"Our deepest fear," said Nelson Mandela at his inauguration, "is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?"

Well indeed. His use of the word fabulous fascinates me; it's so camp. The last phrase could have slipped mockingly from the mouth of Sally Bowles in Cabaret, begging the question. I have a vision of Nelson's cellmate on Robben Island having been a Kiss Of The Spiderwoman fantasist, seducing the great man with concepts of divine decadence, escaping the grimmest reality by donning a shimmering gown of glamorous self-delusion.

To be fabulous, darling, is to be larger than life; to sidestep the mundane facts of our humdrum lives and to adopt a persona that is transcendant, goes beyond that which limits us. It is glamour, it is charisma, it is allure. It is reinvention; in its most positive manifestation, it is daring to believe that we are greater than, happier than, more wondrous than a mere mortal has a right to be. To be fabulous, then, is to suspend our disbelief in ourselves; not only to dream it, but to be it.

It seems to me that I, and a hell of a lot of the gay men that I meet, have, however, become addicted to fabulousness, to unreality. In particular, sexual adventure is our fix. Such devotion to fantasy can take us over and suck us hollow, leaving the mask intact. For the absolutely fabulous Patsy Stone, whose cadaverous persona is the distilled essence of drag queen, hooked on alcohol and pheremones, relationships are entirely self-serving. Who the person is is irrelevant; it is how well they play their role as sex-god that is the point.

And there are so many roles to play; so many different ways to achieve that little death, to reach that moment of ecstasy, when we are driven out of our minds and our bodies by the intensity of our enslavement to passion. And then we are free, but we see the gods' feet of clay, and our fantasies fade as fast as they appeared.

Sometimes, when we think we're lucky, two people's fantasies are compatible, repeat performances are possible; during which time it seems that life is charmed, magical, vibrant. Like a gambler (whose only misfortune was to win first time), the world is full of possibilities, full of wonder; but inevitably, the curtain descends, the lights go out, and there is nothing to do but shuffle off the stage to tend to our damaged feelings, if they can be borne.

If not, then we polish our performance, make our personae even more exotic, our roles even more compelling, depending on the kindness of strangers.

The real fear is, after a lifetime of such playacting, that there will come a time, as the song says, to send in the clowns; making our entrance again with our usual flair, we're sure of our lines, but no-one is there. Isn't it rich? Isn't it queer? The path from bright young thing to jaded old queen is well trodden on the gay scene.

Uncomfortable with my loneliness, I prefer, sheeplike, to have company by travelling down that road with others, to forging a new path for myself, on my own, destination unknown. I wish I knew more gay male couples, to show me the way; or even a shiningly content single gay man. Those few couples that I do know invariably put their having met each other down to (surprising) good luck; nothing more or less than that. But I have a feeling they were each treading their own individual path before they met.

It's something which I'm trying to do now; but it would be so much easier if didn't find sex so goddamn distracting, for I invariably get mashed up inside each time. I get so caught up in that which is not real about people, but which is fantasy, enacted to momentarily fill the aching need for companionship.

Maybe this time, I'll be lucky, maybe this time he'll stay. I'm frightened of going my own way - not because I'll fail, but because I might succeed.

And this brings me back to Nelson who was, in fact, quoting Marianne Williamson. He goes on to say: "Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel secure around you. And, as we let our own light shine, we give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others".

Fabulous.