Back to Basics

Back to Basics

Samantha Jones: I'm a trisexual. I'll try anything once.

That's more or less the way I feel. When I get down to gay.com and the stupid asses online ask me that same clinical question: what do you like sexually, I'm really not sure how to react. A part of me would have slapped the ass if he was in front of me, the other part is chewing my lip, trying to come up with an answer that is not too insulting, exhibits my witty side, discourages him from asking too many dumb questions, and tells him that I'm the best lay he's ever going to get. Samantha has just provided me with the best quote of all for these occassions.



:)

The other night, I met up with the Penguin and Vivian for some SATC Season One viewing, and we ordered in pizza and went out to grab gelato after a couple of episodes. While chatting about stuff, I made a comment to something Vivian said, and Penguin responded with "Of all of us, I'd thought you'd be the last guy to get shocked by that!" I don't really recall now what comment I'd made, but later on, it struck me that I have this funny reputation of a Jack-of-all-trades. With good reason, perhaps. SnowWhite's Stepmother, for instance, says I routinely shock him when I tell him about my exploits - and then I wonder whether I really am that sensational. A part of me is thrilled at the thought, mind you.

Sex in the shower? Love it.
Sex in an elevator? Done it.
Sex in a park? Ho hum.
Sex with a hooker? Tick.
Getting paid for sex? I call it a 'learning experience'.
Sex in the office complex? Exciting.
Sex on the dance floor? Watch me at a GB party.
Sex with an underage kid? Yep.
Sex with a married guy with/without kids? Yes.
Sex with an old guy? Don't get shocked, but yes.
Sex with poppers? I used to live in Delhi, you know!
Sex for seven hours? *beams*
S&M sex? On both sides of the great divide.
Group sex/threesomes? That's not even considered 'kinky' these days.
Sex with foreigners? Only not with an African.

Hell, I'm even having a Long Distance Relationship, for crying out loud - and according to me, that's probably the most outrageous of everything I've done! But even as I model myself on gorgeous gorgeous Samantha Jones, I'm also aware that I'm pretty Carriesque at times. And that's scary. I whine and obsess too much about my relationships - ultra-cool Samantha never does that! And I have this blog, which is as newspaper-columny as you can get. And while I don't have frizzy unmanageable hair like Carrie Bradshaw, I'm smart enough to notice I have enough of her to make my life complicated. I have enough of her for Penguin to make that observation of me, the other day. That was one of the virtues of being Samantha - no hang-ups.



Right now, however, I have a mission: back to basics. The idea is to go back to being as much of Samantha as I used to be. No hang-ups. No obsessing. And no regrets. I'm trisexual. I'll try anything once.

Her Majesty's Service

Her Majesty's Service

Well, after all the brickbats have been fired and everything, Daniel Craig is supposed to be one of the best James Bonds ever. Personally, while I think he looks more CIA than MI5, with that compact muscular body and blond tufts of hair, I don't really care about all the 'Is he the right Bond?' arguments. Honestly speaking, I thought Connery was over-rated, and Brosnan defines sexy for me, but Craig is not too bad really on the ooomph quotient. One thing I'm definitely glad of, is the fact that finally after all the Ursula Andresses and whoever they get a hunky man out of the water, dripping wet. Excuse me while I lick my lips. :)

And then, of course, there's the fact that our man is supposed to have loads of gay fans worldwide because in his latest film Infamous, he's done a man-to-man kiss, while playing Truman Capote's gay lover (rather, one of his gay lovers). Add the fact that he apparently broke his teeth in his first Bond fight sequence, and the pansy tag gets attached to him. Of course, judging from the pic down there, not much about Daniel looks pansy to me... (amen)



Then there are the amusing little online tidbits where you hear that the next Bond movie is going to keep in mind Craig's huge homosexual fan following, and include a 'homo-erotic' angle between Super Spy and Arch Villain. Wonder if our hero will then give up the tux for... tights?

And there are other strange bits of gay Bond trivia. Sample this: Pierce Brosnan thought he was gay when he was 16. Of course, good ole Pierce hurriedly adds that he didn't turn out to be actually faggoty, but there it is - the confession.

And while we've all heard about a certain flamboyant black star wanting to be the next black James Bond in Her Majesty's Service, there's also my favourite living gay personality, Rupert Everett, who says he wants to be the next gay 007.



Personally, I think he's much more MI-5 than Daniel!

Strong Arm Tactics

Strong Arm Tactics

The other day, while the music was blaring loud at this funky pub in downtown Bombay, Helen of Troy told me that I was "very strong" for sticking on in a Long Distance Relationship, and that I was doing something really "good". At the time, I suppose I must have beamed in joy, thinking about Boy, but didn't really consider what his words meant. Hell, I've heard variations of that comment so many times from Vivian. So it really didn't hit me. Till, perhaps last night, when I was pondering over them, and wondered why they think I'm "strong" to carry on in a LDR.



Is it because of the no-everyday contact? Probably.

Is it because of the no-everyday sex? Perhaps.

Is it because I cut a sorry figure at GB parties, all dressed to kill and slut around, but going home alone each night? Most definitely!

:)

My friends are beautiful, and of course they would never imply I'm pathetic(ally strong) because I don't get laid every GB night these days. So it's not the sex part. It's the part where you realize you've found the guy you want to spend the rest of your life with - but you have to stay apart for a significant period of time. It's all about the lack of companionship, the holding hands, the everyday phone conversations, the every night dinners, and all of the stuff that you would do with someone you're crazy about. So that makes me... "strong".

And then I thought about it? Why on earth do I do it? The other night, Chimneypot and I were having this conversation, and she was telling me, she realy hoped things went well for the long haul with her boyfriend - because quite frankly, she was too tired to start from scratch if this relationship didn't succeed. I identified with her. Walking out of a GB party alone, even though I hate the fact that I'm not going to get laid, I also love the fact that I don't have to work/charm/ cruise my way so that I can find myself a mate - pun intended. Like Chimneypot, I am terrified at the thought of having to start all over again, if things with Boy don't work out - especially, since it just sort of... fell into my lap, really, without me having to really try.

But that's not the reason why I stuck it out through the absence - nor should it ever be. I don't ever want to be with a man just because I'm terrified of being without one. The reason why I'm still wearing his ring is because it felt so natural... because it fell into my lap.



Does that make sense? I want to preserve this beautiful feeling that I have for this creature who just walked into my life one fine day, and showed me such grand things. I've given him so many nicknames, attributed so many special qualities to him, and all of it because they're true. His voice on the telephone gets me grinning, and I'm thrilled to bits that he loves the sound of my laughter. I've been with my Boy, despite the distance, because in spite of all my bitching against the LDR, this one has taught me some special things.

It's taught me to be patient. To be much more at ease with myself than I have ever been. It taught me to not turn my lover into a superhuman demigod - he's human, I'm human, we're silly creatures who might slip up now and then, so be kind. It taught me to stop living my love affairs all the time like a teenager. And, yes, it did teach me to dream.

So, if HoT and Vivian thinks I'm "strong" for sticking onto this relationship, the real reason is because this relationship has made me Strong.

Shopping List Item #24678

Shopping List Item #24678

Despite what men may say and what men may want to hear, the fact is that Size Does Matter. There's a reason why I'm so proud that my Boy is B-I-G. There's a reason why size S is preferred to size M. There's a reason why the Dud of the Day is the Dud of the Day. And there's a reason why Australia's latest invention has seen HUGE sales (no pun intended) since the seven days it was announced.



The Wonderjock is a hit.

This morning, I was leafing through my copy of BombayTimes, and there was an article there asking our homegrown 'celebs' what they think of men displaying their bulges for the rest of the world to see. While some made myopic har-de-har comments about it, and others gave the usual "men still don't know what we women really want!" quote (well, of course not, dimwit dah-ling, they know what other men want!), there were a couple who were brash enough to say it like it is: well, why the heck not?! If perverted straight men like seeing big boobs on a woman, what's wrong with perverted homo/straight men seeing a big bulge beneath a hot guy's pants? The battle of the sexes is finally getting interesting, methinks!

So, this evening, I amble over to the website for those responsible for giving us the wonderjock (beautifully titled Aussie-bum) to see what they have to offer. While I grinned at the silly name of the wonderjock - it's called PATRIOT, and comes in four editions of four countries: Property of Australia/ USA/ England/ France - it's also breathtaking to see just how far the damn thing makes your package stick out. I mean.... the makers say there's no padding or rings or strings or whatnot at work here - just a simple case of a 'cup' - and yet - the effect is startlingly mouthwatering. I would love to see a guy walking with that around at the beach.



Now I know what I need to buy, ahead of my Goa trip.

Some smokin' times

Some smokin' times

Chimneypot is the first friend I came out to. Ages back, over an impromptu cup of coffee at a Barista, there was an impromptu coming out, and the best part was, how well she understood me. There have been so many cups of coffee shared at that particular Barista with her, when I've accused her of flirting with the coffee-guy and she's accused me of the same, where I told her about Boy, and she told me about the love of her life.



So that, when she informed me today that she's leaving the city to be with her boyfriend by the end of this month, I was quite speechless. My first reaction: terrible! Of course, I couched that properly. I know this is what she's been looking forward to for so long now, and I know that this is probably the best thing for her. But I always kept on hoping that her boyfriend would come down here to Bombay, instead of taking her away like this from me. The thing is, in Long Distance Relationships, the rules rarely stay unbroken. And that's another reason why I hate LDRs, despite being in one myself: it forces you to choose between the love of your life and the friends who have meant so much to you for so long...

I probably shouldn't say 'choose' here. It's not that exactly - there's email, there's sms, there's the phone and all, I know, but it's not really the same, is it? Somehow, even though you tend to meet just once a week or so, knowing that the person is there, just a mere hour away, feels... reassuring. But I'll have to survive without knowing the Chimneypot is right there nearby... Hell if I can make the LDR work, I can make the Long Distance Friendship work!

In the meantime, I'm going to reproduce here, something that she wrote about me - about us - ages ago. She wanted to post it on her blog, but at that time, I asked her not to, and she gave me a copy instead. I'd given it to Boy to read while he was here, and he loved it. It's the kind of thing Chimneypot does.... the Nutcracker that she is...

An observation. I have been spending a lot of time with my gay friend. He is fun. He is perpetually happy, though certain speed breakers in his rampant sex marathon in the city finds him frowning a bit from time to time.

I walk with him, we hug each other a lot. We show affection physically. The relationship is as platonic as platonic gets. It is just good ole friendship, though we do end up talking about our sex lives a lot, my non existant one and his rampant one which is a novella-like experience each time. He gets lucky more than anyone I know. Which is good for him. Do you smell jealousy here?

So you watched 'Will and Grace', and you don't need another rext version of it. He is a friend with whom I share an increased level of comfort. (I think the fact that the 'sex' part is totally negated makes it more comfy.)

But thanks to him there have been so many firsts for me - in terms of how I have been perceived around people.

- I was the 'in-law' when I met his boyfriend.
- I am termed a fag hag by my absolute straight cousin.
- Talking about relationships, both of us bitching about guys in detail. We are on the same side of the discussion. Most people around us have their eyes knotted wondering how a man and a woman can have this sort of conversation while waiting for a play to start. (It is always too quiet before plays start. Everyone around is all ears.)
- When I am pissed of at him, I shout 'bitch', 'slut' and he does actually get offended sometimes. Flattered, most of the time.
- A cute guy walks in, and we both are looking at him. And my friend always has to smile at the guy first.

:)

Just observations.

He is my bestest friend.

And she is mine.

Closetalk and Don

Don: Jungli billiyan mujhe pasand hain (I like wild cats like you)
Closetalk: Mujhe bhee! (Me too!)

Sometime back, I'd blogged about how yummy and uber-cool SRK has been looking in the promos of Don. Well, I finally went to catch the movie tonight, with Viv (earlier, named Emily) and it was simply awesome! For those who came in late, it's a remake of a 1978 Hindi movie, complete with international gangsters across continents and all sorts of amazing Matrix moves and costumes. My stupid assistant at work commented, "It has everything but the blind mother", and though she didn't mean that kindly, I'll agree with her on the sheer versatlity of the film - the movie has everything you would ever dream of in cinema: humour, romance, action (tons of it!), mistaken identity, adopted children, gangsta rap, sexy molls, scintillating music, and a twist in the tale. The plot is way too complicated for a single blog post, so I'm not going to even attempt that here.



Viv and I had been dying to see the movie, ever since the promos with SRK first started airing. The man wears his coolest clothes ever here, and the new way to wear a tie nowadays is inside the shirt, not over it. His sunglasses are the hippest ever, and his shoes are divine. Memorable line any (and every) gay man will treasure: when Don tells his colleague, after killing his traitorous assisstant, "Always make sure you check the shoes before you hire anyone!" *in Hindi* Clappity-clap go all the Red Tapes and Manolos! ;-)

Aside from SRK, Viv and I were going gaga over most of the men onscreen. List of candidates include:
1. The cute police inspector who looked dapper in his suit while briefing the Malaysian cops, and showed off his sexy butt like anything in his tight khaki police uniform while chasing Don in the jungles - the camera for some reason kept on panning to his butt, not that we complained. Sadly, I just could not find out his name on imdb.com.

2. India's First Beauty King, Grasim Mr India 1998 Diwakar Pundir who plays a sidey role as the informant who Don bumps off. Viv says, Diwakar has appeared in TV serials in Speedos - that means, I must start seeing soaps now. *drool*

3. An ugly ape called Mac who plays Don's moll's pet poodle. Viv kept on gushing about his barrel chest. Loudly.

4. Arjun Rampal, who of course had Viv gasping every time he did a push-up. Beats me though, how the character is able to beat Don to a pulp if he's supposed to be limping throughout.

Viv also informed me that the two producers of the movie, Farhan Akhtar and Ritesh Sidhwani are rumoured to be gay lovers. When I pointed out that both were married and Farhan's wife is expecting their second child, Viv promptly pointed back that that was hardly an obstacle to be gay lovers, ala SRK and Karan Johar. So, then, Viv and I started fantasising about possible sexual roles (top/ bottom/ whatever) between SRK and Karan, SRK and Farhan, Farhan and Ritesh, and even maybe Farhan and Hrithik Roshan (Hrithik was the original choice for Don, but then SRK was roped in instead). And all this at voices loud enough for the entire theatre to hear whom we considered 'hotttt' and who was 'sexxxxyy' *please include giggly gay squeals*.



I'm hoping I won't be sued for this post.

But let it not be said that all our attention was focused on the men. When Guest Star Kareena did her Helen-number lying down on the rug, I nudged Viv in the ribs and coo-ed, "I looooove that rug!" and Viv agreed with me. Honestly, that golden dress they dressed Kareena in for thatnumber was garish like hell - and every time she did her jhatkas, you could see the cellulite dangling on her arms. Ew, ew and all that...!

Isha the Moll was perfect. She did absolutely nothing, had about three lines of dialogue to say in the movie, looked suitably devilish in her Item Number and the climax, suitably jealous in Title Song as Don flirted with the Heroine. She kept on changing her hairdos with such vigour that Viv and I were left gasping in admiration. First the bouffant, then the empire wig, then the plaits, then the.... most perfect moll ever!

Heroine Priyanka enters the scene with a very weird set of karate exercises and then proceeds to get all Power Puff Girl-meets-Mushy Thing for the rest of the movie. Her all-white outfit, teamed with the white bike, when she she 'rescues' Don was superb. And though she replied to Isha's jealous glares with great bugger-off-lassie looks of her own, she was looking a teeny weeny plump in that hideous pink gown she wore during Title Song.

Best songs from the album: Aaj ki raat is wonderfully pacy and retro - complete with shiny disco ball in the video, and has Hero, Heroine and Moll boogeying together in a line. Waiting for GB to play it at their next party - pretty please! Then there was the famous oldHelen-newKareena number, Ye Mere Dil, which was a great remix. Title Song, Main Hoon Don was so racy, it was simply great - old tune but wonderfully remixed to set the dance floor on fire. Perfect for egoistic divas like me on the GB dance floor to proclaim to the world. :)

O, and you must check out SRK's outfit in Title Song: dark purple silk shirt under dark purple velvet jacket having Chinese collar and huge lace-embroidered buttons, teamed with slim-fitted cord trousers, and sleeeeeeeeeeek Givenchy shades.



Instant hard-on.

The Bitchy Avatar, Anonymity be damned!

The Bitchy Avatar, Anonymity be damned!

The first rule of starting this blog very clear: I'm going to be nameless. That's why I invented the ridiculous name of Closetalk/CT/whatever to fit the role of the gay immigrant guy in Bombay, and tried a myriad of silly things that would cloak my identity. Enter the whole 'delete blog name from the username profile'. Delete all reference to the other (sort-of straight) blogs. All of that was not just cuz I was in the whole closet thing, but also cuz I knew from the very start, being the kind of guy I am, I'd soon end up dissing some guys here and there, be a first-rate bitch now and then, and I just didn't want to deal with any of that on my conscience. So, Closetalk was supposed to be nameless, faceless.



Obviously, I haven't been exactly successful.

I don't know if it's inevitable or not, with blogs like this one - that you tend to get to know the readers out of cyberland, and that same old level of anonymity of course doesn't exist any more then. And I don't know whether it's just as inevitable, that once that threshold is crossed, another one gets crossed too: sometimes, it's not just your readers who know who you are; sometimes, the reader turns out to be someone who knows who you are in real life. And that can be embarassing when you've just penned a not-so-flattering account of that person.

I felt awkward when that happened, but then, at the risk of sounding inconsiderate, I shrugged my shoulders, and decided that there's no use in crying over spilt milk: if I bitched about someone online on my (supposedly anonymous) blog, then it's pretty obvious I didn't care too much for this person ever, and hell, it's supposed to be a flaky blog in any case. If you're going to get all ruffled up about a random blog account by a (more or less random) guy whom you met here and there, (may have slept with a couple of times), but then that's it - hell, you seriously need to get a life.

Ummm.. ok, that sounded decidedly inconsiderate, na? O shucks, what the hell...!

***

On a tangential note, I love playing around with Yahoo Avatars these days. Have designed some ten-odd avatars already, and I'm going to keep on changing/adding new ones to my existing list. It helps that you can now convert them into JPEG form and store them in your online/offline album. So, while the one below was my first avatar, labeled Corporate Kaleido, the one I've put in the left hand column on the side is my Rainbow Boy avatar...



Pink is pretty, na? Even on a suit. Aaa, well.... Fashion Week is on, so I'm excused! *grin*