Yesterday the Spanish constitutional court finally removed the last shadow that was cast over the 2005 legalization of same sex unions in the country. Americans elected Tammy Baldwin, their first openly gay female senator. Same-sex unions initiatives passed in Maryland and Maine. Today, François Hollande’s government in France, will also be introducing legislation legalizing full gay marriage- as up to now only PACS (civil unions) were legal.
This is a historic week and a serious slap-down to opportunistic conservatives who have spent their lives using xenophobia/homophobia to persecute, harass and demean the lgbt community.
Testing, testing 1,2,3. It was 6:30 and I decided to check if everything fit. Fortunately it does. It’s an oldJohn Bartlett dinner jacket- so there was a chance it wouldn’t. Just kidding, there was no chance my clothes wouldn’t fit. I’ve got a 29″ waist again, just like I had between the ages of 18 and 32. My foray into a 33″ waist was depressing, but fortunately short-lived. I’ll put the tie on before we leave the house. The shirt is custom-made (local tailor). The flower is obviously a Chanel camelia. Shoes and belt are Ferragamo. Watch is a custom Ebel President from the 60′s in platinum (gift from Mike, I had a yellow gold one, and he found an identical platinum one from an antique jewelry shop in Barcelona.) The ring on my little finger is also platinum, a 1940′s modernist piece from Cartier that belonged to Mike’s mother (her 16th birthday present from her parents) and that she gave to me before she died. I’ll photograph it one day, it’s stunning even though it’s only got around 1.2 carats in diamonds, a central one and then 8 smaller ones. So here we go. I’ll take a few pictures of the evening, but not including people because someone reminded me earlier in the week that I have a no-photographs policy at my house (so people can relax), so it’s not fair that I go around taking pictures of other people etc. at private parties. Besides, I don’t want to turn into some sort of weird gossip columnist person. It just isn’t my style.
Gluttony, derived from the Latin gluttire meaning to gulp down or swallow, means over-indulgence and over-consumption of food, drink, or wealth items to the point of extravagance or waste.
Crazy says that Obama is a gay, drugged-up murderer. I kid you not. I can assure the world that Crazy is mistaken because in 1999/2000 I was in Chicago and I slept with all the Gay, drugged-up, attractive men in the city. If Obama had been one of them, you wouldn’t be reading a blog I’m writing from suburbia, I’d be on the cover of Newsweek (shirtless)- well, probably not, but anyway…
The American Family Association has created an online “sign the letter” form where people who believe that the LGBT community should not be treated with dignity, respect and equality can show their support of Chik-fil-A’s anti-equality stance (hat tip to Good As You).
My grandfather is very busy. So busy that when someone wants to interview him, he’ll say yes on the condition the interview coincides with something else he’s doing. At least, that’s his story. He has a classic 1930′s sailing yacht, and he’s obviously found a way to get a young & pretty lady to accompany him on it.
I hated spending time on that thing. After one night, I’d start making faces. People would tell me that if the wind blew while I was making faces, my face would stay that way forever. They were wrong because the wind blew and I do not have an underbite.
I hated boats, but I loved horses. Show-jumping, endurance riding, breaking horses in. Everything horse related.
From the age of 18 to the age of 21 I was engaged (to a girl.) I had floppy hair and a beard. I thought the beard made me look more masculine.
At 21 I came out and immediately got myself a boyfriend. He was blond, tall and from Wisconsin. Somehow, I look much younger than I did when I was engaged.
It didn’t work out, but before I left the US, I got to be part of a great group with some really great gay guys.
I moved to Spain, in search of a new life. Here I am paying for parking at the Malaga airport, but I saw a camera so I threw my head back like Marlene Dietrich.
My first boyfriend in Spain was Norwegian. We were madly in love. We lived for a while in London together, but he got tired of me. I was really screwed up back then, I don’t blame him.
Oh, I almost forgot, between my first boyfriend in life and my first boyfriend in Spain, there was an American Marine. He was really cute, I called him tex-mex, I have his dog-tags. That’s him on the left. I got this off of Facebook, he was cuter 10 years ago, but DADT was in place and I’d just come out. I was enjoying being out.
back then we looked like this
Then there was T…, then F…, then the one who almost broke me, aka The Boy. I found this picture of The Boy online today. He looked better without the beard.
So Mike said: si tu me dices ven, and I answered ven. Bliss did not ensue. We had no idea of the turbulence that was about to encounter. Our first and biggest problem was one of clashing personalities. He’d been living by himself for many years, most of his relationships had been brief (with two exceptions) and he was used to being in charge. Mike wasn’t just in charge of himself, when his father became ill, he moved to Spain to give his mother a hand. When his sister had financial issues, he stepped in to help. His brother and his young family spent their holidays at Mike’s place in the mountains, he was his own little sovereign nation. He was what Bush II would call: The Decider. The problem was, so was I. I’d gotten into a terrible habit of only pursuing relationships where I had some form of upper-hand. I can’t explain this without sounding like a total jerk, but in my defence, I only realized what I was doing with my 20/20 hindsight. My many successive relationships were exclusively with people who I believed I could control, whether it be because I had more money, I looked better, I was better connected or… whatever. I now understand it was a result of insecurity, a way of fooling myself into believing that if I had the control, it would ensure whomever I was with would never leave me. As there was an age gap between Mike and myself, I presumed young & pretty me would be the boss-man. T’was not so. We were gearing up for Villa l’Africaine’s very own Napoleonic wars. We fought from Monday to Friday. I blasted Thalia’s version of A quien le importa from one side of the house, and from the other side he blasted I am what I am (It was probably a Shirley Bassey version because he’s Welsh). Thursday nights we had a mediator, my late and great mother-in-law, one of the great allies I’ve had in life. Saturday was going out night and we kissed and made up, then I’d spend the evening flirting with everyone/anyone to annoy Mike and try to score points on our invisible score-card. Neither one of us admitted the power struggle was of an emotional nature, and that we were both deathly afraid of giving anyone our hearts to hold in their hands. We took childish to new heights and that’s when we began The Design Wars.
I wanted this
And he wanted this
So he bought these chairs behind my back
and I bought the Directoire secretaire in response
This went on and on and on. It went as far as one of us putting up a painting and the other taking it down, various times throughout the day. We were so involved in our fabricated war we hadn’t realized clouds had been gathering above us. We were in our own little world, dedicating all our time to arguing and the house. As our work load diminished we had time to rejoin the outside world and start getting to know the residents of our new community and get back in touch with the people who had been part of our previous non-coupled lives. This was when all hell broke loose.
Other People’s Mess
Some people have said that Villa l’Africaine looks like a fort because of the entrance tower. It’s 30 feet tall and has little windows which would be perfect for snipers. It was a comforting thought because we realized we were under attack. Both of us, up until that point, had been sought after guests. I was the life of the party, the snarky, risqué guest that no hostess could do without. The one that guarantees there’s no lull in the conversation at her table. Mike was the charming, former actor with the amazing voice and stories of his encounters with all sorts of interesting people. He worked with Ava Gardner three times, he knows Omar Sharif and acted opposite Maximilian Schell in Russia. He and Nureyev once rehearsed in adjoining spaces and Nureyev once goosed him as he was climbing up stairs. Then suddenly it hit us. Our first clue was from a Mrs. S. and came in form of an invitation that went something like this: When you two are on your own, that’s different, but together it’s kind of obvious you’re gay; But since it’s a garden party and there’ll be a lot of people, you’re welcomed to come. Or, why don’t you two alternate, each one of you comes to an alternate event on your own! What? Mike was in shock, he’d been part of the (progressive) arts world since his days doing drama at Oxford, which meant homophobia was practically alien to him. Principled man he is, he declined that and any other future invitations from Mrs. S.
But that was just the beginning, soon we realized it wasn’t just the more conservative sectors of polite society who thought we shouldn’t be together. Many of our friends agreed. But what happens when two obstinate guys are told by the world at large that their relationship can’t possibly work? They stop blasting Thalia’s version of A quien le importa and Shirley Bassey’s version of I am what I am from opposite sides of the house. They pull all the loudspeakers together (so the whole neighbourhood can hear them) and choose a new track. The new track is called Vámonos (Let’s Go)… because the two guys know that it doesn’t matter that one of them is a younger, spoilt, toff and a cad, and it also doesn’t matter that the other is an older, more conservative, homebody. What matters is they want to be together. But it wasn’t all bad, there people who stuck by us as well. The acting/artsy set: Sarah Porter, John McAndrew, Allan Corduner & Jane Bertish and a branch of the society set: Karin, Igel, Angelika & Andrea. Those were the main players who took up arms in our defence, and we’re very thankful for it!
I’ll only translate the important parts, because I’m lazy, scroll down to the second paragraph, but listen to the song to, just because the gently defiant tone is so wonderful.
ESTOY A PUNTO DE LLORAR,
DE TANTO RECORDAR, LAS HORAS QUE VIVIMOS..
ESTOY FORZANDO AL CORAZÓN,
QUE CUMPLA CON VALOR, LO QUE NOS PROMETIMOS.
A VECES, QUISIERA IRTE A BUSCAR,
A PUNTO DE LLORAR, NO SÉ CÓMO ME AGUANTO.
ES TAN DIFÍCIL DE OLVIDAR,
CUANDO HAY UN CORAZÓN,
QUE QUISO TANTO Y TANTO.
QUE NO SOMOS IGUALES DICE LA GENTE, They say we’re not the same
QUE TU VIDA Y MI VIDA SE VAN A PERDER, That our lives will be lost
QUE TÚ ERES UN CANALLA Y QUE YO SOY DECENTE, That you’re a cad and I’m decent
QUE DOS SERES DISTINTOS, NO SE PUEDEN QUERER.That such different people can’t love each other
PERO YO A TI TE QUISE Y NO TE OLVIDO,But I love you and never forget you
Y MORIR EN TUS BRAZOS ES MI ILUSIÓN, And to die in your arms is my wish
YO NO ENTIENDO ESAS COSAS I don’t understand these things
DE LAS CLASES SOCIALES,these social rules
YO SÓLO SÉ QUE ME QUIERES,all I know is you love me
COMO TE QUIERO YO.as much as I love you
VÁMONOS Let’s go
DÓNDE NADIE NOS JUZGUE,Where no one will judge us
DÓNDE NADIE NOS DIGA QUÉ HACEMOS MAL.Tell us what we do is wrong
VÁMONOS…..
ALEJADOS DEL MUNDO,
DÓNDE NO HAYA JUSTICIA, NI LEYES, NI NADA,
NÁ MÁS NUESTRO AMOR.
To be continued: Part III, how we lost the first battles but won the war!
This is a 3 minute 30 second comedy film by Juan Fernando Andrés Parrilla and Esteban Roel García Vázquez. It was a finalist in the 2011 Jameson Notodofilmfest and it’s HILARIOUS. Don’t worry, it’s in Spanish but subtitled in English!!! It’ll give you a very accurate idea of how bureaucracy works if you ever plan to live in Spain, Portugal, Greece, France, Italy or any part of Latin America…
Navigating gay sex in our very diverse gay world can be difficult, so if you’re just starting out, here’s what I’ve learned from my own experience. Let’s begin with the sensitive issues:
1. Oops: Sex with the black man: After a black man disrobes, you’ll see something the size of a meerkat or ferret in a shade ever so slightly darker than his own skin. Don’t panic! Don’t try to swat it. Don’t throw your shoe at it. Certainly don’t pull out a hand-gun and try to shoot it! Even though it is the size of a ferret and bobs around as if it’s alive, if you look carefully you’ll notice it is connected to the man’s body. Reactions to this situation vary widely, and sometimes are accompanied by nervous laughter. My personal response was: “I apologize, but you’re not putting that thing anywhere near me, I’m too young to choke to death or be impaled.” After apologizing, get dressed and leave, there’s no need to run, or jump up on a chair, it won’t bite you!
2. Oops: The incy wincy penis, too small to climb up a spout: Do not point at it. Do not laugh. Don’t ask him if he’s half Asian. Don’t squint or reach for the magnifying glass you see laying on your desk. Reactions to this situation do not vary widely, but sometimes are accompanied by nervous laughter. My personal response was: “I apologize, but you’re physically unable to put that thing anywhere near me, no matter how hard you try, I suggest you start dating a little person, because then at least it’s in their eye-line.”
3. Oops: De-veining shrimp; Where did the hot chocolate come from? Sure we don’t have to deal with lady problems like sea-food odours coming from our genitals (well, some of us might have crabs, but that doesn’t count as an odour) but we have our own issues.Stop pretending, we’ve all seen it happen, and if you didn’t see it happening that’s because you were probably the one leaving the stain or the little brown nugget on someone else’s bed. The proper sextiquette? Pretend it never happened. No pointing! No laughing! Don’t ask him if he was eating chocolate during sex. Don’t ask him if you were eating chocolate during sex. Say nothing until his departure and then just shower and change the sheets (or tell the maid to do it).
4. Oops: I was drunk. Who are you? This is an unavoidable moment for most gays. It is usually the result of that last round of tequila shots a random chubby guy buys for you and your friends. So you wake up and chubby guy is snoring next to you. Don’t panic! Don’t scream! Don’t try to swat him or throw a shoe at him and don’t pull out a hand-gun and try to shoot him! Take a deep breath. It’s happened to all of us and it’s very difficult to prove in a court of law beyond a reasonable doubt. He’s going to try to make you breakfast, when you say you have work to do he’s going to try to take you out to lunch or dinner. Politely explain you’re moving to Shenzhen in China. When he offers to sell-up and come with you, explain you’re confused and you might not be gay after all.
5. Oops: I was drunk, where am I? This is also an unavoidable moment for most gays. It is usually the result of that last round of tequila shots a random chubby guy buys for you and your friends. So you wake up, a chubby guy is snoring next to you, and you have no idea where you are. Don’t panic! Don’t scream! Don’t try to swat him or throw a shoe at him and don’t pull out a hand-gun and try to shoot him! Take a deep breath. It’s happened to all of us and very difficult to prove in a court of law beyond a reasonable doubt. Get up quietly before he tries to make you breakfast, or invites you out to lunch or dinner. Check his phone to see if you gave him your number last night and if you did, delete it. Leave a note saying you’re considering moving to Shenzhen in China because you need space, you’re confused and you might not be gay after all.
6. Oops: Did you drug me? Who am I? Your head feels heavy? You don’t recognize the bedroom? There’s a fat man beside you in bed? You have a faint memory of him talking about Shenzhen in China and him complaining about you being in a gay bar? Reach for your phone very quietly and dial 911. Chances are you’ve been drugged by formerly chubby, now fat guy. If he wakes up panic! Try to swat him! Throw your shoe at him!
7. Oops: He thinks he’s your boyfriend! This is an extraordinarily common occurrence. Sometimes it happens while you’re still at the bar after just being introduced to someone, but happens more commonly after the third time you’ve had sex with the same guy. Tell-tale signs include the tattoo of your name he had done on his wrist (right by the scars of where he used to cut himself), the picture he copied from your facebook page and keeps in his wallet and the wedding album he carries around with him all the time with his and your initials intertwined on the cover. This one requires extreme measures: Pack your bags, call the airline, move to Shenzhen in China, it’s a huge city he’ll never find you!
8. Oops: Now you’re living in Shenzhen? Refer back to point number 2, and everything should be fine!!!
I apologize for having forgotten to include Chipigay in my Gayman species study results. I had the displeasure of interacting was contacted by two of them this week, so I feel it’s not fair to exclude them.
Chipigay
Chipigay, like Cruella de Gay, is also angry. He’s not angry at his Ingenugay break-up, though. He’s angry he doesn’t look like Tipigay, Athletigay, or IfIcouldI’dscrewmyselfGay (which is my species, more on that coming soon). He’s found mostly on internet message boards expressing aggression towards other gay species who he imagines, look down on him. He disguises this aggression as moral superiority and is outraged that other people go to the gym and/or have sex. Chipigay himself has not had sex in a very long time. Physically he’s either overweight or incredibly thin. Stay as far away as you can from this species, they’re nothing but trouble!
In my many years out, I’ve been conducting entirely non-scientific (anti-scientific, even) research to identify and inform society of the many species of gaymen they may come into contact with during their lives. My findings conclude we are divided into eight different species:
Ingenugay
Ingenugay (pronounced engine-you-gay) has just come out of the closet wearing pink-tinted sunglasses and a tiara made of daisies. He’s radiant, he’s innocent, he’s In-gen-u-gay. He thinks all the other gays are his friends. Wake-UP!!! All they want is to get you into bed first. You’re fresh meat. They don’t want your flower tiara they just want to de-flower you. Ingenugay is more of a phase than a species. One day he ends up on youtube crying, with his mascara running down his cheeks as he realizes he’s no longer Ingenugay and has to move into one of the other categories.
TipiGay
Tipigay is the most common category. He’s sweet & fun. He doesn’t watch sports but has a crush on Tom Brady. He’s well dressed, good looking and women everywhere consider him their best girl-friend (who just happens to have a penis). You can take him to dinner with your parents and your mom will justlovehim. Your father will tell you he barely noticed the guy was gay. He’s a natural born agony aunt and women far and wide call him for relationship advice in the middle of the night and fashion advice during the day. He loves to go shopping with his girlfriends.
Cruella de Gay
Cruella is mad and out for blood!!! He didn’t respond well to his Ingenugay break-up. He keeps a hanky in his pocket to wipe the venom away from the corners of his mouth after he speaks, otherwise it would corrode his own skin. The only time Cruella stops spewing evil is when he’s got a penis in his mouth. Beware, you might be his next victim, he’s got an eye on your boyfriend (even if you happen to be a straight girl). Never leave your boyfriend alone with him and make sure to watch your drink so he doesn’t slip something into it! Physically, this variety tends to be thinner and taller than the others. They also generally end up writing blogs about celebrities.
FaGay
There aren’t noticeable physical characteristic for this specimen, he comes in all shapes and sizes. The one identifiable trait is his high pitched voice, particularly when he says words that end in OUS. Fabulous, marvellous, fantabulous, glamorous, überfabulous. He’s also prone to referring to himself and other gay men as she/her. His arms move around so much when he speaks he could probably power a generator. The only two women he loves are Cher and his mother.
AthletiGay
As if straight men didn’t have a tough time already, here comes Athletigay. He spends more time doing exercise than most people spend awake. Females gasp when they find out he’s gay and mutter “what a waste”. Suburban women fantasize about him when their fat husbands touch them in bed . AthletiGays are usually a little homophobic, they don’t mix with other categories and only socialize and sleep with other AthletiGays. They are obsessed with being “straight-acting” and end up living in the suburbs where they go on bike rides and hike with their adopted children.
ProteGay
The Protegay has watched All About Eve way too many times. He’s observant and knows just what to say to get into your life. He’s characterized by incessant flirtation. If it has a wallet, he’ll flirt with it. He’s also characterized by arriving at your door-step in the evening with two suitcases and a sob-story. Beware, the Protegay does not discriminate by sexual orientation when he’s choosing one of his victims. He might come in the form of a butler to a wealthy lady (Ask Doris Duke), or he might be the younger guy who’s soooooo impressed by your career. He organizes his own clothes by colour. When he asks to organize yourclothes by colour, say no, move to another city and change your cell phone number. If you’re already straddled with a Protegay, make sure he doesn’t have access to the IV by your deathbed.
Denial O. Gay is of the closeted variety. Closeted in that he wrongly believes nobody thinks he’s gay. At night he stands in front of the mirror practicing his straight face, straight smile, straight laugh, straight scowl. When he goes out, he always has a lady on his arm. He has a boyfriend who he met on grindr who he introduces to people as his colleague, but his boyfriend is never invited to his birthdays. His porn collection is bigger than any of the other species. He’s also into kinky casual sex, but has to drive hours away from home to get it. He wouldn’t risk being outed! What he doesn’t realize is that everyone and his mother know he’s gay. Straight men didn’t cry after every single episode of Oprah’s last season and don’t squeal when they’re watching America’s Next Top Model.
Gayd E. Nial
This species is similar to the previous species as they’re neighbours at numbers 23 and 24 on Closet Lane, Short Hills, NJ. The main difference is however that Gayd E. Nial is married, religious and a registered republican. Denial O. Gay says he’s a republican but actually votes democrat. This species also has a propensity towards public homophobia whilst having a gay porn collection almost as large as the previous species. They only have gay sex when travelling and tend to do it in airport bathroom stalls or with rent-boys. This species is quite common in Catholic and Muslim countries and in conservative circles worldwide.
Susans
Now I couldn’t write a post about Gayman types without mentioning the Susans. Every individual Gayman and every individual gay bar has a Sue. She’s trapped in a vicious circle. She hasn’t had a boyfriend in years but she only goes out to gay clubs and only has gaymen as friends. She lives vicariously through gaymen and is a little bit too interested in the details of our sex-lives. When she gets drunk she gets handsy. Susans are invariably overweight and often depressed, but gaymen everywhere tell her she looks fab, so she doesn’t feel the need to go on a diet or take Prozac. As she ages she starts collecting cats and will eventually appear on an episode of Animal Cops: Detroit, when her neighbours start complaining the smell emanating from her home is unbearable.
If I’ve left anyone out, or your own non-scientific research has led you to identify other species of Gaymen, please, do share!
UPDATE:
Our new friend at Honey I’m a Lesbian has just done the lesbian version, to see it click here
I guess I have to begin by admitting I’m a news junkie. When I get up I have a cup of breakfast tea and light the first of the 40 cigarettes I’ll be smoking throughout the day. The computer is already on because my partner wakes up before me. He, also a news junkie, gives me a brief on what he read in The Guardian and The Daily Beast. I sit at the computer and go through the HuffPost, Le Monde, El Mundo and finally the opinion pages of the New York Times. Whenever there’s a gay story I home in on it like a bird of prey- and there it is, invariably, that sentence. The one that makes my skin crawl in fury (almost every day).
“I do not approve of the homosexual lifestyle.”
Every time I see it I balk at the absurdity, the distilled egocentric narcissism (redundant?) of the people who feel entitled to say it. Approve? Agree with? When did a person’s sexuality become like a mortgage loan that has to be approved by a fellow citizen? Approval and agreement implies one person has the power to sanction an action, and it implies I need their permission. Is it like applying to be on Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous, or is it more like applying to be on American Idol? Are there going to be three judges? Is one of them a British wanker? Please let it not be Piers Morgan!!! Where do we get the forms? Where do we send them once we’ve got them? To Michelle and Marcus Bachmann’s clinic? Or to Rick Santorum? Maybe the Republican National Convention?
What if I’m not in America, then where do I send the forms? To the Vatican?
Do we have to include a picture? Just a head-shot or full body? In the nude?
I wonder what the questions are?
1. Do you intend to practice sex:
a) by yourself in your mother’s basement
b) with one partner
c) in Nero-esque orgies in Ibiza
2. Will your homosexual lifestyle include:
a) a yacht
b) a chauffeur
c) a house-boy
3. Are you a fan of:
a) Cher
b) Barbra Streisand
c) airport bathroom stalls where you have casual sex with members of congress
Does the form end with: Please include recommendation letters from no less than three members of The Gays? Are Virginia politicians going to introduce a bill that says we have to be anally probed before we get our approval? What will the test be for lesbians? I bet it will be something to do with driving and parking, both of which only the lesbian variety of females can do properly.
It reminds me of a conversation I had with my mother after coming out and she wasn’t crass enough to say she didn’t approve, she carefully worded it “I don’t know if I approve”- to which I answered “mother, dearest, I don’t approve of your taste in men, you’ve married an idiot. I don’t approve of you reading Danielle Steel novels. I don’t approve of your red Versace dress, it’s hideous. I don’t approve of you only speaking two languages. I certainly didn’t approve you having a second child with whom I will now have to share my inheritance!
I think she got my point.
P.S. If we’re lucky, SweetMother will read this and post her version of the Homosexual Lifestyle Approval Forms on her blog!!!
Oh my effing god. I was looking at a recent picture of my suburban self when I realized I now look like a gay tory (aren’t all tories gay anyway?), that translates to gay republican for Americans out there. No tight Cavalli jeans but a cravate- a cravate for jeebus’ sake. I look like I’m married to David Cameron and we own an antiques shop in Belgravia and have sex once a fortnight (Sundays at 10:20pm) after getting overly excited by Downton Abbey’s Matthew Crawley. WTF (I use acronyms because I find my newly uptight self unable to swear in real life) happened to gay activism?
Everywhere I turn, and everywhere is generally the HuffPost’s Gay Voices, I don’t hear gay voices, I hear the same whineygay voice that only talks about the same three things. This irritating high-pitched sound has a message:
1. We’re just like everybody else, sexuality doesn’t define the individual
2. We all want to be married
3. Blah (I got brain freeze from boredom and tuned out)
So are we really just like everybody else? Should that be the argument for equality? I’m like you, I’ll adopt your conventions hence I should have rights? How twisted is that? How little do we think of ourselves to adopt that mindset?
The truth is we are not like everyone else. Human sexuality isn’t a side-dish, it’s not the rice or the mashed potatoes. It’s uniquely central, perhaps more central than any other factor, to every aspect of a person’s existence. I still haven’t met another gay guy, who as myself, was born in or around 1978, who as a child wasn’t an über-fan of Designing Women and The Golden Girls. The Gay Experience is unique and not just because we’re outsiders, but because some of the stereotypes really do come from reality. Sexual orientation will determine who you look at when you walk down the street, it determines who you smile at more warmly at work. It’s the reason when I was 12 I felt a strange affinity to Brideshead Revisited’s Sebastian and didn’t even yet know why. All I knew is that there was something about his existence that seemed oddly familiar. It was homoness, we shared our homoness. It’s partly about being a minority, but it’s also about things science still hasn’t been able to explain. Why did the five year old me rewind the Snow White videotape to sing along to “Someday My Prince Will Come” hundreds of times? Did the subconscious me know something already? I think it did, even if it took me another sixteen years to figure out what it was.
I’m not one for anecdotal evidence, but deep down, I know there are major differences in how a LGBTQ person can see the world, sex and life. We naturally subvert the established social order by merely existing. We have a fixation on grindr and gaydar.co.uk (just to name 2), we are (or were) comfortable with sex for sex’s sake. We don’t really all want to be in the army fighting for our countries, ormonogamously married. So the question is, why are we letting the gay-stream (that’s gay mainstream) box us into conventionality? For real social equality I say we need to really come out of the closet. Forget the crush on Dan Steven’s Matthew Crawley and bring Dan Steven’s Nick Guest character (from Line of Beauty) to the table (or bed?).
Before my suburban life, I was that guy. You know, Rick Santorum’s wet dream worse nightmare. Just one hour away from my current uptight respectable suburb is a very different place where I used to spend my summers: A Phoenician (then Roman) town called Torremolinos. It’s the home of Toni’s, Spain’s first gay bar. It was opened defiantly in 1962, despite the oppressive anti-gay efforts of the Generalísimo Francisco Franco. During the military dictatorship thousands of gay men were harassed and even incarcerated. Torremolinos gay-bars were a repeated target of raids. The opening of Toni’s was followed by the opening of another gay bar, then another, then yet another. By 1970 the entire area around a street, aptly named Danza Invisible, had become a gay village. After I came out at the age of 21 I immersed myself in LGBT life. I did the clubbing scene in London, Chicago and Ibiza. I did Chueca in Madrid (that’s a gay neighbourhood, not a drag-queen) and often left the mythical Pasapoga in daylight only to stumble on to after-parties that ended at noon. During my Torremolinos summers I’d have coffee at a gay coffee shop, then dinner at a gay restaurant, then drinks at a gay bar, then I’d go home to change to go to a gay club called Passion, then another called Voltage. As the sun rose we’d go to the port in Malaga and get on a gay-schooner where gay men could rent a bedroom or cubicle to be gay in together. I was even an escort for a while and dabbled in porn. The latter mainly because I was offered a role to perform with Bel-Ami’s Paolo Estefan, and as a young & liberal gay man -that wasn’t something I thought could be passed up.
Paolo Estefan
Turns out he wasn’t gay… but that’s another story. By the way, all that sex made me no more or less compassionate, generous, kind, caring or honest. Our fight for equality and rights must be more progressive and inclusive, one that makes room for everyone. Promiscuous, non-conformist, drag queen and regular queen, rent-boy, house-boy, twink, bear and cub. We must fight to dispel the myth that there’s something inherently wrong with consensual, adult, (gay) sex instead of pretending we never do it!
Yesterday the Spanish constitutional court finally removed the last shadow that was cast over the 2005 legalization of same sex unions in the country. Americans elected Tammy Baldwin, their first openly gay female senator. Same-sex unions initiatives passed in Maryland and Maine. Today, François Hollande’s government in France, will also be introducing legislation legalizing full gay marriage- as up to now only PACS (civil unions) were legal.
