Sorry for the hiatus, guys.
Here's what I've been up to lately.
Change in style, change in attitude, less random sluttiness, more focus on personality.
1. Maastricht Boy
Love or hate this town, best known as the site where the 1992 EU treaty was drawn up, I do both. It's the capital of camp and OTT, but somehow me and it's inhabitants don't get along. I'm not one of them, but from a village nearby; I don't belong, and never will. It's a weird enclave of fierce self-centeredness that is somehow isolated from the rest of the world. Anyway, I got the place out of my system, moved North to play on bigger fields ;-) and Maastricht remained, well, it's crazy ol' self. And me? I've been known to shout: "No-one from Maastricht! Never."
So when, during a night on the town, a hot young boy approached me and asked my opinion on a relationship, alarm bells should have gone off but he was trying to hide his distinctive accent. Eventually the truth came out, but I was already smitten. Silly old me.
We met up the next night, and things were good. Conversation turned more and more to the list of things he demanded from a boyfriend, but he was good company and we went out for a drink at the local gay hangout. This, like most things Maastricht, was an anachronism: an old, tiny little bar, with pink triangles and rainbow flags, an empty dancefloor and a stereotypical patron, who was actually born in my village (yikes!). The boy too, made me feel strangely young and modern: he was into VW Beetles, and had no computer.
Heads turned as I walked in: I felt like fresh meat. This was the entire local scene. I felt a bout of claustrophobia coming on, but after all, the boy was hot, the town is weird and an occasional change of scenery is cool.
At one stage he asked me if I liked going out in drag - he did.
After the second date, we had sex at his place. He expressed his desire for a relationship. A few days later, he came up with a weird story about having to go to Belgium, and eventually declined to pick up the phone. Oh well, such is life.
But Maastricht? No thanks.
2. Male nurse jinx
Two weird weeks followed - I was wondering where to take things from here. I was introduced to a male nurse, had an online chat with another male nurse and ended up one Friday night kissing and fondling yet another male nurse on the Strip. That was just a bit of fun, but I was left wondering out of which woodwork these nurses had suddenly crawled.
3. Suburb boy
For want of a better word - he lives in a village nearby. He ended the male nurse jinx, even though I somehow expected him to be one too - it's the queer way he dresses.
We met last Saturday, spent all our spare time chatting and texting, and we had an OK date last night. OK, because there was nothing much to do in town, even though it's usually packed on a Thursday night, with all the students out. But conversation flowed easily and we had a nice, grown-up sort of date.
He's a bit young for my taste (19) but looks significantly older. We're probably meeting up tomorrow night for what promises to be a boozy night out. He seems to have some acceptance issues but in public looks and behaves like the gay he really is. He appears to be a pretty direct sort of guy so we'll see where this goes. My level of comfort talking about everything in the straight pub we eventually ended up in was amazing. I'm focusing on the person, not the body, even though there's nothing wrong with the way he looks, it's not the primary cause of my interest in him.
Now I've written off part of my smallish country, I should make the most out of the parts I have left...
Showing posts with label Me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Me. Show all posts
Saturday, 26 April 2008
Friday, 22 February 2008
Do you think you're immune to cheating girlfriends?
She walked up to me and asked me this question. I pondered this for a while, and a multitude of answers went through my head, from truthful to non-committal to downright rude. I looked up, noticed the stiff, wooden swaying on the dancefloor again and decided to go for non-committal.
It turned out to be an informal survey, with almost 100% of respondents going for "no". I had probably appeared arrogant, aloof and overdressed.
All this highlighted the fact that this night was the end of student life as I knew it, and that I wasn't going to be missing out on anything much.
First of all, only beer was served. The clothing was cheap, generic straight-boy-without-style stuff. The hair was often longish and unwashed, no bonus points in my book. Once in a while, an attempt at fashion sense would be spotted, in the form of outdated pink shirts and Chasin' longsleeves. The DJ was awful, working without order or flow and being aided by a yuppie type who would emit saxophone frenzies whenever he felt like it, completely spoiling the tunes he was attempting to improve. I stood out and knew it, wishing I was somewhere else.
Rewind to the morning. The day had started out better, but not much. I had arrived early, as the conference location was close to my house, picked up all the necessary materials and attended the first lecture, by a Dutch bank. Friends who had promised to go, failed to show up. I moved on to the next lecture, which, thankfully, was a lot more interesting.
I somehow knew I was going to bump into someone I knew from the "scene", which happened during the cocktail hour. The waiters for the dinner party walked in, the way an army platoon captures a bridge. Queens galore, and of course I knew one of them... boy was I enjoying this... not.
Just after the cocktail hour, a lecturer from the London School of Economics would talk about "the history of economics in the workplace". This turned out not to be the case. It was much better, a half-hour diatribe combining jabs at the Dutch railways ("NS stands for No Service"), the French, the Germans, Charlemagne (don't ask) and women ("I prefer my pc to my girlfriend: I can add more memory and take the sound card out"). It was hilarious, just what everyone needed after drinks and he got a standing ovation. The Germans in the audience were, of course, miffed.
So, after the politically incorrect Brit, dinner, as a guest of the Dutch central bank. I was hoping to be served by the guy I knew, but he had been allotted the next table.
Dinner was cool: the food was wonderful, wine flowed copiously and conversation was cool, considering none of us knew each other. It consisted mostly of the Southerners in the group, being me, the kid next to me and the recruiter of the bank convincing the Northerners at the table of the merits of carnival. This was followed by a hilarious anecdote about a sober, early twenties first-timer being propositioned by a woman in her fifties during the first five minutes. This story matches some of my own experiences. ;-)
Anyway, as I went back home to change for the party I bumped into the serving queen. I said hi, but if looks could kill, I wouldn't be sitting here typing this...
No, why are you asking?
It turned out to be an informal survey, with almost 100% of respondents going for "no". I had probably appeared arrogant, aloof and overdressed.
All this highlighted the fact that this night was the end of student life as I knew it, and that I wasn't going to be missing out on anything much.
First of all, only beer was served. The clothing was cheap, generic straight-boy-without-style stuff. The hair was often longish and unwashed, no bonus points in my book. Once in a while, an attempt at fashion sense would be spotted, in the form of outdated pink shirts and Chasin' longsleeves. The DJ was awful, working without order or flow and being aided by a yuppie type who would emit saxophone frenzies whenever he felt like it, completely spoiling the tunes he was attempting to improve. I stood out and knew it, wishing I was somewhere else.
Rewind to the morning. The day had started out better, but not much. I had arrived early, as the conference location was close to my house, picked up all the necessary materials and attended the first lecture, by a Dutch bank. Friends who had promised to go, failed to show up. I moved on to the next lecture, which, thankfully, was a lot more interesting.
I somehow knew I was going to bump into someone I knew from the "scene", which happened during the cocktail hour. The waiters for the dinner party walked in, the way an army platoon captures a bridge. Queens galore, and of course I knew one of them... boy was I enjoying this... not.
Just after the cocktail hour, a lecturer from the London School of Economics would talk about "the history of economics in the workplace". This turned out not to be the case. It was much better, a half-hour diatribe combining jabs at the Dutch railways ("NS stands for No Service"), the French, the Germans, Charlemagne (don't ask) and women ("I prefer my pc to my girlfriend: I can add more memory and take the sound card out"). It was hilarious, just what everyone needed after drinks and he got a standing ovation. The Germans in the audience were, of course, miffed.
So, after the politically incorrect Brit, dinner, as a guest of the Dutch central bank. I was hoping to be served by the guy I knew, but he had been allotted the next table.
Dinner was cool: the food was wonderful, wine flowed copiously and conversation was cool, considering none of us knew each other. It consisted mostly of the Southerners in the group, being me, the kid next to me and the recruiter of the bank convincing the Northerners at the table of the merits of carnival. This was followed by a hilarious anecdote about a sober, early twenties first-timer being propositioned by a woman in her fifties during the first five minutes. This story matches some of my own experiences. ;-)
Anyway, as I went back home to change for the party I bumped into the serving queen. I said hi, but if looks could kill, I wouldn't be sitting here typing this...
Tuesday, 1 January 2008
Wow, wow, wow,...wow!
A couple of days ago I was contacted by a guy from out of town who was planning to spend New Year's Eve over here. Actually, I was contacted by a number of guys but only this one intrigued me.
We got to chat about partying options over here and I shared my ideas with him. We agreed to share a drink if we bumped into each other, something I was sure would happen.
Yeah, he was a little nelly even for European standards (I know Erik and K will agree) but I have no problem with that.
So he arrived, and I recognized him immediately. In real life, he was stunning. I wasn't: I was wearing old shoes because of the dirt outside and my hair was a mess, as it had been raining. I introduced myself and we got drinks. And we really hit it off. He was smoking my favourite brand of cigarettes, which really made my heart melt.
Now up to this point, I wasn't seriously contemplating sex: we'd have a couple of drinks, I would show him my town's hot spots and that would be it, partly because I felt rather washed out. He, however, quickly made it abundantly clear he was up for it. We drank, made out and we danced a little, and people were staring.
After about an hour, he wanted to go. How could I refuse? Would I contemplate refusing? Of course not. It turned out he had a room in the best hotel in town, complete with champagne (which we drank) in an ice bucket. The young night guard stared at as as we walked in, amused. There was no deniability with this guy.
He had the most wonderful body I've ever had the pleasure of touching, and let's say I got to enjoy every bit of it.
Those who don't know this track will have their homo membership card revoked, subito! ;-)
Read my lips, I'm into you,
I'm into you,
I can't resist,
You're so hot (get me under the shade)
The spotlight's on
You creep into it,
You like it and,
Just the way that you dance,
Just the way that you dance.
We got to chat about partying options over here and I shared my ideas with him. We agreed to share a drink if we bumped into each other, something I was sure would happen.
Yeah, he was a little nelly even for European standards (I know Erik and K will agree) but I have no problem with that.
(Yeah yeah) Is enough to love me baby,
(Yeah yeah yeah) Is enough to send me crazy,
(Yeah yeah) Such angelic motion,
(Yeah yeah yeah) You know you're made in heaven.
So he arrived, and I recognized him immediately. In real life, he was stunning. I wasn't: I was wearing old shoes because of the dirt outside and my hair was a mess, as it had been raining. I introduced myself and we got drinks. And we really hit it off. He was smoking my favourite brand of cigarettes, which really made my heart melt.
The way you walk, the rythmn when you're dancing,
Every inch of you spells out desire,
You're such a rush,(rush)the rush is never ending,
Now,
You got it, you're wow wow wow wow,
You got it, you're wow wow wow wow.
Now up to this point, I wasn't seriously contemplating sex: we'd have a couple of drinks, I would show him my town's hot spots and that would be it, partly because I felt rather washed out. He, however, quickly made it abundantly clear he was up for it. We drank, made out and we danced a little, and people were staring.
The more I try, I try to stop,
The more I can feel my antenna just sensing you up,
and what can I do? I'm into you,
I'm into you,
Love the way that you move,
Just love the way that you move.
After about an hour, he wanted to go. How could I refuse? Would I contemplate refusing? Of course not. It turned out he had a room in the best hotel in town, complete with champagne (which we drank) in an ice bucket. The young night guard stared at as as we walked in, amused. There was no deniability with this guy.
He had the most wonderful body I've ever had the pleasure of touching, and let's say I got to enjoy every bit of it.
(Yeah yeah) Such angelic motion,
(Yeah yaeh yeah) you know you're made in heaven.
The way you walk, the rythmn when you're dancing,
Every inch of you spells out desire,
You're such a rush,(rush) the rush is never ending,
Now,
You got it, you're wow wow wow wow,
You got it, you're wow wow wow wow.
Those who don't know this track will have their homo membership card revoked, subito! ;-)
Monday, 31 December 2007
So this is how it works...
Yes, back to the subject of women. I think I just destroyed my reputation the other night, in the process of what must have been one of the strangest sexual exchanges in the history of men.
I was all over the place, or should I say the sexes?
1. Weird Asian Dude
Weird Asian Dude (WAD) saw me come in, and looked kind of interested. We bumped into each other again at the bar, and hit it off. Never mind that somebody else was busy working him at the same time, and had been for a while. Suffice it to say, the way WAD lost interest in him was good for my ego. Gotta show them who's the boss! LOL. WAD obtained his moniker by maintaining he was not South Asian at all but from Hungary or some such place. This story was totally beyond belief and he had the most excruciatingly gay articulation, even in his accented Dutch. We kissed (mostly just to stick it to the other guy) but after a while he decided to head home. Pity, because WAD was kind of cute, as long as he didn't speak.
2. Overdressed Woman
Near closing time, I was begging for a drink at the bar. Didn't get it. Flirty, sexy, way over-the-top girl standing next to me offered me hers and we got to talk. Apparently she was only there to get cigarettes but his wasn't very credible either, unless it's normal to get out the furs and Chopard before a quick hop to the neighbourhood cigs dispenser.
This got real flirty, with talk of taking it somewhere else. I was up for it. I realized suddenly that being gay or similar raises my value among women by about a hundredfold. You're an accessory, a status symbol, a hook up with an interesting story. It could end up being very confusing for the girl but I'm up to exploiting this strategy further. It shows lots of promise. Or maybe everyone just has the fantasy of "turning" someone. Again, something to be exploited.
But then I lost sight of her when everyone was shooed out. Pity.
3. Random make-out in the streets with guy waiting for a cab
I guess this was just an amusing way of killing time.
Other interesting bit and pieces:
I had a Richard Hammond moment. I was asked if I had had my teeth whitened. Nice compliment, but I haven't.
Shouted loudly "maybe I am bisexual!" in the middle of the street. Response: "yuck, women!". Funny.
Got reproached for not being there over Christmas. Come on, I'm not that desperate, am I? I still pretend I have a life.
I was all over the place, or should I say the sexes?
1. Weird Asian Dude
Weird Asian Dude (WAD) saw me come in, and looked kind of interested. We bumped into each other again at the bar, and hit it off. Never mind that somebody else was busy working him at the same time, and had been for a while. Suffice it to say, the way WAD lost interest in him was good for my ego. Gotta show them who's the boss! LOL. WAD obtained his moniker by maintaining he was not South Asian at all but from Hungary or some such place. This story was totally beyond belief and he had the most excruciatingly gay articulation, even in his accented Dutch. We kissed (mostly just to stick it to the other guy) but after a while he decided to head home. Pity, because WAD was kind of cute, as long as he didn't speak.
2. Overdressed Woman
Near closing time, I was begging for a drink at the bar. Didn't get it. Flirty, sexy, way over-the-top girl standing next to me offered me hers and we got to talk. Apparently she was only there to get cigarettes but his wasn't very credible either, unless it's normal to get out the furs and Chopard before a quick hop to the neighbourhood cigs dispenser.
This got real flirty, with talk of taking it somewhere else. I was up for it. I realized suddenly that being gay or similar raises my value among women by about a hundredfold. You're an accessory, a status symbol, a hook up with an interesting story. It could end up being very confusing for the girl but I'm up to exploiting this strategy further. It shows lots of promise. Or maybe everyone just has the fantasy of "turning" someone. Again, something to be exploited.
But then I lost sight of her when everyone was shooed out. Pity.
3. Random make-out in the streets with guy waiting for a cab
I guess this was just an amusing way of killing time.
Other interesting bit and pieces:
I had a Richard Hammond moment. I was asked if I had had my teeth whitened. Nice compliment, but I haven't.
Shouted loudly "maybe I am bisexual!" in the middle of the street. Response: "yuck, women!". Funny.
Got reproached for not being there over Christmas. Come on, I'm not that desperate, am I? I still pretend I have a life.
Friday, 28 December 2007
Bloke's wearing Gucci!
Well, Christmas is once again done, and the world's starting up again. Thank God, Christmas is not my favourite holiday. It has just been exploited too much, I guess.
Well, my shoes have finally arrived, and even though they're still quite stiff, they look awesome. I feel like a million bucks wearing them.
Night before Christmas turned into an impromptu drinking session with... my mom. I stopped counting after four bottles of great Spanish Rioja, but it looked like we had a glass farm going. Conversation was consequently good, even though topics were covered comfortably that I usually shirk... like her sex life, or to be precise, lack of desire for one. In all of this, MY sex life wasn't even mentioned, even though I was quite prepared to be honest and truthful - my guess is she doesn't want confirmation. Prefers the safety of not knowing. Oh well, Christmas is not the right moment for revelations.
Day after was rapidly rescheduled to accommodate resultant splitting headache - my mom only showed signs of life after about 4 pm. LOL.
Work. Well, being closeted at work is getting more challenging by the day. And the closeted freak in my team is the cause of that.
One day last week, the subject matter open to general discussion was - anal penetration. Freak went all red while the subject was covered. LOL. My boss had to make things worse by proclaiming loudly Freak needn't worry: "you just have to do the penetrating, no need to bend over". I remained strictly neutral and laughed the episode off. Freak's now discussing women with an alarming sudden increase in frequency.
Freak's decided he wants to be my friend. I'm not sure I want to know the reasoning behind that, but the guy's so weird it could really mean anything. Anyway, I found a new white-belted co-worker to crush and spy on, so who cares about Freak?
On the subject of "homosexuality on the work floor", another new guy at work almost makes my gaydar explode. There's an almost audible massive beeper going off in my head whenever I see his face. It's the effeminate way he holds his stationery that's most interesting, I think.
Music? I've been listening to Dannii Minogue's "Greatest Hits" album most of last week. No snickering, please! ;-)
Pilot guy? Didn't call him. I'm hoping his crush will gradually fade away.
"Perfection" gives a good impression of what I'm looking for.
Love the boat.
Well, my shoes have finally arrived, and even though they're still quite stiff, they look awesome. I feel like a million bucks wearing them.
Night before Christmas turned into an impromptu drinking session with... my mom. I stopped counting after four bottles of great Spanish Rioja, but it looked like we had a glass farm going. Conversation was consequently good, even though topics were covered comfortably that I usually shirk... like her sex life, or to be precise, lack of desire for one. In all of this, MY sex life wasn't even mentioned, even though I was quite prepared to be honest and truthful - my guess is she doesn't want confirmation. Prefers the safety of not knowing. Oh well, Christmas is not the right moment for revelations.
Day after was rapidly rescheduled to accommodate resultant splitting headache - my mom only showed signs of life after about 4 pm. LOL.
Work. Well, being closeted at work is getting more challenging by the day. And the closeted freak in my team is the cause of that.
One day last week, the subject matter open to general discussion was - anal penetration. Freak went all red while the subject was covered. LOL. My boss had to make things worse by proclaiming loudly Freak needn't worry: "you just have to do the penetrating, no need to bend over". I remained strictly neutral and laughed the episode off. Freak's now discussing women with an alarming sudden increase in frequency.
Freak's decided he wants to be my friend. I'm not sure I want to know the reasoning behind that, but the guy's so weird it could really mean anything. Anyway, I found a new white-belted co-worker to crush and spy on, so who cares about Freak?
On the subject of "homosexuality on the work floor", another new guy at work almost makes my gaydar explode. There's an almost audible massive beeper going off in my head whenever I see his face. It's the effeminate way he holds his stationery that's most interesting, I think.
Music? I've been listening to Dannii Minogue's "Greatest Hits" album most of last week. No snickering, please! ;-)
Pilot guy? Didn't call him. I'm hoping his crush will gradually fade away.
"Perfection" gives a good impression of what I'm looking for.
Love the boat.
Wednesday, 19 December 2007
Yikes! He wants a relationship!
I had a little affair with a pilot last weekend. Nothing I took very seriously, casual, nothing special, sex of the disposable type. The French would call it "three minutes, with shower", except it lasted a bit longer than that. It wasn't bad but it wasn't super either.
We exchanged numbers, and I went on my way for a party up north, feeling all haggered and a little dirty. Usually, that would be it and in this case, that was fine with me.
But now he calls, sort of out of the blue. He's back in town. And not only does he want to hang out, he wants to be my boyfriend.
He's nervous, and I think I took it well, but I recoil at the thought. He ticks most of the right boxes: age, employment, looks, but I still don't think there's anything there. Or is just my nature, chickening out when things get serious? I never had that before, so I don't think so.
Looking back, he said a couple of things that should have been a little alarming. He had only been with four boys before, something I laughed off, but now think could well be true. And he had mentioned the word "relationship" before. To which I remained silent.
How do I get him off my back without being rude? I don't want to hurt his feelings, but don't feel like seeing him again.
We exchanged numbers, and I went on my way for a party up north, feeling all haggered and a little dirty. Usually, that would be it and in this case, that was fine with me.
But now he calls, sort of out of the blue. He's back in town. And not only does he want to hang out, he wants to be my boyfriend.
He's nervous, and I think I took it well, but I recoil at the thought. He ticks most of the right boxes: age, employment, looks, but I still don't think there's anything there. Or is just my nature, chickening out when things get serious? I never had that before, so I don't think so.
Looking back, he said a couple of things that should have been a little alarming. He had only been with four boys before, something I laughed off, but now think could well be true. And he had mentioned the word "relationship" before. To which I remained silent.
How do I get him off my back without being rude? I don't want to hurt his feelings, but don't feel like seeing him again.
Friday, 14 December 2007
Back with another one of those block-rocking beats
Well, not quite. Exam time is over, for the moment. I'm sipping the first wine of the evening, planning to hit the town, and that means anything can happen. Well, I'm prepared, and up for it.
Over the last week or so, I basically isolated myself to get all the studying done. In need of discipline, I discovered locking myself up like a monk works quite well. It does mean there's an excess of energy that needs to be released when the job's done.
Which is now.
Locking yourself up leaves one vulnerable to one particular area of modern procrastination: the internet. And internet shopping in particular. This combines the asset of not having to go out into the cold, being able to get what you want and the particularly Dutch penchant of getting the best deal. So I got myself some shoes, saved €200 in the process, and already feel stylish, even though they have to come from the UK and will take some time to arrive.
Yeah, I'm a fashion queen. Sue me. ;-)
So that's basically all I've been up to the last week or so. It sure ain't much, so head over to my mate K, who's been having a wild time of late!
Over the last week or so, I basically isolated myself to get all the studying done. In need of discipline, I discovered locking myself up like a monk works quite well. It does mean there's an excess of energy that needs to be released when the job's done.
Which is now.
Locking yourself up leaves one vulnerable to one particular area of modern procrastination: the internet. And internet shopping in particular. This combines the asset of not having to go out into the cold, being able to get what you want and the particularly Dutch penchant of getting the best deal. So I got myself some shoes, saved €200 in the process, and already feel stylish, even though they have to come from the UK and will take some time to arrive.
Yeah, I'm a fashion queen. Sue me. ;-)
So that's basically all I've been up to the last week or so. It sure ain't much, so head over to my mate K, who's been having a wild time of late!
Monday, 3 December 2007
Busy, busy, busy
Well, the semester's drawing to a close and things start to get seriously hectic.
Today I finished off a project with a presentation, and passed with flying colours. That means I have a grand total of five subjects down, and two more to go before I can start work on my thesis. It also means that this week is theoretically my last week of lectures ever. And let me tell you, that feels bloody good. I should be popping champagne over the next weekend.
Scheduling is tight: I have an exam coming up quite soon, but I don't need to prepare too much for that, half of the subject has been completed by writing a paper. After that, I have a little more time as the second and hopefully final exam ever takes place in January.
This means my weekends are organised well into the new new year and I'm not used to that, I usually go with the flow and see where I can get the necessary credits. For this degree though, I'm trying to be more mature, by setting goals and actually trying to complete everything on time, so I can hopefully start on my thesis in February.
So the only time I've had to go out lately was last Saturday night, and what a night it was. I had ended up in town, fairly late and fairly drunk, in a nice sort of buzz. I danced, talked and drank, had a great time overall. A former trick was all over me, but I decided not to pursue that route.
In the end I hooked up and we had sex at his place. Good sex, we had great compatibility going and we were still going at it at noon. At about three PM, I decided I had to go home and get some work done. I was exhausted but satisfied; this is what sex should be like.
The weather was nasty outside, wet and windy but the town was crawling with shoppers as it was the last Sunday before St Nicholas. A perfect day to spend in bed.
Today I finished off a project with a presentation, and passed with flying colours. That means I have a grand total of five subjects down, and two more to go before I can start work on my thesis. It also means that this week is theoretically my last week of lectures ever. And let me tell you, that feels bloody good. I should be popping champagne over the next weekend.
Scheduling is tight: I have an exam coming up quite soon, but I don't need to prepare too much for that, half of the subject has been completed by writing a paper. After that, I have a little more time as the second and hopefully final exam ever takes place in January.
This means my weekends are organised well into the new new year and I'm not used to that, I usually go with the flow and see where I can get the necessary credits. For this degree though, I'm trying to be more mature, by setting goals and actually trying to complete everything on time, so I can hopefully start on my thesis in February.
So the only time I've had to go out lately was last Saturday night, and what a night it was. I had ended up in town, fairly late and fairly drunk, in a nice sort of buzz. I danced, talked and drank, had a great time overall. A former trick was all over me, but I decided not to pursue that route.
In the end I hooked up and we had sex at his place. Good sex, we had great compatibility going and we were still going at it at noon. At about three PM, I decided I had to go home and get some work done. I was exhausted but satisfied; this is what sex should be like.
The weather was nasty outside, wet and windy but the town was crawling with shoppers as it was the last Sunday before St Nicholas. A perfect day to spend in bed.
Sunday, 25 November 2007
Not queer enough for D&G?
On my way back to town from work I ended up in a mall in an awful town on the German border. My reason for being there? It had a D&G store, as well as an Armani shop.
I was looking for a shirt, some shoes and maybe a belt, and was hoping to find something good over there.
It was cold and wet, a generally nasty day to spend outside. The town looked grim, the mall was practically deserted, only a few of those work-shy Germans enjoying one of their huge number of days off.
First of all, I was pissed off to find it was paid parking. At a mall. On an industrial estate. I had no change, so I drove off and parked somewhere else. Of course, the moment I got out it started drizzling. This is the story of Dutch autumns; neither warm nor very cold, overcast and constant drizzle.
So what was supposed to be enjoyable wasn't at all. I found the D&G store, and instantly discovered two things. For one, I was in homo heaven. Secondly, I was the least gay guy there, and boy did the queens make me feel inferior.
A quick gaydar sweep returned the following results:
Fashion queens, species Dutch: 3, including the manager
Fashion queens, German: 2
Overdressed, bitchy women: 2
In the end, I selected a t-shirt and went to pay. This is where they tried to put me in my place. I was found wanting, the "straight" invader in a superior gay culture, an alien buying just a t-shirt and not a complete outfit.
Thy made me wait, and helped the German queens before me, even though I was first in line.
I considered ditching my t-shirt and walking out, but as a matter of fact I was laughing inside. The situation was hilarious: I was the victim of homo solidarity.
I considered a loud coming out, but finally decided against it. Too theatrical. I paid up, speaking in my southern dialect, to make it clear I was not German, and being decidedly unfriendly, I walked out.
Still gotta go back for some shoes though.
I was looking for a shirt, some shoes and maybe a belt, and was hoping to find something good over there.
It was cold and wet, a generally nasty day to spend outside. The town looked grim, the mall was practically deserted, only a few of those work-shy Germans enjoying one of their huge number of days off.
First of all, I was pissed off to find it was paid parking. At a mall. On an industrial estate. I had no change, so I drove off and parked somewhere else. Of course, the moment I got out it started drizzling. This is the story of Dutch autumns; neither warm nor very cold, overcast and constant drizzle.
So what was supposed to be enjoyable wasn't at all. I found the D&G store, and instantly discovered two things. For one, I was in homo heaven. Secondly, I was the least gay guy there, and boy did the queens make me feel inferior.
A quick gaydar sweep returned the following results:
Fashion queens, species Dutch: 3, including the manager
Fashion queens, German: 2
Overdressed, bitchy women: 2
In the end, I selected a t-shirt and went to pay. This is where they tried to put me in my place. I was found wanting, the "straight" invader in a superior gay culture, an alien buying just a t-shirt and not a complete outfit.
Thy made me wait, and helped the German queens before me, even though I was first in line.
I considered ditching my t-shirt and walking out, but as a matter of fact I was laughing inside. The situation was hilarious: I was the victim of homo solidarity.
I considered a loud coming out, but finally decided against it. Too theatrical. I paid up, speaking in my southern dialect, to make it clear I was not German, and being decidedly unfriendly, I walked out.
Still gotta go back for some shoes though.
Saturday, 24 November 2007
Forever More
Well, the Roisin concert was brilliant - and not the way I expected it to be.
But first, the context.
I had started the day at a mall in an industrial backwater of a town near the German border, because that was the nearest place with a D&G store. I have a post coming about that - a totally hilarious experience. Anyway, the weather was shite and I was glad to get back to my town, even though it's D&G-free.
After the usual Friday cleaning and food shopping, it was time to booze up and prepare for Roisin. After much deliberation, I decided not to be another one of the fashion queens I expected to dominate and dressed conservatively - Hugo always does the trick.
Then I found out my straight friends were bailing out - which in a way was a relief because I had a feeling this concert would not go down well with them. So I went on my own. No problem, as the festival site is only 500 yards away, around the corner from my place.
Discovering that the cloakroom would cost five bloody euros, I headed back home to ditch my coat. Beer was expensive too: 11 euros for five. Otherwise, the organisation was perfect and they had managed to dress up the old Philips factory building they were using really well - it had the look and feel of a club.
Well, I went into the main hall, and it was indeed Fashion Queen City. We have an internationally-acclaimed Design Academy in town, which is closely involved with the organisation, so I guess that was the source. Got myself some beer, and then the mc introduced Roisin, ten minutes before she actually got on stage.
Well, the band came on - and I was expecting this to be fairly acoustic, as there were drums and guitars on stage - but to my surprise they started playing the pumping electro of Cry Baby. Two minutes in, two background singers appeared on stage, and then, finally, Roisin herself, wearing the same white top as in the Let Me Know video and something that looked like a pink bowler hat. She's actually quite diminutive herself, but I was standing close to the stage, so it once again became very clear she has small tits.
Cry Baby was a huge success, and the crowd at the stage itself was surprisingly gay-lite: lots of women though. She followed up with You Know Me Better, a killer eighties-style dance track which the crowd didn't like as much as the previous song. I loved it though.
Then came Checkin On Me, Primitive and Dear Miami, all tracks that are surprisingly better live, and all with pumping electronics with some guitar thrown in for good measure. I have a suspicion that not all singing was live though. Never mind, the show was fantastic. Movie Star was performed with Roisin sitting on a chair, a bit strange for such a hard-ass dance track.
Then came a track I didn't recognise - it eventually evolved into an old Moloko track, Forever More - the last Moloko single, I think. Since her and Mark Brydon are no longer on speaking terms, I guess she can sing whatever she likes from the old times. It fit in remarkably well with the new material, and the entire hall was dancing wildly by that stage.
Then she changed - she changed jackets and hats all the time, but not annoyingly so: she didn't go Kylie - and she came out wearing the outfit from the Let Me Know video - cape and hat and all, to sing that track. A bit of a disappointment, because the band had stripped most of the electronics, including that wonderful acid line, and what was left was not very inspiring.
She finished of her set with Overpowered, with even more beat to the squelches. It was a wonderful way to finish off, leaving me wanting more, much more.
I did take pictures with my phone but they're really to blurry to mean anything.
Afterwards, I ran into some acquaintances, one of which is involved with the organisation, who did not enjoy it at all and were also disappointed about the Chemical Brothers set the previous night. Oh well. Grabbing a final beer and ignoring local alcohol legislation, I walked home. There I decided to do what I had promised myself not to do: drink more and hit the town. After changing into a less conservative top, of course.
There, I spent four hours on the dance floor with a boy in my arms who did not want to kiss (wtf? I usually get what I want!) and finally went home completely wasted, deciding I was only really attracted to his belt anyway, and having to get up much too early to work on a project.
Needless to say, this morning was a little painful, but well worth it.
But first, the context.
I had started the day at a mall in an industrial backwater of a town near the German border, because that was the nearest place with a D&G store. I have a post coming about that - a totally hilarious experience. Anyway, the weather was shite and I was glad to get back to my town, even though it's D&G-free.
After the usual Friday cleaning and food shopping, it was time to booze up and prepare for Roisin. After much deliberation, I decided not to be another one of the fashion queens I expected to dominate and dressed conservatively - Hugo always does the trick.
Then I found out my straight friends were bailing out - which in a way was a relief because I had a feeling this concert would not go down well with them. So I went on my own. No problem, as the festival site is only 500 yards away, around the corner from my place.
Discovering that the cloakroom would cost five bloody euros, I headed back home to ditch my coat. Beer was expensive too: 11 euros for five. Otherwise, the organisation was perfect and they had managed to dress up the old Philips factory building they were using really well - it had the look and feel of a club.
Well, I went into the main hall, and it was indeed Fashion Queen City. We have an internationally-acclaimed Design Academy in town, which is closely involved with the organisation, so I guess that was the source. Got myself some beer, and then the mc introduced Roisin, ten minutes before she actually got on stage.
Well, the band came on - and I was expecting this to be fairly acoustic, as there were drums and guitars on stage - but to my surprise they started playing the pumping electro of Cry Baby. Two minutes in, two background singers appeared on stage, and then, finally, Roisin herself, wearing the same white top as in the Let Me Know video and something that looked like a pink bowler hat. She's actually quite diminutive herself, but I was standing close to the stage, so it once again became very clear she has small tits.
Cry Baby was a huge success, and the crowd at the stage itself was surprisingly gay-lite: lots of women though. She followed up with You Know Me Better, a killer eighties-style dance track which the crowd didn't like as much as the previous song. I loved it though.
Then came Checkin On Me, Primitive and Dear Miami, all tracks that are surprisingly better live, and all with pumping electronics with some guitar thrown in for good measure. I have a suspicion that not all singing was live though. Never mind, the show was fantastic. Movie Star was performed with Roisin sitting on a chair, a bit strange for such a hard-ass dance track.
Then came a track I didn't recognise - it eventually evolved into an old Moloko track, Forever More - the last Moloko single, I think. Since her and Mark Brydon are no longer on speaking terms, I guess she can sing whatever she likes from the old times. It fit in remarkably well with the new material, and the entire hall was dancing wildly by that stage.
Then she changed - she changed jackets and hats all the time, but not annoyingly so: she didn't go Kylie - and she came out wearing the outfit from the Let Me Know video - cape and hat and all, to sing that track. A bit of a disappointment, because the band had stripped most of the electronics, including that wonderful acid line, and what was left was not very inspiring.
She finished of her set with Overpowered, with even more beat to the squelches. It was a wonderful way to finish off, leaving me wanting more, much more.
I did take pictures with my phone but they're really to blurry to mean anything.
Afterwards, I ran into some acquaintances, one of which is involved with the organisation, who did not enjoy it at all and were also disappointed about the Chemical Brothers set the previous night. Oh well. Grabbing a final beer and ignoring local alcohol legislation, I walked home. There I decided to do what I had promised myself not to do: drink more and hit the town. After changing into a less conservative top, of course.
There, I spent four hours on the dance floor with a boy in my arms who did not want to kiss (wtf? I usually get what I want!) and finally went home completely wasted, deciding I was only really attracted to his belt anyway, and having to get up much too early to work on a project.
Needless to say, this morning was a little painful, but well worth it.
Sunday, 18 November 2007
Toggling three men/sweet revenge
To be honest, I've experienced nothing particularly blogworthy the last two weeks or so. I went to classes and work, worked on assignments and visited some friends in the west. Dull, respectable and no homosexuality involved.
Even so, the subject did come up with my friend. He had recently visited the states during the Larry Craig fiasco, and was full of jokes about it. He knows about me, but usually carefully avoids the subject. I think his reticence has more to do with his own personal issues than mine, but it would be nice if he'd express an interest in my sex life once in a while. I don't need to shout out all the details, but the topic now appears to be troubled water we cannot cross.
So I took a gayness time-out. I felt the need to chill out a little, drink less, and see different people. Moreover, in order to perform reasonably well on Saturdays I needed to avoid hangovers. I decided to dip my toe back into that territory a little last night.
So I put on my new D&G longshirt, Hugo Boss cologne and some nice G-Star jeans, hit back two vodkas, listening to Sophie Ellis Bextor's wonderful "Making Music". Then I hit the strip.
First of all, it was damn cold outside. It was nice to arrive and finally go in. I got some extra tokens (didn't use them), got myself a beer and got hit on instantaneously on the dance floor. Latin-ish guy, a bit shorter than me, V-neck longshirt and a very nice body. A bit of a flamer, and at 20 much too young really, and I was hesitant. But his interest was genuine and he kept on coming back, trying again and again as I acted disinterested but was gradually just playing hard to get, because that works best and I appear to be able to pull it off. We fool around a bit but I lose track of him later on. Darn. What a chest though.
I must have had two or three more beers because my memory gets hazy after that.
I suspect I spent the next two and a half hours or so snogging another guy, who was quite hot but didn't really do it for me. He was really into me, but at one point I just felt tired and decided my bed and I would spend the night together. I got my coat and walked towards the exit...
And bumped into Lame Dumper, in full "I need to get laid mode". "Wait for me", he says. And I do, even though he suspects I'm gonna walk away. He was right about that, but I decide to be friendly so I wait. All the time, I'm thinking longingly of my bed.
He comes back out, says he needs to talk to someone, takes me back inside. I'm standing there, at the bar, in my coat, and this wonderful little scene plays out.
Snogger sneaks up on me from behind, grabs me by the waste and snogs me, just as I'm talking to the dumper. The look on his face was absolutely priceless. He hadn't expected that.
After that, I called it a night. Lame Dumper then texted me and later even tried to phone. Knowing him, that was an act of desperation.
I still haven't read those messages.
Even so, the subject did come up with my friend. He had recently visited the states during the Larry Craig fiasco, and was full of jokes about it. He knows about me, but usually carefully avoids the subject. I think his reticence has more to do with his own personal issues than mine, but it would be nice if he'd express an interest in my sex life once in a while. I don't need to shout out all the details, but the topic now appears to be troubled water we cannot cross.
So I took a gayness time-out. I felt the need to chill out a little, drink less, and see different people. Moreover, in order to perform reasonably well on Saturdays I needed to avoid hangovers. I decided to dip my toe back into that territory a little last night.
So I put on my new D&G longshirt, Hugo Boss cologne and some nice G-Star jeans, hit back two vodkas, listening to Sophie Ellis Bextor's wonderful "Making Music". Then I hit the strip.
First of all, it was damn cold outside. It was nice to arrive and finally go in. I got some extra tokens (didn't use them), got myself a beer and got hit on instantaneously on the dance floor. Latin-ish guy, a bit shorter than me, V-neck longshirt and a very nice body. A bit of a flamer, and at 20 much too young really, and I was hesitant. But his interest was genuine and he kept on coming back, trying again and again as I acted disinterested but was gradually just playing hard to get, because that works best and I appear to be able to pull it off. We fool around a bit but I lose track of him later on. Darn. What a chest though.
I must have had two or three more beers because my memory gets hazy after that.
I suspect I spent the next two and a half hours or so snogging another guy, who was quite hot but didn't really do it for me. He was really into me, but at one point I just felt tired and decided my bed and I would spend the night together. I got my coat and walked towards the exit...
And bumped into Lame Dumper, in full "I need to get laid mode". "Wait for me", he says. And I do, even though he suspects I'm gonna walk away. He was right about that, but I decide to be friendly so I wait. All the time, I'm thinking longingly of my bed.
He comes back out, says he needs to talk to someone, takes me back inside. I'm standing there, at the bar, in my coat, and this wonderful little scene plays out.
Snogger sneaks up on me from behind, grabs me by the waste and snogs me, just as I'm talking to the dumper. The look on his face was absolutely priceless. He hadn't expected that.
After that, I called it a night. Lame Dumper then texted me and later even tried to phone. Knowing him, that was an act of desperation.
I still haven't read those messages.
Friday, 9 November 2007
Co-worker convos from the closet
[cw1]: It was his birthday last week!
[closet]: How old are you now?
[me]: 28.
[cw1]: Hey, don't hit on him! He's straight! [walks off, laughing]
[Shit! How do I deal with this little situation?]
[closet]: That would be gross man.
[Decide to keep quiet. But it sure would be gross!]
Fast forward, about 24 hours
[cw1]: Heard what I said to [closet] yesterday?
[me]: Yeah. That was harsh man.
[How do I explain how hurtful this was?]
[boss]: He's talking about women a lot lately, but I figure he's gay.
[me]: Oh yeah, no doubt about that.
[boss]: Maybe he's "questioning his sexuality" [makes quotation marks in air]
[me]: No, he's just not ready yet.
[cw1]: Don't want anything to do with those pervs.
[If you only knew... we're great mates]
[closet]: How old are you now?
[me]: 28.
[cw1]: Hey, don't hit on him! He's straight! [walks off, laughing]
[Shit! How do I deal with this little situation?]
[closet]: That would be gross man.
[Decide to keep quiet. But it sure would be gross!]
Fast forward, about 24 hours
[cw1]: Heard what I said to [closet] yesterday?
[me]: Yeah. That was harsh man.
[How do I explain how hurtful this was?]
[boss]: He's talking about women a lot lately, but I figure he's gay.
[me]: Oh yeah, no doubt about that.
[boss]: Maybe he's "questioning his sexuality" [makes quotation marks in air]
[me]: No, he's just not ready yet.
[cw1]: Don't want anything to do with those pervs.
[If you only knew... we're great mates]
Thursday, 8 November 2007
OK, new policy
No more exchanging of phone numbers unless it's serious.
It appears to be part of hook up etiquette: exchange numbers before walking out the door. This is more of a polite way of saying goodbye than an actual plan to communicate, so I'm planning to be all nonconformist and throw the rule book out the window. Control, not etiquette will be my norm.
You'll get my number if you're planning to dial it. And only if I want you to.
Texting: no problem, same rule applies. And I will spell this out clearly, promise.
E-mail: behave or you'll join the penis extensions in the spam folder.
So friendship, drinks or dinner, or even proposals to have sex: all are OK, but I'm not filling up my address book because that's what you're supposed to do before leaving.
This "one night stand, in your face" attitude will probably go down quite badly, but that's the only way I'll have it. Spell it out boy, I won't led you lead me on.
And choke on your hypocrisy.
It appears to be part of hook up etiquette: exchange numbers before walking out the door. This is more of a polite way of saying goodbye than an actual plan to communicate, so I'm planning to be all nonconformist and throw the rule book out the window. Control, not etiquette will be my norm.
You'll get my number if you're planning to dial it. And only if I want you to.
Texting: no problem, same rule applies. And I will spell this out clearly, promise.
E-mail: behave or you'll join the penis extensions in the spam folder.
So friendship, drinks or dinner, or even proposals to have sex: all are OK, but I'm not filling up my address book because that's what you're supposed to do before leaving.
This "one night stand, in your face" attitude will probably go down quite badly, but that's the only way I'll have it. Spell it out boy, I won't led you lead me on.
And choke on your hypocrisy.
Tuesday, 6 November 2007
CSI: Birthday
I'll have to piece this one together from the evidence found at the crime scene the morning after.
Booze: wine bottle, empty; vodka bottle, empty (how did I do that?), condom wrapper (you guessed it).
Fridge: cranberry juice, Coca Cola Zero, both half filled.
Clothes: in a mess, on the floor, smelling of Hugo Boss and smoke.
Puke: negative.
Head: hurting like hell, as were various other body parts.
Objective: college, to work on a project.
Result: drink beer with a Russian and watch Arsenal - Man U instead.
Later: drink beer with said Russian in a PSV pub and watch them lose to Heerenveen (Yeah! Love you crazy Friesians!).
Difficulty: not cheering when Heerenveen score.
Memory: largely gone, remember shaking hands with my boss and having yet another "talk" with lame dumper. Afterwards? A flash of walking down a street, with a boy...
Financial forensics: found EUR 30 in my wallet. Also, three drinks tokens. This implies at least seven beers or a few beers in combination with hard liquor, in addition to the stuff I emptied at home.
Hook up archaeology: hopeless. John Doe, source unknown.
Sex: definitely had some, remember a nice, smooth body. A nice apartment downtown. Cuddling, kissing and bottoming. Ouch.
Contacts: found them wrapped up in some toilet paper in my wallet. Quite an achievement, given the state I was in.
People I talked to: must have been a number. Met a lot of strangers later on who knew all about me.
Conclusion: probably enjoyed myself, should cut down on the booze a little.
Booze: wine bottle, empty; vodka bottle, empty (how did I do that?), condom wrapper (you guessed it).
Fridge: cranberry juice, Coca Cola Zero, both half filled.
Clothes: in a mess, on the floor, smelling of Hugo Boss and smoke.
Puke: negative.
Head: hurting like hell, as were various other body parts.
Objective: college, to work on a project.
Result: drink beer with a Russian and watch Arsenal - Man U instead.
Later: drink beer with said Russian in a PSV pub and watch them lose to Heerenveen (Yeah! Love you crazy Friesians!).
Difficulty: not cheering when Heerenveen score.
Memory: largely gone, remember shaking hands with my boss and having yet another "talk" with lame dumper. Afterwards? A flash of walking down a street, with a boy...
Financial forensics: found EUR 30 in my wallet. Also, three drinks tokens. This implies at least seven beers or a few beers in combination with hard liquor, in addition to the stuff I emptied at home.
Hook up archaeology: hopeless. John Doe, source unknown.
Sex: definitely had some, remember a nice, smooth body. A nice apartment downtown. Cuddling, kissing and bottoming. Ouch.
Contacts: found them wrapped up in some toilet paper in my wallet. Quite an achievement, given the state I was in.
People I talked to: must have been a number. Met a lot of strangers later on who knew all about me.
Conclusion: probably enjoyed myself, should cut down on the booze a little.
Saturday, 3 November 2007
No A'dam for me
Because I met someone last night (and had a very busy day after drinking way too much last night). This guy looks promising, and I hope to meet up with him again soon. He could well be the one...
Among other things, my alcohol tolerance is worrying me a little... or are vodka bottles getting smaller?
A'dam will have to wait until December, then I will have more time and there will be night trains back to mine.
Among other things, my alcohol tolerance is worrying me a little... or are vodka bottles getting smaller?
A'dam will have to wait until December, then I will have more time and there will be night trains back to mine.
Tuesday, 30 October 2007
Young Boy Issues
Or why I didn't go for this guy.
This has been bothering me for a while now. I think I should stick to people my age. Not just a matter of principle, but also because you are more likely to fit together: life experience and position in society are likely to be similar, or at least comparable. And you can at least talk about early nineties hit singles, the 1988 European Cup and the time Richard Krajicek won Wimbledon. I'd like to have stuff in common.
Younger guys are a little nicer to look at, it's true. And some of them honestly seem to like me, even though I wouldn't, in their position. It's something I hardly understand, but it probably has something to do with experience and maturity.
I have been approached several times now by boys of about 18 years old. Nothing was particularly wrong with them, the last one was pretty damn hot, but I just can't go for it.
The reason? It feels wrong, on every level.
I don't want to be a sugar daddy, and I definitely don't want to be some semi-paedophile who's preying on the younger kids, feeling them up whenever they get half a chance. Even though they're surely legal, it feels like jail bait.
We don't have anything in common, apart from maybe lust. Nothing wrong with that; I can't see a relationship working out, and they're definitely just looking for a bit of fun. This is where you have to keep your feelings in check. And I'm not sure I could pull it off.
So my credo has been: let them keep to themselves, even though some might want to have a little fling. They're better off with people their own age. And so am I, really, until I see what most people my age look like... ageing. Yes, it's superficial, but it counts. How can you fancy somebody you think is ugly?
This gets me to the root cause of my discomfort: I'm starting to realise I look a bit younger than my age. So even if there is an age gap, it's size is not immediately clear. I have a huge mental barrier labelled "27" that other people don't see. And when they think 23 or 24, it just feels a lot smaller, and it's not really an issue any more.
So that's why I didn't pounce on Hottie when I saw him again.
This has been bothering me for a while now. I think I should stick to people my age. Not just a matter of principle, but also because you are more likely to fit together: life experience and position in society are likely to be similar, or at least comparable. And you can at least talk about early nineties hit singles, the 1988 European Cup and the time Richard Krajicek won Wimbledon. I'd like to have stuff in common.
Younger guys are a little nicer to look at, it's true. And some of them honestly seem to like me, even though I wouldn't, in their position. It's something I hardly understand, but it probably has something to do with experience and maturity.
I have been approached several times now by boys of about 18 years old. Nothing was particularly wrong with them, the last one was pretty damn hot, but I just can't go for it.
The reason? It feels wrong, on every level.
I don't want to be a sugar daddy, and I definitely don't want to be some semi-paedophile who's preying on the younger kids, feeling them up whenever they get half a chance. Even though they're surely legal, it feels like jail bait.
We don't have anything in common, apart from maybe lust. Nothing wrong with that; I can't see a relationship working out, and they're definitely just looking for a bit of fun. This is where you have to keep your feelings in check. And I'm not sure I could pull it off.
So my credo has been: let them keep to themselves, even though some might want to have a little fling. They're better off with people their own age. And so am I, really, until I see what most people my age look like... ageing. Yes, it's superficial, but it counts. How can you fancy somebody you think is ugly?
This gets me to the root cause of my discomfort: I'm starting to realise I look a bit younger than my age. So even if there is an age gap, it's size is not immediately clear. I have a huge mental barrier labelled "27" that other people don't see. And when they think 23 or 24, it just feels a lot smaller, and it's not really an issue any more.
So that's why I didn't pounce on Hottie when I saw him again.
Saturday, 27 October 2007
Ups and downs
On the upside, I just got dumped... by TEXT MESSAGE. And we're even in the same bar.
On the downside, I was on the receiving end of the worst pick up line ever:
He's really hot so I decided to forgive him.
UPDATE: Lame dumper now wants to talk. He says he doesn't know what he's feeling right now. Well, I do.
Baby, we're done.
On the downside, I was on the receiving end of the worst pick up line ever:
Are you straight?
He's really hot so I decided to forgive him.
UPDATE: Lame dumper now wants to talk. He says he doesn't know what he's feeling right now. Well, I do.
Baby, we're done.
Tuesday, 16 October 2007
My Dirty Little Plan
I have a birthday coming up. Not a happy occasion, for who wants to celebrate an advance in years, after turning 18, that is?
I have, however, decided to give myself a little present. My birthday itself, for reasons political, has in recent years become a scarred date. I'll blog about this event when the time comes, but it's a bit like having your birthday on 9/11. It's on a Friday, which I plan to spend in my home town of Eindhoven.
The Saturday, however, will be special. By decree. No discussion possible. I will be spending it in the town I was born in: Amsterdam.
I have friends there, there are people I could bring along, but I'm not planning to. This is just for me. And whatever happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.
So I have been planning a little itinerary. There are no night trains back as yet, that service starts in December (but boy am I glad to get it). So I will have to think of something to get through the hours after closing time, which luckily is at five...
I will probably start at Soho. Probably not my type of place, but still the most famous gay bar in the country. I just have to visit. And I have never been out before in the infamous Reguliersdwarsstraat, so it would be quite an experience just to be there.
Being more of a clubber than a barfly, a club will be up next. I have a choice: Exit, which is large, and is reputed to be full of VIPs, out and closeted. It has a whiff of being faintly gross though. Darkroom on the top floor, no thanks... Still, three other floors, hopefully being fairly normal. I'm not into the shirtless muscle thing, so I hope there will not be too much of that.
The other option is YouII. I have to get over images of Bono and his men in the Discotheque video... Still, this place sounds promising. Audience somewhat younger, hopefully fully dressed as well.
Which would you guys choose?
No, I will not go to the Cockring. ;-)
I have, however, decided to give myself a little present. My birthday itself, for reasons political, has in recent years become a scarred date. I'll blog about this event when the time comes, but it's a bit like having your birthday on 9/11. It's on a Friday, which I plan to spend in my home town of Eindhoven.
The Saturday, however, will be special. By decree. No discussion possible. I will be spending it in the town I was born in: Amsterdam.
I have friends there, there are people I could bring along, but I'm not planning to. This is just for me. And whatever happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.
So I have been planning a little itinerary. There are no night trains back as yet, that service starts in December (but boy am I glad to get it). So I will have to think of something to get through the hours after closing time, which luckily is at five...
I will probably start at Soho. Probably not my type of place, but still the most famous gay bar in the country. I just have to visit. And I have never been out before in the infamous Reguliersdwarsstraat, so it would be quite an experience just to be there.
Being more of a clubber than a barfly, a club will be up next. I have a choice: Exit, which is large, and is reputed to be full of VIPs, out and closeted. It has a whiff of being faintly gross though. Darkroom on the top floor, no thanks... Still, three other floors, hopefully being fairly normal. I'm not into the shirtless muscle thing, so I hope there will not be too much of that.
The other option is YouII. I have to get over images of Bono and his men in the Discotheque video... Still, this place sounds promising. Audience somewhat younger, hopefully fully dressed as well.
Which would you guys choose?
No, I will not go to the Cockring. ;-)
Tuesday, 9 October 2007
I have to admit it
I am hunting. It's a hard thing to admit, but there you go.
I am actively looking for someone, and am preparing a mental check list of what that person should be like. This is what I have so far, because I want to be a little open-minded:
1. Similar age.
2. Similar education.
3. And, of course, good looks.
It may sound superficial, but I think they are vital. You need to have some form of attraction and some common ground, longer term relationships don't work without them. Too young makes me feel dirty, too old just doesn't fit me.
So I was excited to be contacted by a 26 year old student from my local town, at my Alma mater. Maybe a little too excited; we have been chatting but not much else.
He's severely closeted; it took a long time before he revealed his name. His profile is without pictures, he calls himself bi but admits to move towards men and says he has experience but it's not very convincing. Also, he says he hardly ever visited the gay strip, so I wonder if he has ever really been.
But I think there could be something here. I am prepared to keep on chatting, to see if any developments could be realistic. Maybe even meet up for drinks or coffee or something. This will never develop into a hook up, and I don't want it to.
Because this guy appears to be all or nothing: a serious date, or nothing at all. Fine with me: it could be a healthy development.
I am actively looking for someone, and am preparing a mental check list of what that person should be like. This is what I have so far, because I want to be a little open-minded:
1. Similar age.
2. Similar education.
3. And, of course, good looks.
It may sound superficial, but I think they are vital. You need to have some form of attraction and some common ground, longer term relationships don't work without them. Too young makes me feel dirty, too old just doesn't fit me.
So I was excited to be contacted by a 26 year old student from my local town, at my Alma mater. Maybe a little too excited; we have been chatting but not much else.
He's severely closeted; it took a long time before he revealed his name. His profile is without pictures, he calls himself bi but admits to move towards men and says he has experience but it's not very convincing. Also, he says he hardly ever visited the gay strip, so I wonder if he has ever really been.
But I think there could be something here. I am prepared to keep on chatting, to see if any developments could be realistic. Maybe even meet up for drinks or coffee or something. This will never develop into a hook up, and I don't want it to.
Because this guy appears to be all or nothing: a serious date, or nothing at all. Fine with me: it could be a healthy development.
Friday, 5 October 2007
Boy, boy, boy
OK, this is a tough one for me to write. In fact, I've been avoiding this topic for a number of weeks now. To be honest, I've been tiptoeing around the issue on this blog by filling it up with lame shit and just avoiding the blog altogether.
I'm seeing this guy. To me, he's a serial hook up, a friend with benefits. He knows people, he's fun to be around with, he's taught me a lot but the feeling's just not there. In fact, I went into this planning to just have a one night stand, the result of drinking too much, sleeping too little and not thinking clearly.
He texts all the time, throughout the night after getting home for work. It's sweet, but a little suffocating. People think we are having a relationship. They are referring to me as his boyfriend. I'm not, and neither do I want to be.
Apart from the lack of feelings, there are other issues. There's quite an education gap, which is starting to become a little annoying. I guess it's one of the things you only notice after spending prolonged time together, those little nuisances that gradually start to grind. I don't like his job either, I'm ashamed to admit.
He's a little older too. It doesn't show, he looks like he's in his late twenties and he's got a great body for his age. It's what I try to focus on and use to rationalise this thing. However, he's still nine years older than me and I don't want to be a boy toy. Worse, I worry what friends and family will think of this: I don't expect anyone to approve and I can't blame them.
You might say, who cares about their approval? Well, I admit I'm superficial enough to do. One of my requirements in a boyfriend is someone who will amaze people, at least in the looks department, but there has to be some great personality too. Regardless to say, that person's far off the radar, but I'm not willing to compromise quite yet, if ever.
So I am planning to move this into the friendship zone. It's only fair to everyone really, because carrying on this charade is a form of betrayal. It's where I want to be; he's a great person to hang out with, he's good in bed but he just doesn't turn me on. I want to be able to have a beer with him regularly, to take shots or do whatever socially. I just don't want to have a relationship or something that resembles it with him.
Yes, it's quite simple: all I really want is a hot young stud. I would care less about education, personality and friends and family in that case because of his appearance. So I guess, if you want something that badly, you have to go out and get it...
I'm seeing this guy. To me, he's a serial hook up, a friend with benefits. He knows people, he's fun to be around with, he's taught me a lot but the feeling's just not there. In fact, I went into this planning to just have a one night stand, the result of drinking too much, sleeping too little and not thinking clearly.
He texts all the time, throughout the night after getting home for work. It's sweet, but a little suffocating. People think we are having a relationship. They are referring to me as his boyfriend. I'm not, and neither do I want to be.
Apart from the lack of feelings, there are other issues. There's quite an education gap, which is starting to become a little annoying. I guess it's one of the things you only notice after spending prolonged time together, those little nuisances that gradually start to grind. I don't like his job either, I'm ashamed to admit.
He's a little older too. It doesn't show, he looks like he's in his late twenties and he's got a great body for his age. It's what I try to focus on and use to rationalise this thing. However, he's still nine years older than me and I don't want to be a boy toy. Worse, I worry what friends and family will think of this: I don't expect anyone to approve and I can't blame them.
You might say, who cares about their approval? Well, I admit I'm superficial enough to do. One of my requirements in a boyfriend is someone who will amaze people, at least in the looks department, but there has to be some great personality too. Regardless to say, that person's far off the radar, but I'm not willing to compromise quite yet, if ever.
So I am planning to move this into the friendship zone. It's only fair to everyone really, because carrying on this charade is a form of betrayal. It's where I want to be; he's a great person to hang out with, he's good in bed but he just doesn't turn me on. I want to be able to have a beer with him regularly, to take shots or do whatever socially. I just don't want to have a relationship or something that resembles it with him.
Yes, it's quite simple: all I really want is a hot young stud. I would care less about education, personality and friends and family in that case because of his appearance. So I guess, if you want something that badly, you have to go out and get it...
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