I ve been knocked off my pulpit with the force of a reaction I had from last week s open letter. Unfortunately, the reaction was from the person I addressed it to. For those who didn t catch it, my last piece was an explanation of sorts about why I was no longer spending my time on the Internet, and how it is difficult for me to be in the company of sex-orientated gay men.
I was nervous enough about expressing my heretical views against the sex religion of the gay world; I knew that the device of writing to one person could backfire. I even wrote: I hope you re not too angry with me. Perhaps I knew that it was unfair, implicitly tarring him with the same brush as all the rest; and yet I presumed as a writer he would know the score, give me a bit of leeway, engage with the issues and play with them, the way he used to play with his sex partners, all titillation and torment, with a simultaneous running commentary to his friends on the Net.
But I ve been told in capital letters to STOP WHIMPERING. Everything starts with sex, he tells me; I am to keep my projections of disgust, fear and exhaustion to myself. Right. Of course. I ll do my best. Won t do it again. Sorry, Sir. I ll take my punishment now in the cellar, Sir.
groom of christ
I just can t help it. I m an Irish Catholic. I m supposed to feel disgust, fear and exhaustion about matters sexual. I m fulfilling my destiny to overdose on sex, become a rabid reactionary, and become the Mary Kenny of queer culture. I ll be on the Late Late next, looking like a Mormon, the apple of Gaybo s eye, telling all the young boyz about the tediousness of gay sex, and how we d all be better off living a life of abstinence and purity. I ll be the new recruiting agent for the Church, with a message from God explaining that we ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick.
Being gay is not an obstacle to becoming a priest, it s the sole requirement. When the first stiffy is experienced with the boys in the shower room, that s the Call. Get thee to a seminary. Don t spill your seed on rocky pastures; offer it up to the Lord, for you are his. You are a Groom of Christ.
I think the most important thing I ve learnt over the past few months is that it s the intention behind what you do that matters, not what you do. I had a couple of pints yesterday, the first alcohol in my system since the hepatitis I got in August. It felt good. But it wasn t the Guinness itself. It was that the timing was right, the company was right, the venue was right.
My intention was to relax, to enjoy a pint or two with a dear friend. The venue was new for me; a tiny little local gay bar in the East End of London, which occasionally has drag acts. As I entered the pub, I knew that it would be OK to relax here; the place wasn t overtly cruisy, it was friendly, tatty, loud, and good-humoured. The landlord had put on a frock and was singing old torch songs with gusto to a rather good accompaniment on keyboards. It was fun.
lonely hearts
If it had been different; if it was silent and broody, with a busy backroom, I wouldn t have had those pints. For too long, I ve needed Dutch courage to meet men. I sound like an alcoholic, but I wasn t; I hardly ever drank during the week, only at weekends. But I find meeting new people to be so horrifically scary that I will enthusiastically blur the edges to make first contact. That blurring can be with drink, but it can also be with sex.
I used to think that there was no better way to meet people than to have sex with them. The hotter the sex, the more intense the exchange, the deeper the person, was the way my foolish head went. I still think it should work in theory, even now. But in practice, I kept on getting burnt; for I was mistaken in believing that others were after the same thing.
In my experience, the men I was having sex with were not interested in a real meeting, but only in the sex itself. It is time to look elsewhere, for I don t believe that every gay man is the same.
When I come to think of it, the only time I made a clean effort to meet someone since I moved to London, outside of the whole singles/cruisy/sex scene, was two years ago. I answered an ad in Time Out, in the Lonely Hearts section. We didn t become lovers, but we are still good friends. I don t feel like a lonely heart now. My heart feels quite full, in fact, even though I m single. It s not the way it s supposed to be; I m supposed to feel like half a person, but I don t. It s a mystery to me, but there you go.
Hopefully, the next time I have sex, I ll be celebrating. Not that I ve found the One True Love of My Life, but that I ll know someone well enough to want to have sex with him.
Now there s a concept. n