Friday, February 29, 2008
Up Close (and personal?)
Up Close (and personal?)

For some inexplicable reason, while in the shower this afternoon, I was thinking about gay relationships and how they start. I'm going to try to not generalize, but it does seem that for most of us in relationships, it starts off with sex and then the date. Just another thing to make straight people think that all we 'really' care about is sex: if the sex is good, well then, maybe we can have a go at the relationship.

I remembered my own Carrie-Aiden incident some months back. You know, the one where Carrie drives herself crazy wondering why Aiden the big sexy boyfriend doesn't try to get her pants off (is he gay? O my!), and then he gives her that big spiel about "doesn't anyone in New York believe in romance anymore?" What's with the rush to get into bed... why not take the time to know someone a bit better over a couple of dates and then kick your shoes (and clothes) off? Why was Carrie in such a hurry to get the "fuck-me" dress on (and off!) for Mr. Big?

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Let's start from personal history then. All my relationships or flings - except one - so far have involved either a hook-up or sex on the first date.
  • First Ex and I wanted to get into each others' pants as soon as we laid eyes on each other, and our very first physical gesture was in a (ahem ahem) foursome romp.
  • With the Fashionista, it was a roller coaster first date with loads of schmoozing in Delhi and Gurgaon night clubs, culminating in sex on a dentist's chair. (Long story, look uo the archives if you're that interested!)
  • In the case of the Nice-Guy-No-Chemistry, we locked eyes on the dance floor, flirted all night long, and met up for a real date a week later - fun date, and yes, so much fun that we hit the sack. :)
  • With Ponytail Boy, it was bombastic chemistry on the first date which led to sex in the hotel elevator.
  • Salsaboy didn't jump me on the first date - in fact, he had to literally push me away, cuz I was ready as ever to hump him - but there was loads of sexual chemistry in our very first meeting, when he saw me at a party (I was dating Fashionista at the time) and started slow dancing, complete with ear-licking, hip grinding, soul shattering moves!
  • With Boy, sex preceded the date that then preceded round 2 of sex. (archive!)
  • And then there was NatureBoy - arguably, the one with whom I waited the longest to get laid: almost a week or so, really. Aaa, but the sex was great - and maybe it's a crime for me to say so, but the sex we had after we broke up was even more fabulous! :) Maybe cuz it was so fcukin' unplanned and in such a taboo environment - my big bro's apartment when no one was at home. *smirk*
... all of which brings me to Irish Coffee. Which was a very long first date, but it started off on the premise of a fun no-strings attached weekend and sight-seeing a new city and generally freaking out. So of course, sex was on the agenda from the start. Might not have started out as a hookup, but it did lead to very good sex at the end of a fun first date.

SnowWhite's Stepmother would probably shake his head, mutter "dugga dugga!", and tell me it's all me, and not really a gay 'thing' per se. I'm the slut who sleeps with men on the first date. I don't listen to all the sage advice, which clearly states that men who get first on the sex date don't come back for seconds. I'm too narcissistic, and believe that after they get sex on the first date they keep coming back for seconds, thirds, fourths,... you get the point. And maybe I shouldn't really pontificate about gay men in general, because, as everyone knows, SS would never contemplate getting into a relationship with someone he slept with on a first date. And then, of course there was Mr. Responsible here, who gave me my very own Carrie-Aiden incident some months back.

So this was in the days when Irish Coffee and I weren't serious at all, and Mr. Responsible comes in: kinda cute, with that North Carolina twang that just drives me crazy, saying all the right things, and intelligent to boot. Mmmm.... so we head out for a late night date, it goes about ok, and here I am thinking, aaa, well, maybe things will get nicer once we get those jeans off, and that's when he lets me know that he's content to get physical the next time around. Ummm.... ok. I think that's when I realized I was bored with him. All that niceness, all that responsibility, all that intelligence was actually boring. O my. That was a jolt, really. So I did the only thing I could think of doing: I reached over the car seat to him, and locked lips in the longest kiss I've probably given anyone since coming to the US of A... smiled at him and bid him goodbye. The Aidens of the world aren't really my thing, I decided. I need some Big in my life - no pun intended.

After all, as any SATC afficiando will tell you, what on earth did the fluffy dress get Carrie?

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A swollen face. She went to Paris and got slapped.

Bottom-line: I like sex (or at least some dynamite chemistry) on the first date. That's because, for me, a hookup with great sex is different from a relationship, which needs so much more than that great sex. But hey, a guy has to start somewhere, right? I look at it as just another way of getting to know someone...

And yes, the "fuck-me" dress did get her Big in the end.

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Thursday, February 21, 2008
The Queen's English
The Queen's English

Surprise, surprise, I seem to have been nominated "gay spokesman" in my Queer Theory class. Not really that surprising, if you take into account what Irish Coffee says about me: apparently, my gay-ness can be seen from space! I feel like doing a salute or something now! :)

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Back on the track of my de facto nomination (only guy in a class full of gals, so waddaya expect?!), the other day we were dissecting the notion of "gayspeak". And while we pored over research and remarks galore about whether there really is some fabulously mystic language exckusively for gay people, it naturally came to the point that the gaggle of females who make up this particular class looked pointedly at me and asked, so , what do you have to say? Spill the beans!

To my surprise, it wasn't really as easy to deny the accusation as I thought it would be. I mean, I don't think that all gay men look and sound the same - even though some of us do have the infamous "voice" - and then there's also the fact that if there's such a thing called gayspeak, where the hell is lesbianspeak? Hell, here I am, in a relationship with a guy who doesn't come across even remotely gay... so where does that leave the grand theory of "gayspeak"?! And then... there's me. I have the "voice" - if Irish Coffee is to be believed, even the little green men up there who're surveying the planet right now want to get my pants down. I also have the lingo: I refer to my very best friends on this blog in feminine terms, even though they're both men - case in point, SnowWhite's Stepmother and Vivian. And yes, all of our gaynesses can be seen from space - and I honestly don't think we'd like it any other way!

*cue for Pride music*

In the ole days back in Bombay, when I'd get a phone call from SS in the middle of my shoot with the (obviously straight) camera guys, I'd slip into "straight voice" mode without a thought - it would just happen, no conscious move required, really. And SS would snigger at my fake manly laugh - and induce me in every which way to get me tittering in front of the butch camera guys. Just your typical HO!HO!HO! over the more intrinsic HEEHEE, you understand. How's that for "gayspeak", then?

But where "gayspeak" really scores in my opinion, is not so much in the intonations or the voices or the giggles, but in a shared global identity - as corny and a la gay.com as it may sound. Gay men everywhere in the world don't share exactly the same slang, but let's admit it, they come pretty close! Thanks to the internet, porn and gay men holidaying all across the known world, "gayspeak" really isn't very isolated. I may not have been conversant with what "basket picnic" or "call house" or "playing checkers" or "jam fag" or "tea room" meant, when I first came to the States, but even back in good ole Bombay we know the really important stuff like flamers and daddies and aunties and P-n-P and the value of muscle marys!

So, does that mean we speak a wholly different type of language from the rest of humankind? All said and done, that does seem to be stretching things a bit. As SnowWhite's Stepmother exclaimed, when I told him all about "gayspeak" and its connotations, "What rubbish! We're not a bunch of Zulus with all this nonsense about a strange indecipherable language, you know!"

And even though the Zulus might not appreciate it the way he put it, he does have a point. You see, it's like this: there's English... and then there's the Queen's English. :)

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V-day Weekend Update: Had a delightful time, up at Irish Coffee's, and despite my gruelling workload of readings etc, we did have time to cuddle on the sofa, cook up some effing fabulous food, drink loads of booze, have mindnumbing sex, and crack some really tough crossword puzzles. Not necessarily in that order, but you do get the picture! :)

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Wednesday, February 13, 2008
What makes the world go around
So what makes the world go around, again?

love

I was going to begin this blog by announcing it as my first V-day post, but then I recalled this particular one a couple of years ago, in good ole Bombay. Technically speaking, it's V-day already in India, even though it's still Feb the 13th here in Midwest America. And even though I won't be seeing Irish Coffee tomorrow, it's still going to be a disgustingly mushy V-day for me, because I'll be chatting on the phone eating heart-shaped candies.

That's right. You heard me correct. Heart candies.

*giggle*

Irish Coffee says they're a stupid American tradition, and I kinda believe him. Little heart-shaped multi-coloured sugar bits, with stuff like "Hot Thing" and "Kiss me" written on them, and he says that millions of Americans will gift them every year to everyone they know - classmates, parents, cousins, the works! I sincerely can't think of anything much more saccharinely Hallmark-y than that! So... he went and got a couple dozen of the ridiculous packets and put them outside my apartment door, so that I'd find them when I returned from class. I called him up to tell him he was mad.

It's been about six months now, by the way, with him and me. I like it. It's kooky and grown-up at the same time. Ridiculously ribald. Quite mad. And, comfortable at the same time. If I sound weird and nonsensical, then it's because it seriously has elements of all that. It's got to the point where I've introduced him to my straight friends here, and even the odd faculty member, and that feels kinda... different. So here I am, feeling all happy and buzzed, 15 minutes left to the V-day countdown, and I've made a terribly over-the-top V-day Closetalk avatar over at the side there, and I've hunted online for a sexy Cupid to post here.

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But I think it's also important to play down the mush factor, what with the boyfriend and all, in noting that for us gay guys, while some of us go ga-ga over V-day (most of us hate it, of course: most notably, SnowWhite's Stepmother is celebrating "Thank God I didn't end up with the wrong guy" Day today!), we can't really let ourselves go totally as far as PDA (public display of affection) goes - at least, in the straight sense! Hence, that great pic which I posted up there with the L-O-V-E sign and the guys smooching is actually just a NYT stunt pic for their article on censure over gay PDA, and not real guys kissing - and that's a horrible lie to tell on V-day! Of course, I've thought often, since coming here, that the US of A isn't really the great "land of the free" it's billed to be...! *sigh and despair* But that's fodder for another, longer, and much more sensible blog post. For now, to all the bigots out there who can't stand the rainbow, this is all I hafta say...

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