La Soiree

Tonight Fella and I took in a show, and what a show it was. Originally it was a group of us who meant to go, get a booth, some champagne... but we never got it together. Still, Fella and I fancied a bit of cabaret; a bit of theatre; a bit of burlesque. So why not?

Burlesque it was indeed, La Soiree. The last night in town... if they didn't put on a special show, well, then their standard is high indeed.

Fella and I had ringside seats, front row. Not because we booked then; we were picked. It being the last night, there were a fair number of photographers recording the event. It sometimes pays to be engaged to a simply gorgeous guy :-)

What a view. Acrobatics, cabaret, comedy, magic, puppetry, and... delightful stimulation. The highlight of the evening was when Fella was dragged up on stage to be a dancing boy in a rip-off of Cabaret. All in all, however, there was nothing that detracted from a thoroughly good evening. If you have friends, gentle reader, as good as mine you will have had many nights when your face aches from laughter; well, it was that kind of show. My hands, too are raw from applause.

It is quite interesting, the effect it has had on us both. I think alongside the humour, and discomfort, and the amazement indeed, we have been reminded of the possibilities of our bodies; and at a time when it is not too late [perhaps] to push our boundaries. I have recently joined a new gym, and tonight helped perhaps helped focus my mind on precisely why.

Don't get me wrong, I didn't spend my evening legs crossed and hunched over. My God there was plenty of eye-candy indeed, but for all the hot hot hottentot hotties it opened more my eyes to my situation than my... disposition to be loved.

When I was very young and first set my feet apon the shore of this sceptered isle, I discovered the worlds beyonnd this world and my course the 15 years thereafter was set. Tonight this show absorbed me to the same extent; a rare thing indeed. More often than not I sit outside of things watching events unfold and picking my moment to interact, to join in. But not with this.

La Soiree will join us in Strumpetville again toward the end of 2011... look out for it if you're around.

Look but don't touch...

Oh there's ever such a lot of eye candy about. I'm not the best looking guy in the world, and in fact am somewhat obsessive about the flaws in my appearance (not uncommon among gay men I've found). Still, sometimes I do feel like a bit of a looker. I compare myself to other guys on my train and think "yeah, not bad". But that's rare.

Sometimes I am quite overwhelmed by the number of great looking guys about. Certainly I often feel the need to raise my game. I'm definitely no complaining though, about the talent around.

Being in a relationship means I can take time out from the whole world of worry around - does he find me attractive? Do I look good? Will he want to date me? Will he want to sleep with me?

I like being considered attractive, and I'm not letting myself go just because I'm with Fella - I'm still very much a work in progress. But there is something very nice about being able to look without having to worry about touching. I can appreciate, for the first time, hot and horny guys. There a fair few of them about.

I don't really like very, very beautiful men - it's an unwelcome reminder of my own ordinarinous [whatever that is]. I'm not into muscle marys, very young guys, very camp guys... I do have a weakness for slim, nerdy geeky type guys. Overall, though, I like just looking. The well dressed, in shape, well groomed man.

It's an expression of sexuality, but not sex. I'm not looking to play away. That very fact underpins the freedom to look, to appreciate the loveliness around me. Coming out makes it OK to look - no more for the furtive glances. Now I can drink it in!

I think it's well worth it gentle reader. Though I might be considered a bit pervy eyeing up people who might be considered a little out of my league. It's harmless fun. Both harmless and fun.

Addendum

Further to my post, below, I have decided to write a short addendum. I am sitting here at home: it's 9:00am on Saturday, and I should be working on some job descriptions. Unaccountably, gentle reader, I was distracted by some Paul Brumby photos. Yum yum yum...


This, this here, is ultimately what I aspire to:



Tasteful airbrushing notwithstanding, I'm not a trillion miles from this - which is rather cheering. I wonder if my friends who read this are laughing themselves into a coma right now; but it's good to have a goal! And I think the above is far more achievable than some twink hairless fat-free homonculus. Why would I aspire to that? That would just make me feel bad; and the object is to feel good.


So here goes; a toast to becomming a little less gross every day. And now... back to work.

Engrenage

Well, gentle reader, I think it is safe to say that the Cheerful Fairy is Frumeplla no more. Of course my rippling gorgeousness could use some work; always room for improvement, dontyaknow, etc.

I refer of course not only to my efforts to improve my physique, bowl over the residents of Strumpetville with my lovliness... yeah, anyway, I refer not only to that; I refer to my wider health.

Since a week last Sunday my illness returned with a vengeance: I lost three pounds over the course of the weekend, and felt pretty run down since then. It's calmed down but co-incidentally I had a hospital appointment last Thursday to follow me up.

There is something rather special about having a good doctor, and you may take good to mean intelligent; erudite; interested; or just good at lateral thinking. However, the nice lady who saw me had clearly decided this is a bit too much and the best thing to do would be to do a series of tests from scratch. Hence I spent much of the morning having blood tests and other... examinations, going round and round the hospital beaten only to the various departments by the electronic missive explaining what is required.

And, yes, and at the end of it all I have – Te Deum to be composed in honour of this momentous occasion – a diagnosis.

Intestinal spirochaetosis.

Yum.

Spirochetes are a nasty class of bacteria not routinely tested for, and as an anaerobic bug, not prone to surviving in samples exposed to air. Hence it can be hard to find. It is a class of bacteraemia that counts among its number humanity's friends, syphilis and lime disease. It is an opportunistic infection and will quite often attack people with HIV, or other sexually transmitted diseases. Although it is not sexually transmitted the bacteria are much more common among gay men (30 to 50%) than straight men (two to five per cent) for reasons unknown to science!

Well, the next step is to get some antibiotics (metronidazole in my case) for a short while and with luck my roller coaster love affair with Armitage Shanks will be over. Interestingly – in a Freudian there-are-no-accidents kind of way – I can't drink whilst on the antibiotics and for a short while afterward. That ought to be interesting...

Anyway, once I'm better I need I think to review my healthy living regime. I wasn't able to go to the gym whilst very ill and of course as before it consumed my body mass rather than body fat, so I'm perceptibly weaker than I was before. Still, it is good to take the opportunity to capitalise on the fact my ribs are showing through. I want my flat tummy!

Overall it's good to have a diagnosis; though on some level the amount of stuff to deal with right now approaches new heights or tiresomeness. I look forward to it being over... and thus this is progress of a sort.

Aging

Today my colleagues and I went for out second run training for our 5k in April. We’ve been running around St James’s Park; at 2.1km three circuits is enough to keep us ready. It takes me about 10 minutes at a steady measured pace to go around the park; I think we should aim to get to a point where we can do the 5k in about 20 minutes; maybe a shade less.

One of us taking part is a guy a few years younger than me and also gay. He seems to compete with me quite openly to be the official gayer in the group. It’s weird for me, to be challenged in this way. You see, gentle reader, I often have a love/hate fascination for younger gay guys. I tend to find young and pretty guys quite annoying – essentially because I’m not one of them any more. Part of the reason I go for older men I suppose...

I myself am acutely aware of my mortality and, essentially, that – dimly I perceive - I’m not 18 any more. Much more than I should be I think. I’m beginning to feel I’m getting older. More mature; aging disgracefully. And I resent it.

Young gay guys who are out, on the scene, enjoying themselves are doing something I never did. Going for the older gentleman in many ways betrayed my lack of experience. I met a small number of guys about my age, maybe younger, just coming out as I was and without exception they were going for ‘teacher’ types too. We didn’t keep in touch…

I was young and pretty once. Not ever prize-winning looks; but I do feel I’ve entered a world obsessed with youth and beauty riding the absolute last train I could get. And now I’m jogging alongside someone who rather sensibly jumped on board somewhat earlier than I!

Being critical of what I’ve just written I would say (a) I needed – and still need – to take better care of myself and coming out was areal boost to that and (b) I’ve always been a bit insecure of my looks, and going out on a limb – whilst never wrong – wasn’t really helpful.

So is this all a bit shallow? I am concerned, you see, that I’m running out of goes, for the want of a better expression. One of the reasons I threw myself into men, whether it be boyfriend or otherwise, was because I considered I had left myself a very narrow window of opportunity.

I'm not so concerned about my colleague as I am reminded how I do regret coming out so late. But with that comes a recognition I kinda need to grow up to stay young. If I’d been different my life would have been different I honestly wouldn’t want that. I’d still be 32, slightly frumpy and with challenged follicles… but would I have my Fella? My friends? Would I have grabbed these opportunities or let them pass me by in youthful ignorance? Being in my thirties really works for me, so let’s look forward rather than think about what could have been… and let me get my beauty sleep.

The voice of love

There were so many comments on the previous post here that I thought, for a change, I could respond to them in a follow up post.

I think the people commenting on my own ramblings raised a number of really good points that really made me think, so in no particular order…

I have done that thing of judging people on their looks. Particularly when sex is in the offing. I used to judge people instantly based on their profile pic, or how they looked when I met them. I have heard this is a common trait among us humans. But then so was sh*tting in the street, and now we have plumbing… its material progress and we have emotional progress too. I know this because for being me I was only ever in the prison I built for myself.

I, I, I… Anyway, I put my own behaviour down to, firstly, having a type. Thin over large, for example. And secondly what I shall loosely terms standards; saying “I suppose you’ll do as no-one else is biting” is hardly more flattering than “you are not my type”. Don’t you think, gentle reader?

But of course, this spurs me on to try and look good – take care of my body, wear the ‘right’ clothes. Moisturise. I don't choose my friends on any of these criteria of course; and should not value their friendship if they judged me so. But my friend ‘A’ put it best when she advised me not to display those traits I myself find off-putting. This, of course, related to behaviour in (seeking) relationships. Nevertheless the lesson still holds.

So I am, to an extent, seduced by the shallower side of the gay pool. And this becomes a circular thing because Rule 5 notwithstanding, I am bound when trying to look good – to conform one might say to the Strumpetville Standard – to measure my results by the approval of others.

This in turn means I must behave differently when I believe I look good compared to when I don’t. Perhaps, then, it is true that people are merely reacting to my confidence OR I don’t mind so much that they don’t approve OR both.

It is also true that it’s what’s inside that counts and I’ve generally found that giving people a chance really does pay off in virtually every instance; maybe feeling good about looking good advertises that you are good inside? Hmm, I doubt that,

I do know that I have become more comfortable with myself and I certainly don’t try to look good for anyone other than myself – how it makes me feel. I don’t go crazy for clothes and shoes, though I do much more than before I came out. I like colours; I like wearing a suit. I’m not on the cutting edge. But I don’t think – whilst not wishing to deny my undoubted flaws – there’s much physically I should seek to change.

Emotionally? Personality? People skills? You betcha. Much work remains until... thanks for the comments. Thank you; thank you.

The look of love

I have found that how you look makes people treat you differently. Well, d’uh, you might say. And your exclamation might well be right.

Of course we should all make an effort to look after ourselves. Looking good is a significant part of feeling good about ourselves. That’s why so many of us are dedicated followers of fashion. But, more than this, I’ve noticed that casual acquaintances – colleagues, friends of friends etc – tend to treat me differently on days when I look good compared to days when I look merely my usual average self.

Now, you know me gentle reader; I’m not one to boast. But at a stretch, on my very very good days I can see myself as quite attractive. Coming out helped me in two ways. The first is I made an effort to lose some weight, dress better etc. The revelation, supremely hurtful though it was, that Darren was slumming it with frumpy old me spurred me on to no small extent. I went down from 92kg (203lbs) to 75kg (165lbs) over a carefully planned six-month diet.

The second thing was the veritable human wave of man types willing, nay eager, to make Frumpella’s acquaintance. I even managed to convince some of them to hang around for a while.

So it worked.

But the fact remains if I dress just right, my hair is OK, I’m wearing the right shoes, people will talk to me and then the next day, when I revert to type, so do they: ignoring me.

I’m not talking about the superficiality of the average gayer. I’m as guilty as anyone of picking in the past a potential partner, for dates or assignations, primarily on looks. I mean: it’s bad but we’re not exactly looking for to oh-so-telling ample bosoms and wide child bearing hips are we? THAT’S not shallow at all…

The funny thing now is, having plumbed new depths of lightness (if that makes sense) people do keep complimenting me on my looks. Having gone down from a medium to a small I get to have even more retail therapy now; on the other hand having seen photo’s of myself throwing some shapes on the dancefloor last Saturday I know that MUCH work remains to be done. In many ways, despite opening up to valuing myself through others’ appraisals (a risk we all take when putting ourselves out there), being noticed makes me fell quite good. I try to get more of it. I try also not to be to vain… honest.

Some of my friends do get exasperated by my wish not to put the weight back on – I don’t know what this illness is but I bet I could make good money if it turns out to be contagious. But looking good – or at least making a real effort – is getting quite important to me.

Sadness

I had a bit of a rough day today. All manner of petty trials and disagreements conspired against my mood. One of the nice things about being in a relationship is that I was able to turn to Fella for *hugs*. But still, not so pleasant.

Friend/colleague/evil ‘C’ pointed out to me today that I tend to flirt with office eye candy a lot more when my mood is low. This got me, as these things will, to thinking…

It occurred to me, gentle reader, that I go for guys because I have a low opinion of myself; that I feel inadequate.

Shock

Horror

Divers Alarums

Careful thought.

God knows I like my man fun - and rarely if ever feel I get enough. Is this second hand epiphany result of my journey – perhaps my only, perhaps the first of many – between one monogamous relationship and another? Or perhaps because I had bad, bad day. Is it true? Is it??

The office is pretty full of eye candy at the moment. Goodness I do like thin tall guys, slightly nerdy, and in glasses [cue friend ‘A’?] and it is raining those guys in Victoria at the moment…

So here I am. In a relationship with a great guy; but still looking at guys wanting them to want me. See what I mean (longest standing and most gentle of all readers) about only being 19 in gay years? Goshdarn. I suppose the nice thing is I’m not actively trying to sleep with other guys (though if Fella hadn’t turned up…).

I suppose it shows how things come full circle. The whole point of coming out – when I was with Darren – was to come to terms with myself and make gay friends; explore gay culture and so on. My erstwhile heartbreak over him comes from being abandoned at the start of that journey. Perhaps I haven’t grown as much as I might suppose if I still meet gay guy guys and think “sex?” not “friend?”

Well, Rules 1, 2 and 3 are on the shelf right now so low self esteem or no it’s time to just grow up about the fact nothing can happen with guy X, Y, Z and instead… I dunno… treat them like straight-plus?

These things will have to happen on their own I think. I will admit my problems always seem small compared to those of others and that’s reason number 17 I need my friends around me – gay or straight – but at least now I know and they do tell me that knowledge is power.

Sunshine

Well, here we are. It’s July and all in Strumpetville continues fine. It’s very fine weather and all the solar powered hotties remain out in force [hubba hubba].

Things between Fella and I continue to be pretty good. Lots of luvin’; the occasional bijou rowette to keep things interesting. He’s spending quite a bit of time at my place now si it’s time to think about giving him a drawer or something to keep such mundane things as pants and similar. I suppose this is normal, right? Either way I’m happy. I realised recently one of the things I feel when I think about Fella is relief.

Weird? Perhaps, gentle reader. But the fact remains I am so relived to have met him.

I’m not in love with Fella, not yet. I’m being very careful, and anyway the process of slowly falling in love is quite delicious, I find. Like emotional edging (if you’ll forgive me being base). He’s on my mind morning noon and night and the little things he does give me a nice warm fuzzy feeling that…

OK, OK, you can stop reaching for the bucket now. But it’s nice when he, as he has just done, tells me in an email that he’s awaiting my arrival with baited breath. Awwww.

Tonight he’s cooking me sea bass with a home made thyme pastry – he’s a very good cook as my rapidly expanding waistline attests; and I have prepared a delightful chocolate soufflé. Tomorrow it’s London Pride. I’ve never been to Pride before but Kevin and I will be there, firstly meeting friends and then on to a party in the evening.

See, this is nice. And I’m taking my time.

One thing I will say, as I mentioned before, it that I seem to be getting an awful lot of interest. Even though my OUT profile clearly states I’m in a relationship four, count ‘em, four guys have asked me out! Well, I’m resisting temptation. Fella has made it quite clear that he expect monogamy and that has not been a problem at all.

The time has come in fact to hang up my online profiles for dating and the other thing. Goodbye Soulmates; Au revoir gaydar. Now I’m only looking for friendship.

I some ways that puts me back to square one. How to expand my circle of gay friends. Always very much the second or possibly third strand to my joining these sites. It’s a bit circular because experience shows that gay men tend to be after a bit of trouser friendly Cheerful Fairy action (I certainly have been).

Daydream

One thing, whatever happens, the guy I’m meeting on Saturday deserves is my thanks for making meeting guys pleasurable again. This year my attitude has moved from genuinely enjoying the experience of meeting new people, whatever happens, and hoping for the best, to a sort of [self fulfilling?] resignation that it wouldn’t work out. One of the many reasons I decided, while still open to Mr Right, to give that ole’ dating business a rest for a while.

The thing is I am getting on really, really well with this one. Nothing sexual, or at least overtly, in our messages. He’s just a real charmer; though he has a tendency to boast about how pert his bum is, how flat his tum is…

Perhaps even then he’s done me a favour, because instead of being angsty about how I look, I’ve been compelled to simply say he’ll just have to take me as he finds me.

Yes, I’ve begun to really like him and keep having to give myself a reality check: we haven’t met yet! Of course we’re both realistic enough to candidly acknowledge our meeting might well be a deal breaker. I really just really hope it isn’t.

His friends approve of me – after he shared my pics and, it turns out, my emails… one of them has even bought me a ticket to a show they’re all going to see next Wednesday. Now, isn’t that counting your chucks?! He has told me I’m his perfect guy, and he feels like we’re on our fifth date already. I’ve told him he’s sweet, and lovely, and charming, and kind; and becoming very special to me.

My friends like him to, of course – but then, what’s not to like?

I’ll let you into a little secret too – the amount of money I’ve spent on skincare products in the last week… I’m sitting here in a face mask even now! OK, I’m a gayer… but surely there are limits???

Me being me, of course, I probably nearly ruined it by explaining he’s making me nervous about meeting him with all his boasts about his body. Indeed, tonight (he tells me) he’s engaged in a hefty bout of manscaping… Now I’m determined to meet him head on, confidence for confidence, fire for fire. I want to play it a bit cooler – not be the anxious, infatuated one for a change. Walk softly and carry a big stick (oo-er)?

Hence my renewed blogging vigour. You must bear the brunt of it, as always, gentle reader. I just need to vent… I like this one. What a silly fairy Frumpella is.

Mug

Amongst all the dating and the assignations and my gentleman callers I often forget the need to talk to gayers in the real world; Strumpetville is full of gorgeous opportunity for me but I so very rarely take advantage of it.

Where I work there are currently four candidates for the position of office totty. Sadly, I have no real opportunity day to day to talk to them and as such, given my introversion, shyness and general lack of confidence in these matters, I don’t know what to do. They look at me; I look at them. I wish, I wish I were more of a people person.

It’s getting to the point that it’s beginning to irritate me and I suspect them too. There is one to whom I say hello when we pass in the corridor etc; but I suspect he’s equally shy because he doesn’t talk to me if he sees me before I see him. That could, of course, mean he’s not interested in any way. One of the things we have to bear in mind is that the opening line leads to a tactful exploration of whether the subject is (a) gay (b) out (c) single (d) potentially interested (e) meets the specifications.

There is another one I have spoken to, in the sense he was speaking to someone I know and I joined the conversation. She, the mutual acquaintance, was surprised – as she reported to me later – as he’d never acknowledged in the office, before I was there, that he is gay. She thinks that’s a good sign.

The others, never a word. Just… looks.

My administrator, with whom I have become good friends was in stitches when the first guy, Mr Hello, was in the kitchen and I – out of desperation to make conversation – commented that he had a nice mug (as in drinking utensil though he’s cute as a button).Once the tears of laughter had stopped she confided that it sounded like a cheesy pick-up line. Which, I suppose, it was. I took that opportunity to inform her she wouldn’t be getting a pay-rise this year.

She suggests I put too much pressure on myself to try and talk to these guys in ‘that way’ and I should chillax and just talk to them casually. And there is some wisdom to what she says; let things take their course. I find it easy to talk to others, so why not them?

Still… does anyone have any ideas about how a shy gay guy with no relationship experience, people skills, or ‘gaydar’ might go about things? It’s very important I get better at these things soon. Practice makes perfect? I don’t really want to practice on people I‘ll see every day… Still, two dates tomorrow and another on Thursday. You never know, maybe I’ll never need to learn!

Thirty something

I really like being in my thirties. It’s all part of coming out, looking after myself, even having my heart carelessly tossed aside by thoughtless boys. But more than that it’s the whole knowing who I am, where I want to be and that I do want to hold hands with someone on my way to the sunny side of Strumpetville.

Recently, whilst eyeing up the bounty of eye-candy to be seen about town, I had one of the bijou epiphanies I occasionally experience. Friends have often advised me not, on the rocky road to love, to express traits I myself find unattractive. How right they are, too! But I realised that when I look at attractive guys I am actually seeing often what I hope I look like.

Or what I aspire too. Well, that’s something I have to work on; though it’s nice to have a visualised goal for the medium term. I, of course, often visualise more short-term goals but that’s not for here.

But when all’s said and done I like guys who are in their 30s too. Not that I’m averse to guys in their 40s or 20s or beyond either end of that for causal assignations. But guy’s in their 30s are still in their prime, whilst also having the life experience to stimulate upstairs as well as down. Sorry, 20-somethings; I like people who can speak in sentences n’shit. Guys in their 40s… well, I’m more open to that (liking my fellas to be generally older too) but they’re not around as much.

Yes, guys in their 30s are hot, clever, available, and sorted. Not entirely unlike me [he blushes]

On the dating front I have been in touch with Tall Handsome Australian who says he wants to meet again but wants to take things slow because all the pieces need to fit for him before he stops being cautious. Tiresome, but I don’t want to become cynical so OK; let’s see what happens. Date one begets date two, not a trip to City Hall. And on the dating front; on Thursday I have a date with a Scottish lawyer I met via Soulmates, which promises to be fun.

After that I think I’ll take a week off. It occurs to me of all the men I’ve met I really have only been on a few dozen dates and that’s not many. With 8 ½ years of thirty something ahead I have also realised I can take things a bit easier. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may gentle reader, to be sure, but less haste and more speed and all that. Er… well, you know what I mean.