Talking underwear

Gay undiesIt’s funny how you develop a very personal and unique language with you boyfriend after a time; things like running jokes that no one else would get, little skits you do to raise a smile and silly, alternative names you might give to things or other people.

Then there’s a kind of communication short hand that you use to save time and words. It’s things like not having to finish sentences or saying it with body language and primal grunting sounds (me, first thing in the morning).

I know guys used to say it with hankies in their back pocket when they wanted gay sex on the down-low: yellow for water-sports; black for S&M; left pocket for active and right if you were a bottom.

Now I realise Rich and I have created our own undie code when it comes to gay sex, which loosely goes something like this: brief usually equals brief; dark means dirty and tighty whities are good for vanilla sex – often a blow job or a bit of ‘ying and yang’ (69).

Jock straps are an obvious one, but there’s still signs to read. Your more athletic, sports jock screams power bottom, whereas a skimpier pair is a shoo-in for a passive trip to the bottom. I wouldn’t be caught dead in a thong!

Boxers can mean different things, the shape giving some clue, with a longer leg suggesting a more pro-active approach. Y-fronts just give off mixed signals during gay sex.

Of course there’s the danger of clashing, but we always seem to avoid that gay sex faux pas. And turning up commando means anything goes…

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GPS (gay positioning system)

Gay man using GrindrHave you heard about this new gay cruising app for your iPhone called Grindr? It’s like an express version of Gaydar for those who can’t wait until they get home to arrange a gay sex meet. It uses GPS to put you in touch with guys in your immediate area so they can be touching your immediate area seconds later.

Personally, I think they missed a trick here and should have combined their gay positioning system with a car SatNav to give you handy directions and a commanding voice when out for a cruise. Mind you, bound to be lots of dead-ends, just like with SatNav: you turn the corner expecting to see a toned Latino, but get a drag queen in Susan Boyle’s casts-offs instead.

Straight guys must get very jealous of us gays sometimes. Can you imagine what would happen if straight guys had as many fast fuck outlets as we do? If they had saunas just along from their local shops, a cruising ground minutes away and a guaranteed fuck at the gym, supermarket and book store. Nothing would ever get done.

This Grindr thing raises a lot of questions too: what if it falls into the hands of gay bashers? What if you don’t operate a 24/7 sex policy, but forget to log out – will you still get hungry homos knocking at your door? What if you drive through an area with a gay shortage? Will desperate guys start tailing you?

I suspect it will just become a way for gay guys to approach each other in clubs without the sooooo 2009 method of actually having to talk to them. A quick text message pinged across the dancefloor from your iPhone will get an answer straight away without having to face rejection in the flesh. Then again, activating Grindr in a gay club would probably cause some kind of meltdown.

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Not quite up our street

Swingers PartyBeing gay you tend to think you have the upper hand when it comes to sexual deviancy – we did, after all, invent anal sex and rimming.

Then again, some of the things certain loose-tongued straight friends get up to must surely put me to shame. Take Linda, for example: she really is Queen of the Butt Plug and has never been interested in giving her arsehole mere supporting status.

Turns out we’re being out-sexed in the suburbs too. Rich and I have kept a fairly low profile within our street since we moved here. It’s probably that thing of pre-empting any homophobia by distancing yourself before they get the chance to reject you. Which is sad, I guess, but such an easy habit to pick up when you grow up gay.

Anyway, we decided to make more of on effort this Christmas. We get the posters through our door from the local residents’ group, including an invite to this year’s (well, last year’s now) Xmas party and so we went along for sugar-dusted mince pies and sugar-dusted questioning…

It was fine; mostly middle-aged couples who were all friendly. One couple seemed particularly friendly: Scottish, early 50’s I’d guess and very attentive with the alcohol. They own the big house on the corner and seemed very interested in us.

We ended up talking most to this couple and the husband became more and more affectionately physical: bear-hugging and thigh slapping etc. in the way that some straight men do once the booze has pounded their inhibitions and self-consciousness.

As the party thinned and the couple drank more, their loud and colourful language, innuendo, rude jokes and general sauciness got some disapproving looks from the straight-laced members of the residents’ association.

We decided it was time to make our excuses and leave, thinking we’d leave the Rude 2 behind, but they wanted to walk with us. It was quite a raucous walk back, but as we neared our own house their conversation suddenly became more serious and little more than a whisper. We were being invited to their New Year’s eve party.

They reassured us that none of that ‘boring, old-fashioned’ crowd would be there, just lots of fun, ‘like-minded’ people and even some ‘nice, young men,’ the woman said, leaning in… oh my god, we’d just been invited to a swingers party!

We both made some fumbling, non-committal response with the intention of saying “thanks, but no thanks” but without sounding rude or judgemental.

We didn’t go, but I would love to have been a fly on the wall. It explains the grotto-type thing they’ve got at the bottom of their garden with fairy lights and what I suspect is a hot-tub. I bet they’re disappointed that they haven’t managed to recruit the local gay couple to their sex parties – maybe gays are the latest must have for married swingers’ parties.

Needless to say we’ll be keeping ourselves to ourselves again when it comes to the neighbours.

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The fag end of gay sex

Gay Man Sexual Health Check UpThe local sexual health clinic wouldn’t be the first place I’d choose to spend a couple of hours just before Christmas, but there I was last week, waiting in the waiting room at the end of a gay sex slip-up.

I went along to give support to one of my best friends who was in a panic about his previous night’s gay fuck. He slept with a guy he’d met earlier that same night at a Christmas party. The booze flowed, they hit it off, danced ’til they dropped, back to his, and ‘forgot’ the condom.

My friend is usually so militant about safe sex, always prepared and in control. For some reason he didn’t stick to his own high standards that night – I think there was so much chemistry between him and this guy – an attraction he’s never felt – and it caught him off guard.

Cue frantic phone call to me early the next morning after he’d slunk out of this guy’s house. He needed to get tested A.S.A.P. and didn’t want to be worrying about it all over Christmas and the New Year. Would I go along with him for moral support?

Sexual health clinic waiting rooms can never be pleasant places to sit even if they had made the effort to put up some rather sad looking Christmas decorations. It was incredibly busy – the party season obviously being a busy time for STIs – and we were informed matter-of-factly by the person at the desk that a long wait lay ahead.

I’m sure making you wait hours in a drab and uncomfortable room is all part of the plan, giving you time to think about those errors of judgement when it comes to gay sex. My friend was certainly glad to have someone there, and to play the game, ‘what do you think they’ve come in about?’

In fact, people-watching is one of the few things you can do to pass the time, what with the magazines being at least five years out of date. There’s the mincy homo who strides in like he owns the place – obviously clocking up some mileage. There’s the twitchy first-timers, all on their own, reading a mag upside down and nervously looking up anytime someone walks through, as if a gun-shot’s just sounded.

You’ve got your couples; your young mums with babies; your older gay guys – or are they straight? Can’t tell. Always older men anyway, not women. Lots of students – some French, some Spanish I think… from all over. A middle-aged guy in workman’s jacket. Furtive glances – is that guy to my left checking me out? He keeps staring. Now he’s getting up and coming towards me! Oh, he just wanted some water from the machine.

The staff – mainly nurses I guess – come and go. There’s a really sexy male nurse in blue uniform – I hope my friend gets him. No, I shouldn’t be thinking like that. Hey, that woman came in way after us and she’s just been called. Oh shit, I think I know that guy that’s just walked up to the desk… please don’t turn around…

As you sit there, time stretching on forever and your arse starting to ache, it occurs to you that, gay, striaight, bi, young, old, married, single, black, white, mother, attractive, not-so… at some point we all end up at the local sexual health clinic. There’s no judgement inside and we’re all there because of choices we’ve made about sex. It might not exactly be the ideal way to achieve it, but that’s true equality, right there.

Merry Christmas and a happy New Year.

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