The Problem with Pride

I am sure this is a topic that is often covered and many people have already said what I am about to say, but I am going to say it my way.

On Saturday my timeline on Twitter was filled with a lot of negativity about Pride London, and mainly by people that werent there. I fully understand people not going. I didnt go. Not because I had an issue with it, but I had made other plans to go to a wedding before I realised, however I would have gone had I not realised.

Most of the people being critical of twitter were annoyed at the overly sexualised nature of Pride and the fact that people seemed to forget that it was about being proud of being gay and celebrating it, standing up for our rights, and raising money for charity.

I admit that Pride is quite sexual, there are the naked and near naked men (and it is mainly men although I dont think this is because our Lesbian friends are margialised as some claim) - but lets be fair we are quite sexual beings and part of our difference is about who we have sex with, so sex is going to be part of the day. And I also think that the day is meant to be part of the celebrations of all the many ways we have sex: dressed in leather, with bears, twinks, sparkles, which ever way we want. It is a hard mix to make work, because just as we all like to pretend we are open and liberal, there are some things we just wont get and seem weird. To me its rubber - I can understand it, I dont like the smell, it just seems overly complicated to deal with - how in god's name do you get into it - and I imagine it to be tight and uncomfortable. But I dont judge those that enjoy it - it's also their day to be proud as much as it is mine. So on this front I think we need to suck it up - we are sexual, it is what ties us - a non-practising gay (or lesbian) in my books is not a gay (or lesbian) - but at the end of the day we all enjoy different things.

Someone else I noticed said that they didnt need a special day to feel proud, they feel proud everyday. Well good for them, but I think they miss the point that it's not so easy or simple for everyone. I had a very supportive family and friends, I have rarely encountered homophobia, and I am obvious enough of a gayer that unless someone is blind and deaf they will realise I am gay and so I dont actually have an issue of having to surprise people with coming out! But even for me it's nice to have a day where I can walk down the street and hold hands with boyfriend and in the centre of town, right where  a man was kicked to death for standing up to bullies. To be clear I am not a person that enjoys Public Displays of Affection and if someone tried to stop me from holding my boyfriends hand if I wanted to then they would have a fight, but I feel like I should have the opportunity, and if this day helps make it the normality then Pride is important just for that. Also though, I think there are others that don't live in Central London, they may not have the supportive family, friends, colleagues, and for one day it is nice for them to be totally surrounded by their community and feel normal, or even boring in the sea of gay faces. Again, this shouldn't be the case, but let's be real, it is, and so don't take it away from them and dont belittle it.

The other comment I saw on my timeline was about Pride being all about young hostile twinks covered in glitter giving such a strong Gay Face you're not sure if they are having a stroke. To be fair, the young pretties with a love for tan in a tube do seem to dominant but then it depends where you go and what you do. The parade is full of all sorts as is the parade route, and the bars just seem to be full of those that normally go there. I dont think you will find many young orange blonde skinny twinky types desperate to get into Comptons but yes you might have to put up with them on the street outside as it is pretty much packed so you stand where you can. Also I might add I always thought I hated these twinks but then my friend Stevo told me about it his outfit for pride... it consisted of a spray tan, an all white outfit, a Venice bejewelled eye-mask and angel wings - hmmm yes angel wings. Angel. Wings. I had to admit I thought "what the fuck?!?" But to be fair he looked the happiest I have ever seen him wearing it. I thought it was more appropriate for him to be supporting Kylie rather than stepping out in public, but to be honest, he is a copper, he has a stressful job where he deals with some real shit all day long, and if he wants to take this one day to wear Angel Wings then fuck it, who am I to worry.

So in conclusion, there is no problem with Pride - people need to either enjoy it or not go. Don't bitch about it and knock it for others - if it's not for you then JUST DON'T GO it ain't that hard.

(ranting post over)

Guest Blog: The Beauty of Sex

I love having sex with beautiful people. There. I said it.
 
Do you think I’m superficial?
 
You might be right.
 
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t only sleep with super-sexy muscle marys or model-grade twinks, but I unashamedly worship at the alter of physical beauty. The laptop that I sit at typing right now has a stream of wallpapers and screensavers featuring beautiful men in various states of undress. My coffee table is adorned with books celebrating male beauty. My porn of choice is always that which features impossibly hot men, none of that “real guys having real sex” bollocks. I could go to any old club darkroom if I wanted to see that. For me it’s all about the fantasy, and when an opportunity presents itself to make that fantasy reality, I grab it with both hands.
 
So you can imagine my excitement when I found myself chatting to a very attractive porn star on Grindr one particularly uninteresting day last week. He is not a big star – I had never heard of him (although I have since looked up some of his work) – and he seemed a nice, genuine guy. I was especially surprised because at the time I was in a small town an hour or two from London – not the place you expect to find such a person.
 
He told me that he was also an escort and would be interested in doing me a deal, since he was very horny and rather desperate to get fucked by a hung guy (did I mention that I am bigger than average?)
 
His offer pricked my curiosity. I had always considered the possibility of sleeping with an escort but had never gone further than browsing the back pages of Boyz and QX. And here was a guy, incredibly hot, just my type, offering to fulfil my fantasies on what would have otherwise been a boring evening in cheap hotel. All of this at a rate that I would never get back in London.
 
I went for it.
 
Greeting me at his door, it became clear that his Grindr picture did not do him justice. This man was beautiful. I mean, completely beautiful. With an incredibly handsome face, dark eyes, all-over tan and a body that was gym-toned to perfection. He was wearing nothing but a pair of Abercrombie and Fitch sweat pants. It didn’t take me long to shake off my initial nerves, not least because he was just as friendly in person as he had been chatting to me on Grindr. We headed straight upstairs and got undressed in a flash, and yes it was as good as I had hoped. An already semi-hard very large cock, and the one of the nicest, most toned bums I have ever seen. I am rather partial to a nice bum.
 
Pretty soon I had him doing exactly what I wanted. “Yes, I do want you in the shower with me!” “Now turn over”. “This isn’t working for me, lets change”. Having that control and being able to have it exactly how I wanted it was incredibly hot. We did it in every position I could think of.
 
Yet, the whole time I had something niggling at the back of my mind. Something that made the whole experience seem somehow hollow, empty, false. Don’t get me wrong, he was very good at seeming enthusiastic, and I do genuinely think he was enjoying himself – his cock was certainly rock-hard the whole time and he came pretty quickly when I instructed him to. But occasionally he would take it a little too far, turning on his porn star training and oo-ing and arr-ing just a little too much.
 
When it was all over he was once again a pleasant and friendly guy, asking if I wanted another shower. Yet once money had changed hands (he didn’t ask for it upfront, which surprised me) there was something in his voice and body language that said he wasn’t up for small talk. He was in no way rude or abrupt, but it reinforced the feeling that this had been a cold, hard transaction and nothing more. Not that I was expecting love in the afternoon, but I think part of the joy of sex, even when it is random and anonymous, is that you are being pleasured and at the same time bringing pleasure to another human being. It is a shared experience.
 
Today I had another anonymous Grindr encounter and I couldn’t help comparing it with my experience with the escort. Was the guy hot? You bet. Was he hotter than the escort? No way. Was the sex better? Absolutely. There was a physical connection between the two of us, a mutual attraction, a shared joy at the pleasure that we were giving each other, and that shared pleasure was the sole reason for us being in that room together. No material or financial benefit to be had.
 
I actually have a lot of respect for escorts. They use an asset that has been bestowed upon them by genetics, or that they have attained through dedicated health and beauty regimes, and they sell that commodity to a market that craves it and is willing to pay for it. As for whether I would use one again – I would never say never. I still worship at that alter of beauty, and that craving for beauty may pull me in again the next time I find myself with a spare hour and a spare few pounds. But on the other hand perhaps it would be best if the men in those books on my coffee table stayed fantasies, except for those rare occasions when the fantasy is one that we can share.

Tweetup: A good way to make friends?

I was explaining to my friend as we sat in Brockwell Park the idea behind a tweetup… and she concluded “so it’s basically a way to make new friends?” and I thought actually it is. As school-ground as it sounds I think Twitter is a good way to make new friends (although I have had discussions with people about the difference between having a lot of Followers and having a lot of Friends) – but I think the point still stands it is a good way to actually meet new people. But I can imagine a tweetup especially a group one could be risky and does require all people to step out from behind the mask of Twitter.

 

I have to admit I felt nervous arranging a tweetup, although the mechanics were easy, the thought of meeting an entire new group of people is daunting to me to say the least. My friend said to me that she was proud of me (and she didn’t mean it at all patronisingly) because we both know that I get nervous about meeting new people. I don’t really know why, but I think it has to do with my fear of embarrassing myself.

 

Luckily for me, I had spoken with majority of those attending quite a lot, and I felt quite comfortable being able to generate conversation, but I just hoped I wouldn’t be the big fat moose wearing last years fashion meeting the Glitterati of the gay world. So I put on my safety outfit… and strode out into the mix. (I should caveat this with that fact I have done one big tweetup before, and I have met a few people from Twitter for coffee or a swift pint, so I am not a complete virgin – I would suggest smaller groups to those daunted by the prospect – and for the big group one try to meet them in a pub and not in a club as that makes introductions really difficult as I found to my cost last time)

 

The first lump caught in my throat when I realised a) I would be late (I am incapable of being on time to social events – I am normally 15-20minutes late – as I don’t schedule enough time for throwing my clothes around the room, trying most things on twice, and going back to my original outfit), and b) I would be on the same train as two of the guys that were coming. Although this gave me the benefit of being able to walk into the bar with someone it meant that I would be under their spotlight in the harsh light of day and there would be no escape.

 

My second lump in the throat was when I stepped on the train and I thought – “oh god they look better than me – a lot better!” but I cant stress enough how nice these two guys are. I think they may have some Mutant power to make people feel relaxed and included, because my tension levels fell through the floor, and I thought if nothing else I would comfortable with these two and if no-one else turns up it wouldn’t matter.

 

Walking to the pub, I was getting the tweets telling me people had arrived, and I felt a little proud that people had bothered to show. I am under no delusion that they turned up to see the glorious LiamSE21, but it was nice that people bothered to come, even if it was to see how hot everyone was.

 

When I got in there, after some stilted introductions with a mixture of names and usernames we settled into to conversations. To be honest, Twitter came up very little, it was really nice to meet new people have discussions longer than 140 characters, be able to talk about our personal lives without broadcasting it to the universe and find that in actual fact all of the people had a lot to say, and we were all quite different but managed to get along really well.

 

Some of my thoughts on tweetups:

 

·         Names become an Issue – (maybe just for me) I have to admit, I am terrible with names and it took a lot to shake off their usernames – so I apologise in advance to them if I continue to refer to them as their usernames rather than their actual names – but when you are used to people being called something random the name kind of sticks in my head.

·         Flirting is even more fun – Even though I think we were all in couples, and most of the couples were there (mine was working), it was actually fun to be a bit cheeky, and have a laugh with people that you might have sent the odd double-entendre tweet to.

·         People will surprise you – some of the people that are the most flirty on twitter can be the most reserved in real life, and those quiet ones are the ones to watch. Also I found everyone really intelligent – I know I shouldn’t sound surprised but it’s something that is really hard to grasp on twitter, maybe mainly because I am obsessed with #HottieorNottie it only gets a limited response, and I may not read your tweets on the current situation in Libya.

·         It can be hard to talk to everyone – I actually struggled to get a chance to talk to everyone properly, it was so busy in the pub we went to that I think that may have been a contributory factor, and in future I might suggest a venue where we weren’t hemmed in so much.

·         But finally they are fun, and a great way to meet new people – whether they become your friends or not, and if you’re lucky (like I was) you might actually think “I’d like to be there friend!”

 

Anyway I have just puked down myself at that cheese-fest. Mainly I thought they were mostly hot and was jealous of them – so becoming their friends will be convenient way to perv over all over them. (This happened to be my friends guess as to why I do it). Also somehow we ended up XXL and half of them took their tops off… #TweetUpWin

Part 2 (of 3): Winter Winds

Someone is going through my pockets, and I moan and try to push them away… oh god my face hurts, and it’s wet… why is wet… where am I?

“It’s ok I with the ambulance, you need to lie still”

I am sitting up although all of my body is telling me to lay back down, oh god my face – it hurts so much, its throbbing, and wet … it comes crashing back down on me and I can’t help but sob. The blood streaming from nose, and my chest is killing, but all I can think is my parents would be so disappointed in me for not fighting back.

“What’s your name? Are you hurting anywhere else?”

I want to tell her to leave me alone, push her away, and be left alone in my shame – I didn’t do anything, I didn’t put a single hand on them, I didn’t protect myself, I virtually laid down and let them do this to me.

I manage to sob out my name, I stand up, I want to run, but everything hurts and my fucking nose is still streaming blood, and I’m still crying. All I can think is that my family will be so ashamed – my brother would never let this happen to him, Jesus, my mum wouldn’t. She didn’t raise me to be a wuss… I should have fronted up to them, but I was just too scared.

Oh god, the thought of telling everyone what happened is going to be so embarrassing. I just want to go home. The paramedic is still talking to me – telling me she is going to take me to the hospital to check me out. I don’t want to go but I don’t know what else to do.

My phone! I frantically search my jeans – nope – gone… as is every else… no wallet, no keys… The paramedic tells me it will be ok… is it wrong I want to tell her to fuck off?

I just gulp… fighting back the tears, even though it feels like my nose is broken, and my chest is in a vice, I feel worst about my phone… isn’t that ridiculous. I instantly feel cut off, and violated… I know everything I say and do is on that phone.

I get in the back of the ambulance and she is being nice – but keeps fiddling with me and talking to me. I feel suddenly so numb and cold.

***

Sitting in A&E passes in a bit of a blur, there is a lot of hubbub around me, but I am just sat there, not doing anything, re-running it through my head over and over, what I should have done, should have said, how I should have landed one blow… how I should have not walked down there in the first place.

I feel so dirty, the blood has pretty much dried down my top and just want to strip off and get into bed. But they said the doctor would need to see me, and the Police will be coming. I can’t face them, I don’t want to, I don’t want to explain to anyone how I let it happen.

I finally get called, and a young doctor checks me over, he tells me that my nose isn’t broken, asks me a lot of questions, and then tells me I will need to get an x-ray on my chest when I mention it hurts. Oh Jesus, more waiting… I have to figure out how to get home yet… I don’t even know what hospital I am in. He tells me to wait, and says someone will take me to me to get the x-ray done.

I’m still waiting, and then a Police Officer turns up, and I hear him ask the receptionist for me, oh god here goes. He introduces himself, explains he needs to take the details. I want to say, don’t waste your time. But I just can’t be bothered to put up the fight. Isn’t it odd how you notice the detail at the weirdest time, I am suddenly fascinated by how crisp and white his shirt is, it’s been starched and ironed within an inch of its life. I’m oddly jealous of it, but I think it is because I know I will have to throw my shirt away.

We start talking about it, him asking me basic questions, where I was, what time? I can’t even begin to think, I can’t even guess. I can only work backwards and try to figure it out. He asks me to describe them – them – the men that beat me to the floor – and I can’t. I couldn’t remember what they were wearing or what they spoke like… how tall were they? I don’t know. Not taller than me. The more I go on, the more pathetic I feel. I get beaten to the floor and I can’t remember a single thing except I didn’t do anything to stop it.

I really don’t want to cry but the lump in my throat is betraying, and when I am describing them kicking me on the floor, my lip is quivering, and I gulp loudly. Great now the big baby can’t even tell his tragic tale without blubbering. He asks me who kicked me and how many times – funnily enough I wasn’t taking a survey. 

He finally finishes, takes my contact details and says he will be in touch, they will check CCTV and speak to the person that reported seeing it from their flat. He says that they will need to take pictures of my injuries and speak to me again to take a proper statement. He asks me if they can contact anyone but I’ve already told the nurse that there isn’t. I don’t have anyone’s mobile and I definitely don’t want them to ring my parents in the middle of the night – they will probably have a heart attack thinking I am dead.

So the wait continues. I am tired, hungover and still bloody and I can’t bare being in this hospital a single minute more. But as I just start to think about leaving, a porter turns up with a wheelchair – god knows why – to take me for my x-ray. I do what they say, and am returned to my waiting room seat in less than 15 minutes. Oh god I want to go home – I bite the bullet and ask if I can use the phone to ring my flat landline – I pray that one of them hears the phone which is rarely ever used.

“Hello?” comes the bleary voice of Kate. The sense of relief washes over me and that fucking lump is right back in my throat.

“It’s me, Liam, I am hospital – St Thomas’, do you think you could come and meet me?” I manage to fumble out before I feel my lip quivering.

“Are you ok? What happened?” I hear her become alert in seconds and panic resonate in her voice all at once.

“Nothing – I got beaten up … they are doing x-rays … I just need to get home” I am sobbing now, and even more ashamed.

“’l’ll be there, St Thomas’ right?” she asks.

“Right” I say crying openly.

“Don’t worry, I will be there soon, love you” She says and I can hear her voice is a bit thick.

“Love you too” I manage to blubber.

***

They have sat me on a bed, still in my dirty clothes, but at least I have had some water. The doctor comes in and explains that they think I have broken my sternum – I didn’t even know what he was talking about until he said it was my chest bone. I don’t really care. I just want out, I want my friend to turn up, and I want to get home, to bed.

He says it will be painful, but there is not a lot they can do, they will proscribe me with strong pain killers that may make me feel a bit woozy and tired, and I am only to take one every twelve hours. He is quite firm in telling me anymore and I will be useless. I get it. I am not a child and I am not going to overdose. He is just signing my paperwork, when in a flurry of white curtain Kate’s face comes into view. My heart lurches with a relief I had never known, I felt a weight drop from my shoulders and my damn quivering lip resurfaced in a second. The doctor said I could go as soon as I was ready and excused himself, just in time for me to sob, and breakdown.

For a while Kate just holds me – I knew this was hard for her as she can be a bit of Monica from Friends about germs and dirt, but she just held me as I cried and cried. I tried to tell her what happened, but I couldn’t only get out stupid snippets. Finally with one long inhale, I managed to gather myself enough to jokingly say, “so how was your night?” and laugh. She knew it was hollow though, and simply said “let’s get out of here”.

We waited for a cab, I sat in silence all the journey home staring out the window, and didn’t notice a single thing. Kate pays for the taxi and I think to myself I will have to pay her back. We get inside and I hug her, say thanks and go off to bed.

I peel off my clothes, thinking I will burn them, and I pull on some fresh PJ bottoms and a t-shirt. My chest hurts and as my head hits the pillow I sob again, so hard I can barely regain my breath between the sobs, and I just want to die.  Luckily I eventually just drift off.

Part 1 of 3: Winter Winds (my first fictional piece) comments welcome

Well here we are again old foe. It’s another cold winter Monday morning after a Christmas break, Twitter and Facebook are already full of the usually cacophony of cheerful “kill me it’s Monday” updates, and the battle for West Dulwich Platform 1 is about to begin. The commute into Victoria takes a grand 12 minutes, and mostly everyone get on, but the when that train comes into sight (after 5 minutes of constant watching), the shuffle to where the doors opening begins, a furtive glance left and right, sizing up the competition: Old Lady – no problem; Smitten couple – nauseating but distracted; cute guy reading – happy if he wants to climb on my head; oh no here he comes… ignorant Business Man in his ill fitting suit. He has an air of determination, and uses the most underhand tactics, it doesn’t matter if you are elderly, disabled, or pregnant, or all three, he will get on that train before you. Time to limber up, get your game face on, and be ready to dive through those doors as soon as they open.  One, two, three, ok they are opening, I am right in front…. Ahhh ignorant Business Man has just charged on…. Ok, calm down… no need to cause a scene, how I would love to just smack him straight in the chops though.

So this is what my life has boiled down to, wishing death upon my fellow commuters. On leaving Uni, I planned by now to be living the high life, settled with a delightful boyfriend, maybe adopting a child, having a fabulous media career – doing … lets say Marketing, that always sounds fun. Instead, I am single almost 23 Office Bod, living in a house share with two uni friends – one I love dearly almost as a sister and is my best friend, Kate, and one makes me want to burn her eyes out with a blow torch, Karen. I have come to terms with being single – in fact I have quite enjoyed it, but the time has come for me to date properly or maybe find my “life partner” as my best friend mockingly calls it!

***

Logging into my email I have the sudden crush of dread as I note my Deputy Director’s PA has put a meeting in my diary to give an Update on my project at 2. This actually means she will throw questions at me at a rate of 100mph, mostly on random tangents, and before I have time to turn red, get angry, or stammer a response she is moving on to the next request. This is if the meeting actually occurs, she has a  tendency to move meetings, delay them, postpone them indefinitely, and then march up to your desk like a screaming banshee asking why you weren’t waiting outside her office?!? What for the last two hours? – Hmm anyway, I have time to check my emails, ( 4 job alerts: read thoroughly and then delete as under qualified for pretty much every one; 3 voucher code emails: think about printing them off, but delete as I never remember to use them; 15 emails from friends: Studiously read and reply to each; 27 work emails: delete, delete, delete – they will email again if its important), make a coffee avoiding the kitchen when my office nemesis is in there – a particularly nasty queen I have nicknamed ClubFoot – roughly the same age as me, more senior, but seems to hate me with a passion. Luckily for him the feeling is mutual, and in spades and he has a weird limp – so I get to smile to myself as he minces up and down the office with his weird limping walk. I nice relaxing coffee and a chance to reflect on the evil torture ideas for ClubFoot – a good way to start any morning in the office.

Ok, enough dilly dallying, I need to get all my papers out of my cabinet, spread them around my desk, print off some more to throw at my Deputy Director when she asks for an update. Lots of paper seems to distract her and give me time to think, and having lots of papers all over my desks makes me feel and look busy and important.

Hmm, papers all spread out, now what to do… what to do… make a coffee?! Don’t mind if I do, and then I will write a war and piece email to my best friend about my evening and hear about hers.

Hi Big P,

 So tell me all about it? How was your date? Was he the love of your life? Don’t tell me, “you got on really well” – you always get on really well, but did he make you fall off your seat? Did you get out of your tree as usual? Snog in the middle of a crowded concourse?

Needless to say, since I have woken up this morning, I have checked Scruff, Grindr, Gaydar, etc etc about a million times, and I have either the same lunatics, new lunatics, or the “nice guys” chatting to me. I had to block “cute David” because I didn’t respond instantly and he went into a breakdown of “Why are you ignoring me… Fine be like that…. Hello?!?... Are you there?... Please?....” – that was way too much and I was tempted to say “sorry I was going for a big sh*t” but didn’t think that would be appropriate. So blocky block block.  I did have a complete Hottie walking in front of me on the way to the station, and I think he was a Mo, but I don’t think he even knew I existed. He was a tall, bearish man, built like a brick-sh*thouse, but he went into the building opposite without a backward glance – although I did hear him speak on the phone and he sounded Irish – double hot!

Did you notice that the Evil one, had not only randomly got in and went straight to bed last night, but before she did she had put her washing in the machine overnight – not turned it on, and this morning when I went to put mine in – hers was still in there? Why would you reserve the washing machine the night before when you are off the next day? Also half of my milk was gone as per usual – I thought she didn’t like milk – she certainly never buys it? And also she seemed to have got home, emptied all her rubbish in the kitchen bin, and left it stacked as high as she could manage without it toppling – it truly was a feat of engineering.

Anywho, I best be off, I have papers to shuffle around my desk, and a desperate need for coffee.

Don’t forget I am meeting Tim tonight – ohhh, ahhhh! First Date in a long time – will he have 12 toes, webbed fingers and be crossed eye? A stalker? Be on the rebound? The options are endless – but if you are around later we could meet in Soho for catch up before going home to the Battle Ground?

M

X

Oh look it’s lunch, which I will be mainly spending on Twitter, half flirting with the couple that live somewhere near me and feeling somewhat like I worship them – ah well I am shameless… and the other half rolling my eyes up into my head at the pandering to certain individuals and their laments of how they have been “single forever” and that they just want “a nice man to look after them” – yeah love join the queue, I have been waiting just as long, and I unlike you don’t require someone to look after me as I am not a child.

***

The briefing is approaching and I am ready with reams of paper to befuddle and bemuse the DD, so far it’s been put back an hour… pretty standard. But I want to be out at 4 as I need to pretty myself up for the date and frankly I need all the time I can get – am going to have to do a Wonder Woman style change in the toilet cubicle. So far Tim has made contact and we are on for meeting in Soho. I did have reservations about going to a bar full of hot men – but then I thought it will give me something to look at if it all goes wrong and I knew said he couldn’t stay out late as he had to be up early…. Is that a bad sign? Is it an excuse to get away? Am I Fat? Hmm enough of that … I need to put on my game face and suck it up, if he doesn’t like me there are plenty of other men out there.

It’s exactly 15:45 – I have been clock watching for exactly 2 hours and 45 minutes, still no sign of meeting with DD happening… now is time for my exit strategy (don’t you love Management training for the BS they teach you) – so I am going to tell her PA that I have an appointment at 16:30, lets say, at the Dentist, and that should cover me…. Ok, time to bite the bullet and pray she doesn’t come bounding out of her office expecting me to have a laboured conversation about every point.

This is it…

The walk of dread…

I could be ambushed at any point…

Also she can see me whilst I talk to her PA…

Ok… I’ve made it…

Score… she’s on the phone…

Her Secretary is a legend and replied “serves her right, she shouldn’t put you back three hours – enjoy the Dentist – it will probably be much easier than talking to her”!

So after a quick freshen up in the toilets – noticing the sribbled pen mark of “I suck c*ck here every day at 2:30”  hmm I didn’t write that  so I wondered if it was Nemesis… hmm note to self check out the toilet tomorrow at 2.30 – I decide to make a run from the office with a quick text to Tim to say I am on my way. It’s a good sign that he has text enough to make me feel confident he will show, but not so much as I feel like he is stalker… Bonus!

I have to admit I am quite excited, is that sad? I put my ipod on for the Power-Mince across St James Park – I need some Chunes to inspire my fantasies – I like to have a good theme song to my day dreams so for today dates – I like to imagine walking along to “All the Lovers” :

Both me and Tim making our way to the pub from opposite directions, both smiling broadly, slipping past the slow tourists,  arriving at the bar at slightly different times… but the crowds part as Kylie belts out ‘All the Lovers that have come before, don’t compare to you” … and we both smile… and my Bridget Jones lifestyle is over”

Hmm imagining over – already I am struggling as the wet winter afternoon has brought out the useless umbrella users that seem incapable of not attacking everyone that comes with five foot of them.

***

Ok, so I am at the pub, and he isn’t here yet – hmmm now what to do. I always find this difficult, you don’t want to look around too much, you don’t want to be seen to be cruising the guys when your date walks in, but you don’t also want to be standing in the corner like a wall flower afraid of your own shadow. I can’t tweet too much as he is on Twitter…. Damn it… have to fall back to old habits – smoking it is. This is a life-saver (ironic I know) but the only thought is that I hope he is not one of those people that hates smokers.

Oh dear lord, he texts to say he is going to be another half hour and the pub is starting to get busy and there is only so much Twitter, Facebook, Solitaire and general texting to the peopleI know will respond one can do.  Hmm however there is a particularly good looking group on the other side of the bar, and I am sure one is on Twitter – one of the Twitterati, part of the cliques that Twitter can be terrible for. He is hot… but ohh what’s this?… in the corner… all alone… super brooding… heavy eyebrows… enough stubble to give rash after kissing…. Hello Sailor….

What is wrong with me? I am about to have a date with a guy I think I might really like, but the first David Boreanaz lookalike I find I am virtually drooling and humping his leg.

Ok, David Brooding Boreanaz Boyfriend has just turned up – that is that fantasy over.

No text from Tim, and it’s been 45 minutes… ok no problem, I can stand being stood up, as it were. But I wish he’d just told me, I understand as well that things come up, and you get better offers, but come on a text wouldn’t hurt. Maybe I should try that E-harmony website – the relationship website – I generally mock it, but needs must and who knows maybe they will find my perfect match!

Ok, so it’s been an hour, I have received GayFace (the pouty arched eyebrow face), Sad Face, Shame Face, and Cruisey Face from too many gays in the pub, and my pride is taking a beating. I rang him 5 minutes ago and it rang out, bad times. So now I am deciding whether to tweet or not to tweet –I should hide my shame, shouldn’t I?

Yay, its ok he turned up. Ok, he is not as casual and relaxed in person, or nearly as flirty and the picture he sent seems like it may have been taken 3 years ago, when he had been more regular gym goer? Does that make me a bad person for thinking that?

We are getting on ok, oh alright, I am dying inside he seems so drab… he has spoken loads about his ex and has moaned almost incessantly about work – immediate turn-offs. I don’t care – I don’t know  you, I don’t know these people you’re referring to and we seem to have nothing in common – how could I have got it so wrong – but then he doesn’t seem to be the person I talk to online – the light and witty person?? Where is he? I want a date with him please God?... oh well… time to plan my extraction – it’s already pretty late and I think I have missed the tube and I have given this guy 4 hours of my life (Jesus 4 hours, how did that happen?). I think it’s probably too much to use the friend calling saying that someone has died… maybe just say I need to go as I have work early, that’s fair enough… but then I need to avoid any kiss… I definitely don’t want to send that mixed message. So with an overly dramatic gasp and look at my phone, I declare it’s way too late, I need to get home, as the nightbus is nightmare at this time of night. He looks surprised and a little bewildered – ok perhaps I am a tad tipsy and I did that a little dramatically but it worked, I am now gathering my belongings and with a quick “it was nice to meet you” and a peck on the cheek and I am outtie! (So urban and cool!)

Hmm, now outside, in the fresh London air (or as fresh as it gets) the alcohol is making itself known. Ok I don’t feel totally trollied, but I have a sneaking suspicion getting on a bus is going to be a bad idea. I don’t really want to get a box of Chinese food for £6 either, so I am thinking walking part of the way, and then jump on bus. It isn’t a long walk to Vauxhall, and I can then check Twitter (or maybe Grindr) to see what’s occurring. So decision made, I am off.

***

It actually is a very nice walk, I love walking past Parliament and Big Ben, and my zig zag walking seems to mean it is taking only slightly longer than usual. Win! I tend to have a very good homing beacon, so I very rarely get lost and I don’t need to rush home – its only work tomorrow – and to be honest the way home is via Vauxhall – who knows what might happen? There might be some delightful Muscle Bear that is lost and confused and urgently needs my help… and my Grindr seems to be nicely buzzing away, however the battery on my iphone is quickly approaching the dreaded 30% - which means I am going to have to be selective about what I look at.

Ok, so I seem to be stumbling into the petrol garage, I need a drink… a soft drink – luckily I seem to have accumulated a pocket full of change… hmm there is a hottie behind me waiting to talk to the man in the booth – is it wrong to walk really slowly …. Really really slowly…. Quick, quick, get Grindr up and see if I can see him – bloody GPS will probably show me in Japan… Oh he is coming this way… and he is walking under the arch… dare I? Is it worth it? Am I too drunk to actually be any good?

Ok, fuck it, I am going for it. I have done much worse and taken bigger risks – it’s only him and me, and I reckon I can take him if I need to. God, let’s hope he wants to take me … hmm… right he now seems to be slowing down, and he is smoking, so I can open with “can I get a light?” line – that always a good one.  Ok so his face isn’t that good as I get closer… and he looks a little urban, but I can handle that.

Oh dear… he’s stopped.

Here we go…

I smile as I approach, and he snarls “give me your fucking phone you faggot!” – hmm that managed to kill my boner and make my heart come up into my throat all at once. Panic makes me want to run, but I’m thinking, I can’t run, I don’t want to look like a coward… so I keep walking and just say “fuck off” in as strong voice as I can manage. To be fair, I know I know that I am not that far from safety, if I just turn around and run, but my pride is telling me to keep going.

Oh fuck…

There are two more guys in front of me…. a quick glance behind shows that the “hottie” is still there, and walking fast to catch up with me…

“I told you to give me your fucking phone you poof” He says,

“ Fuck you, you’re not getting anything of mine” I declare rather more boldly that I feel! Still walking, and he is walking beside me, but I don’t know what I am doing as I am virtually walking straight into his mates… fuck fuck fuck.

“Do you want me to fucking kill you?” he says,

Oh fuck, oh fuck, right I have basically got myself surrounded…. The lead one seems to be doing all the talking… but I can barely hear him, in my mind I am thinking I should run, just run, but I pretty much guarantee they can catch me!

“DO YOU WANT ME TO STAB THIS OUT ON YOUR EYE” he says brandishing his cigarette. That snaps me back into the situation, I recoil, but it’s too late – one of them is behind me, he trips me and I fall to the floor.

That’s when the first blow lands – sadly a punch I could take, but the kick lands squarely in my chest …I can’t think, I just put my hands up to protect my face more out of instinct, and I try to roll up, but they keep running up and kicking me – I cry out and they laugh – they laugh. Someone drives past, and I wonder why they don’t stop? Why don’t they help? They kick again and this one connects with my face and my nose is streaming and my eyes are watering, and then it comes the final blow… blackness.

Guest Blog Two: Who am I?

Well I persuaded Liam to let me do a guest blog - god only knows why, I’m hardly the most interesting person in the world.

Or am I? After all, how someone portrays himself online can be quite different to how he is in reality. For all anyone knows, I could be typing this whilst snorting coke off a dwarf’s back (I’m not). And this is something I’ve quickly come to realise on twitter. What and how much we choose to share about ourselves can really change how we are seen.

When I’m interacting with other tweeters I sometimes wonder if what I’m seeing in those 140 characters is even remotely like the real person and sometimes it’s easy to draw the conclusion it’s not. I like person X on twitter, but what is he like in person?  Does person Y really do what he claims to do? Are there really enough hours in the day for person Z to get that much sex?

In some ways I think this can be a bit healthy. Twitter gives us an outlet for those aspects of our personalities we may normally repress a little. I’m a bit of a flirt but on twitter I’m much more flirty; on cruising apps like Scruff I will say things to guys I would never dream of saying to them in person, or am a lot more forward than I would be if I saw them in a bar. Everything in moderation, and all that.

However, it’s also easy to use this anonymity and selectiveness to build up - for want of a better phrase - a cult of personality. Just like in real life, twitter can be full of little cliques, and these cliques are often little fan clubs, with one central person having their egos fluffed, or occasionally a mutual appreciation society. Don’t get me wrong, I like being perked up or having a laugh with people, and like being retweeted or whatever, but I’ve deliberately tried not to post anything that comes across as needy; please twitter, love me, validate me, make me feel special. I don’t need that and have unfollowed several people for it (which in turn occasionally spawned its own little #gaydrama attention-whoredom).

It’s a fine line. On social networking sites, I want people to get to know the real me but equally like the opportunity to let that part of me that I normally put a lid on to run a little wild. I just hope I don’t wind up doing the exact opposite.

Guest Blog: Twitter: Relationship Heaven or Relationship Hell

This is my first blog. I am not a very confident writer, so I hope you all like it, if so I will blog again, if Liam allows.

For those of you who know me, you'll know all about my somewhat up and down relationship status.  Twitter is perhaps having an effect on this.  I wanted to write this blog about the effects on love that twitter clearly has.  My boyf does not read this, or use twitter. 

Before joining the twitterverse, I, like most people, who are not on twitter, could not see the point.  Why would someone want to write 140 characters.  However, I was wrong and quickly became addicted I started to build up those people who I now follow.  Weirdly I guess I start to like these people, whom I don’t really know and develop what can only be called a #twittercrush on some of them.  This cannot be a good thing – surely?

So, to the point.  I think that #twittercrush can cause relationship hell.  I see hot blokes everyday when I drive down the street or in the gym.  I don’t want to sleep with them, but I wouldn’t mind seeing them with their tops off.  If I asked them for this, I’d probably get punched, I would laugh if someone wanted to see me semi naked.  On twitter this rule doesn’t apply.  We all know of people on twitter who rarely wear much.  Good for those men, I encourage their confidence.  I flirt, tell people they are hot, play #hottieornottie and naturally start to want those bodies for myself (sometimes even the heads attached to them to be my real friends).  I encourage people to show me their chests and flirt.  Is making me want more than my bf?  He isn’t necessarily right for me, but am I becoming unrealistic as to what I really want and should be looking for?  Is twitter giving me unrealistic expectations and really not helping my already problematic body dimorphic image of myself.

Some couples are both on twitter, some probably open and flirty and some just because they like it and some of the attention (come on guys I love attention too) or perhaps because they enjoy twitter. It is so nice to see couples, who are completely in love, although a little sickening reading them chat to each other about what always appears the perfect life.  It can also create that #crushfail when you realise that the 2 blokes you’ve been chatting up are actually together.  I want their relationships, the laughs that they share with everyone else.  Don’t get me wrong, I do not want them or want to be them, I am just jealous of what it always appears that they have. 

Please don’t think I’m stupid, I’m not, I have a brain, a lot of friends and good emotional intelligence.  I know that all relationships are not what they seem.  I just wish that I would be stronger at not believing that they are just “perfect” and never doubt themselves.  I guess it is just a case of expecting perfection which just does not exist. 

For those people who live in genuine #relationshipheaven I am truly pleased for you.  For those of you who are genuinely in #relationshiphell but pretending I feel your pain.  Twitter is a place for fun and building up a #twittercrush, but in my opinion it cannot be a place where you can honestly judge the state of your relationship.