NOT dating

I’ve tried half a dozen times to start this post so I think the only way to begin is to explain I can’t seem to find the words to start it proper. Sorry about that gentle reader; bear with me as I try and pull my thoughts together…

Mild confusion I suppose is my defining characteristic at the moment. And the reason for that is:

International and I met on Wednesday. It is hard to believe it had been a month since we’d last made love but we made up for lost time – and in the nice, candlelit dinner fine wine romantic way too. So I really have to admit I surprised myself when, shortly after midnight, I initiated a conversation that resulted in me breaking up with him.

I can’t quite remember word for word what was discussed. But I do remember explaining that I know he was never going to leave Ouch or make the change in his life to be with me; and even if he and Ouch did split up (as International constantly alluded they might) it would not – and should not - be for me or because of me. And at the same time I cannot have “it’s complicated” as my Facebook relationship status forever. I’m 31 and one of my deepest fears is that I’ve sacrificed the best of me pretending to be someone I’m not. Therefore the open ended other-woman situation cannot stand.

A few days later and the thing that sticks most in my mind about International is his placid acceptance of what I said. His failure – refusal, even – to fight for us or what we had. This may be because it hasn’t fully sunk in yet; I have deliberately Put It Away until I had some time to digest and really think (being a Thinker). Perhaps other things will come to the fore when I really give this thing the time it deserves.

I found myself today thinking about the last time we made love and caught myself with a big grin all over my face. And God knows I do love him still – strangely in the short term I suspect this made the deed easier not harder. Right now I’m struggling not to go “I made a terrible mistake. Rewind! Rewind!!”

But there is much to be done before I can announce my total failure to get over him. I need to think about how we were totally versatile in bed; how I flew across a continent to be with him for the first time; all the silly things we did I hadn’t done before…

Well, it is done, and putting it in writing so that my eyes, connected as they are to (amongst other things) my brain, can see and my brain can think will help. As will going out with a good, good friend tonight and getting very, very drunk.

Small world

Christmas and I finally did the Deed and ended things today with a highly civilised exchange of emails where we wished each other the best and, for the other, essentially ceased to exist. So a slightly sad Frumpella am I.

For variety of reasons the equation: it didn’t workout = you need to not exist doesn’t appear to hold true so much for me these days, gentle reader, and I for one view that as a good thing.

Like (I imagine) most gayers who cruise online I prefer my assignations to vanish into the ether, job done as it were, leaving me free to pursue the next one, and the next one, and the next one… but as I – out of sheer laziness mostly – tend to cruise in my local area I do occasionally run into past assignations. This can be awkward though I always remember my shags with fondness and try to give a good account of myself so a smile or the occasional ‘hello’ is exchanged. And the walk to the station allows me to smile knowingly to myself (and, presumably, like a mentalist to everyone else) as I pass That Flat, or This House, or That Mini Cooper Cabriolet Where We Really Should Have Taken the Top Down First.

It can have its downside of course; I treated myself to a Brazilian chef on my birthday and he simply would not leave me alone for months afterward; passing his house daily did not help.

Recently though things seem to have moved to a whole new level. Firstly one of my friend-and-neighbour types is getting mightily annoyed at my tendency to recycle his old boyfriends [two degrees of separation]. Secondly is the somewhat startling fact that I seem to be at least beginning to exhaust my… options… locally, and indeed now need to go as far as Vauxhall and Kennington to meet new guys. An example of this is that on the train to work recently I sat next to one guy I dated, opposite one I had, erm, Met and across the aisle was one I’d been chatting to in a ribald manner on gaydar. What are the odds?

And of the guys I have hooked up with since New Year two work in the same building as me and another on the same street. With luck like that surely I should win the lottery at some point? That also involves balls and numbers, after all [my posts are most droll n’est pas?].

But, by more than happy coincidence, Academic and I are still in touch, which is rather nice and civilised; the first time that’s happened with a man. And even Mark The Invisible Boyfriend recently got in touch with me again (though I’ve declined to respond as yet).

So we have progress of a sort. A past, a present, and at least the promise of a future.

Infatuation

International and I haven’t ‘been together’ since late December. However, he is due to spend the night with me this coming Wednesday, hopefully to make up for lost time! Truth be told much as I want to see him it is difficult to fit in as it involves giving up time that could be spent working. I probably sound ungrateful to you gentle reader but I’m working so hard at the moment I’m not sure I need to be someone’s spare boyfriend and secret pumpkin!

I remember how much I feel for International and how much we have done over the last four months. My friends tend to just sigh now when I mention him. because without exception they think he isn’t good enough for me. Yet here I am, exactly what I wanted not to be – The Other Woman! Frumpella the gorgeous panting love-slave.

I don’t know what to do for the best at the moment. I have a tendency to get quickly infatuated with this guy or that and International and I have only known each other for a short while so it’s a little early to be dissatisfied with the status quo. But I’m not sure I can be content knowing that International and I have no real future other than continuing like this on and on…

See, being the Other Woman does not really have its compensations. I can’t really rely on him to be there when I need someone, or for him to give me his best. For example, International and I were going to fly to Berlin in April for a holiday. But it seems International can’t afford to use annual leave to be with yours truly so I’ve instead been invited to join him in Brussels next time he’s working there. Saving him time and money – but not really spending any quality time together and thus making me alone with different scenery. Less than ideal; yet can I expect better? And, because I still see others (the compromise for him not being free) I feel guilty, like I’m cheating on International – when it’s Ouch who is the wronged party!

After a few weeks of naughty New Year fun I am beginning to consider going back onto the dating scene again to see if Mr Right is around. Not because I feel less for International, but because the first flush of love is tempered now by a measure of realism.

What I am frightened of is waking up 2, 3, many, lots of years from now having spent precious time on the unattainable instead of fulfilling my needs. And I can’t just carry on with International for fun’s sake because of what I genuinely do feel for him. So what I’m thinking a lot about is ending things now because it’s the lesser of two evils.

But it will be so difficult… and I’m really, really not sure I’m ready. And I'm not sure I'll be ready on Wednesday...

Means to an end

Despite the fact I’m only now to work four days a week, I’ve been averaging about 45 hours in the office and taking work home at this exceptionally busy time. So the truth is I haven’t hooked up with a guy since Monday. The horror!!

I’m certainly too tired to head on a Friday night into the rough-and-tumble that is the South-East London Cruising Chat Room. 400 odd gayers all looking for sex. Phew. No-one can live at that speed!

I’ve been very lucky recently and recently have met a number of great guys and had lots of naughty fun trying new stuff and generally enjoying myself (and others). Because I haven’t talked about specific assignations for a while here’s a quick summary of the last week or so:

A near neighbour of mine, South African, very nice, very… dominant type!

A guy from a few miles further east, who was really passionate and essentially jumped on me as soon as he arrived. I didn’t even get to close the front door!!

The young man in Vauxhall who I met him at his place after a long, long online chat. He liked licking a lot. Unusual but not unpleasant…

And finally a guy from Crystal Palace who cycled the ten miles to my place but still managed to put on a helluva show. I actually cooked him dinner afterward because, frankly, I was worried he’d not get back home otherwise.

The online cruising et al fulfils two main needs for me. The first is the feeling of desirability; someone out there – sometimes a great many people – sees me as a potential sexual partner. Ergo I am hot (or some kind of bijou hotette) and thus I win! The second is discussing what will be done on said encounter… not talking dirty, which normally just induces a fit of the giggles in me. Rather a tentative negotiation about the limits within which an assignation might be defined.

Of course all experiences contain a mixture of the good and bad. The bad I suppose is that for such assignations virtually anyone would do… but I generally enjoy meeting new guys; and as my counsellor would no doubt agree there appears to be an element of intimacy beyond the sexual derived from being with someone. I don’t know about you gentle reader, but a stonking good romp in bed with some gorgeous guy will get me to reveal all my secrets (bet they never tried that at Guantanamo Bay).

And the good is we learn, we grow, and once the bruises have faded we flourish.

Sandwiched between the good and the bad, however, (and not in the nice way) is the ugly truth that really it’s all a means to an end. But I know most of my fellas have been sent rejoicing on their way. And when Mr Right finally does show up he can be assured of my best attentions at all times.

Let me Be

Say what you like about Jeremy Clarkson, I love Top Gear and have spent a sizeable time crying with laughter watching the repeats on blokey channel ‘Dave’ (UKTV taking a refreshing line on channel naming that will soon no doubt be emulated by others; five becoming ‘Wank’ and ITV transformed into ‘D’uh’ whilst the BBC is renamed The Light Entertainment and Endless Repeats Crapper). Nevertheless I’ve never met another gay man who likes Top Gear, or Mr Clarkson in particular; he has a tendency to say disparaging things about the gayers which they don’t like. But then he says disparaging things about all manner of people; cars; animals; countries; indeed, virtually everything.

The point of all that is this: I like what I like and I never took a course in being gay or anything – who did? I don’t really do the stereotype and abhor the cliché. But it’s not easy. So, gentle reader, Frumpella: who he?

Well, contradictions abound; I like hardcore techno/rave and baroque classical music in equal measure; I like salads as much as man-flesh; I wasn’t gay, then I slept with every confirmed bachelor within 5 miles; etc…

I don’t think there is a tension between masculinity and homosexuality. As often mentioned I like(d) playing rugby and I like fixing things and I like growing things… all manly pursuits. If anything being gay has merely added a measure of civility to everyday life. Like indoor plumbing. But I worry that I’m only gay because I sleep with men (did I mention that?). I suppose it’s no small part of the definition of a gayer but it does sometimes surprise me that ostensibly straight or totally gay people still need to enquire after my sexuality. Harrumph.

In oh-so-many ways I’m double plus lucky in how well my first attempts to dress attractively and get in shape are going (I can definitely see how exercise might be addictive). God knows I’m meeting lots and lots of guys. On the other hand International loathes the fact I’ve slept with women; my family avoids the fact I sleep with men. I’m caught in the middle. The tensions make me feel like I’m Jack of all trades and master of none. Thank goodness for my friends; the rock on which my lighthouse is founded.

Finding your way in the world is never easy yet, for crying out loud, I’ve never really had it hard [boom boom]. The long and the short of it is I don’t like the pressure to be like this or look like that; and I don’t think I’d like it if I knew the right clubs, wore the latest fashions and did my hair just so. I am me. The one thing I am clear on is that I never ever will apologise or hide again from who and what I am. Hello world! Take it or leave it!!

A slut? Me?!

As you might have noticed, gentle reader, I like casual sex. I like it a lot. So much so that the very premise, oeuvre if you will, of the blog is (now) to pontificate, think out loud about my sexual preferences and sexuality without boring/sickening/scarring mentally my friends.

Having missed out on a whole heap of stuff in my younger days [and in my mind] I really am trying to make up for lost time, I suppose. One of my greatest fears is that somehow I’ve missed the boat, my chance at that indefinable thing everyone else seemed so effortlessly to achieve.

Hence I put myself about a bit. But I wonder if I do it for the right reasons. What I mean by that is a huge part of my identity is now bound up in casual sexual encounters. I still, significantly, define myself through sex. That’s not unreasonable, or in reasonable terms* wrong. Yet it does mean that, as happened recently, disappointments; guys standing me up or rejecting me online; can affect my self esteem disproportionately.

Fortunately I had a weekend and a half of mind-boggling fun of the naughty variety and verily Frumpella is currently a very cheerful fairy indeed. Incidentally learning a lot along the way, it must be said – which is another plus point to the casual fun; experimentation. But I must be wary of that thing which afflicts some of my gay friends – “I can’t go out tonight because I want to go online and meet some guy for a shag…” or in other words the equation gay = sex takes over their lives. Have I explained that at all well? I do like that being gay means generally being more open about and to sex; but one abhors the cliché and the stereotype can be taken that bit too far.

And whilst I revel in sex I can sometimes get a bit defensive when I perceive (usually quite wrongly) that I am being judged and found wanting [mene mene tekel u-Pharsin, gentle reader] because of my behaviour. Frankly, my counsellor is one to bring that out of me and as explained before I dislike the sub-text that underpins his advice and insights. I have recently (in the mind-boggling fun way) met a couple of guys each of whom I thought would make good boyfriend material and one of whom in particular I was careful to leave the door open for more vertical activities with. I’m not entirely someone who gets fucked (sorry) for the sake of it. So why do I perceive people might think that?

Oh, I’m a mass of contradictions at the moment. I think maybe I’m getting over my New Year sluttyness; helped in part that whilst on gaydar recently literally everyone I looked at I’d either (a) slept with (b) famously rejected or, on two infamous ‘near miss’ occasions (c) dated (and slept with...).

Older/Younger

Rule 12 describes a formula, imparted to me on OUT, indicating the age range of potential partners. Based on one’s own age it gets wider as one gets… older. So, for a 31 year old like Frumpella we get a cheerful range of 23 to 46. My experience over the since that I have blogged here has gone from ages 20 to 54, with nothing regrettable or terrible to report – quite the reverse, I’m pleased to have done it (and how!). Nevertheless, I’ve always had a preference for guys who are older that me.

I think the reasons for that are many. I don’t, for example, think of myself as very sexually experienced – no, don’t laugh gentle reader; I’m serious – in a not-vanilla sense. So I still rely on a guy to know what he likes and then I can experiment with and learn from that. Don’t get me wrong, I am very clear about what I like, but there are many different ways of doing things and I need to be more self assured about trying/suggesting things.

A perfect example is the fella (mid-40s) I met today on gaydar and who, after we’d arranged our assignation, called me – on the actual telephone no less - to talk about what I’d like to ‘do’ and my response was something along the lines of “oh. Er… Um. I thought we discussed this online [laughs]! Well, erm…. How about [naughty fun]?” – just more awkward and less fluid. And he came round later and lo! There was much naughty fun. Nevertheless, I wish I’d been a bit more confident and had a repertoire of suggestions at the tip, as it were, of my tongue. Well, practice makes perfect I suppose.

I will also admit that another reason is my mild jealousy of ‘young’ people. I mean I should have come out a lot earlier and sometimes I feel I missed out on, well, quite a bit. So younger guys can remind me of that.

As time goes on, and I feel happier and more secure in myself, I find myself less and less avoidant. Indeed, I’m much more convinced of the need to get over it and just enjoy while it is there to be enjoyed. Yet there are things – and this links to the third reason – that I won’t do with someone a lot younger than me.

I’ve mentioned before I tend toward the passive role sexually (although it feels strange writing it explicitly), and I feel that someone at or around or over my age is the best way, for me, to be that way. I suppose I’m versatile but I really tend to take one role or the other, and with Nick and Gareth I was mostly the other way. With someone a lot younger than me I very much prefer to take an active/versatile role because the other with a guy who won’t hit 30 till 2019 is…. not something that sits comfortably.

Perhaps I need to open my mind; but I do feel Mr Right, whoever he may be, will be a child of the 70s – however much fun I have in the time between now and him. And the fact I have a 21 year old guy coming over later to round off the evening is neither here nor there.

Smooches

I’m at home now, waiting for Sex and The city to come on the tele… as usual I remain very busy at work, frantically trying the get things done. So two 12 hour days in a row and I find myself taking work home – ironically all about the European Working Time Directive. It seems that soon no-one this side of Transylvania will be working more than 48 hours a week; bar yours truly. Good job I love it, eh?

So then no assignations since the weekend, though I have been invited over for a return visit to the guy I met on Saturday. Perhaps tomorrow…

Also today, International and I have been exchanging messages. He has been unhappy for a while and it seems, as usual, absence doth make his heart the fonder; I am, however, insistent that he and I cannot meet until at least the end of the month. Partly because of my business, but partly because of the wobbly time we had over the festive season. It will be four months tomorrow, believe it or not – technically, if somewhat sadly, the second longest relationship that I’ve ever had. The longevity might be explained in part by the fact I only have a part-share in Himself. But also, I think, though I know he’s not really that good for me, he has all the attributes I like!!

On the other hand Christmas and I aren’t going to become boyfriends. It was fun, and in theory – on paper – he’s perfect for me, but I think it’s clear to both of us that it isn’t going to happen. Why?

Well, at the risk of being rude, Christmas… well, he’s a terrible kisser. There: I blogged it.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, turns me on like a good kisser. I’ve always been complimented on my kissing – luckily. While Christmas and International are [were] both enthusiastic and passionate lovers, International is a great kisser. With Christmas – and no, it isn’t fair to go into details, so this is the end about him (in this context), but it really doesn’t work for me.

I wonder what it is about kissing that, and I mean REALLY, turns me on? Perhaps it’s a chicken/egg thing – I’m excited by kissing because of the context in which it occurs. Whatever it is, I really like everything about it: the lips; tongues; the hands (an important part, the hands holding you tight…). I think it’s partly the anticipation of what comes next. Clothes coming off, hands exploring, kisses ever more passionate, and then in bed, on the table, floor, sofa, balcony wherever… It feels a bit like my secret, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same for most people.

So, much as I’m sorry about Christmas, for muches smooches I’m willing to call out happy New Year.

Tired

Much as I enjoy the work I do it was one of those days today; full of little annoyances – mainly myself for making very minor, but silly errors – missing some people off an email distribution list; missing a deadline by two hours… it’s left me feeling a bit down and withdrawn!

Sadly after my weekend I am feeling somewhat unlikely to get some TLC for the time being. See, on Sunday I arranged to meet yet another guy locally – absolutely gorgeous, sorted, nearby, various other nice attributes; virtually everything I would look for in Mr Right I suppose. But, when we met he rejected me out of hand; and that of course knocked me off my stroke a bit.

But perhaps it was inevitable, and as I wrote in my last post these things will happen. I suppose it’s a lesson not to get so caught up in meeting guys for assignations! But on top of being stood up on Saturday it was a bit of a shock. It’s only natural - I like to feel attractive and desirable and that I’m considered worthwhile by people I’d would be or am interested in. Who doesn’t feel like that? Deriving as much of my sexual identity as I do from casual encounters may not necessarily be the best idea in the world; yet on any level it’s not a nice thing to happen.

Nevertheless I like, well, casual sex. And I think one of the (many, many) nice things about being gay – and out - is being able to indulge that side of me as much as I like (!) comfortably and safely. So much so, that though things have been a bit wobbly the last 24 hours perhaps I’ll get over it quite soon...

In fact while I may give myself the week off man flesh, I am chatting to three guys on and off about hooking up at some point; so no doubt there’ll be more to report sooner or later. In the meantime I was talking to a neighbour tonight about how she needs to get back out there after she found herself single toward the end of last year and I can hardly not take my own advice, now can I?

For tonight I think a glass of wine, and a film, and an early night. I'm suddenly very tired and need some quiet, restorative, time to myself; an introvert at heart I remain, gentle reader.

And tomorrow: let the diet continue, the exercise go on. Though an excuse to buy some new clothes is never really to be sniffed at… bring back that sunshine.

Learn the rules

Another weekend, gentle reader, half over. Has there been some man fun? Why, yes. Yes there has.

I hummed and hahed over going online today as I brought a lot of work home and Saturday is a deadline for a client of mine; but online I did go.

The first few guys who expressed an interest didn’t really attract me but after a while this really hot (and I mean hot) fella began chatting to me and we arranged for him to come over. Unfortunately, and this is really only the second or third time this has happened to me, he stood me up.

I don’t mind a guy cancelling. It happens. Even a guy changing his mind once we’ve met. It… happens. I’m really not into pressurising someone to do what they don’t want to so would rather people cancel and feel OK than meet me and feel bad.

What I don’t like is a guy who should be in my bed popping up in the chat room where we met without getting in touch. I only caught him out because I never logged off (I used the time to get my work done, being an efficient slattern you see) so when he came up there again I sent a sharp message discussing the merits of Rule 7 and moved on.

I know the wonderful world of cruising is not known for its manners and etiquette but a simple “sorry I’m not coming because… you’re just not that attractive” isn’t too much to ask, is it?

Well, fortunately there are plenty more fish in the sea and, unbowed, I hooked up with a guy who lived only about 15 minutes walk away. A rather charming South African in his early forties, and very nicely put together with it. His apartment has a floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the river (like mine but better!) and that kind of view only enhanced the fun for me. Very nice. In fact we may well hook up again in the future given his location and… the rest.

The reason I like older fellas [and when I write older I mean born before me, not necessarily ‘old’er] is they know what they want, how to get it, what to do when they get it and don’t mess guys around. They are well mannered – I was offered a glass of wine on arrival and a shower before leaving, - and understand the concept of No Strings Attached without rushing you out of the door or making false promises about meeting again.

So, a good time so far. I really think "The Rules of Shagging" might be another money-spinner…

Confused

On Thursday I had my first counselling session of 2009. I really have grown to dislike them and am very seriously thinking of cancelling altogether.

This session involved yet another of those dreadful exercises where, on this occasion, I had to rank the things I seek from causal sexual encounters, and compare that to what I seek from a relationship. This irritated me because of the sub-text that enjoying casual sex – just meeting men for sex, to enjoy new physical experiences and essentially have a stonking great orgasm (or several) - is wrong. Of course I don’t seek a relationship, friendship, security from casual assignations. And the implication I am deficient or defective in my behaviour because of that is, frankly, infuriating.

My counsellor’s concerns, in fairness to him, were founded on the rocky point I have reached with International. He feels that I am much more closed off than I have been before because I feel hurt and my recent assignations are a reversion to past (apparently bad) behaviour.

Nevertheless today International and I met for the first time since his holiday. He wanted to meet because he was feeling pretty low and needed “hugs”. So, somewhat against my better judgement, we met at a gay bar local to my office and, fortunately or unfortunately [take your pick], we were very quickly all over each other and saying how much we love each other. Muches smooches indeed. And so it seems things are, well, something, again.

Now, of course, I’m thoroughly confused. It really has begun to amaze me, the difference between my cold Teutonic intellect and the heart that slowly but surely lays its plans against me.

I adore International, I really do. And in many ways he’s been so good to me. Spain, ice skating… silly though it may read no-one’s done things like that for me before. Yet he has Ouch; Ouch whom he loves and who loves him and they still have sex, and no they really don’t have an open relationship at all… so I’ve become what I didn’t want to be and I get annoyed with my self. And yet, and yet…

On the other hand of course there is Christmas. My counsellor was particularly, almost inordinately some might say, excited by my relationship with Christmas, and for some reason saw the dinner we had between Christmas and New Year as particularly good news. Well, he’s a great guy – not perfect but who wants that?

So the question we have to pose is this: why is it that I am enamoured by someone so manifestly unsuitable in that he will never, can never be ‘mine’; and I am so smitten I am unable to fully seize the opportunity in front of me?

Frumpella's a one man idiot, that's why!

Midweek

My goodnesss, I had a horrendous day today. Caught between a rock and a hard place – I had to give a ministerial briefing on something that made my employer look like a tit; this resulted in a few sharp exchanges in the office and a fairly unpleasant morning. Being very tired – I had a client at 6am too – I ended up feeling quite miserable and so, as my working day drew to a close, I was faced with a choice between wine or man flesh. And I plumped for wine.

What’s this? Frumpella not getting over a hard day by getting under a hot man?? Such omens and portents should surely be accompanied by comets and earth tremors!

No, none of that; although it has been snowing a lot – does that count? Well, let’s be fair – if the rule is no more than one (new) guy a week I’m pretty sorted until about mid-February… so no real rush (though, yes, I did have a look around!) and this will be the last drink till I see Christmas on Sunday.

He and I have been exchanging messages on and off since last we met. He’s very gregarious! I’m quite introverted, so sometimes it can be a bit wearing, but that’s no criticism – it’s nice to have someone keen on me. Really nice, actually – though I’m determined to let things progress on their merits and not push things one way or another.

Nevertheless, I have, recently, been thinking about International. His impending return to the UK fills me, somehow, with a great deal of angst in that whilst far away I had no need to acknowledge… this thing… and the closer he gets… it’s all less and less certain [if that's possible]. The thing is gentle reader I still think of him often and wonder how – when the truth of it all dawns even on my dissonant head – I’ll handle things.

Bring on the wine.

There’s nothing much more I can say about International really. I can’t change how I feel, or where I find myself. I suppose it has to be: New Year; move on. No time for self-pity and I think Christmas deserves a bit more than me obsessing about another guy – especially if we become a proper couple at some point.

However, before the monogamy begins...

I have been propositioned tonight by a 19 year old couple who live locally (yes, my online look-around yielded results after all; Strumpetville is full of friendly guys) but normally I wouldn’t go for. Yet, since I’m feeling good-looking and buff at the moment, and we all know I’d never turn down an intimate gathering… well then, why not?

Smarter than the average...

I own a book called “What might have been”; a collection of essays about how history might have turned out had this been different or that. You know the style of kidney - the Nazis winning World War II etc. But it occurred to me that there is money to be made publishing all the unheard speeches and unread musings – concessions by winning candidates; love letters by the broken hearted; patents never submitted; charges never brought.

In my old age, my senescence (that much closer, it seems, having today found the first grey hair in a place there weren’t none before), I think I will be able to fondly review a number of my assignations and reflect – speculate, really – not only on what occurred, back in the good old 21st century, but also on how things might have been.

The reason for all of this is of course today. You see, gentle reader, I can safely report that I ended my holiday on a high note. Oh yes. In the usual way, I saw a bit of gaydar (it’s one of my home pages, OK? It comes up every time I log on, that’s all) and after an unsuccessful attempt to construct a threesome with a near neighbour of mine today’s fella popped up in a window all his own.

Today’s fella is exactly my type. Slightly taller; slightly older; slim - not undefined though, but not muscular. He also has two blue eyes I simply drowned in – like sapphires they are – and after a last kiss my last words to him were how beautiful they look. And a smile to match no less *sigh*.

And last, but in no way least, an expert he is at yoga.

I’m not sure how I’ll feel tomorrow but I have spent a lot of the afternoon being coaxed into whole new positions that oh Lord, absolutely hit the spot. To the point that, at the risk of sounding crass, it was insisted by him more than once "Not Yet" (if you catch my drift).

Apparently he spends each December in India learning under expert Yogi and, freshly back, I’m quite glad he chose me to help him over his jet-lag.

So you can well imagine how I might speculate on something more than three hours of blue eyes and contortionism. And how I might think of that when I’m recovering from a hip replacement. And how, (though of couse in the meantime I'll be working on how things will be!) in that nursing home on the moon, whatever else happens, I'll always be the little gay engine that could.

Naughtiness

Well, gentle reader, at the outset I must confess to being a very naughty Frumpella so if you would prefer to maintain your image of me as chaste and pure then look away now…

Now my cold has begun to recede, I yesterday decided to visit gaydar [surprise, surprise] as I wanted to see if anyone was about for a bit of afternoon fun. And whilst there a guy I’d met previously, a casual assignation from June, got in touch.

This guy likes his threesomes/groups even more than I do so, as he wanted to have a group session, we worked together and found some other guys to join us; and before I knew it I was hosting four fellas at my apartment for an evening’s entertainment second to none.

I never appreciated how difficult it was organising a group even with the bounty that is the internet; it takes time! But I have to be honest, the hard work really paid off… I had a really, really good time and since then I’ve felt so sexual and invigorated. I was all aglow for quite some time afterward. It was a fantastic night, and Frumpella is now a very cheerful fairy indeed.

Today I’ve had two guys over, separately, again from gaydar – making the most of my membership as you can see – and again it was great. Maybe it is feeling better, or maybe it’s the New Year but I don’t recall being this horny before. Now I’m completely out of all the essentials! But I think it’s time to take a wee break as the neighbours probably find the revolving door of men coming and going at all hours somewhat tiresome. So until my new batch of supplies arrives (thinking it might not be a bad idea to order in bulk) I’ll be taking it easy. Or at least, travelling rather than accommodating…

Happy New Year indeed.

I genuinely don’t know what it is that has got me feeling like this. Maybe it is the psychological boost of the New Year. Perhaps it’s just the relative freedom of not being in a relationship (or at least being between them) and not really looking for the moment. Yes, OK I do feel a bit slutty but whatever it is, I’ll take it! I even liked the new pictures I took of myself to update my profile with them, and anyone who knows me knows how much I loathe being photographed.

As for Christmas, he’s back in London next weekend so we shall meet up then; probably Sunday to go for a drink at one of a couple of nice pubs near to where I live. By then I’ll probably be well and truly back in the real world (back at work etc) and over this little phase… or will I be?

Who can say?

Ambition

Today Christmas and I had dinner at my place.

We met on Tuesday too, as a last minute thing, and he treated me to a quite expensive Thai dinner at the Hays Galleria. Thus today was the fourth time we have met (though Christmas will insist on fifth preferring to count Christmas Day and Christmas Eve as two dates not one) and returning the favour, in a small way, is the least I could do.

I have caught from him a stinking cold and am not at my most sexual at the moment so, although we welcomed 2009 with a bang, I asked him not to spend the night. Well, it’s still very early days, after all, and I explained most people wouldn’t be having sex at this point. But you know me by now, gentle reader…

Christmas is away for three weeks but said today before we parted that he’d like to keep seeing me and I said I’d liked that too; so when he’s back we shall most certainly see how things go. I’d like to let things take their time. Things will happen or they won’t. No infatuation or emotional immaturity. If I can help it. Erm...

Turning now to my slutty side; as a treat to myself I rejoined gaydar as a member. This morning I was hoping to get some pre-Christmas action after having slept off my hangover – I was at a great party in Gypsy Hill till about 3:00am but got a text from International describing swimming naked with his boyfriend off the coast of Cape Canaveral with some kind of “nice knowing you, look after yourself in 2009” attached to it.. He did hurt me a bit with that and my NYE enthusiasm then waned somewhat. It made me realise how much I do need to make a fresh start.

Anyway, got a fair bit of interest on gaydar and lined up two future shags today and two future possibles, so a productive 1 January. But with the cold it’s probably best to hold off the magic roundabout for the time being.

Speaking of being sexual I have decided for 2009 to cut way, way back and have no more than one or two partners a week [would that he were joking]. A friend described me as ‘cock crazy’ today, which isn’t entirely fair I think - but then I am trying to persuade him to get back out there and have some fun following a recent break up, so possibly regale him with my ribald wit a tad too much. Nevertheless a nice steady flow of man-flesh rather than gorging may not be such a bad idea.

Until at least it’s Christmas every day.