danced on the stage, next to a group of what I thought were lesbians. The DJ, whom I'd met on Friday night, was kicking the place with some nice trancy tunes but few people got really into it. It was, however, exactly what I needed at that time. He later switched to some standard disco fare, and I noticed he himself wasn't into it: the mixing got a bit sloppy.
Friday night guy came in exactly at the time he predicted, and he introduced me to one of the "lesbians". His niece. Awkward. I asked him what the hell they were doing there, and he said: "well, no-one hassles them here. They come here quite often". I suppose that's a secret I should keep to myself, to prevent a flood of horny straight guys coming over to score girls. LOL. Then he tells me her brother is really hot.
We sat at the bar, met up with some people we both knew and basically drank beer till closing time. I started developing a crush on the tall, slender, hot bartender. I think there's an opening there too.
After closing time we were unceremoniously dumped into the street so we went to his place and had the sex we probably should have been having on Friday night. It was pretty good honestly, and now I know what topping is really like.
He's still texting. Next week I'm staying in, I think.
Monday, 17 September 2007
One time didn´t do it
Two times didn´t feel quite right
I didn´t know where I was going
I just knew that I would be alright
I woke up in a drunken haze
The sun shone through my window pane
I said that I´d never do it again
What kind of fool do you think i am?
It always seems to happen
Morning night and day
I just want some action
Give me satisfaction
Send me to my fate
Morning night and day
New Order - Morning Night and Day
Well, basically it is all one interconnected event. I'm not too proud of some of it but I guess it ended up being OK.
On Friday I hit town as I have been doing for a few weeks. It's still quiet and there's nothing much going on at my base so I hit another place which was more of a bar-like setting. Here I have a few too many drinks and end up talking to a group of friends, just nice, normal guys. One of them looks a little like Daniel Craig and it turns out he's the standard Saturday night DJ. Real cool guy.
Another guy joins the circle, and immediately he starts hitting on me. He's nerdy, nervous and more than a little creepy. I'd seen him before at my base; he was ogling me in the most pathetic "come on over and seduce me way" which I ignore anyway.
It just goes downhill from there. I get more drunk, he gets more creepy. I try to be polite but find no way of shaking him off. He's freaking out the friends too, keeps telling everyone who'll listen that he's 40 years old but looks much younger, closer to thirty, and hey, he was born in 1967. It's true he doesn't look like forty but that doesn't make him attractive. I've had enough, there's no dancing here so to escape I have to leave. I pay my tab but he follows me out the door.
The base is a bit more sexually charged and has a dance floor, so that's where I go. I hope to find a way of getting rid of this guy but by now I'm horrendously sloshed. Dancing does not help; the dance floor is small and he just follows me around, stands behind me at the edge. I'm even dancing to Mika. Boozy logic takes over: surely if I pull someone, he'd get the message?
I start grinding some guy and eventually we kiss. He breaks it off, with the following comment: "you're much too drunk". Hilarious really, and oh so true. I can't even remember what he looks like. All the time, creep is still there, watching. I don't even look at him any more, but he tries to make light conversation again, failing horribly. Leaning over a table a foot or so away I spot someone I know. He's a regular from the other place, a nice-looking guy even though he wears glasses. He notices me and instantly I know there's a way in.
By now, booze, too little to eat, lack of sleep, irritation with the creep and general horniness take over. I can't describe the feeling, but it's closely related to desperation. My facial expression must have been "someone help me out here", because that was what I was feeling. Breaking my own rules, I move in. Creep is still there, behind me.
Things move quickly from here. I can barely stand on my own two feet, but we kiss and grope like mad. He lives close by and we decide to go to his place. He's really into me, I see that already, through my drunken haze. Creep is nowhere to be found (at last).
We have sex and I'm really awful at it. At one point, I interrupt him to throw up in the bathroom, only liquids coming out. He doesn't care; we go on like nothing has happened. He wants me to top him but my coordination is shot and finally I just chuck in the condom and pass out.
On Saturday morning, he gets up way too early to go to work and a birthday party afterwards. We sit on the couch, drinking coffee for a while, talking about life in general. I get dressed and leave, he's adamant about having my number. Within half an hour, he's texting already.
I'll finish the story tomorrow. I'm definitely gonna taking it easier for a while now.
Saturday, 15 September 2007
Friday, 14 September 2007
I need my own place. Own kitchenette, shower and toilet, and I'll be happy. I would have room for a double bed, and maybe have a proper sitting area for once in my life. Preferably closer to the action, because, hey, you only live once. Above all, I need my own place because then, and only then, can I do whatever the fuck I want to, when I want to. Without having to suffer straight first-years and their awful granny rock or socially immature guys who can't deal with hair products and tooth paste.
So I'm giving a guy I know a call on Monday. He rents out apartments and student rooms throughout town, and he knows me and has set me up before. He knows I'm not very noisy (thank you Apple!) and that I'm clean, responsible and pay promptly. I hope he will be able to find something for me.
I'm just too old for this crap.
Thursday, 13 September 2007
Is it the thrill of the unobtainable? Or the challenge of testing one's ability to draw attention of people who are evidently not interested? Are they wondering if they are pretty enough to flip the guy? I remember a Seinfeld episode where Elaine tried to do exactly that. Without success, obviously, but I'm sure there are women out there who believe it can be done. Of course, it reflects on the bisexuality of the guy too, but the woman probably views it as her own accomplishment.
Or is it a biological defence mechanism, to ensure the human gene pool does not become too shallow? The more practising breeders, the more diversity in genes I guess.
Anyway, since I've pretty much decided to give this man love thing a try, I've had more female attention than in the entire year before. I'm basking in the irony of it all. It's mostly just innocent flirting, but that hardly used to happen before.
Maybe it's just me. I'm feeling more at peace with myself, confident, I often feel I'm radiating security and that I certainly never used to do. I'm more open, better at carrying a conversation, and generally a whole lot more talkative and willing to take the initiative. Basically, I'm becoming less introverted and developing the balls needed to do this thing.
So I guess this version of me is much more attractive than insecure old me. I've got more money to spend, so I'm dressing better. I've changed my hairstyle at the beginning of the year. I'm losing a little weight. I never used to be chubby or anything close to fat, but the package is improving every day.
I'm no Adonis, so what's up? It's probably that old confidence thing again.
Tuesday, 11 September 2007
Of course, I'm still inexperienced and don't pretend to write the definitive work on this. Points of view could vary. I'd love you guys to disagree.
1. Be confident if not outright cocky at all times. If it takes alcohol to get there, so be it. Everyone else drinks like a fish anyway.
2. Don't make a move unless he absolutely blows your mind. People gossip, and watch much more closely than you can ever imagine. Keep it mysterious, keep them guessing. Making a move on someone sub-par defines you to the entire club, the last thing you want.
3. Always be friendly, talkative and polite. You're not making many moves, so you still have to appear open, willing, confident and not aloof if you want others to make them. Besides, making enemies in a small community like the one I'm in could be dangerous.
4. Get to know owners/proprietors of places if you can. They can be sources of incredibly useful information and offer a form of protection: no-one will fuck with a friend of the owner.
5. Dance. It's relaxing, it gives you a chance to show off and people watch the dance floor anyway. Besides, a lot can happen on the dance floor and it's always a plausible escape route. Get some canned heat in your heels tonight, baby. ;-)
6. Be prepared. Bring contact lens boxes if you're willing to go home with someone. Have condoms in stock, whether at home or on you. Cut your nails and check your body for open wounds.
7. Confidence and cockiness will make it easy to maintain control. Keep that control. Don't rush, take the time to consider proposals. Everything has to happen on your terms. Eager is bad.
8. Don't underestimate the depths others will sink to to get what they want. I know of one guy in his fifties chasing a kid of 15. I've been followed to the bathroom to check out my goods. Choose a stall if you don't feel comfortable with staring. Remember, for a lot of people it's just a meat market.
9. Correct your partner in the bedroom if necessary. If you don't like to go too quickly, tell him to slow down. Of course you're here to both have fun, but hey, it's probably a hook-up and you have to think about your own pleasure. Besides, it's another way of exercising control.
10. Forget "out of my league". You don't have a league and shouldn't allow yourself to be boxed in like that. Allow yourself to be surprised. Twenty year-old hottie might not be into twinks his age, even though you were at that stage. Let "not my type" be an individual qualification and not a way to judge whole groups. You might generally not have a thing for type X, but this one guy could be Mr Right.
11. Determine what you don't like at all quickly and don't lead guys on.
12. There's safety in numbers, especially if you're younger and/or somewhat apprehensive about the entire enterprise. Go with friends if you can and look after one another.
I think this will be a running thread, something to update if needed. Any comments are, of course, more than welcome, especially from more experienced people than me.
UPDATE September 12th
13. If I'm not good enough to take home, you're not good enough for me. No parks, garages etc (any more). Determine your destination before walking out the door.
14. Older men have their own particularities. If this is your weakness, you'll have to deal with it. Otherwise, see 11 (I'm glad it's not mine). They will try to manipulate you, wind you around their finger. Only the younger person is entitled to do that, IMHO, and only if all other control mechanisms fail. The good news is: age is their weakness and they know it. Make light-hearted jokes about Viagra, walking sticks and senile dementia if all else fails, always with a smile and a wink though. Needling him is the way to restore control, and he's probably way too excited about closing the deal to care much about what you say. Bonus: drinks are on him.
15. This is an open problem: exchanging numbers. In general, only do this if you wouldn't mind speaking to the person again, but it can raise expectations. I think my position will be "you only get my number if you are actually planning to dial it". There's no point exchanging numbers out of politeness, you might as well make that clear as soon as it comes up. Besides, I don't want my name to be in everyone's cell phone.
Monday, 10 September 2007
I arrived quite late, shortly before one, but still nothing much was happening. I moved over to the other club... which was even worse. Ex-crush was there, and it was just... boring. I really get on well with the owners though, so I hated to leave, but the other place just has so much more sexual tension.
I walk in, and suddenly the bitch at the counter talks to me! She's thawing up nicely, but quite suddenly and it's somehow weird. Anyway, I have to keep her on my side so it's a good development because she appears to own the place.
I have the promised beer with the date and it is beyond awkward. We run out of things to say within three minutes. I'm relieved when I finally empty my glass. I move over to the dance floor just to relax a little and get away from this guy.
Suddenly someone touches my shoulder. I turn around, see a face I don't recognise. Asks me if I've found ex-crush. What the fuck? It's his weird live-in ex. I still can't get a grip on ex-crush. Is he into me, playing hard to get, or just too confused to go for it? Whatever it may be, I've had enough of his shit. I'll file him under "friends" for the time being, he's nice enough to talk to.
I see him again at the second club, we talk for a little bit. He points out someone's eyeing me. I hadn't even noticed.
When the hook-up hour starts at three, I find myself talking to an Indonesian guy. A little shorter than me, with a couple of hard rock-style long-haired friends in tow. Both gay. LOL. You find it everywhere you don't expect it to be.
Over a beer we seal the deal. He gives me a cigarette (could I have a non-smoker for once?) and suddenly I notice ex-crush has been circling the whole time (I'm really bad at spotting guys). Awkward, and getting quite annoying. What's up with that behaviour?
Hook-up's not my usual type but then again I surprise myself time and again. He's real easy to talk to, runs his own business with the two friends and is still following a course at uni. All the time we talk what Matt would call an ankle biter hangs around trying to get his attention. It doesn't impress either of us, and we barely pay attention.
At one point we leave, and we have real stereotypical rushed, drunken sex at his apartment: a trail of clothes leading from the front door to his couch and finally to his bed. We cuddle, spoon together and a few hours later have sex again. More sober, hotter. Beautiful brown skin.
We finally get up quite early and talk all morning over coffee. He has to go somewhere professionally, so I leave at about one but don't know where I am. Turns out I'm just down the street from the club.
We exchanged numbers, on his request. I might just call him.
Sunday, 9 September 2007
Saturday, 8 September 2007
The evening started off real slow. I went to pay off my tab, but that place was a little quiet. It was more of a bar setting: just talk. I wanted to dance, so I left after a while, went to the place that's slowly becoming my base.
That was pretty quiet too, but the people were different. It was, well, to put it succinctly, apparently the night of the limp wrists. But to be honest, I can live with that, because I know how to handle those guys.
The place filled up slowly, and more normal looking people started coming in. I hit the beer, can't remember why. Somehow I ended up on the dance floor.
Suddenly our bodies are grinding together to Kylie Minogue's Slow. I had seen him before, one of four very hot, young friends, but now he was alone. Very lean, tight body; diamond studs, my weakness; short brown hair; leather bracelet. I've hit the jackpot. I wasn't real good, because I was in shock he was doing this to me, of al people. But I grabbed him and held him real close. So nice to hold by the hips.
The song ends and I'm turbocharged. He moves off to dance with some girl, but the next song isn't very erotic anyway and I decide to get more beer.
Later, at the edge of the dance floor, I see him again. We must have talked for a bit, but I can't remember a word of it. He gives me the look that melts all ice. I've seen the look before, all the fems seem to master it. So, on cue, I move in and we kiss. I'm willing to bet it was the first make-out in the club that night.
It was controlled, a little chaste, but there were hints of more to follow. A little tongue, but not all out. Real good: the suggestion is often more exciting than the open, all-out grappling.
He moves off to the bathroom and immediately an even younger kid moves in. We get to talk, he's nice-looking with an eyebrow piercing (not my favourite) and a fag hag in tow which is slightly disconcerting. If he wants to make out with her smiling at us, he chose the wrong person.
He tells me he just came out of a relationship of two and half years (internal groan, another rebounder) and is clearly waiting for me to move in. The girl, who's huge by the way, just stands there and smiles like a goof.
But my mind is on Hottie, who could return from the bathroom at any moment. There really was nothing wrong physically with Eyebrow Piercing, but Hottie was my prey and I wasn't looking for a replacement.
I find Hottie at the bar, which is two steps away anyway. This time, we really talk. He's 22 (yeah!), from the next sizeable town due South (Yes! From my province!) and we exchange names, but honestly I forgot his. I move in and we kiss again, again very tender but with a little more tongue. He asks me if I live nearby (hell yes!) and suddenly the logistics of what could happen all race through my mind: cabs, lack of condoms, single bed.
Then his friends return and it is all over. He rejoins them, then ends up dancing very sensually on the stage, facing me. I suspect Hottie has a boyfriend, LOL. But Eyebrow Piercing and Fag Hag are back with a vengeance.
I can't remember the conversation that follows because my eyes and mind are all focused on the stage. To boot, an older Belgian guy decides this is the time to move in and tell me I'm "real good looking" (I'm not, good-looking is mind fucking me on the stage). He's nervous and not doing a good job, and the timing honestly stinks.
Seeing Hottie and friends preparing to leave, I decide to call it a night too and head home at around four. Even the bitch at the counter smiles at me when I leave.
I'm pretty sure he only kissed me last night. This little fact excites me no end.
I think Gay Banker is right about the confidence mirror.
Friday, 7 September 2007
I know she's had a relationship with Cydney Bernard for at least 14 years. Good for her! I know she gives loads to the Trevor Project , a fact that speaks volumes about her kindness. But she has no obligation to come out to the world at large.
Apparently she's "functionally out", meaning friends and family all know. This is the stage us mere mortals only hope to reach sometime in the future, hopefully sooner rather than later. Announcing it to the world in some magazine is probably not on the cards in our case.
For one of my favourite actresses, it can only be different. I know people have curiosities to satisfy, but this is different: it's pressure from people from her own community who should know better and could respect privacy a little more. Mind you, she doesn't deny anything, she just refuses to talk about it. I wonder if it's this little detail that infuriates so many.
Anyway, this little outing hype is making me sick. Malevolent senators are one thing, but don't touch Jody Foster.
Thursday, 6 September 2007
A pretty sight I may not be,
not always right but I mean well
Something's wrong so come on and
tell me what it is you need
Don't pick a fight, not in the mood,
it's not the time or the place well
What's got in you? You seem to
make it up to bring me down
And I know you can't let go
but let's make the most of the weekend
You pretend the clock's gone back again,
I'll pretend it's nothing if you just stop
Why don't you ever stop?
Yeah, still addicted to the Ghosts album.
I guess I have a date on Saturday. No, not with Crush. I haven't closed that door, but the hurricanes in his mind are a little too much for me. Do keep him away from me though.
I met this guy through the internet, the local queer "listings". Seriously, if you meet someone new in this country, that's what you do: trace him on gay.nl. I didn't want to date through the internet, but Crush encouraged me to register and chat through it. So why not?
My inbox flooded within minutes. So I got to talk to a local boy, one with his own apartment in the centre (check!), close to the strip (double check!), his own business (triple check but requiring double checking) and calling me cute (oh-oh).
He's a little older (double oh-oh), but looks real good (for his age) and I'm winding him around my finger already (I know, Lolita syndrome). But I need that level of control, it wouldn't work any other way.
Technically we only agreed to have a beer together (in my case a Bacardi cola, without a straw, please, I might be gay but am quite capable of drinking from a glass) but he would have liked me to come around last night (hell no) and it will be at Crush's favourite joint, to which I have been enough lately and I have a tab to pay off at another place anyway, so that could be interesting or at least mildly awkward (alcohol will prevent that feeling). And he keeps on sending little... well, almost love notes, wishing me a good day etc.
He has a little bit of the gay self-hatred I sense a lot in my local community (the joint we're going to meet is too queer for his taste but he visits every week) but seems at least educated. Oh yeah, he "isn't looking for anything"... right. I made fun of that search strategy straight away.
I also chatted with a really cute, 22 year old kid of Indonesian descent (so hot), but it makes me kind of feel like a dirty old perv. Even so, he approached me. I'll keep in touch with him anyway: he really is eminently fuckable.
Tuesday, 4 September 2007
To pre-empt what I was sure would be a coming shit storm, I decided to go out on Sunday. It got pretty wild actually, in a platonic way. Shots of some awful green stuff, drinking games, local gossip and when an older straight couple entered the bar and after some time had to be explained what type it was, the woman, amazed, asked the lot of us:
Are you gays then?
So, amused, we screamed "yes", all at once. Great fun, a little out and somewhat proud. And all of us looked normal, inconspicuous.
Back to Facebook. My profile changes were on the mini feed. 48 Hours and counting, not one reaction, zilch. I have a sneaking suspicion some of the girls might be actively messaging each other about this (normally they would) but there has been no public response at all.
So either it was obvious all along or nobody really cares.
Either way, it has a somewhat relaxing effect. The closet makes us think the whole world is interested in our sexuality and everyone is trying to get at our innermost, darkest secrets. This is likely to be nonsense. And it makes sense: do you really care what most of your platonic friends get up to in bed?
It gives me courage to take the next step. Not sure who the victim will be or how I will frame it, but I'm committed to taking it.
Still, placating my mother's probable worries will be hardest.
Monday, 3 September 2007
I had heard this song on the radio at work a lot, but never caught the title or band. Every time it was played the news would come on afterwards. I thought it sounded like Nelly Furtado. I only discovered today the singer is a guy who's perfectly capable of moaning in the same, sexy way.
Then, yesterday, sitting in a gay bar in town, it came on. I just had to know. This was my chance.
So I asked the owner about it and explained about the jinx preventing me from getting this tune. Turns out he had heard it himself on the radio, loved it, and decided he had to add it to the play list, which he normally doesn't do. So I guess with my taste in music I fit right in.
The album's brilliant too. Get it if you can, it makes the sun shine in your head.
I have only just started recovering from taking shots of some filthy green stuff I'm betting was absinthe.
Sunday, 2 September 2007
I guess I'm lucky that the situation resolved itself. Still, it's good to find someone with the same experience, and the same sexual issues too.
He walks in, goes straight over to me and it's immediately clear he's had a rough time. Apparently he had met someone back in April and they decided to go on that trip together but he didn't want to tell me about this. The trip was, according to him, a major disappointment. We talk about it a little bit but he's clearly very tired and not overtly interested in small talk.
We talk, I make a move but I get no response. Fine, I understand he might not be in the mood. He tells me I'm obviously trying to move on with my life. Interesting observation. We talk some more and finally I, buzzed as I am, ask him if I can kiss him.
I then tell him I like him. I'm shocked about this myself, so I start blabbering to compensate for my own stupidity.
He says he's had a tough time recently. He's not looking for a relationship (rebound alert!), and makes a few other comments which prove how confused he is about life.
I tell him I understand. Hell, I've been there. After a short, awkward silence he moves off to talk to the lady that sells the drinks tokens. This I read as rejection, but I'm not so sure about that now.
I go back to the dance floor, notice someone is giving me "the look", but my heart's not in it and I decide to call it a night.
I'm not one to give up easily, but this is just a little too much of the mixed signals game. Moving on would probably be easiest, but I recognise he needs a lot of time. I'm bound to bump into him again anyway.
What to do?