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.

81 words

Recently I joined the LGBT society at my place of work. It's only a small group, some peoople I know, and some people I don't. It's a nice group, and we socialise from time to time which is a nice way of meeting new gay people.

As February is LGBT month and in the light of new equalities legislation that includes sexuality amoing gender, religion, age etc as one of the areas in which people have legal protection, the lead of the group put on a recording of '81 words' as one of the events for the History month.

81 words is the story of how in 1973 the American Psychiatric Association declassified homosexuality as a mental illness. It was a very good programme, and well worth listening too. It is quite high-level, so it doesn't go into a great deal of depth. But the narrator is the granddaughter of the Association's president, who himself came out as gay when he was in his 70s.

The programme can be downloaded, or you can read a transcript at http://www.abc.net.au/rn/allinthemind/stories/2007/1992653.htm

The history of homosexuality is very interesting to me, as I'm a history buff and partly because I'm cheerfully a fairy. Although it doesn't go into great detail the programme discusses people welcoming homosexuality's' classification as a mental illness, because before it was considered a crime against God.

It reminded me of a previous discussion that noted the relative sexual permissiveness of modern catholic countries over the secular protestants. This was ascribed to the scientific revolution of evolution and biology (amongst the other sciences) that made sex about reproduction and thus homosexuality aberrant. In catholic countries the balance between god and gonads gave gays a bit of a breathing space. I know that's a gross over-simplification but it strikes me as a counter-culture to the evolution of my sexuality from sin to sickness to normal life.

The programme is well worth a listen, gentle reader - at least I think so. Let me know what you think too.

The demon drink

You will recall, gentle reader, that the thing (apart from my quiet inability to manage any relationship) that brought Fella and I closest to breaking up was his drinking. Without refreshing too many dark memories, there were plenty of occasions where the night was spoiled by Fella drinking himself into unconsciousness.

It wasn't just the drinking per se, it was the risk he put himself, and sometimes me, at by being out of control. Sometimes, sadly, it just isn't safe for a gay man to be totally arseholed with drink. If he of we can't run away from danger, then the consequences don't bear thinking about it.

Now, after an incident when I was attacked at home I turned to the bottle quite heavily, but that wore off as time went on. Still, I can understand the draw of drink if you’re fragile or if, like Fella, you have a mental health problem. But, the reality is, I’m not a saint and I’m still not sure I could cope with a destructive influence in my life like a partner with a dependency.

We came close the breaking point, he and I, dealing with this issue. Friends counselled me in a variety of options. ‘A’ suggested alcoholics anonymous, as partners can find it helpful too. I seriously considered it.

He promised he would do anything to keep us together, and in many respects he has been as good as his word. The bargain we struck was that if he behaved himself on social occasions he could drink as much as he likes at home. And that is broadly what has happened.

You asked recently how he is managing on the booze. There’s no easy way to spell it out; he probably puts away 150 units a week; the recommended maximum for men in 28 (I think). So he drinks an awful lot. But he manages it. He never misses work; he doesn’t stay up into the early hours drinking the place dry; he gets plenty of sleep and eats his meals. Some days he chooses not to drink at all. So... good then [?].

Not perfect, not by a long way. But this is Fella, who wants to build a life with me, build his career, live and enjoy his life. He’s a heavy drinker – but thinking as I type I realise the distinction between someone who happens to drink a lot and someone who behaves destructively. And being able to make that distinction helps me see the problems we had are solved.

The biggest challenge for me, where we are now, is keeping my own consumption at a reasonable level. With my ongoing struggle to get my weight down and my health up, plus the sheer demands placed on my time by work and study. The next biggest challenge is vigilance, as I find it difficult still to trust him to control himself in social situations.

Nevertheless, Fella made the effort and he did it for me. How could I do anything other but love and appreciate him for it? It’s hard to imagine anyone else I’ve been with making one-hundredth of the changes he makes for me, without demanding a lot in return. You see how lucky I am?

Valentine's

Our second Valentine is coming up – it’s amazing how time flies. Last year I was more with it and organised a dinner out for us in Soho... but this year a number of factors have kept me off my game, not least my own lack of time management! However, I have managed to pull off a minor coup in that Fella thinks I will be at college on Monday night, but in fact we have the night off (half term) so I can surprise him with...


Well, something! Not sure what yet, because the plan is for us to dine at home. Unfortunately my first project, worth 12.5% of my degree, is due that day so this weekend I’ll frantically be writing up a research proposal – to show I can, before the big dissertation next year.

Work is insanely busy at the moment and so difficult I feel that I’m experiencing a significant personality change, in the sense I have to be much more assertive of my prerogatives and perspectives; demanding of others; and firm when confronted with unreasonable behaviour. Normally, big gay introvert that I am (while sober) I self effacingly tolerate a fair bit, mainly because throwing my toys out of my pram doesn’t seem like a win. I am perhaps blessed in that I can see two, three steps ahead. My experience is many cannot.

Anyway, between the job that sees me take work home some evenings and weekends, my college life, my attempts to get fit (gym, swimming, running 8k twice a week) a social life and domestic drudgery (it can be a hard life in Strumpetville, gentle reader) spending quality time with my man is hard – we probably spend less time together than we did when he lived outside London!

I’m neglecting too much I think. Our relationship is solid, because Fella understands these two years will be tough and it’s not as if we aren’t planning for the longer term. I mean my friends, myself – healthy and hard working which I like, but no me time (important for an introvert), no lie-in at the weekend, no reading for reading’s sake... And of course when I’m tired I find it difficult to listen to Fella about his day and talk to him about the things he likes to talk about, which makes me feel a bit guilty. He tends to be the one who cooks dinner, deal with the groceries, be the drudge (!)

So, then I suppose I need to find something rather special for Valentine’s this year. Absent the restaurant context, the mind is focussed on what else there is – and with the opportunity to surprise...

Flowers... gifts... champagne. What will it be? Well, I must think! Perhaps inspiration will come in a dream. Or from somewhere! Any ideas?? Either way, I’ll let you know.

Awkward

Gay! Sex!! Blog!!! Why, it's yetanothermore blog that strays from the cerebellum to the bedroom... but as always, gentle reader it is/is not what you expect.

Busy busy cheerful fairy ever, Fella and I social butterflies of Strumpetville, were with eight or so friends in the Black Prince in Kennington, enjoying a lovely lunch and a boozy afternoon that became, as these things will, more lively, bawdy and entertainingly frisky. Each of us was prompted to ask a question that others must, but must, answer candidly.

Example: what is the most bizarre inanimate object you have introduced into your sex life? Answer: electric toothbrush [don't ask - and you'll never guess ;-) ].

So, then; round and round it goes, where it stops nobody knows. Where it stops is, it turns out:

"What is the greatest number of people you have slept with in a day?"

Ah. Fella: X, the ladies round the table: Y, the other gay men: Y plus one or two. But for me it's XX.

So, the Cheerful fairy becomes a coward once more and in grand defiance of this URL declines to answer.

Ah.

XX isn't X by X... except now I think of it, it is. And the whole point of this, before it begins to look like I'm bragging, is - this is the first time I have been reticent about my sex life. I mean, coming out and exploring my sexuality publicly, as it were, is/was something I am very proud of.

God only knows I kept International coming back by using my well learned tricks. Then again that was a relationship based on sex [which perhaps, this is why I never cried that much about it]. But with Fella we have of course something more and less. Madonna-Whore-gay? Well, it is and it isn’t. An active and varied sex life is an important part, crucial even, of my... life. But I have a certain reticence about it. I don’t think it’s classy to talk about it.

Anyway, the thing about it is this. I like what I like(d) and while that’s not on the table that doesn’t mean I really want to brag in front of my fiancé that I have enjoyed my groups, parties and other events. Group sex is my favourite thing. BUT I don’t mind giving it up. I remember it fondly, to be sure, but with Fella there is something else. And it is a good thing.
So... is it prurient reticence? Embarrassment? A sense of maturity even ethanol cannot dissolve? Dunno. I suppose as relationships emerge and evolve one’s attitude to one’s attitudes and remembrances evolve too. What was good becomes awkward; memories gain a new hue. But I think it’s important not to neglect how being gay can radically change even when you are properly gay, and quite unexpectedly too.

Wedding Plans

Save the date, Gentle Reader, for Fella and I are to be married on 15 May 2013. Where? St James’s Church Piccadilly. And afterward, we honeymoon in the Maldives or the Seychelles. The guest list is going to be 60 or so people, and the total cost will be about £5,000.


There, that was easy...

As a project manager I’m dealing with a lot of the arrangements, though Fella will no doubt have a strong contribution when it comes to the aesthetics, the music, that kind of thing; his forte. I myself am less a bride than a potential bridezilla. The day itself doesn’t excite me too much yet, though that may change... the state of nuptial bliss tantalises me more.

Why? Well, it’s simple – 15 May is when we met, so we thought it would make a nice choice of date. St James’s is the place we met, and I’ve always wanted to have a nice luxurious indulgent holiday in a lovely spot like those islands... As for the year. 50% is because my exam are that period in 2011 and 2012, 40% is because I will have cleared all my debts by then and saved up enough to start us off properly, and 10% is bet hedging.

Yes, gentle reader, risk management relationship-stylie. We’ve been together 20 months, but the wedding will be the fourth anniversary of our meeting and that gives us plenty of time to grow, adapt, and yes if need be change our minds. Bad fairy? You decide!

I strongly believe gay people should have the same rights as straight people; but I also spy the advantage of homosexuality in not having to follow the cultural traditions of mortgage-marriage-children-death... so, all things being equal, I’m fine with marriage, or more accurately civil partnership or without it. But here we are, and it is a good thing we plan to do.

One thing that does get me is the civil partnership aspect. It’s kind of a separate-but-equal kind of marriage. And “oh... if you MUST” kind of deal. And that does get to me slightly. Firstly, I don’t like the idea of my rights being handed down to me by anyone. No-one gets to decide what my rights are until I start infringing on the rights of others. And marriage simply doesn’t do that.

Also, the status of civil partnerships varies from country to country. In Germany, for example, a ‘registered partnership’ would not give us the same tax status as married straight couples; we would not legally be allowed to adopt (though single gay people may, bizarrely) and we would not have final say in medical cases, say a living will or organ donation, over our respective families. This is an issue given my German lineage.

Still, I am confident that things will get better and with vigilance these distinctions will erode. And anyway the whole point is to build a life together, where I can spend my days making Fella happy for as long as he wants me

So roll on 2013...

Being Together

What is it, this being together? For an angst ridden yet cheerful fairy like my good self it is a pertinent question. Right now my man is smoking a cigarette. Our TV service is paused awaiting his return – so he can finish making my dinner, to be fair – and I am stretched out on my sofa, laptop on top of lap, drafting this post.


We have spent most of the day, he and I, in separate rooms because we’re both doing job applications. There are worse reasons to be in separate rooms of course... me and Fella recently were in Separate Rooms over his totally unreasonable bed hogging about which I am entirely blameless of course ;-)

Togetherness has of course has a more long-term connotation; as you have read this blog for a while gentle reader, you will know togetherness is the very bedrock of my sexuality. Either fleeting or, more recently, permanent. But... yes, as always that angsty but... how forever is forever?

At some point, diet and exercise notwithstanding, time will slip out of my tired hands e’re everlong I hold onto Fella’s... and as my damned soul slips off to Hell (for 97 reasons of which being gay is not even in the top 10 – in your face Pope) it will slip off alone. Fella will not be with me in that tunnel of light.

So what then? Better to be alone and await the endless sponge baths from that hot male nurse? Better to live life with your love, I think. Not quite for the moment. We are on the path of marriage and all that entails (I may even be sensible and make a will, take out life-insurance oh yes!).

But then there’s being together. I mean, what’s it about? It’s difficult to maintain the right balance of together and apart; not suffocating each other with demands for attention, and not being so distant that we have completely separate lives. One of the nice things about living together is that we aren’t confined to a timetable – we can be together or apart when we like. For the rest of our lives I think there’s still a lot of learning to do, about what being together and the right balance of intimacy and independence really are. We could be looking at 60 years, with or without the sponge baths.

Perhaps being together is developing those rituals and shared routines that mark out two lives increasingly lived as one; knowing the value of the moments we spend together so that working in separate rooms, me studying in the evenings or having to work late aren’t causing any grief. Either way I think we’re getting there. I can almost feel our relationship maturing and I’m learning to take the rough edge off all my worries. Whatever it means, I’m not sure I can define “being together” easily or exactly. But I look forward ot keeping on learning; and learning how best to keep him happy. After all, if together is on one side of the equation surely the other has to be happiness, no?