f*cked

"I've fucked you!"

This was the charming introduction I received from a guy in the loos at the Tilbury Hotel last Sunday. There was no preamble to this declaration, it was literally the first thing to come out of his mouth.

I wish I'd taken the time, as one of my brother's did, to train myself to raise one eyebrow. An elegant, silent, somewhat ambiguous rebuttal. He was vaguely familiar, but as I have a rather good memory for faces and I suppose, boringly, have never done the drunken or drug fucked fandango, I can definitely say who I have or have not been fucked by.

I replied, archly, "Oh, have you?"

He smirked, "Yeah, I've had my full length up your arse." So apparently he's well equipped.

"No, I don't think so." I smirked back at him.

"I'd remember that arse anywhere."

Considering we were facing each other for this tete a tete, I was amused at his assertion.

"You probably don't recognise me. I've had work done since I fucked you."

I was looking for the hidden cameras, because this situation had rapidly spiralled out of control and I was sure I was now cast in an episode of the z grade cable tv drama "Whoa dude, I'm having an LA moment!"

It turns out, that yes, I have actually met this person, initially in Melbourne, six years ago at the Xchange and we'd subsequently met again in Sydney a few years after that. No fucking involved at any time. (Phew!) Scarily, though, this guy knows one of my Uncles through ballroom dancing.

Talk about six degrees!

And this encounter reminded me of the shouted 'greyhound' pickup line at the Mardi Gras dance party a few weeks ago.

Being subtle must be one traits not carried with the gay gene. Or maybe it's just guys.

I mean, if you're a gay man and you meet another gay man, and you both know or work out the mutual gay thing, chances are, if he likes you, he'll whip out his dick and wave it at you and request a close and personal, preferable, hands on inspection. All pretty much done without a word being exchanged. This is how gay men say hello to each other. And it's universal. No race, age, language or culture seems to exclude it.

But I wonder, if straight women let straight guys get away with it, is this how most straight guys would greet women? Sorry to come over all Carrie on you, but it's just a thought.

See, another thing about gay men is that they can been tactlessly honest in their directness in stating what they want. There's a lot a talk about racism, ageism and lookism in the gay community based on gay men's internet profiles. Guys stating, no fems, fatties, asians etc. Delineating the ages, races, cock sizes of the men they will and won't have sex with. Although it's hurtful if you are in an excluded category, I think in most cases it's a lack of ability to communicate with care, rather than say, overt racism, which is displayed in these profiles. It''s fuck first and ask questions later.

And this is where I've realised I've been a Pollyanna in wanting the Prince on the white horse. It's not so much that gay men won't, for the most part, take time and care in getting to know someone, it's recognising and accepting that this is how guys in general go about things. Sex is the foot in the door, anything else comes after.

When I first came out, I thought that the fuck first policy was just great. And I used it to my advantage. I've been on little ride, perhaps on that white horse, since then, and become a disapproving matron. Perhaps it's time to climb down, fuck first, ask questions later and see what happens.

With someone new, for the first time, I always insist the lights are on. It's a saftey thing. But it also means I never get caught in the loos with my pants down!



Oh and a post scriptum. I'm not moving to Oslo anytime soon. Mr Norway was fun for few days and then decided he didn't want anything too serious on his holiday. Which I guess is a backhanded compliment saying he really liked me.

Try this one on for size

It's 4am in the Royal Hall of Industries (RHI), Fox Studio Showgrounds, Sydney, Australia. Van Dino is shakin' his groove thang at the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras Dance Party. Rather energetically as the second half of his e has just kicked in. Blissfully unware of wanton flesh on display, he is totally aborbed in the awesome music and in feeling groovey. When suddenly...

There's a tap on his shoulder.

Looking around he sees a tall, dark and handsome stranger smiling at him, who leans in and shouts, "You look like a greyhound!"

Thinking he must of misheard, Van Dino replies "What?"

And the tall, dark and handsome stranger again states, "You look like a greyhound."

Somewhat perplexed as to where this is heading, after all this guy has just effectively call him a dog, Van Dino asks "Is that a good thing?"

Tall, dark and handsome stranger grins and steps up with, "Yeah, all muscle and cock!"

This has to be the stupidest pick up line in history and sad to say, I think only a gay man could have thought of it.

I mean, my immediate reaction was to acutally look down at myself to see if anything was swinging in the breeze. Nope, all cozy at home. I didn't think it was doing the rounds as I wasn't aware of any breeziness. As I'm an average boy, was wearing cargo pants and wasn't tumescent at the time, I can honestly say that there was no magnificent stretch in the fabric in the front of my pants. I did have my shirt off though, and I do have a nice body, which I'm very comfortable with. But given that when this line was tossed to me, I was dancing amongst a rosary of muscle marys, in comparison, lean is the adjective I would have used. Which I guess is where the greyhound hound comes in. I suppose there are worse breeds of dog.

Anyhoo, I just smiled after that and closed my eyes and got back to shakin' it. When I opened my eyes, tall, dark and handsome had gone off to fine someone else to dog.

I had an absolute blast at the party. Arrived with straight friends from Newcastle, lost them in five minutes, found my other friends, lost my other friends, found my Newcastle friends again. Danced for eight hours with only pee and watering breaks. Danced and met lots of people from all over the world. If only the United Nations was as much fun, we'd have world peace tomorrow! Mind you, on second thoughts, seeing John Howard and George Bush and a cavalcade of other world leaders in leather harnesses, drag and sequined hot pants cavorting on a dancefloor might actually mean the world has ended and we're all in hell.

Getting back to the party. As the night wore on, I noticed in myself, this odd detachment which I guess was partly drug induced. I found that, while there were plenty of beautiful male bodies on display, I didn't actually find any of them attractive. In fact I felt distinctly unhorny. It was a bit disconcerting and I found myself wondering if I now had no sexuality (I know, what a weird thing to think - but hey, chemical assistance can take you to new and exotic vistas).

During the week leading up to Mardi Gras, I was preoccupied with the question of attractiveness. I wasn't worrying if I was attractive to other people, but rather wondering what was attractive to me. The whole thing was kicked off by a friend who reads my blog mentioning in a conversation that she felt sad when she'd read my post, Aspiring to be Japanese. She felt sad because I only found good looking people sexy. This is actually a paraphrase of what she said. And I got defensive with "well that guy actually had a bit of a belly!" I mean, it was a bit of shock. Was I that shallow? Yes, I guess so.

So I started thinking about what I found attractive. I realised that for me there were differing forms or levels of attractiveness. There's the esthetic appeal. Some guys are beautiful. But I really enjoy looking at them simple because their beauty brings a pleasure that actually has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with appreciating any form of beauty. Then there's attractiveness, which is for me, a quality of personality that draws me to someone and makes me want to know more. Finally there's sexy, which I can't define except to say that it's that feeling in the pit of your stomach when with someone, and you just know, if they touch you, you're not going to be able to stop yourself, that with this person you'll abandon yourself to whatever they want. And you know it will be sooo good! You know, I've seen and met plenty who have the first quality, fewer having the second and third and noone having all three! And weirdly, I realise, I don't find the people I find attractive, sexy and vice versa. How strange.

A few days after the Mardi Gras Dance Party, I was having lunch with the same friend, when we touched on the topic again. She made the observation, that perhaps, because of my history of child sexual abuse, that I separate love and sex and that perhaps it's really difficult for me to be sexual with someone I actually like. Well so much for all that expensive therapy. Not one of those highly educated (and paid) individuals ever made such a simple statement. I guess that's where twenty four years of friendship is priceless. Something more to ponder.

But don't worry. I wasn't in the am-I-now-without-sexuality stupor all night. At eight in the morning, when my fuel finally gave out and I urgently needed to sit, I stumbled towards a group of people lounging in the dawn light and gracelessly plonked myself down. In fact, I wasn't really paying attention and sat pretty much right on top of someone. Under the circumstances, I received a rather cheerful hello from a surprised and totally beautiful guy from Norway.

On Tuesday night this week were going out on our second date. I find him attractive. And sexy.




He's only here for three weeks.