Is Home Where The Whore Is?

I'm in a bit of a state of confusion. I had decided that in my dating future I would wait to get to know someone when dating before taking the leap and having sex, but then what are the potential ramifications of either having sex straight away or waiting? The answer lies in whether gay men want their prospective partner to be a whore or virtuous and if you do have sex straight away, are you a whore? How long is too long to wait? And which one is right for me?


Allow me to provide various case studies from the past :


A : We met through mutual friends on a dancefloor. He was artistic and incredibly handsome. When we kissed I wasn't aware that it was even on the cards, it just happened. God he was a good kisser. Not long after our lips parted he told me I could either go home with him now or take his number. Woah! Slow down there tiger, I hardly remember your name. I politely declined to go with him, partially because of the way we knew each other and instead opted to stay and dance at the particular drinking hole we were at. A couple of days later, we arranged to meet for drinks which went quite well and I went back to his house, except by the time we actually arrived at his house, I was so drunk I could hardly stand up. Once in bed we sort of fumbled around like confused teenagers. To give you an idea of what this would have looked like thanks to my thin frame and his incredibly tall one, imagine a praying mantis and a tarantula being thrown into a fish tank and attempting to fornicate while intoxicated. All legs and elbows. In the morning, my hangover was so horrendous I could hardly will my eyelids to blink let alone do the royal rumble between the sheets. Over a period of time, we made arrangements to meet up which we did few and far between but the more contact we had, the more it became apparent that he still possibly had residual feelings for someone else. In a situation such as this, sex is a weapon and when he got that feelin', I should've given him sexual healin', but by the time a correct situation actually arose in which sex could have happened, we were so sexually disconnected from each other that sex between us would have actually been weird, even the concept of it.


B : B and I met at Big Day Out incredibly briefly then bumped into each other by chance at a gay bar. I thought he was very cute and sexy and taking him back to my house was easier than leading a horse to water. The sex between us was always fantastic : albeit the first time we had sex far too quickly and the second time during sex, he actually sang 'By The Rivers Of Babylon' to me. During sex. I felt like I was guest programming a bad episode of Rage. However, I knew during our entire involvement that he was having sex with other people. Secretly, so was I as we weren't actually officially dating as of yet. The difference being he told me. What's with men that needlessly disclose that? We were involved for quite a while afterwards and instead of the hills being alive to the sound of music, they were alive to the sound of us, but in this case, the chase was the most important factor. Because we had had sex on the first night, the chase was already over and instead of a feeling of desire and wanting existing between us, it was one of availability.


C : I dated C for a wee while, roughly a month. When we met I was instantly attracted to his humour, intelligence and wit. He was also, undeniably, sexy. On the first date I had asked him if he wanted to come back to mine for a drink and ultimately have sex. An offer which he declined. Afterwards I messaged him to which he responded that he was quite confused as he had thought I wasn't the least bit interested in him. This then confused me, hadn't I put forward the right message? What did he expect me to do, write 'fuck me' on a napkin and attach it to my head as a makeshift bandana? I had actually put forward the correct message, I just didn't know it. Herein lies a lesson that one should know oneself a little better. We went on 4 subsequent dates, each one nearly mirroring the last. Still no sex, not even a kiss. He even told me that he was getting sex from elsewhere (so romantic!). It took me a while for me to catch up to myself and realise that first night I would have happily had sex with him because I was drunk and horny and ready to go. But I was not on the whole filled with a sexual desire for him. I wasn't waiting, I'd just made a new friend.


D : I met D on the dancefloor (reoccurring theme much?). He was cute in his own peculiar way but lets keep this one brief : he was a whore. I knew he was a whore, he told me about his whoreish exploits and as a result, I treated him like a whore. When he asked me months later if I would like to date him I nearly laughed. I know that sounds terrible but in a potential dating scenario one must put ones best foot forward and all this young man had shown me was that he had an understanding of how to open a condom packet and liberally apply lube.


E : A few months later when I sort of started dating E, a similar scenario happened. Intelligent, humourous, witty. Yet this panned out a little differently. The first night we met we were in bed together. We didn't have sex but there was lots of canoodling which was exacerbated by the fact I couldn't sleep thanks to the loud whirring of the filter in the fish tank next to his bed. I'd even spotted a dead fish floating around. We, also went on subsequent dates. One particularly lovely one which ended with us spooning on the couch and falling asleep holding each other. When we woke, E tried to initiate sex and I denied him. Why? What was wrong with me? He was really cute and I was horny but at the end of the day, it just wasn't there. I could have had sex with him but for me it would be meaningless and I didn't want that. Since when? Since when did I attach emotions to sex? It was at that moment I realised meaningless sex for me was no longer a priority and I was, in essence, after something more. Couldn't have been more of an awkward time to have an epiphany such as this than when I was actually in bed with someone I had been on a date with who I didn't see any future dates with. My problem, which had been reoccurring, is I just love attention and the more I get, the more I get drunk on it. It was so awkward at the time, I looked to see if the dead fish was still in the fish tank.


F : What happened next was in retrospect for the best because it made my intentions no longer a whimsical idea, it cemented them. I went out for a wonderful drunken night with my best mate at our favourite gay bar, during which time I met F. We hit it off straight away, he was cute and funny and in my drunken state I remember actually thinking 'I could totally date you' which was a deciding factor in why I went home with him. When the question arose as to whether I should go home with him, I said yes. Well, I didn't but the 5 shots of tequila I'd had did. He had actually even hinted at what was yet to happen but I was too tipsy to realise and took what he said at face value. After going back to his place and starting to have sex the weird factor very quickly accelerated from zero to Dennis Rodman in the space of 5 minutes. A line that will sadly be with me forever is : "I DIDN'T TELL YOU TO STOP PLAYING WITH MY NIPPLES!" I want my comfy pillow and a hot chocolate just remembering that. For the next 5 to 10 minutes I actually wasn't allowed to take my hands off his nipples. I knew I wasn't allowed to because I tried to and he spanked me. I had never been involved in a sexual situation like this before and this is probably the point where any normal person would've grabbed their clothes and run from the house while still getting dressed and potentially set his house on fire to prevent him from ever committing sexual hate crimes again, but instead I was in some kind of strange almost S & M type situation and his dominant hoodoo voodoo mind games of making me feel like I had to please had sort of worked. Not long afterwards he said the most disgusting words and did the most disgusting thing I've ever experienced : 30 seconds before he ejaculated he asked me if I "liked his cock in my boy pussy" then he spat in my face. Let me repeat, spat in my face. Spat in my face. As if this wasn't enough, because I hadn't (and now definitely wasn't going to) ejaculate myself yet, he suggested fisting me to "loosen me up". I'm not a scientist or a medical practitioner but I understand space and my own body rather well and there ain't no way someone's hand is going there. Ever. It's at times like this I wish I had the phone number of the head of the U.N. to let them know my human rights had been breached according to international law. I lay there frozen. I felt so incredibly violated. I asked if I could have a shower and he grabbed me a towel and led me to the bathroom and I insisted upon showering myself. I left as soon as I possibly could afterwards and went and met my best mate who was now at work. To give you an idea of how I was feeling at this stage, when my best mate asked me "how did the rest of the night go for you?", I replied with "hold me".


G : G and I went on our first date on the day of my friend's wedding. I'd been putting off going on a date with him for ages as I had been incredibly busy and what better time to go on a first date than when you're suited and booted with a bow-tie to match? We met up for drinks at a bar. He was sweet, so cute, smart and obviously sociable. Ticking all the right boxes so far. In the 45 minutes to an hour of the first date I was asked so many questions in such a short space of time that I have since referred to that first date as 'the interrogation'. It was while dating G that I decided to put my new found dating structure of waiting for sex into play so before the second date, I made it very clear to him I wasn't going to have sex with him. Not yet. As soon as he sat down on the second date I regretted my prudent decision to be frigid. How could someone become cuter in 5 days? We got along really well and had our first kiss at a tram stop of all places. It was very clear to me by the end of the date that I liked him. Afterwards however, I became really busy and we didn't see each other for a week. I was so excited we would be having sex on our next date, then 2 hours beforehand my eyes started weeping, my nose started running and I looked about as healthy as Skeletor from He-Man. Except with nice hair. I didn't want a cold! What I wanted was for him to take me home to bed and in the somewhat altered words of Rihanna, make me feel like I was the only goy in the world. He was so lovely that to make me feel better he even complimented me on how nice I looked. The date ended with me insisting upon going home to which he expressed his disappointment, no one was more disappointed than me, but I really didn't want the first time we consummated our dating relationship to involve me saying "can you stop? I need to blow my nose immediately". The next date I was still overwhelmingly afflicted with the flu that never ends and when he asked me to go for another drink after the movie we had seen, I knew that would likely mean sex. But I had taken enough cold and flu tablets to sedate a rhino and thought it would be, again, best to go home. I felt like telling him I would love for him to just take me home and hold me but thought this would just be sexually teasing, plus he had a major event not long afterwards and I really didn't want him to get sick because of me. It was very clear that while he was completely understanding, he was becoming sexually disillusioned. The following week when I finally came good, he became unavailable due to the event and I became perplexed due to the distance that was now placed between us when I was finally ready. I did not realise that it was me, not him, that up until this point had been distant. We arranged a date 3 weeks after the last time we had seen each other to go for dinner, drinks and see a play. During the day beforehand my mind was swamped with various questions : did I still like him? Would he still like me? I even went to buy him a bottle of Bollinger champagne to congratulate him on his event but decided not to because I didn't want to because I didn't want to come on too strong, I was overthinking the entire situation so much so that by the time I arrived at the date, I was a nervous mess. It even started terribly, he went to kiss my lips, I kissed his cheek and I couldn't concentrate. On our previous 4 dates he had been exceptionally sweet and affectionate, yet this time he seemed slightly disinterested, even at one point borderline rude. Because I was so nervous and kept thinking about the fact we hadn't had sex yet, the potential consequences of that and the feelings involved, I had walked into it on the wrong footing and sadly when I feel things aren't going the way I would like to on a date I can be really despondent and aloof. I wanted to kiss him but instead of expressing this, I internalised it then stupidly wondered why it wasn't happening. Later during the interval of the play, while we were talking, mid conversation he turned and checked out a guy for so long it was awkward and told me he was "checking out incoming talent". I don't care how badly a date is going, that is rude and I told him as much. We ended up going for a drink afterwards but the night had gone so badly romance wise up until this point that it just wasn't happening. Because we had left it so long before having sex we were nearly completely sexually disengaged and as it turned out because of the time we had spent apart, my nerves on the night and other potential variables, it would appear romantically disengaged as well.


Does having sex straight away make you a whore? Absolutely not. But it does ensure that the chase is over immediately and does not allow for feelings of desire and want to be instilled in either you or your prospective partner to the same extent as if you had have waited. No one wants to date a whore, albeit no one wants their partner to be frigid, there couldn't be anything more dull. But if you wait too long to have sex in a dating scenario you run the risk of either you or your partner becoming disengaged. At the end of the day, a lot of gay men treat their sex like their shopping : if one shop doesn't stock the item you want, do you wait until that shop has the item in stock? Absolutely not, you plod down the street to a shop that does and if you wait too long that is a risk you take. I've decided in my findings that in my opinion I shall treat date number 3 much like a fire plan : get down low and go go go.

Ode To A Cat

Farewell Suzie, you moody neurotic cat, I never quite knew where your head was at. You'd annoy me endlessly til I'd want to yell 'kill her now', But we couldn't eat you, you weren't a cow. If food went missing on my shoulder a blaming finger would tap, Then I'd point at you, you took the rap. You slept, hissed and meowed from under mum's bed, Coming out only to terrorize, creep around and be fed. You'd devour can after can of Whiskas albeit never got fat, You really should be quite proud of that. I'm grateful that never was there a mouse, Thanks to you inside our quaint beach side Seaford house. Im glad that we eventually became friends, Even if it was so close to your very sad end. Farewell Suzie, soon to be but dust, Go to kitty heaven, it is a must.

I want to get physical

If Eric Balfour who played Gabe in Six Feet Under and Lee from 90's pop group Steps somehow had a love child that grew to the age of 27 then didn't eat for a month, surviving only from the sustenance of Cooper's Pale Ale, that'd be me. I have the body of a pregnant praying mantis.
Once upon a time back in the days I was a fitness freak, I had a lovely lean body with abs of steel. Oh those were the days......
I've been trying to drag myself kicking and screaming back onto the fitness train (toot toot!) with about as much sucess in relation to results as trying to teach a hippo to do a cartwheel. The abs are coming back but I can't say much else is happening, apart from of course my butt is looking a bit more bubbly and lets face it, that's pretty near the top of the list of 'most important'.
My routine has been as follows : 50 push-ups, 50 sit ups, 50 lunges and anywhere between 25-50 chin ups depending on when my arms give way and then subsequently find it difficult to even lift a pen. All this followed by a 5km run.
I'd have to say the run is definitely the most enjoyable part, apart from one small factor. I CAN NOT listen to my iPod while running. I generally run along a track that goes between scrub land and the beach that is used by many a jogger, so if I'm listening to said iPod when someone runs up behind me without warning, of course my instant response is to nearly scream and go into the battle position of a gay ninja. A positive of running along this track is when a middle aged woman starts catching up, my instant thought is 'you're not beating me menopause-central' and pick up to a Speedy Gonzales-like pace.
Fitness hasn't been the only thing I've been self-improving on : I've also shaved all my hair off. My original hope on shaving the hair off was to have the look of a sexy bad-boy European who had escaped from a correctional facility, but due to a nasty case of hayfever and lack of sleep, I'd wager right now it's a tad more akin to looking like Sinead O'Connor after having gastro.
I'm giving it a week to adjust to the new hair. As for the body, maybe by summer 2017 it'll be all sexy?

Lets go outside

In the 12 years I've been sexually active, I've been engaged in various degrees of sex in lots of different places : on a bed, on the floor, on a chair, in a kitchen, in a lounge room, in a bath, in a shower, in a car, on a car, on a slide, on a swing, in a park, at a beach, waiting for a train and my personal favourite, at a zoo (watching Australian Fur Seals swim makes me horny).

For example, "Dave" and I have had sex outside on numerous occasions. Not only have Dave and I had a tendency of having sex outside, we also tend to get caught.

Many moons ago in the land of gay I went to Dave's birthday at his parent's house. Enough alcohol was consumed to kill a brown dog, naturally the hormones kicked in and Dave and I snuck off into the billiards room. He pushed me against the billiards table, pulled down my pants and proceeded to give me what would've been a good blowjob, except approximately 2 1/2 minutes later his best mate walked in. I found out later it was at that moment his best mate fully accepted that Dave was gay. So glad I could be part of the healing process. Given that we'd been busted but were determined to finish what we'd started, we decided to go somewhere private (note sarcasm). So we went out the front of the house. In the driveway. Then we had sex against a car facing the road. All was going well until the man across the road decided to pop out and mow the lawn. Fear not, there were no long faces in the burbs after that. Finally common sense prevailed and we scampered upstairs to his bedroom. About 30 minutes later I was provided with the best orgasm of that particular year.

Fast forward a couple of moons to a particular evening when Dave and I were walking home along one of St. Kilda and subsequently one of Melbourne's busiest streets. I had to stop and pee so went around a corner and did a quick slash and came back, at which time Dave said "but I didn't get to see it", so I got my dick out right there and then and showed him. Did anybody see, I hear you ask dear readers. It was 6pm on one of Melbourne's busiest thoroughfares. I'm guessing my penis is up there with Luna Park as a recognisable local identity.

A couple more moons after Dave and I were walking from catching up with mates to one of our favourite pubs and took a short-cut through a park. Hands got busy and before you know it fellatio was involved. It would've had to have been one of the most short-lived blowjobs in recorded history : a rather keen pedestrian walked up. Lets all have a moment's silence in honour of this poor man, I believe he nearly screamed. After he was gone there was no way I could continue. I was too busy on the ground laughing. 


Another example of sex outside happened with "Daniel". We'd been out with friends and were on our way home in a cab when Daniel asked "Are you horny? I am" and got it out right there and then. The things the man and women that drive those convenient yellow cars must see. Once we were inside, one of his friends was staying so we decided on the lounge room as the place for a little somethin' somethin'. This would've been an advantageous decision except we'd woken his flat mate on the way in who walked through to go to the bathroom. I was mortified, I had to have dinner with her the following night and there's only so long you can avoid eye contact with someone during an intimate dinner for 4. Daniel and I only had one option left :the concreted courtyard. It was sex outside and it was good sex, but it wasn't ALL good : it was on concrete and my knees bled for days. I don't recommend it.


One place I've never had sex is at a restaurant. Should you be an eligible sexy beau dining with me one night and I get all winky, I haven't developed crazy eye. That's a signal that means BATTLE STATIONS! Meet me out the back in 5 minutes.


Oh and I was joking about the fur seals.......

The nagging former trainee nun from Nambour

As the grandson of someone who was in two concentration camps as well as wrongfully arrested, detained and very nearly almost executed by the Gestapo, I'm bitterly offended that I should be called part of a 'global gay gestapo' as a supporter of gay marriage and general marriage equality.

During the Second World War, millions were killed as a direct result of the actions of the Gestapo and more broadly, the Nazis. This included 100,000 men being arrested between 1933-1945 on suspicion of being homosexuals, mostly in Germany, which had previously been the world's most tolerant country. Of these men, between 5000-15,000 were sent to concentration camps. Roughly 60% of them perished in extermination.

The label of 'global gay gestapo' is an even harder pill to swallow when you consider it is being given to gay marriage advocates by Loree Rudd, a divorced former trainee nun who didn't fulfill her own marriage vows according to the traditions and right wing Christian values that Ms. Rudd holds so dear.

All I want is one day having the option of asking Mr. Right (whoever the hell he may be) "will you marry me?". There's nothing even vaguely similar to the practices of the Gestapo in wanting to do that. Gay marriage has nothing to do with hate crimes and everything to do with equality, inclusion and recognition.

Not to mention a whole lot of love x

For the sake of it

My mind says for now.

My body says why not.

My heart says just a little longer.

It's not like every nerve ending in me is screaming no, but it's definitely not an emphatic yes either. It's not what I wanted.

My conscious and subconscious separate from their awkward union and I'm temporarily a ship without a captain, waiting to see which one will take hold. Deciding whether or not I will do it.

Just for the sake of it.

Debbie does traffic control

When my sister and I were little, our mother taught us things like how to read, how to write and how to count in French and Italian. Last weekend I was told about the most bizarre mother to child exchange of skills I've ever heard.

In Melbourne, there's a 60 year old mother. She has children. She also has an occupation you wouldn't expect from a 60 year old mother : she's a stripper. Good on her breaking the mould, one would think. That's not all. It would seem she enjoys her job so much, her daughter does it too. Talk about keeping it in the family. Yahoo.

The mother, lets call her 'Debbie', is still a working girl. Just last week she was hired to strip at a bucks party. It started off quite routinely. She came in, she put on some music, she stripped until she was in nothing but her birthday suit. Then the goody bag came out. 'Debbie' got the first item out. It was a rather large dildo. Quite standard, what you'd expect. Then she had sex with it. The next item is what caught my attention when I was told the story and has had me slack jawed since : a witches hat. Not head gear worn by a broomstick rider. As in an orange witches hat that would section off road works or a construction site. 'Debbie' then proceeded to put the witches hat inside her vagina.

It's not the act itself that has me puzzled, it's what led to it. Does this mean that one day 'Debbie' was walking down the road with her bestie, saw some road works surrounded by witches hats and said something like "Sweet baby Jesus will you LOOK at that witches hat?! Never seen a witches that handsome before. Quick, hold my bag. I'm going to get it. I just can't WAIT to get home and put it in my vagina"?

Keep in mind ol' Debbie ain't no spring chicken. Just imagine the state her poor hoo hoo is in. One would imagine there could be enough room to have events in there and the possibility for its own McDonalds. The mind boggles.

Also, now that witches hats are the new vibrator, does this mean when girls like the once teenage 'Debbie' hit puberty, mothers worldwide are going to have to be extra cautious that rolling pins are only used in food preparation?

Bon appetit!