On GAY TV Tonight...

On GAY TV Tonight...

So ok, I'm sitting and watching the telecast of the Gladrags Megamodel and Manhunt contest right now on Star One. Please don't hate me: I'm not always this retarded, but sometimes I like to play the role of the Gay Dunderhead. *sigh*

What isss to be doingsss?

Anyhow, the way I see it, Gladrags is a highly gay themed show. Why? Well, decide for yourself: hot babes in bikinis, Maureen Wadia, dumb hunks in bikinis, Pooja Bedi, sarong-pyjamas falling of dumb hunks, John Abraham, fashion shows, Arjun Rampal, the hyper-active younger Meet brother performing at the show who kept jhatkaoing his hips, and yes, again, John Abraham. *drool*

TRING! TRING! It's Boy.

CT: "Hey sexy, I'm looking at hot almost-naked hunks strutting over here. They're dancing and shaking their groins a lot."

Boy, a bit alarmed: "What?! Where are you?"

CT: "At home only, baba. I'm not that pretty to invited for orgies like that, you know. *titter* It's the Gladrags Manhunt Contest on TV."

Boy, (do I hear him sigh in relief, and should I feel offended that he apparently agrees I'm not orgy-hot?!): "O, OK... you're watching TV..."

CT: "O,ooooo... these guys are actually wearing sheer leopard printed sarong-pyjamas, and this guy's thingy just fell off, so he's dancing in teeny-weeny black speedos!"

Boy, getting into the groove now: "Ooooo... do you have popcorn with you? This sounds like fun!"



Aaa, well, yes, fun it is. And that's another one of the things that's gay about Gladrags. The fact that all these straight men, just because it's the much-awaited swimsuit round, start grooving and dancing and twisting their bodies and pumping their muscles, as if they're in some teeny overcrowded alley of Bangkok's seediest red light area. I mean, come ON guys! So you're modelling for a swimsuit, but you don't need to get all jiggy with it, just cuz they're playing Black Eyed Peas!

All those gay hooker moves are funniest when you consider the opening lines they gave when they first walked out on the stage. 1. "Hi, I'm so-and-so and I have been wanting to come to this event since I was 17, and now 6 years later, I am here, and I pray by the grace of God who watches over my family, that I win..." 2. "I don't believe in winning and losing concepts, What really matters is that you try your best, and that is what I will do. I am a simple boy from Patiala, and I want to do my country proud by winning this title"... Yea? What title? Mr Bang-Cock 2006?! 3. "I quote - A bird flies yonder/ aching to break free/ to soar/ to leap/ to see - ladies and gentlemen, that bird is me."

Yes, That bird is you, dude. Cuckoo.

Observed: Maureen Wadia of course must seat herself between Arjun Rampal and John. John was looking divine in his spanking new haircut, and was quite open-mouthed when the Megamodel gals started doing the ramp in their swimwear round, and Arjun's white shirt was perennially open to his belly button - not that I'm complaining. Maureen Hag was routinely whispering thingys to both her boytoys. I love that woman. *giggle*



Observed Again: Most of the judges were having a ball, while the others were just plain bored, and Sabina Chopra looked pained. Riteish Desmukh has a new haircut as well, but is still as sad as ever. Was giggling continuously with the persona non grata next to him. The only judge who looked remotely interested in judging was (don't faint!) Pooja Bedi. (She looked quite shocked at the final choices, by the way.) Maureen was probably wondering what services she would extract from the three boys (read: winners) delivered to her room that night. I love that woman. *giggle*

Observed Over and Over Again: Jeh Wadia of Go AIR fame, sitting behind the judges, looking quite flustered. What is mummy upto tonight?! But, o good god, where o where was dreamboat brother Ness? *swoons*

Overheard: The answers in the Question Round. ROTFLMAO. Do people actually have so little brains collectively? Riteish asked his boy, what is the biggest problem in the world that needs to be solved, and please don't say poverty? The boy replied "women!", and just when the audience started clapping and sighing that finally there was one with a sense of humour, he spoiled it all, by copying Answer No. 2046 from the Ms World Handbook about women's education upliftment. *groan*.

John was best: after his first question got used up, he asked What is global warming and how is it caused? As soon as the dumbo boy answered, Yes it is a real problem, it happens because there is too much pollution because of cars and all, John baba thought we shouldn't really expect too much and put in a quick, O that's right, thank you for answering that question very well. Huh, wazzat! Ummm.. wasn't John baba one of the Gladrags crowd as well, at one time, now? *chuckles*

Lost and Forgotten: The Megamodel gals contest. What, where, who, why???

Best part of the event: Shivani Kashyap's performance (I lurrrve her voice, absolutely!) and Jon of course.



Update: OK, so the show's over, and does anyone really want to know who won, since they're all U-G-L-Y? The cutest guy, one Vikrant Oberoi, was saddled with Mr Congeniality and that's it. Bah!

Delhi Memoirs - Part Two

Delhi Memoirs - Part Two

So, the other day, I was online and after chatting with Boy, I bump into the Ponytail. Hey, says I, so what's happening with you? Still enconsced in your comfy 3-bhk-flat- in-Gurgaon-with-two-balconies?

Ponytail: "Naaa, dude, I moved out some time back. Decided to take a 6 month sabbatical from work, so I moved in with the parents."

CT, shock and awe at a handsome and virile young gay man being forced to live with parents: "I'm shocked and awed at the thought of a handsome and virile young gay man being forced to live with his parents!"

Aaa, well, the conversation wasn't exactly earth shaking, but he did tell me that Salsa Boy was also online at the same time, and I promptly buzzed him. Salsa Boy is currently living in the UAE, by the way, and I keep teasing him about the Arab Sheikhs on his plate, when I see him online.

CT: "*BUZZ* So how many gay Sheikhs are there now, hotstuff?"

Salsa Boy: "hehehe.. Waiting for you still."

CT, grinning: "Awww, you're a cute liar."

Salsa Boy and I first met up ages ago, at a private party in Delhi, hosted by this other gay man who was leaving for Sri Lanka the day after. I had gone to the party with this other guy on our second date, and my date knew Salsa Boy. My first impression of him, however, was when he snaked his way behind me suddenly, and tongued my ear, saying I was a juicy treat.

Aaa, well, interesting first impressions. I was a bit turned on (the vodka, the vodka!) but quite quite stunned, and retracted myself from his boa-like vice, aided suitably by the not-too-amused glare my date was flashing at me. But I did flash him back a grin. Three weeks later, when the thing with the date boy fizzled out, and Salsa Boy sent me an sms, saying he still remembered me and how was I doing these days, I decided to reply.



(Of course, I was majorly flattered that the guy had hunted down my phone number to sms me!) So I reply: Yes I remember you. You're the Friendly Neighbourhood Tongue Man from So-and-so's party.

Well, anyhow, we decided to catch up after that, and went to this nice place called the Big Chill in Khan Market. We talked, we laughed, we had a nice date, and no we didn't have sex on the first date. Of course, that was purely on his insistence: I would have jumped him in the car if he had allowed me to - Salsa Boy is marvellously hot! - but he insisted that we not do it then. Sex happened on the second date and it was mindblowing - and thereby began a two month journey with Salsa Boy.

The thing with Salsa Boy was different for me because of a variety of reasons. It wasn't the first time I was dating someone with such a huge reputation of being a Delhi slut, but it was unique, cuz he was still on excellent terms with everybody else - unlike the Slut No 1 I had dated earlier, who everyone bitched about later. So I was a mite nervous and it was gratifying to see the way he fawned over me. Also, it was clear that even though he cared for me, I was not his number one priority - there was his work, and there were his friends, and there was his family, and later, at the no 4 or 5 slot, there was me. He liked me, he wanted to date me, but there it was, the List.

Another funny thing was, Salsa Boy was an open relationship. I knew he was having sex with some other guys, and he never denied it when I asked him, but it was also clear that the other guys were one-night stands and I was the only guy he was dating. As for me, I was having one-night stands as well. The classic approach.

It ended though, one night at his place, after chocolate cake, when he told me he wanted to end the sex part with me, and remain only good friends. I understood why he was doing it: he didn't want the casual dating to progress onto a relationship, because he felt I wasn't the right guy for him then. And he knew that I was beginning to feel possessive, starting to get into the 'relationship mode'. This way, he reasoned, it would be a clean break.



It was. It was the most dignified split I have ever had, and I'm so glad, because after that, whenever we meet online, there's never any uncertainty or slight hesitancy like there is when I meet some of my other exes. That's why I avoid meeting my exes - with the exception (no puns intended) of Nature Boy, who I'm not sure can even be labelled an 'ex'. I appreciated the way he had broken it so neatly, and I told him that, months later online.

Then, the other night, while the jokes on Arab Sheikhs in the UAE had died down, and we were talking general stuff about his life and mine, and what we want from it, he sighs and says he wants to tell me something serious.

Salsa Boy: "I think, if you and I met up now, I woud want to have a relationship with you."

CT, goggles: "&*^#%*)&%@"

Salsa Boy laughs

CT: "This is a change... but I guess both of us have changed."

Salsa Boy: "Yea, we have. It's been such a great thing, chatting with you all this while, watching you change. You've become so much better equipped to handle things."

CT, musing: "Mmmm... perhaps. I've observed how much you've changed yourself. Still quiet as ever, but much more patient, I think. More open to things that don't work out the way you would like them too!"

Salsa Boy: "Too bad you're not in the UAE here with me. Wouldn't have let you go away this time, sexy!"

CT, laughing: "Aaa, well, tales from another day here... "

O, and yes, I told Boy later about this conversation, and we both mused how strange our relationships with our exes are, and how stranger they become with time.

Delhi Memoirs - Part One

Delhi Memoirs - Part One

Sniff out dry Delhi summers even in the middle of the sultry Bombay heat. Last year, I received a phone call from a Delhi ex, Salsa Boy, that his friend the Ponytail was hitting Bombay, and would I be nice enough to meet him and show him around a bit. Ponytail and Salsa Boy are close friends, but he was always too busy to catch up with the two months that Salsa Boy and I were dating, so we had never met. Being curious, therefore, I readily agreed.

I kept Ponytail waiting at the Marine Drive Barista for an hour before I finally showed up, and then his cute dimpled smile made my knees go weak. We walked down Marine Drive, I introduced him to green chilly ice cream at Bachelor's, and then capped the evening at Churchill's on Colaba. I escorted him back to the Gordon House, where he was staying, and as soon as the elevator doors closed on us, we were making out frantically.

;-) My first (and only, to date) time in an elevator!



Well, for the four days that he was here after that, Ponytail and I met up regularly, and not all of our escapades were in the elevator. There was the time when my then flatmate was not working, or when his travel partner was out partying, or some other such episodes. It got so hurried and so frantically beautiful, that by the time he was leaving, he was asking me to seriously consider taking a job in Delhi again, so that he and I could try a relationship.

(I was very, very, very serious about it.)

Well, after that, both Ponytail and I confided the story of our passion to mutual pal Salsa Boy, who found it all very funny.

Salsa Boy: "If you asked me, you guys are so not made for each other! I would never have thought that he would have fallen for you the way he has!"

CT, whiny: "Stop being so cold about it."

Salsa Boy, laughing: "I'm not being cold, just incredulous. Anyway, it really doesn't concern me at all. If it works out for you, I'm happy for you guys!"

There was to be a gap of one month before Ponytail would come back to Bombay on another business trip. During that interval, we were on the phone and online regularly, talking to each other and exchanging steamy scenarios and mushy plans about what might happen when we met the next time. And then, the fateful day came, Ponytail flew into Mumbai airport, and I was to meet him that night at the GB party organized at the Razz.



Zilch.

Not sure how it happened, really. Suddenly, there was Zero Chemistry. We met, we danced, we snogged, we went back to his hotel room and had sex. But, through it all, it felt like we were doing something orchestrated. The second time around, I just didn't feel anything for him, and I wondered whether he could see that. He was in town for just three days that time, and so it seemed natural that we never met up again after that first night.

The next week, when I confided this to Salsa Boy, the bastard burst out laughing.

Salsa Boy: "He told me the exact same thing!"

CT, surprised, "He felt the lack as well?"

Salsa Boy: "Yup, yup. It's not working, he said."

CT lets out a sigh of relief.

So, after that, Ponytail and I caught up online again and rather shyly confessed to each other that the 'magic' simply wasn't there any more, and so all further plans of moving to Delhi were shelved.

Thank God, because in December late last year, a certain Gujarati hottie called Boy stepped into my life.

*lopsided grin*

BREAKING NEWS: DNA opens The Closet

BREAKING NEWS: DNA opens The Closet

Happy Surprise.

Yours truly submitted an article to DNA on integrating the gay life with the straight in Bambai nagariya, and it got published yesterday, on the Sunday After Hrs. My apologies for not telling you guys in advance, but I wasn't too sure myself about whether it would show up, and I picked up my own copy only around 10 pm.

The article is titled Tag-a-long Party, and is featured as the anchor story (complete with cartoon and all) on a new inside page dedicated to menfolk, and is also teased on the front page of After Hrs. The byline is wrongly attributed to Talking Closets (d-uh: TC is the name of the blog, while Closetalk is the author!), but who cares, since they've also linked to the blog.

;-)

So, anyway, seeing that getting a copy of yesterday's paper may be difficult now, I decided to reproduce the original article here. The parts in red are what was edited and kept out of the article when it finally appeared...



Coming out to your friends and coming out to your family are two very different things, as any gay man (partly) in the closet will tell you. Somehow, it's easier with your friends. And its easier for you to initiate them into your 'other' life. True, when I tell them about this fantabulous guy I'm in love with, they may look strangely and wonder what on earth it feels like, to be in love with someone of the same sex, but they also nod sagely, smile with paternal/maternal affection and tell you that Love Is Great.

Amen: Love Is Great.

And gay parties? Well, they may not be Great (capital letters), but they're Fun (capital letters again).

How many of us gay men/women have taken our straight pals out with us to share a slice of Gay Abandon (I have a thing for capital letters when I'm explaining concepts, you see)... Well, most of us old hags. In so many cases, our straight friends are our companions when we've been around the block too many times without hitting jackpot, and we don't want to go for a party alone. I still remember the time I asked my first flatmate - a very straight and very liberal Punjabi young man who has since then moved to another city - to come with me to a gay party. He shrugged, grinned, and said in his characteristic Punju drawl, Why not?

As easy as that.

And no, he didn't move to the other city because of the traumatic experience thereafter at the party. Actually, he had no experience noteworthy to speak of. He came, hung around at the bar with his beer, got introduced to my gay friends (with the stern warning that he was straight and not Fair Game, capital letters), and then after five beers, did the bhangra to a vastly amused gay crowd of onlookers. The next day, all sober and squeaky clean, he announced that he had had a 'fun' time.

What did I say about Fun?

Then, there was the time I took along this whole group of friends to one party. My best friend (female), and two others (one male, one female) and I. First observation: female friend 2 squealed in glee: "Ooo, they're so pretty!" Second observation: best friend nodding: "They dance so well!" All this, while I nodded in modest glee: yes, we're... umm.... pretty, and yes, we dance great. Not good, great!

Parting shots from that particular event? Loads more glee. Best friend got hit on by her very first lesbian, and couldn't stop gloating about it for a week. And male friend, who didn't have any first or second or third observations, got asked for a light by a Muscle Mary with shiny muscles and a taffetta scarf.


PS: Regulars at the closet are now expected to bombard DNA with responses, saying that they read the article, loved it, and want to know when the author will be invited to write a weekly/fortnightly column for the newspaper. *wistful expression*

High Chancellor Closetalk

High Chancellor Closetalk

So the other day, Flatmate and I were watching TV, and she balked at this cute guy onscreen wearing pink jeans. I balked as well, but quickly covered it up, when she groaned and declared that it was a horrendous case of Metrosexuality Mania.

CT, huffing: "So what's wrong with being metrosexual?"

FM, pulling her hair out in frustration: "Are you kidding me?! It's awful! All these guys are acting so horribly gay!"

CT, cold voice: "So, what's wrong in being gay?"

FM, calming down: "Sweety, nothing's wrong in being gay if you are gay, but why act gay when you're straight?! It just turns the women off!"

CT, with maniacal gleam in eye: "We should just get rid of all the women on the planet...!"

*Darth Vader background score*

I suppose some of the Frankensteinian zeal from the post before last still remained within me, because in that instant, I had this beautiful vision of the world before me. A carefree, Gay World, like nothing that has ever existed before. And with FM there to parry and thrust with, I worked out the details...

GayWorld will only have men. Gay men. All straight men will be subjected to homosexual experiences repeatedly, unless they finally turn gay (of their own free will), and lust at the sight of Facial Hair. The deviants who refuse to be converted will be made into slaves - scantily clad of course - and subjected to rigorous gymming so that they have Greek God like bodies for our daily pleasure.

The women, we don't need. So, they can be all shipped away to the moon.

FT, Voice of Reason incarnate: "Yea, and then all you gay men will die out within a generation!"

Ummm... ok, so we'll subject the women to homosexual encounters repeatedly also, so that we make lesbians out of most of them. The deviants who refuse to be converted witll be shipped to the moon and locked away in Reproduction Tanks. Measured artificial insemination will be used on them, and also on the lesbian volunteers, to create subsequent generations. The Star Children will obviously be those borne to a gay father and a lesbian mother, and by promoting artificial insemination of Star lesbians with Star gay men, the aim of society will be to isolate, harness and propagate the Gay Gene.

MUHHAHAHAHA!!!!

FT, amused now: "But what about your fag hags? How will you gay men exist without them?"

Ummm... ok. True. Not all the best fag hags are lesbians. Actually, very few lesbians are fag hags, and vice versa. So, the aim of artificial insemination will also be to create a line of straight Fag Hags. They will be rewarded for their puppy dog like friendliness with the choicest of the Straight Male Slaves that we will use for our pleasure.

Look at the advantages. The world is united under the Rainbow banner. With the sexuality issue out of the way, we will be free to pursue interstellar exploration and commerce. We can slave trade with other civilizations, with the excess Straight Deviants. There will be no separate country, so that you can have sex with someone from any ethnicity, and that will only bring all our gay brothers and sisters and lovers together. Yay! Never since Hitler has such a philanthropist like me been born.

FM, in awe: "You're a NUT!"

Happy Birthday, Talking Closets

Happy Birthday, Talking Closets



It's been a swell ride so far!

(No puns intended)

;-)

Closetalk plays Frankenstein

Closetalk plays Frankenstein

Never thought of myself as a mentor of sorts (though I will be applying for a graduate assistant position at an American university later this year) until the other day. The other day was intended to catch up with li'l Veed, of whom I have admittedly not seen much lately. So, after a lot of drama queen ishtyle moaning and groaning about how far his house is from mine and how I need to go to work the next day, I succumb and pack an overnight bag. The agenda for the night is Pizza and Spice Girls.

Veed's house is amazingly large. His computer desktop has a huge blow-up of himself with Emma Bunton, and when I enquired whether he had anything of Geri Halliwell ('It's Raining Men!') I got a scowl and a comment that he wasn't interested the least in Geri Whore-i-well.

*snigger*

Getting back to the task of mentoring. It was discovered that poor li'l Veed, who rarely goes to GB parties, and rarely meets suitable young gay men of a screwable age, didn't have an ID on that answer (and simultaneously, source) to all problems of young gay men of screwable age: Gay.com. It was his lucky day that I decided to play Fairy Godfather, and with his mouse doubling up as my wand, did the needful.

(By the way, there was absolutely no dirty joke implied in that last bit about mouses and wands. I just realised, upon re-reading this post, that it sounds funny. )



First, the hunt for a suitable name for our suitable boy. Thrown in the ring, were such hopefuls like 'Spice Boy', "Posh&Pecs", "Doc Veed", and finally we chose this slightly longer name that doesn't sound like a gay young man of screwable age at all. And no, we never even considered 'beautifullyintended'. ;-)

Fill up the form: Top/Btm? Ht? Wt? Wst? Eyes? Hair? Friendship/Fraandsip/Sex/Open Relationship/Closed relationship? Twink/Muscleman? Mumbai? Permutations and combinations, till we fnally reached the part that possibly is as far as most prospective profile watchers come to: the all-important Photo.

Choice 1 is the 'nanga' pic that li'l Veed is hyper about. Choice 2 is a tousle-haired bed-head look that took him 30 whole minutes to perfect. Choice 3 is the suited and spiked look. Choice 4 is something which is All Teeth. Veed is adamant that 'nanga' pic occupy pride of place as default pic, but the gay.com server didn't agree and refused to accept it. We stuck with the perfected bed-head look, instead.

Litmus test: hit the chatroom. Bated breath.

Sometime back, Veed and I had hit the chatroom under my user name, and I had shown the lad three different ways of chat in three different chat windows. 1. With the cute guy who lived in LA, try 'cute and sexy, flirty' chat. You want to keep him hooked. Veed was happy. 2. With guy no 2, who asked where you were in Bombay and whether you wanted to meet, try the 'out-and-out' sex chat, discuss fave positions and styles, and bedroom orientations and exchange numbers purely for game reasons. Veed was slightly horrified, but still fascinated. 3. Finally, with guys 3, 4 and 5, I used the 'go to hell' approach: no, you're ugly, and I don't wanna screw you, I don't wanna talk to you, so just jump in the well. Veed was "shocked and appalled".

He usually is. ;-)

But it was time now for the litmus test. This time, it wasn't me who would do the chatting. It wouldn't be my name or my pic. It would be the latest entrant in the India Countrywide chatroom of gay.com: Veed, with his ID and his not-so 'nanga' pic. Tension.

Later that day, when I told Boy over the phone how overwhelmed with parental pride I was when Veed got his first 'hits', he called me a psycho. I dare say, I am, at times. ;-) The boy got 5 hits in under 20 seconds. Five fucking hits. And imagine his drama-queen cheek, after chatting with them for eternity, he moans and groans that nobody liked him because he didn't have his 'nanga' pic.

I hugged my protege after that comment.

;-)

Update: The 'nanga' pic is up now, and li'l Veed has reportedly had loads more hits after uploading it. Gay.com has a new monster on the loose, and I feel like Dr Frankenstein now.

Sand in my swimsuit!

Sand in my swimsuit!

This is in response to the excitement of the question in the earlier post.

This is not an answer, however, because the answer still eludes me. Don't get me wrong: Goa is simply full of good looking, able bodied young men; unfortunately, they either happen to be followed (or led by) equally good looking able bodied young women, or roam in packs of some other not-so good looking, not-so able-bodied young men. For someone like me, who is clearly out of the Race, the entire situation was stimulating, but still frustrating.

Travelling with a straight man has its funny moments. The two of us were lounging on Anjuna Beach, gawking at the succession of hot bodies basking under the hot sun, and while his eyes were glazing over with lust at the ample display of breasts (strictly female for him!), he also found the time to encourage me to hit on good looking firang strangers walking by ahead of us or swimming in the waters nearby.



Straight Travelmate: "O, look, look... he's hot, he's hot. Go hit on him!"

CT, sheepish: "How? How? I don't know how to hit on people any more."

ST: "Just go up to him and say hi, and ask him whether he wants to have sex with you!"

CT, looking incredulous: "You remind me of the cheapos in a gay chatroom with that dialogue."

ST: "Don't be silly. He's hot, he's hot. You'll miss your chance now!"

CT: "Should I swim close by and flash him a stare?"

ST, agitated and excited as a topless woman floats past a metre from us: "Flash him, period!"

CT, turning red: "OMG!"

ST, excitement mercury rising higher: "O, look, look, that sexy bandana chick looked at me. I think she's coming here. Go away, go away, hit on someone, anyone!"

That wasn't the last of it, of course. Walking on Fort Aguado and he points out pot bellied man sunbathing in printed electric blue swimsuit, and tells me that the guy is from his home town, is very VERY gay, and I should go and have sex with him. I looked at ST incredulously, and say, "I don't sleep with anything with a dick, you know!"

To which, ST looks happily at me, and says, "Of course you do, you're a slut!"

CT: "And you're beyond help!"

The only time I ventured alone on the beach was at Baga. I sat there, on a deck chair, reading, when out of nowhere this slimy guy comes up and starts touching my ankles.

Slimy Guy: "Massage sir? I give you good massage?"

CT, stunned: "No, no, NO!"

SG, groping some more: "I very good with hands... I give good massage, you like what I do!"

CT, almost hysteric: "NO! NO! NO!"

SG, looking hurt but hands still roving, despite CT's thrashing about, "You sure? I very good...!"



I finally managed to convince him I had no use for his 'good' hands, and he left. The sad part was that Baga Beach, where I lay down, marvellously stripped down to my bare essentials, was entirely populated by fat grannies and gramps, but no sooner had I put my clothes back on and walked up the lane to the hotel, I see a succession of hot guys on hot bikes whizzing past. As usual, I have bad luck.

But, hey, actually, I have very good luck. I have a boyfriend who loves me very much.

(Repeat chant twice more and feel better.)

In Goa

Ok, I'm in Goa.

Now WHERE ARE ALL THE HOT FIRANG GAY MEN???

;-)

Worli

Worli

I remember sitting out on Worli Sea Face with Boy one night. Back from a movie and dinner and suddenly he gets the urge to drink something 'cold' (always something cold) and since I don't have a fridge at home, the only two options are 5 star hotel or Worli Sea Face: already did 5 star hotel the night before, so my miserly brain urges the case for Worli.

One of our happiest times together. ;-)



Sitting and counting the silly rats scampering about below the sea facing balustrade. Boy refused to sit there and we found a bench for ourself. Holding hands. Singing songs. He loves this one in particular: Piya tose naina laage re, and I sit, listening, spellbound, as he sings to me. He makes me feel special. He always does. I've downloaded the song onto my computer system now, to listen to, when he's not here. And I kiss his photograph on my shelf. I wonder what I'll say to bro if he ever comes visiting and sees that photograph atop the shelf: Boy and I hugging, in front of the door.

And then there was the paanipuris. Even that late in the night. Boy is crazy about them, and now, whenever I see a paanipuri wallah, I feel tempted to eat some - and then I decide to wait till he comes back. I told him about this urge I get the other night on the phone, and he laughed. I love the sound of his laughter. He says I giggle. Damn. I was hoping I have a chuckle. (Old joke.)

And the vendor girl, too. There was this young girl who kept on walking up and down the path. We had come to Worli Seaface earlier in the evening as well, and she was there, and when we came back late at night, it was the same. Boy was interested and we motioned her over, and bought his 'cold' drinks from her. We chatted about her job and her life. How she had given a Rs 100 note to a guy by mistake, when she had had to give him Rs 10, and how her mum would scold her because of that. We felt very sorry and offered her our condolences, and she grinned and walked away. We saw her again twice more, and then walking away to cross the road to a woman on the other side. Must be her mum, Boy whispered, holding my hand.

Straight-laced?!

Straight-laced?!

Every gay man alive will tell you about that strange phenomenon that is a cross between a straight man and a gay man... that epitome of brilliance that is (at times) lauded to the skies and every gay man aspires to be, and (at others) is condemned as the lowest form of hypocrisy a homosexual can be capable of. On his own part, however, that Subject of Much Debate thinks not in the least that he is anything spectacular or unnatural - merely that he is what he is, and he tries to make the best of an unfortunately embarrassing situation - the ubiquitous Straight Acting Gay Man.

Take a case in point. Online chat happening between Strapping Young Hunk With Muscles And A Call Centre Job - let's call him Man A, as it's much easier than referring to him continuously as SYHWMAACCJ - and Younger Hunk With Not Too Many Muscles And Just Passed Out Of College, who can be Man B. Man A feels that he's quite God's gift to gay men and so he flirts his virtual muscles online with much elan, to the delight of an enamoured Man B on the other end:

A: So... I'm hot. I hope you're hot too. I work out regularly.

B: Really? You work out? That's great. I love well built guys. Wanna have hot fun?

A: I dunno. What do you do in bed?

B rattles of a number of interesting activities that would make a biker bear blush!

A, slightly interested now: OK.

B: So? You wanna hook up and have fun?

A, now getting ready for the kill: Maybe. Are you feminine?

B, a bit confused now, as to what would make A think he was (gasp!) feminine: No. why?

A, sticking his virtual nose up in the air: I don't go for feminine guys, ok. I'm very straight acting.

B is, at this line, completely bowled over. He must have A in bed with him this very night, or his life till now has been a complete waste, so he hurriedly proceeds to tell A that he is as straight acting as straight men can possibly get, and no one would even guess that he was gay (if he didn't give it all away by opening his mouth and talking in his sing-song drawl). A match is made, and the happy couple has (presumably) good sex.

Actually, let's not jump the gun here: the Straight Acting Gay Man is not completely shallow, nor completely obsessed with Muscles (capitals, please!), nor even ashamed of his homosexuality. He just doesn't find it necessary to act gay even if he is gay,... and we all know that being gay isn't just about what gender you're humping against the wall. But in most cases, the Straight Acting Gay Man takes his act a tad too far: while even the most straightlaced (no pun intended) of us Gay Acting Gay Men would make a concession for not acting overtly gay in a predominantly heterosexual work/personal environment, sometimes it smarts when you come across someone in the gay environ who simply refuses to acknowledge his gay-ness as anything other than his sexual orientation.



The question is: why does it smart? Why do I snicker when I come across a person on the chatroom who asks around whether his chat partner is 'straight acting'? Why, on earth, do I find the term so ludicrous? Is it because that I happen to be one of them who tried acting Straight and just gave up, (I mean: cricket???!!!), deciding instead to just be myself? If that's the case, then why do I also snicker when I see the Decidedly Pansy Gay Man at my office flounce past in his coloured scarf and tight t-shirt?

I would be one of those dainty people sitting on the fence, advocating moderation: not the Bobby Darling way, and not the Gruff Man Who Refuses to Be Gay way, either. But then, that's my point of view. No Straight Acting Gay Man I know of has a blog to argue out his case.

Pity.

Roundup

Roundup

So, I was googling randomly this morning, and decided to see what the Great God Google (News) says about 'gay'. Here, in a nutshell, is what's been sparking across the globe in the last 24 hours...

Church walkout on gay marriage issue
In Toledo, Ohio, US, the local chapter of the Cleveland-based United Church of Christ voted to break ties with the parent organisation. Last July, the UCC endorsed same sex marriage and this prompted several local chapters to review their ties. Since then, 43 congregations have left the UCC, while others are still reviewing the situation, and have stopped sending in funds.

Leprechauns allowed, but no gay men please
St Patrick's Day parade in The Big Apple, and the chairman of the parade reportedly said that allowing gay groups to march in it would be like inviting the Nazis to a Jewish parade. The NYC mayor has apparently asked the parade organisers to lift the ban on gay groups. Not much hope of it, though.

HSBC says NO! to gay traders
HSBC is in the news, and the London courts are due to give a ruling on whether the bank is in the wrong for firing its former global head of equity trading, Peter Lewis. A coworker of Lewis says, he tried to 'come on' to him, but Lewis says, the allegations are a case of pure homophobia. The trial has been going on for the last 2 weeks now.

What is it about gay men and sailors?!
Also from London, the Royal Navy may go in for special classes to sensitise its personnel even more towards their gay colleagues. In 2000, the British armed forces lifted a ban on allowing gay men/women in, and since then, gay rights pressure group Stonewall says that the Navy ranks 75th in tems of gay-friendly employers! Happy change of affairs?!

Will and Grace?
In South Africa, the Pretoria courts will deliver judgement on a case where a gay man has challenged that he should be allowed to inherit the estate of his dead lover. The two men lived together since 2003, built the house together, and after the death of one of them, his parents have moved in and removed items from the house.

Homophobic riots vs Football
Football is hoped to ease some tensions between gay and Muslim groups, according to a Dutch multicultural group. Am sure we all know the colours of the home team!

I, Audience

I, Audience

The funny thing is, my straight older brother saw Brokeback Mountain before I did. He called me on the phone to kill time while waiting for his colleagues from work to come by, and informed me that he had sold off some extra tickets to "some very gay looking chaps". I smiled on the other end of the phone while he said so, and the really hilarious part was that, on Saturday, when The Gang and I went to see the same movie, this utterly delectable boy comes over to us and asks o-so-confidently, "Hey guys, you're going to see Brokeback, right? Would you have an extra ticket?"

Flabbergasted, but the situation was wildly funny. Guppie kept nudging me and asking "Why? Why? Why is he asking us?" Emily giggled and snickered, Penguin chortled and it was left to ex-d/d to grin back and say, "No, we want another one, actually", following which Utterly Delectable Boy smiled sheepishly and went back to join his (male) friend waiting for him on a bike.

CT: "Who did you want the extra ticket for?"

Ex-d/d, preening: "For him - to join us, of course!"

Anyhow, how was the movie? Not bad , actually. But no, not the great monument it was billed to be. Not what all the hoopla and hype promised. Some have praised its simplicity, saying that it's all a Simple Love Story, which incidentally happens to be about two men. But then, if you take away the 'two men' thingy, what exactly is so great about the movie? I'm not exactly sure on that score.



I mean: yes, the movie has all these great inputs from gay life. Like the fact that "a couple of high altitude fucks aren't enough", or having sex with a hooker in Mexico, or not being sure about living together and what it entails, or even Coming Out... All great stuff, but as a gay person watching the film, I wouldn't think of any of it as really huge stuff which is inspiring... just something which I've been through, and which so many other gay men have lived through.

But then, an afterthought: maybe the really inspiring part is the fact that Jack and Ennis sustain their relationship (in whatever form) for twenty years. Now, how many gay men can boast that?
Suddenly, I do feel inspired.

***

And then, the weekend also saw me finishing the debut novel by gay author Siddharth Dhanvant Shanghvi, The Last Song of Dusk. Both Emily and ex-d/d went ga-ga over the book, and so I picked it up at the Strand Book Fair. While I found the beginning of the book quite Mills-and-Boon-ish, I've eaten my words since then, because it ends on a beautiful note. It progresses on a beautiful note as well. Poetic? Yes. Lyrical? Yes. But perhaps the most endearing fact of all: eccenteric.



Of course, I can't deny that I found myself giggling every time Shanghvi describes a male character in the book. The best description was of course the first:

As he ran the white cloth around the bend of his muscled calves, the limp leg hair rose again. Then he daubed the delicious dimples of his buttocks, the incline of his back, the coltish nape of his neck, and with every movement over his lovely form, bath water found itself slowly exiled to the lobes of his ears. The mirror revealed a fine specimen: a tall, muscular specimen with broad shoulders and a gallant puff of chest, a jaggery-brown skin, and a member between his legs that was lonely and strong willed and uttery gorgeous inside its own confusion. (pg 10)

I mean: now, really! ;-) But the man is brilliant also in his conclusions of life:

We'll probably never save our souls - but hell, at least we'll get our hair sorted. (pg 247)

And, o yes, the man is cute.

Cut and Run

Cut and Run

I've never smoked up. How strange that makes me seem sometimes. Never even had a puff of the stuff. No one at school or college ever offered me a take, and I came through to my twenty-second year quite free of narcotic infuence. That seems a mite absurd now, when I listen to some of my friends rave about how great the occassional puff is, and I sit silly, smiling ignorant.



I've had a brush with the stuff, of course. One of the people I used to date was quite an addict. The Peacock (all puns intended here - meaow!) was quite addicted to the stuff. I found that out, the very first time I met him. In the PVR Saket complex, behind the McDonald's store, with some other wild and whacky friends of his. I'd met him online just that evening and he'd told me to rush over for a night out - I was bored, horny and bored, so I went. Went and met The Peacock and his gaggle of 'pals' whom he bitched about at length after they'd gone.

The Peacock was a beautiful specimen in those days - tall and strutting, fair and pink lips, pretty pout, beautiful smile, and I was smitten. So I didn't really care when he puffed up in front of me. He was the first person who ever offered me a puff, but I refused. I refused over and over, for the three or so weeks that he and I dated.

One night, I asked him, why he took the stuff.

Peacock: *snigger*

CT: "No, really... why?"

Peacock: "Well, babe, I'm just staying healthy, you know!"

CT, stops dead and shoots a highly skeptical look: "You stay healthy by smoking weed?"

Peacock: "Of course! I don't do cigarettes anymore now, do I?!"

And that was followed by a gentle tug and tumble in bed, so I dropped the subject then and there. Eventually, though, we broke up, rather, drifted apart, and I could never get over his need for the weed. After a while, it hurt the Ego in me, and we all know how big that thing is...! It kinda stung that this guy would be morose and moody before he took the weed, and after a coupla pulls of the stuff, he'd be amazingly mellow and romantic and cutesy. I found him funny and sexy and cute, but I also found him demented at a level. And not the kind of dementia that Boy and I share...!

(Thank God, or else, I'd have to be wed to a fading, aging gay Peacock in Delhi!)

;-)

My second brush with narcotics was in Delhi again, but this time on a visit, after I had moved to Bombay. The guy in question was this acquaintance of Architect Ex-cum-Friend, and we met up at his absobloominutely amazing apartment in Greater Kailash, sprawling rooms, huge verandahs, yards and yards of fabric everywhere, and we had this very amazing session in the middle of a hot sweltering Delhi afternoon. And that's when he took them out, the Poppers. hell, Poppers are considered baby stuff by those in the know, but to me, they seemed wild and exotic... and when I got them offered to me by this hot naked guy on a hot afternoon, I decided to shrug off my prejudices and take a snort.

Ummm... nothing.

Not even a teensy-weensy, itsy-bitsy, polka-dotted or even bar-striped little relative of a high. While he went gaga over the stuff and took loads more snorts, dissolving in orgasmic groans after each sniff, I thought Vicks inhaler was probably ten times stronger than the Poppers, and I kept on wondering how such a great looking, hurly-burly Punjabi dude could turn out to be such a... umm.. pansy!

;-)

I mean, hell, even The Peacock behaved with far more self-respect for a tiny little snort!

Pshhhhaaaaaawwww!

Pshhhhaaaaaawwww!

I think I have a fever coming on. That's the good news. Because that means, I'll be able to bunk work tomorrow because of a valid reason. Not very nice an ambition to have, but at least that's better than bunking work on a not-really-valid reason, something which I did just last week. Boy has given up on me: he says, both my flatmate and I are itching to get fired from our jobs, because we have this penchant for not showing up at work, or showing up very late. That's easy for Boy to say, though: his work is dancing!

Damn, I'm jealous.

;-)

Not really any bad news in this setup of things. I haven't been blogging for ages now (not really ages, but it just seems so!) because quite honestly, not much has been happening. Keep making plans and castles in the air about somehow making it to live with Boy within three years. Strange stuff like GREs and GMATs, about which I'm a completely dunderheaded gay Alice in Wonderland. Don't even have a Cheshire Cat to show me around. D/d grins like one, true, but he's completely no help. O, by the way, that's another thing: d/d and I talked about it earlier, and he must be given a new name. Something nicer and truer. The persona of d/d is so... cliched, and we both agreed that my best friend is anything but.

So the hunt for a new name for D/d is on.

Yay: Activity!

PS: I'm also thinking of options like moving to Dubai, heaven forbid, to be closer to Boy. Now, while the idea of those yummy Arab princes is quite, quite, quite seductive, I won't have ex-d/d and Emily breathing down my neck all the time, like they do here, as soon as they spy me getting along nicely with a goodlooking boy: "O, hello, isn't the weather nice today, O and CloseTalk, you have a boyfriend!"

I know: let's call d/d BitchyWitch!

What's a bird in the hand worth, really?

What's a bird in the hand worth, really?

Infidelity is probably as old as love. Back to when the caveman dragged his cavegirl out by the hair, then came back and decided that her mother was pretty hot too, and so he decided to go fetch his club again.

;-)

And infidelity in the gay world is often taken for granted. Hence, the very convenient definition of an 'open relationship'. That's when you get to tell yourself that hell, he's gonna cheat on me anyway, so at least this way, I know who he's screwing, and I get to have some fun on the side, too. Seems simple enough.

And then, there are those poor sods who think that cheating is a grievous sin, and of course, it could never happen to them. And when they discover that Adam has also been screwing the snake behind Evan's back, there's a fountain of tears. Naive, naive tears.

(Step back: Adam and Evan? I like that!)

Personally, I've never been cheated on, either physically or emotionally, though I've been in the role of the cheater. I like to tell myself that being a physical cheat is much better than being an emotional cheat, but that's the MAN side of me talking, and not necessarily the gay side. Most men think it's cool to fcuk, as long as you don't spend the whole night in bed. Most men think cheating is quite, quite inevitable. I've felt that myself, and when I have, I've realized that I'm not in love with this person, as I profess to be. Who were the people I cheated on? Mmmmm... Well, there was The First One, after the first break-up we had; then Architect Ex-cum-Friend who's now in the Middle East chasing Arab princes; and Cute but Unattractive (d/d's name, not mine!). But that's all. No other cheating. No cheating on Nature Boy, for instance. And I don't plan to cheat with Boy, either.



Not knowing how it's like being cheated on, though, I have little idea what it actually feels like. That is, apart from my conversation with some friends. I mean: was a situation when I had a great date with Airline Boy and expected good things to follow, but then he slept with someone else and not me, was that a situation that qualified as being cheated on?

I see you shakes your heads to the contrary.

Aaa well, I tried.

My love stays in a beautiful city on a river, surrounded by lakes.

My love stays in a beautiful city on a river, surrounded by lakes. He goes walking in forests covered with snow drops. He sighs at the window glass and it frosts over. He drives past the boats and the sails. He smiles when he knows I think of him every moment.



My love stays in a beautiful city on a river, surrounded by lakes.

It's our Two Month Anniversary!

It's our Two Month Anniversary!

Not too long a time really, when you think about it, but I guess every milestone counts. Especially, when you're in one of those hated LDRs. What have we done in the two months? Been through a lot, Boy and I. Extraordinarily special moments, where we've shared and understood so much about each other. Good things, and also the bad things. Like me being egoistic, impatient, slow to move, slow to wake up etc etc etc. Like him being stubborn (so stubborn!), whiny, manipulative, impulsive etc etc etc. But in the end, it doesn't seem to matter.

I love him.

And he loves me.

And to all those silly, silly people out there who don't think it's going to last: Go Jump Off A Cliff.

It's going to take work. A lot of work. A lot of effort. A lot of patience. A lot of love. But we have all that. And what we don't have, we'll muddle through. We'll understand so much more about each other. We have hope.

So, BigNose, I love you.

Another Old Favourite

Another Old Favourite

Don't go breaking my heart
I couldn't if I tried
Honey if I get restless
Baby you're not that kind

Don't go breaking my heart
You take the weight off me
Honey when you knock on my door
I gave you my key

Nobody knows it
When I was down
I was your clown
Nobody knows it
Right from the start
I gave you my heart
I gave you my heart

So don't go breaking my heart
I won't go breaking your heart
Don't go breaking my heart

And nobody told us
'Cause nobody showed us
And now it's up to us babe
I think we can make it

So don't misunderstand me
You put the light in my life
You put the sparks to the flame
I've got your heart in my sights

Don't Go Breaking My Heart
Elton John - Duet with Kiki Dee (1976)

Role-play

Role-play

My first undercover blog had a lot of sleaze. It started with a basic introduction of who I was: Young Turk Closetalk with a swagger, in another city and with no Boy, randomly picking up afternoon mates, and recording them in typical debonair style. Ummm.... so that blog lasted about five posts. After a while, I was quite lost, because... ummm... I got bored. Prematurely. And no pun intended there.

I mean, I found myself at a loss: I got bored of talking dirty talk and sordid tales of sticky afternoons while no one was at home. I got bored of stories of eyebrows rising, and eye balls playing games and cruising in parks. I got bored of the same old fcukbuddies and (possibly) the same positions.

So the blog died its inevitable death.

So, when I keep hearing people ask me to have some more sleaze in Talking Closets, I can't help but wonder why. Can I do sleaze? Of course I can. You only had to see the sketches at the back of my Class 8 exercise copies to see that! ;-) But I also know I would get horribly bored of sleaze. Maybe, I also need to keep on having different sexual expereinces to be really accomplished and eternally hungry for more sleaze: recently, I was going through a couple of international gay sleaze blogs, and the amount of gay bar, sex bar, sauna, steam room etc etc etc experiences there is simply mind-boggling! Mindboggling, to imagine the possibilities, once GB and Humsafar and other noble-minded organisations break Sec 377...

;-)

But of course, there's Boy here now, so all those kitchy little fantasies have disappeared in thin air. Instead, I dust off the cowboy hats, and stick to role play...