We'll stand around forever
Regardless of time or weather
Ordering drinks at the bar
Looking for love, and getting
Nothing that's worth regretting
But wondering why we travel so far
To speak is a sin
You look first, then stare
And once in a while
A smile, if you dare
Back from the pub - tried it again after not been there for a few weeks. Am slightly pissed but don't expect Thrustgood levels of drunkenness (amusingly spelt durkeness on first go, maybe I'll not preview and post [yes I did preview and spell check it, thank fuck]).
Although tiddly and confused, this is stuff I need to write and one day read. Please don't hole it.
So I don't go there very much because I don't know anybody. This stops me entirely from going to straight pubs, but I can tolerate drinking alone in a homo venue. I've been to the Fleur a few times, and apart from the time I met the American weird guy, I've gone on my own. Once or twice I have had conversations in there; a chatty guy about as tiddly as I who played pool with me and another time with somebody who took a fancy to me and used rather nasty emotional blackmail to try to guilt me into something or another.
It is an OK venue; bit more bar like than pubby for my tastes. I guess that the reason I avoid it is it makes me face loneliness and, I realised tonight, my whole wonder at the rituals commonly associated with being gay.
I left after almost two pints; I had decided to go out after the one guy who had actually looked at me with more than a passing glance. Writing that, I feel it looks more desperate than I felt, though it may be just that. He had spent some of the night looking over, pretending not to. With my usual social skill I stared at him and grinned moronically when he made eye contact. Eventually I thought, fuck this, I'm here to get out and chat to people, so went over to the other bar where he was. Didn't stand too close but maybe a few feet away (bear in mind it was a busy night, so this is further than it sounds). He stopped looking entirely and left shortly after. I didn't know if he'd just gone to vomit having had a close look or bottled it, so decided to go after him. Put the pint down, went out the pub. Bastard was nowhere to be seen. Again, I had failed to even start a conversation on a night out.
It is strange. I never know how much to behave in standard known codes that people are comfortable with and how much to be myself; tonight feeling like cutting the bullshit and going over to say hello. Did I scare him? Would he have reacted better if I had badly pretended not to look and made it about as fucking obvious as I did?
I caught myself dismissing another guy in the bar as being out of my league. Oh no, don't bother, he's going to have too many admirers. Why would he look at me? I remember a conversation with an acquaintance in Manchester; he told me that some of the best looking guys have trouble talking to anyone because a number of people feel just like that; too good, why bother.
Some fad diet news; I have been trying a low glycemic index approach to eating and have lost a stone over the last few months. That probably sounds shit until you know that I have not managed more than half a stone in the past five or six years. Look into it people; if you have the problem I had of just always feeling hungry and so eating too much, this can help.
Getting slimmer, exercising (less than previously when I didn't lose weight - it's all about the calorie restriction) makes me wonder what's going to happen to me. Will I promote myself in the attractiveness pecking order I have set up in my head? Will I get confidence to go for the hunks? Will I turn into an arrogant shit and consider most people beneath me? All too possible. Don't want to be like that, but tired of the spare tyre.
I have been wondering if gay men suffer from body image problems more than straight guys; we judge ourselves by the same standards that we judge somebody sexually attractive. A straight guy will not think "She's gorgeous! Wish I had her tits!" so the issues are distinct. With me ... I like big guys. When I started putting on weight, I thought I should get rid of it, while at the same time enjoying the feeling of my own belly. Very very confusing. Have decided eventually to lose the weight and that fancying a big guy doesn't have to mean being one; but I think I understand the whole clones thing much more as a result. You make yourself into somebody you would find sexually attractive, and go out with such a person too. So you get these self made couples of seeming twins.
My head has been entirely fucked by stumbling across the Gaydar profile of the first guy I loved. Thought I loved. Dunno. First guy I said "I love you" to. He only said it back after I got mugged; maybe he never would have if I hadn't. There was a certain gap. Now, aside from having lost three years of age, he is a master looking to train slave boys for "his stable". I'm not sure what exactly I'm finding so upsetting about it, but it has been on my head all week. Something about the way I look back on our relationship and feel used? At least now he's stating it up front; anybody getting involved knows what they're in for.
Also fucking my head is failing my driving test. I did all the complex stuff OK (minor faults for following a 10mph thing too closely, riding the clutch) but managed to kerb it on a normal forward park. What. The. Fuck. I had never done that on a forward park before. The only mitigating factor was that the road was actually bending right and I hadn't tried parking on a bend before; but still. That's six weeks and £250 more than needed. I'll probably end up a better driver for it. But fuck; how fucking stupid was that?
Also, my favourite bus driver stopped some of the people who were queueing from getting on the bus. The person at the head of the remainder queue was a middle aged oriental woman and I was second. There were about 20 people standing; the bus states it allows 28 when there is a fucking wheelchair. I could see plenty of room on board; he is a cunt.
So in the interests of not going (more) crazy, I took an evening course in massage. Most of the students are ladies, but there are a few other blokes. One is half of a couple, and so they do each other. One is some proto-scally sort but might be a builder. He got to be the example subject. And then there is Tom, who is a great big hairy guy with a deep voice and lovely laugh. I sat away from him; I left a number of chair between us; but the couple sat in them so we ended up as a pair. And then as he took my hand and then gently but firmly rubbed oil into my arm I felt my stomach drop through the floor at the touch of a man after far too long. I'm not talking about sex; it felt just like the exploration between two people entirely into each other. Something of the him-galloping-in-on-a-horse-and-taking-me-away variety went through my head. I'm so missing intimate contact; I'm so fucked up and not ready for it. This course could have been a bad idea.
|< Blah | BBC White season: 'Rivers of Blood' >|