First Date

So it started off as one of those flirty messages on the cellphone.

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I'm lonely. I guess there's no sex for me tonight.

Haha, I thought for a moment there that you were going suck off someone.

Me? Nah, I could only hope.

Need a volunteer? Haha.

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At this point the conversation had turned a little bit...you know, raunchy and I wasn't sure what to make of it. I really, really like this guy and the prospect of bedding him was all too tempting, but I ultimately decided that what I really wanted is if I could be friends with the guy. So I go:

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Tempting, but I'd really rather ask you out for dinner or a movie.

Prude! Haha.

Hey, what can I do? I'm just an innocent boy, unfamiliar with the ways of the flesh. Fine, sex first and then dinner after.

Boy? Now I'm having second thoughts. How old are you anyway?

Haha, just teasing! I'm in my mid-twenties. Hardly what you'd call a boy.

Whew. Still lonely? Want to come over?

What do you have in mind?

Nothing much, dinner or a stroll.

Sounds good.

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The date itself was delayed by an hour because of the heavy traffic I had to endure (on a Sunday afternoon of all days). When we finally met up at the mall, it was all a blur. I babbled non-stop, not sure if this was a good thing. He did however babble on as well. It didn't feel mighty awkward, not at all even. Of course there was this slight tension as this was only the second time we met each other, but the lingering thought in my head was that I couldn't believe I was just flirting with this guy over the phone a couple of hours ago. It seemed hardly imaginable that the hot, goofy guy I was with was capable of being well...raunchy.

Dinner itself was forgettable. The food was a bit bland; he ordered the better stuff. I hated what I ordered. Good thing that the conversation kept flowing and flowing. It was good to be able to talk freely about nearly everything about my life.

When he steered the conversation into the territory of the ideal mate, as we traversed through the mall, I nearly choked on the hard candy I had in my mouth.

I stammered for an answer.

"Uh, brains?"

You see my ex hadn't been particularly smart. So that was something I sorely missed. I'd love a guy who'd be physically and sexually stimulating, but I need my spiritual and intellectual stimulation as well.


"Great," he said, "I can introduce you to my friend, Krang."

Gah, Ninja Turtle reference. God, I think I can really like this guy. In fact, I think I already do. Thumpty-thump. It didn't help that the bookstore we were in at the moment was playing "Mine" from Pocahontas. Gah, so fruity and it climaxed with a play of "Out There" from the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

As I drove him home, I threw the question back at him. I wanted to know what he was looking for and if I fit the bill.

Same interests. Check. So far, so good.

Non-smoker. -crap-

Gym buff. -shit-

He mentioned a couple of other things, but the last two just sort of stuck with me and really left me defeated. Although I did hear him say something like the one he's really looking for is similar interests. He then proceeded to enumerate things about his ex that wasn't like him. Ouch, it seems that his ex and I share a couple of traits as well. Maybe this guy might want to jump ship from me. Maybe he doesn't like me that much.

All this of course while I was driving him home. I couldn't really concentrate on the road. Would there be a second date? Should I ask about a second date? Maybe that would be a bit too desperate or maybe a little too forward. Crap, I don't know.

Before I knew it, I had brought him home. No way I was going to be invited in at this point. He doesn't drink coffee, so that's not an option. He had to work. I had a party on the other side of the city to get to. Sex wasn't an option after all things he wanted that wasn't me.

And then he kissed me. Not on the lips, but to the side. Not quite cheeks, but close enough for his stubbles to graze my lips as I returned the favor right there beside his lips. How I wanted to draw him in for more, but the moment was over in a flash. We smiled and I was on my way - giddy.

Goodbye, until tomorrow then.

And on the 11th hour...

God said, "Let there be Emo."

And the Emo crawled over the earth with their slightly goth forlorn eyes and their eyes welled up and with a collective sigh, they made music. Sweet, sad music.


Now, I don't know what to think about this one, since I don't really know this anime, but I like Avenue Q. Goes to show what happens to a person when he thinks too much; he starts blogging about anime characters moving to a song sung by a puppet.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where we find relevance nowadays.

Staples of Gay Fantasy

Almost every person who's gay has had at least one of the following fantasies.

1. My Best Friend

Having a best friend is almost synonymous with growing up. If growing up includes with wrestling with one's own sexuality, then most likely nearly everyone has had a best friend they've fallen for. To make matters even more complicated, the best friend is most likely straight (or supposedly straight) and with a girlfriend.

This is falling for the familiar. Who else is more qualified to understand you than that one you grew up with? Sex is supposedly better with the familiar and the personal.


2. My Roommate

Continuing the theme of growing up, many go on to a college or university and they're forced to live with someone. This someone is usually a stranger and the promise of an encounter (or a relationship) with a person who doesn't really know you that well is definitely exciting. However the ultimate clincher for this is the intrusion of the unknown into your private life. Having to share your personal space with someone you barely know is so much easier with hot eyecandy.


3. My Hot Co-Worker

Once a guy's out of college and he's faced with the trials of life, the carefree days of experimenting are usually relegated to fond memories (or unspeakable horrors) of the past. The hot co-worker (or boss or subordinate) brings in the dynamic of ruffling up the feathers of monotony at work or finding someone who shares your slot in the rat race. This usually comes in the form of a new hire who shakes up the world of everyone in the office.


Fantasies in my case are synonyms with frustration. Many of us have that great love whom we cannot have. Mine falls in the first and third categories.


Which one is yours?

Smokin' in the Storm

There's a storm in town - a typhoon and a relatively big one.


So work gets called off in my company and I wake up not knowing what to do. Having a free day off from work means that I need to work twice as hard when we get back in. Joy.

I get out of bed and then I stretch a little. Feeling the itch in my lungs, I fish for my pack of cigs in my jacket and I step out into the veranda, where the torrent of the rains and winds just won't stop.

I, careful not to use up my wishstick, take one stick and light it with my blue flame torch lighter.

After drinking in the chaos that surrounds me, I take one deep puff and settle in the garden chair.


Sane?

Maybe not.


Sexy?


Oh yeah.

Pirate's Booty!

This post is long overdue, by a week at least. I saw "Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest" twice the other week. What can I say? I'm a huge Jack Sparrow fan. Johnny Depp really deserved that Oscar nomination for the first flick.

However, this won't be me fawning over the artistic (or commercial) merits of the movie. I can do that in my real life. I'm here for fawn over the men. Actually, at the risk of sounding like a teenage girl, I'm just talking about one guy here.

I *Heart* Norrington!

In "Curse of the Black Pearl", I was too busy being enthralled by the brilliance of Depp's Jack Sparrow and the tantalizing promise of a glimpse of Legolas-excuse me- Orlando's pectorals to pay poor Jack Davenport any attention.

I suppose when you look all prissy and proper, one does look a bit too sanitized and a tad boring. Heck, I didn't even realize he was Jack Davenport (who was the real reason I loved The Talented Mr. Ripley).

Fast forward to "Dead Man's Chest" (which thankfully was not literally that literal as like most people, I'm not really into necrophilia) and Jack Davenport swaggers into the scene as the rugged, unshaven and drunk James Norrington.

Hubba! Hubba! Now that's what I call a man! Sort of like something out of Lost or something, isn't it? Jack Davenport looks like he's a mix of a bit Ralph Finnes and Christian Bale (a fantasy pair up I'd love to see), but to be fair to him all thoroughly Jack Davenport.

He's dastardly and still oh so sexy. I've never really been into Johnny Depp (probably because I was still too young during the height of 21 Jumpstreet), so I've never really been attracted physically to Jack Sparrow. He is however still a force to be reckoned with and this movie really moves around him.

Poor Orlando Bloom's Will Turner is the only honest man in the entire adventure. He's become so boring that unless he does something underhanded, I'd be cheering on Keira Knightley's Elizabeth Swann to end up with Norrington or Sparrow. Will's a eunuch. Although I must say the whipping scene was bit hot - if not a bit too contrived to turn the cranks of those Orlando Bloom fans. True, he's romantic, but in a film littered with fleshed-out, double-crossing characters, he's as flat as paper Ken doll - the token boytoy.

Here's hoping that in the third movie, Will Turner will become "curious" and do something dastardly. And that Norrington will take his shirt off.

Then again, most likely he'll go back to the distinguished lemon turd that he was. Shame.

The Queer Debate

When I told one of my closest friends that I'd be starting a blog called Closet Queer, he had to stifle a giggle.

"Why," he asked, "did you ever choose such a name?"

This guy wasn't gay, but he did have a point. The LGBT community is split on the use of this word.

Its history shows that it was used as a slur against homosexuals of both genders. The denotative meaning of "strange", connotes a movement that is against the norm or worse: abnormal. Thus some activists would denounce the use of such a word and regard it as a step backward for gay rights.

Other activists would however claim that the genderless term "queer" is an appropriate word to unite all homosexuals of varying degrees under a single banner.

I am not an activitst. I am a gay man in the closet. I do not fancy myself a queen, not that I doubt that maybe I could be one, but at the moment, I'm just a guy who likes guys.

I do not really belong to the mainstream of society. While I function, day in and day out, as a regular guy I still constantly find myself struggling with my sexuality. Struggling because I can't seem to meet the right guy.

It should be as simple as going out to a bar, but the situation is far more complicated than that. With my job, I can't be caught visiting a gay bar or something like that.

On the other hand, I do not belong to gay subculturem, not really at least. Let me clarify my statement, I do not belong to the popular gay subculture.

I'm a true anomaly. A true queer in that sense.

Hence, I'm Closet Queer.

Life Inside the Closet

Welcome to the inside of my closet.

It's tough being a gay man even in today's world- even tougher to be closeted gay man. So much uncertainty abounds, but somehow I have a feeling we'll get through.