Sunday, May 27, 2007
Post-Sunday Song: We Have All The Time In The World...
Post-Sunday Song: We Have All The Time In The World...

How strange that I should be listening to this song, a day after I think about falling in love with someone special. :)

Vintage Louis Armstrong, performed as a James Bond theme, surprise surprise.

We have all the time in the world,
Time enough for life
To unfold
All the precious things
Love has in store.

We have all the love in the world...
If that's all we have,
You will find
We need nothing more.

Every step of the way
Will find us
With the cares of the world
Far behind us...

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We have all the time in the world
Just for love,
Nothing more,
Nothing less,
Only love...
Only love...

- Louis Armstrong (1969)

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Friday, May 25, 2007
The Sessions Court
The Sessions Court

In Season Five, when Stanford first tells Carrie about his new boyfriend, the eminently delectable Marcus, he asks her not to judge. A grinning Carrie responds with a "I don't judge!" line, which Stanford promptly shushes with a candid "O, honey, yes we do. Some people do Arts & Crafts; we judge."

Fair enough. We do.

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And while I always tell myself I hate being judged, I've sort of realized that I'm as guilty as the very next person. Maybe not meaning it in any sort of vicious way, aaa, but then, the judgment does happen, all the same.
  • Like when I meet the cute guy online, but when he speaks on the phone, he can barely construct a sentence in English together.
  • Like when, after a long witty conversation, I realize the guy is 18 years old, and I feel like a cradle robber.
  • Like when the guy seems cute and smart and sweet, and I liked walking on the beach with him in the darkness, linking hands, but then he suggests a quick blowjob on the terrace of a friend's home.
*sigh*. Then, I judge. (Even though it was a good blowjob.)

In another episode of SATC, I think it was Season Two, Carrie walks in on Samantha giving the Fed-Ex guy a blowjob in her office. Carrie balks, then stumbles out of the office in shock, and despite herself, she does judge her closest friend. As she tells Samantha, she wouldn't ever find herself in a situation like that - and that's what Sam takes offence at. I completely identified with Sam - the idea that my friends or lovers would deign to judge me was quite reprehensible. And I'm lucky, that despite all the bullshit spouted by them often enough, they actually don't.

Some months ago, a friend of mine had a rough-and-tumble session with this guy he's known for some time, and apart from the all-night ball-busting sex, one of the highlights was crack. And when he told me, I was actually quite shocked. I raved and ranted, and told him it was a horrid thing to do, and he agreed, saying he'd just gotten carried away with it, and would never do it again. Cocaine, I thundered, was evil and unnecessary in good sex.

And then, a couple of weeks back, I met this same guy in bed, and like a dolt, high on wine and attention, I snorted some myself. Actually, snorted quite a lot. Five lines. And I'd never done coke before. It felt fun. It didn't really feel like I was doing anything narcotic. There was no ear-splitting high, no happy pleasant cocoon. Just... staying up late, talking and listening to music, and fooling around. And then, I realized how badly the coke had hit me, when I couldn't get a hard-on. Yikes.

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O, and I couldn't sleep, either. We stayed up all night, that day, and I left for work directly from his place in the morning after a shower, and by 1 p.m. the backache, headache, limbache had surfaced. *groan* A confessory (is that a word?) phone call to said friend who'd been in my shoes with the charming cocaine guy earlier, and he advised to get home as fast as possible and just sleep. But at the end of that call, I was struck by how remarkably his advice was without the harsh judgment that I had bestowed upon him, all those months ago. Instead, the judgment part came from me, when I realized that the only reason I hadn't snorted more than 5 lines was because I realized it was affecting my erection capability. I stopped crack cuz of my cock.

*ouch*

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Judgment does fall hard.

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Friday, May 18, 2007
Masters of the Universe
Masters of the Universe

All you need to do is get in a car or cab, go down to Andheri Link Road, turn left after the Infiniti mall, go straight ahead, turn right, and there you are.

In He-Man Land.

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Also known as Lokhandwalla Complex, but then it's so much more correct to call it He-Man Land. Every street corner has a gym, almost every street intersection has got a huge hoarding with bronzed ab muscles advertising one or the other of those gyms, and every third guy you look at is He-Man minus his loin cloth and mighty sword, and clad in tight tees and jeans instead. Aa, well, he might still have his 'mighty sword' tucked away, but then SnowWhite's Stepmother, Vivian and I were too polite to ask. We weren't too polite not to stare, though. :)

It was after a yummy dinner at a Bengali restaurant tucked away in the outer corners of He-Man Land that SS said he'd take us to a 'magical land where we would love to be', and so, curiosity at peak and all, we pile into his car. A few quick turns, and we find ourselves at a street intersection with a Barista on one end and a Cafe Coffee Day on the other. And Men. He-Men. Everywhere.

Vivian declares that he must walk to the nearest ATM to withdraw cash, and I decided to accompany him, while SS finds us a table with the best vantage point. Soon enough, V and I are ogling at men in rippled tshirts, and shirts unbuttoned to their navels, and utterly tight jeans, and gorgeous dimpled smiles that probably hide a nonexistent brain behind them - but then I'm being utterly parochial here, so I'll stop that - until we get inside the Citibank ATM. And let loose our girly cackles and giggles at the delight of having stepped into Candycane Land.

Vivian: "OMG, did you see the guy with the tilak there sitting at Barista?"

CT, nods: "O, yes, yummy-mummy, but he did have a tilak after all, na? Tacky. *sigh* What about the guy in the tight pink T sitting with him, though? And those guys at that corner table of the Lebanese joint outside are utterly de-lish as well, na?!"

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For those not in the know, Lokhandwalla Complex is the Mecca of not-so-welldressed but very buff hot young men. They come in droves here, from all over India and some from the Middle East, all to try their hand at the great ole jackpot of Bollywood. Gyms have sprung up here, reasonably affordable housing is a thing of the past here, and steroids as common as your next caffeine fix. This is what you call the 'model crowd' of Bombay. The yuppie crowd of gay Bombay. Mostly brainless, but very beautiful. Drool-worthy, like you wouldn't imagine. And the best part is, if they're gay, they're very interchangeable. So, the hunky buff guy who seems like a pucca 'top' in his snaps is very keen to bend over if you tell him forcefully enough - or, more likely, with the promise of an introduction to Karan Johar.

When I first moved to Bombay, I stayed in Lokhandwalla at a friend's place for about two months, so this place does hold some nostalgia for me. I used to walk down in the evenings for my walk around the circle, and sometimes duck into the Naturals ice cream store for a treat, before heading back home. I remember all the not-so cheap shoe shops and the designer knock-off shops and the restaurants selling Tandoori chicken, catering to the largely Punjabi residents here. As SS once remarked, Lokhandwalla is like Mini Delhi in Bombay - Karol Bagh, dahling, not Greater Kailash. :)

But for us that night, Lokhandwalla was He-Man Land. A Saturday gay-boys night out, and here we were, ogling pretty young things, and slurping on ice cream. Not too bad really, even though we didn't make it to the GB party.

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Pre-Sunday Song: Surprisingly Good For You
Pre-Sunday Song: Surprisingly Good For You

Was watching Evita the other night, and the music refuses to leave me since then. Madonna is... ethereal.

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And, somehow, this song speaks to me. So much of what I'd like to say to the right person, when he comes along. :)

It seems crazy, but you must believe
There's nothing calculated, nothing planned...
Please forgive me if I seem naive,
I would never want to force your hand...
But please understand, I'd be good for you...

I don't always rush in like this,
Twenty seconds after saying hello...
Telling strangers I'm too good to miss...
If I'm wrong I hope you'll tell me so.
But you really should know, I'd be good for you,
I'd be surprisingly good for you

I won't go on if I'm boring you,
But do you understand my point of view?
Do you like what you hear, what you see,
And would you be, good for me too?

I'm not talking of a hurried night,
A frantic tumble then a shy goodbye,
Creeping home before it gets too light...
That's not the reason that I caught your eye,
Which has to imply, I'd be good for you...
I'd be surprisingly good for you...

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Friday, May 11, 2007
Old, New, Borrowed, Blue and Money to Boot...!
Something Old...

So here I was, reading a book at home, quite happy to be left all alone on a weeknight, when I get this sms from GanglyGuy. I first met him during the course of a threesome some months ago. He and his boyfriend were both very nice, and we lolled on the silk tasseled cushions in their South Bombay love nest, while smoking weed and playing Strip Rummy. Of course, all the clothes went off, and everyone soon won, and I left that night a very high young man. :)

Three weeks later, I hear that the couple split, and two weeks after that, one of them was already seeing someone else. Good enough, because I quite liked GanglyGuy, the part of the couple who hadn't coupled up yet. And when I bumped into him again at a GB party the other night, he was looking utterly gorgeous in his grungy jeans, t-shirt and dopey eyes, so I flirted with him and told him to buzz me sometime if he wanted to catch up.

So there, in the middle of my Michael Crichton genetic thriller, came his sms: So do u have a place tonight then?

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...Something New...

Partying with friends at a trendy bar the other night, and they're crooning Y-M-C-A, much to our delight. And there was the GrandMaratha, a friend of SnowWhite's Stepmother, from distant shores, and I was flirting outrageously with him. He eats his burger hunrily, and of course I flirted with him on that. He dances like a Spanish diva, and of course I flirted with him on that. I moved and I grooved, and I was glad to note that GrandMaratha moved and grooved right back, flirting right back, hands roving over lower back and legs and ass, and Gloria Gaynor was suddenly even more electrifying than usual.

SS and Guppie came over to me, and asked in hushed tones, "Should we leave now, and why don't the two of you, well, do your thing?"

I tittered, and went back to dancing and flirting. And then, when I thought I had the right opportunity, I went over to the GrandMaratha and whispered in appropriately slutty-breathless-hushed tone, "My friends think it's a given, you and I are having sex tonight. So, shall we leave for your hotel now or later, then?"

Then, the unthinkable happened. He blushed.

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Damn. :(

...Something Borrowed...

Haven't really been talking with NiceSexThing in a while. I know he's down with the flu, so we chatted briefly online, but that was it. I was supposed to go over to his place, but didn't, because I was feeling a bit too lazy after getting back from work. I would probably have gone anyway, earlier, but I sort of decided to just maintain platonic ties with him, despite the Nice Sex.

It's because he thrives on romance. Even when it's always a one-night stand for him, he thrives on romance. He's one of those guys, for whom sex is no fun without the fleeting thrill of romance and all those mushy gestures like holding hands, walks on the beach, slow dancing and the works. As for me, romance confuses me. Romance confuses me if I don't see it leading anywhere, and then I think, what's the use of all this? If it's just sex we're after, why on earth don't we cut to the chase and screw like rabbits? All the haze and the romance promises me things... which it doesn't deliver, and I don't see the point in getting confused.

Anyhow, his boyfriend is due to hit the city in about a week or so, so I guess his recuperation is guaranteed! *grin*

...Something Blue...

He was driving the car, while I was seated in the back with the client. I don't know what his name was, but I loved the way he smiled back at us in the rear view mirror, and assured us he knew the way to where we had to go. His crinkled blue shirt fitted the contours of hsi body perfectly, and I was imagining how those shoulders would feel to touch and probe. God knows, I was having wicked thoughts, and not really listening to the client rattle on beside me, because what I wanted more than anything was to clamber into the front seat, onto my driver in blue, run my hands through his delicious salt-and-pepper hair, and tear the buttons off...

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He drove us around for about five hours that day, and I don't think I'll ever see him again. *sigh*

...And A Silver Sixpence In Her Shoe...

Ok, so I have a Suit Fetish. I've begged corporate guys to come to bed with their ties on. I've loved undoing their blazers and trousers and shiny black shoes, and unknotting their ties to push them against the wall... :) So here I was in the conference room, with this utterly cute investment banker and I was staring at him quite openly. I loved the way he bantered and grinned and winked and stuck his tongue out, when he made a bitchy comment about a competitor. And I loved the Arrow pink shirt, with mother-of-pearl cufflinks, teamed with his dark navy tie, shot with streaks of pink and white, and I was o-so terribly in lust.

He was Gujarati, he said, and I grinned. He had been working at the current job for about two years, he said, and I smiled again. He said he required some reports from me, and I assured him I'd deliver. :)

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That's my ideal guy, I told myself, once the meeting ended. I want a tall, hunky, cute Investment Banker from Cuffe Parade or Nariman Point, who understands his numbers and reads his pink papers (no pun intended) and has a holiday home in Matheran or Alibaug. I'm hopeless at Maths and I usually begin my daily newspaper-reading with the tabloids, but I still think we'd make a match. We'd complement each other perfectly. I would help him spend his money, and he would help me decide what to buy.

Perfect.

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Monday, May 07, 2007
Closetalk, aka The Profiler
Closetalk, aka The Profiler

So there I am, logged in, and I come across this profile with the obligatory torso pic, sexual preferences ("want hungry btm") and, the best part of all, his write-up. Now I've posted earlier about how engaging the entire art of making gay chat profiles is, but never really on how entertaining it is to read some of these. I mean, OnceAgain has done this fantastically, and I would link to the post in question on his blog if I remembered which one it was, but nevertheless, I ran up against this very interesting one the other day...

He says, he's an actor. Oops, make that aspiring actor. Oops, make that Balaji soaps. Ok, so we all know that the male characters in these soaps don't really do much acting, but they use plenty of glycerine, and they usually look pretty hunky, so I read on. After the second line, though, I'm giggling hysterically.

I be good actor, trying for tele-serial. I know all about casting couch for gays in this life and I want to prepare for that. Do not get me wrong, I am good actor and deserve roles, but I know that some bad guys take good role by doing homo sex. So I want be ready and that is why I be here. I am 100% straight guy but I want homo sex. Fuck only. I not do girly stuff. So all hot, horny masculed men come to get fuked.

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I can only imagine that the poor man has been inundated by calls from 'hot, horny masculed men' who want to get 'fuked'....! :)

But then, I remember trawling through my old Flatmate's shaadi.com profile (yes, straight people do the whole chat thing too - in fact, they did it before us gay guys did!), and finding this utterly hilarious 'proposal' from a 'suitor'. And even though my old flattie said I shouldn't be mean, I decided to be quite the bitch, and mailed myself the mail he sent over, for future use... like now.

My profile represents me on this virtual world. "fun" is very subjective to interprete therfore i won't use that word but in short I am simple kind of guy who loves to find happiness from small happiness aroud your world and being blessed to stay with my parents. At present,I am working with MNC at Gurgaon and enjoying my life quite well but now I strongly felt a need of life parter who can show me, share with me the seven color of life with her beauty, intelligent and elegance.

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Despite his predisposition towards the 'seven colours', he's straight and wants a good wife to live with his family and have (ahem ahem) "fun" with.

The good part is, at least these guys are short and pithy. There are actually morons on the chatrooms who write reams and reams of what they think is 'literature' on their mingy little profiles. Some idiots draw giant hearts using the */^$# signs. Some idiots write the history of their last three relationships - in toto. With all these budding novelists around, is it any surprise that the ones that appear most appealing are often those which state, quite simply:

24, Bandra, looking for hot fun with hot guy. Have a place, let's meet!

Aaa, I need to hail myself a rickshaw now. :)

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Saturday, May 05, 2007
Sunday Song: Stupid Girls
Sunday Song: Stupid Girls

This is going to be a regular feature in the blog from now on. Since I have a tag called 'song' here, I may as well use it properly! :) But weekly or fortnightly, is going to have to wait for a decision.

In the meantime, there's this fun number by Pink of the (big surprise) pink hair: Completely love the way she lambastes the Britney brigade, even though (sigh) I used to looove Oops I did it again... :)

Stupid girls, stupid girls, stupid girls
Maybe if I act like that, that guy will call me back
Porno Paparazzi girl, I don't wanna be a stupid girl

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Go to Fred Segal, you'll find them there
Laughing loud so all the little people stare
Looking for a daddy to pay for the champagne
(Drop a name)
What happened to the dreams of a girl president
She's dancing in the video next to 50 Cent
They travel in packs of two or three
With their itsy bitsy doggies and their teeny-weeny tees
Where, oh where, have the smart people gone?
Oh where, oh where could they be?

Maybe if I act like that, that guy will call me back
Porno Paparazzi girl, I don't wanna be a stupid girl
Baby if I act like that, flipping my blond hair back
Push up my bra like that, I don't wanna be a stupid girl

(Break it down now)
Disease's growing, it's epidemic
I'm scared that there ain't a cure
The world believes it and I'm going crazy
I cannot take any more
I'm so glad that I'll never fit in
That will never be me
Outcasts and girls with ambition
That's what I wanna see
Disasters all around
World despaired
Their only concern
Will they fuck up my hair

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Maybe if I act like that, that guy will call me back
Porno Paparazzi girl, I don't wanna be a stupid girl
Baby if I act like that, flipping my blond hair back
Push up my bra like that, I don't wanna be a stupid girl

[Interlude]
Oh my god you guys, I totally had more than 300 calories
That was so not sexy, no
Good one, can I borrow that?
[Vomits]
I WILL BE SKINNY

(Do ya thing, do ya thing, do ya thing)
(I like this, like this, like this)
Pretty will you fuck me girl, silly as a lucky girl
Pull my head and suck it girl, stupid girl!
Pretty would you fuck me girl, silly as a lucky girl
Pull my head and suck it girl, stupid girl!

Baby if I act like that, flipping my blond hair back
Push up my bra like that, stupid girl!

Maybe if I act like that, that guy will call me back
Porno Paparazzi girl, I don't wanna be a stupid girl
Baby if I act like that, flipping my blond hair back
Push up my bra like that, I don't wanna be a stupid girl

O gosh, am I a (gulp) stupid girl? :)

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Friday, May 04, 2007
In The House...
In The House...

OK, so the melodrama of the last post didn't really last long, but I've just been lazy, and would also be lying if I didn't admit it was some fun seeing Shrek (that's my name for him now) at the receiving end of some judging for a change - even if it was in the comments section! :)

Shrek calls me and apologizes for his 'over-reaction', and me being the sweetheart that I am (shut up, infidels), I acquiesced. So yes, we're back on track, and I suppose now's a good time as any to talk about him. I'm not sure whether he still reads this space, but honestly speaking, I don't really give a fig anymore. I'm probably going to sound mushy-gooey here, but hey, he's a Big Boy and can handle some pansy reactions, right? Ummm...

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So, yes, I met Shrek online and discovered he knows two friends of mine. My first impression of him: Arrogant Prick. But we somehow kept on chatting, taunting and baiting each other with semi-insults and the like, and I'm not sure how, but that kinda felt nice. Gosh, I feel like I'm reading out the script of a 80's Hindi film here, a la Dil or some rot, and here I am the masochist maniac who feels good flirting when there's a healthy dose of bitchiness involved - niiiice!

Getting back to the point, I'm seeing this guy currently, and it feels kinda good. *blush*

***

In unrelated news, I finally found myself a place. So the saga that began with me bemoaning my fate as a rent boy (*grin*) and hating brokers and landlords has finally culminated with me playing the role of the goody-goody Paying Guest for some Sindhi people in a nice little suburb.

So many places to gasp back there. Paying Guest. Sindhi. Suburb. *sigh*

Aa, but it's really not all that bad. Once again, the entire gay thing works at an advantage here, as the landlords are totally fine with me having guys over, though they frown at the thought of gals. I have my own room, it's practically cut off from the rest of the household, so even though I'm a PG, I don't foresee any predicament in my love life.

Next on the list - Sindhi. O yes, the old man started griping about my luggage pieces and electricity consumption as soon as I moved in, but the broker shut him up, and he's now behaving in a quite civilized fashion. Though it's a bit freaky that, the other day, I came back into my room after taking a shower and realized that someone must have come in and switched the fan off. O well...!

And finally... suburb. Yep, no longer a Townie am I. But despite all the erosion of Snooty Address Values, it's really a nice place. A clean, green suburb, a nice leafy lane, a swanky apartment building, a fifth floor nest with a balcony to myself, and it's really not too bad being a suburbanite.

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O gosh, the bed has sun mica panels, though!

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Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Struck Out
Struck Out

So I've been debating with myself for some time whether or not to mention here that I was (kinda) seeing this guy, and matters have somehow come to a head with him dumping me. Because of the blog. Apparently, my "lifestyle", as eschewed in the blog, does not appeal to him.

I'm showing a thousand middle fingers to him in my head right now.

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What gets me is the summarary judgement. I mean, hell, get to know me, go out with me some more, and then if you think I'm not the right guy for you, that's fine, I'll fade away as gracefully as I can. Instead, the guy goes through my blog, and decides that it's the Ultimate Story of My Life, and I'm just way too something for him...! So he'd love to have me as a "friend" but hey, it's gonna take a miracle (his word, not mine) for things to work out otherwise between us. This, a day after he's merrily holding hands with me in a dark movie hall.

This, after a conversation I have with him, explaining to him why I hadn't wanted him to read my blog earlier. Because I was afraid that he might think the blog was 100% me, and vice versa, and that might affect how he saw me. But he argued he wouldn't judge me on that basis, and I somehow thought he might actually be the 'mature one', who would not make that fatal mistake, so I said 'yes'. My mistake, really. He's not the only ass as far as judgement is concerned - I'm obviously not much better, for thinking he'd be mature enough.

His reaction kinda got me thinking: are all guys like this, prone to judgemenalism, and incapable of being open-minded and neutral, when they read a blog that they think reflects 'me'? I mean, though I started out with this grand pseudonym and all, I was idiotic somewhere along the way, and became close friends with some readers, with the side effect that some of their friends, etc, know who it is pushing the mouse here, without knowing absolutely anything else about me. Is that a recipe for disaster, with people like this guy I'm talking about, who knew me through not one, but two, readers of this blog? In short, is this blog a serious hazard to me meeting sensible guys, and should I perhaps scrap it and restart it somewhere else?

While I did consider the pros and cons of that, I decided otherwise. I'm being optimistic here (perhaps unduly so, but nevertheless...) and recalling that I want to end up with a 'sensible' person, as I said up there. And, I'm still hoping that a sensible person will realize where Closetalk the pseudonym ends and where I begin. I'm not ashamed of who I am and what I am. I love my life and the way I live it. I'm trying everything I can to be better, to do better, and I'm hoping that I find the love of my life somewhere along the way, and I'm having fun. If you can't handle it, it's not my fault. And no, I don't want to be fiends with someone who can't see beyond a blog.

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