Manmathan Ambu (Cupid's Arrow) - Part 1

 

I didn’t wish to win millions in a Power Ball Lottery, I only wished for a ride along with eye-candies in the share-auto, and may be a few occasional touches when the auto driver forces his feet on the break or goes over a bump or tries to avoid a pot hole and may some eye exercise (I call it eye-pradakshinam, similar to angapradshinam) and some hand exercise to beat carpel tunnel syndrome. Is that too much to ask? Isn’t that an easily satiable wish given the population density of our metros? But for some reason luck never favors me.

Like the same sun that rises and goes down every day, my commute to and fro to work is almost the same. More women than men board the share auto that I board. The smell of jasmine, manicured and painted nails, faces covered with shawls and duppattas (to protect them from fierce sun and not me) has always been the peoplescape during my commute. Not sure if this is god’s way of ensuring women safety by sending them in an auto with a gay man.

Some days he plays his cruel pranks and gets me an auto with men who can asphyxiate you in minutes. The fragrance of choice offered for asphyxiation varies from Ponds Talcum powder to solar powered and self-manufactured sweat to Parachute coconut oil. And that makes me feel that I am better off in an auto with all women than men. Occasionally, Manmathan, sends also some good ones my way. But again some of those are either boringly straight or lack of crowd gives you no room for a touch, play and convert. I tell you, sometimes, this God of love, Manmathan, acts like Villain of Love!

The other day, not sure if Manmath decided to throw me a surprise or I decided to throw him a surprise by leaving work at a different time. The surprise came at the train station and not in a share-auto. I reached the station at around 4.30pm and it was almost empty. I could still kiss a man right in that day light without offending anyone or being caught by someone. Believe me, such an occasion is a rare occurrence in Chennai suburban stations. And if it does, there must be a strike that day.

From a distance, I noticed a tall, athletic built, smart young man seriously pouring his eyes over a book. As I got closer to the chair where he was seated, his eyes took a break from the book and he glanced at me, but didn’t seem too interested to read me like the book. Infact he occasionally distracted himself from the book to check the time and check on the light at the end of the track. Between me and the book there was just one alphabet that was different, I was tan brown (tan color and my eyes were brown), while he was immersed in Dan Brown. How unfortunate!

I wanted to check him out from head to toe, but I didn’t want to make it obvious and send his stock-value up the roof. So, I decided intercept his reading and assault him with a few question about the next train, with a hope that I can capture a better image of his face and may be use it as a raw material to prime my hormones that is otherwise unused.

And when he lifted his head to answer me, I noticed his facial hair was manicured very differently and was running all over his fair and lovely cheeks. OMG! that facial hair almost turned me nuts and churned my nuts. I was definitely lost looking at him and was even getting ready to skip a work related call that evening if he said Yes!

I fervently prayed to Manmathan asking him to release his arrow now or atleast delay the arrival of the train so that I can try my touch, play and convert trick. I lowered my hands down my crotch area and checked on the fly with my index finger with a hope that the young man would lift his head to catch my expression of seduction.

We didn’t have much time left for the train to arrive and this was my best chance to convert. Should I make another conversation with him without getting too personal?

Damn, Dan Brown, he seemed disinterested in the world around him.

With no success in the past 20 mins, I decided to change the script of my play, and started ignore him. Promptly few minutes later the train arrived and I boarded the bogie through the first door, while he got in through the second door and walked down towards my direction. Giving myself no further hope and after adding Dan Brown to my curse-list after Manmathan, I found an aisle seat closer to the door and pulled out my iPhone and started to fiddle with it.

He came and sat right across from me and left his back besides him. For the first time I get an unabated view of his sexy and slender thighs and sleeping snake inside his pants. Was he leading me into something or was he just playing his power games like Manmathan?

He opened the book, removed the book-marker and picked-up his reading from where he left. Sitting across from him, the angle was perfect and I tried the crotch trick again to get his attention. The guy was deeply engrossed, but every now and he took his eyes of the book to check on the location/stations. I was pissed off at his insensitive behavior and was just short of lifting my hands and cursing Dan Brown and if possible make that book disappear.

Had I known his name I would have written ours along with other couples on hall of fame on the train, but the shrewd man didn’t leave his identity hanging from his neck or waist. Once again I abandoned my hopes. With only three more stations to my destination, I turned on the camera on my mobile phone to see if I can alteast take home a picture of him, if not take him home like a book, lay him supine and turn him over like the pages of Dan Brown.

But it is not an easy job to do a paparazzi shot sitting a feet across from the subject of pleasure and the object of tease. I erected my iPhone vertically on banks of Sunderbans (my thighs), rotated my neck like an Ostrich to compose the shot and waited for the prey to move into the cross-wire. And I patiently waited for the train go over the noisy bridge to shutter noise from the camera. As soon as I got the shot, I looked around to confirm that nobody including him noticed my first success in this voyeuristic ambition.

All I didn’t do that evening was get on top of the train like Shah Rukh in the movie Dil Se and break into a song, otherwise I tried every trick I had mastered in the 25 years from chasing and choosing men.

He continued to remain an elusive, ferocious Bengal tiger with manly whiskers both in my mind and in picture. Today I had no luck in trapping and taming this tiger, but there is always another day and another time, and if not, another tiger. I could very well send this picture to a website that posts pictures of attractive men captured on subways globally - http://nycsubwayguys.tumblr.com/

More lusted and found stories from OMR will continue, so come back for more next week! (Email me if you need to see the picture of the male tiger!)

Trick or Treat (Part 2)

The two-way conversation…

We headed to a nearby snack place to feed his growling and inebriated intestines and while at the place he almost convinced me to have a strip of pizza and insisted that he pay for it. Not sure if it was from the 6 drinks or his innate kindness and fondness for me. And to add to this his non-sexual speech and touch made me hold his hands tighter and my heart grow fonder. While he waited in the line to get his pizza, I let my emotion cool and engage in a two-way conversation with my intellect and fate. Why do I have to meet such a warm and loving person when I am getting ready to leave the country? Strangers rarely come with such warmth and friendliness, so should I just draw the line of friendship and carry on with no emotion, desire or disappointment. Even if we decided to take it any further, distance and time-lag would make it impossible...OMG, why this? and why again?

The ride back home…
It was getting close to 3am and empty taxies were hard to comeby given the time of the night and the big crowd at Castro. While I thought I had to say good-bye to him, my friends obliged to his request and agreed to give him a ride till his car that was parked 30 mins away. The back seat in the car was filled with 5 men, and the ride back home almost felt like the morning after.  I felt heavy, gloomy, confused and I wanted to erase everything from the previous night. And to top it up, we got separated for the first time in 5 hours - I was seated in the front, while he was seated in the back.

The seat belt running across my torso restrained me from turning around to get a glimpse of him. May be that is why they call it a safety belt because they don’t want you to stay in your comfort seat and not be thrown around during accidents. Is it a tease or truth hidden!

Not sure if my friend read my emotion, but he suggested that the guy come home with us and spend the night in the spare bed room rather than drive home in an inebriated state. And when I was just turning hopeful and a smile was beginning to bloom on my gloomy face, he decided not to take up the offer. What ended my hope abruptly – was as it familiarity or waning power of alcohol or the logical side kicking in?

Before the car took off, I lowered my window, shook hands and exchanged numbers and I asked him to text me once he reached home. When the car drove by I realized I was the one intoxicated with the stranger and I was way beyond the permissible limit for the flight back home.

The morning after…

I came home and snapped right  into the flight back home mode, but before I feel asleep my mobile lighted my dark world again. The message confirmed his safe return home and asked me for my flight details. Will the morning after paint a different story?

That morning I didn’t let me heart nurse any feeling or hope though I let it replay the warmth and respect he showed last night. At around 2 pm, little after lunch, he called me to confirm my flight departure terminal and time. On the way to the airport my mind replayed rushes from last night and as I reached the terminal I called to check if he wanted meet me by the curb. Why would a stranger drive 20 miles to see me at the airport? Is there something more that the night brought upon us? What should I expect him to say and how do I react? Reaching home love lagged was worse than being jet lagged.

The L-words…

I hardly finished checking my baggage and I saw him at distance scanning the monitor and checking on the flight status. I pushed my empty trolley aside and ran towards him in excitement. I still had 15 minutes to get through the security and reach the departure gate on-time.

We found a quiet table by the café area and I held his hand tightly and confessed to him how a stranger’s hand overnight gave me unexpected security, warmth and comfort. Did I check in my logic along with my baggage? Who cares as long as it gets home fine and free!

Don’t we all know that both L-words (love and logic) don’t go to together? He made his share of confessions and we spoke a little more. I wanted to ask him why didn’t he come home with me last night and say all this to me. Well hardly 10 minutes to spare there was not time to waste or argue, but only time to make memories and express love. What else do I share with the guy and shower on him for spending the past 15 hours with me and more intimately than my shadow. It was getting intimidating and may be this is a feeling every single and loveless guy goes thorough at some point in life.

Manathon in a four by two..

We dragged my baggage and ran towards the nearest men’s room which happened to be deserted at the time. I pushed him inside the 4 ft by 2 ft gift box and stuffed my bags around him and made it shock-proof (not sound proof) We held each other’s face and passionately exchanged kisses. I still kept tabs on time and hissed into his ears to double-up. In the meantime my ears picked up movement in the next stall, but we continued the manathon that we ran since 10 pm last night.

T-Shirts went up like national flags and the motion sensor in the toilet went berserk from our movement and played our union anthem. Toilet floors usually littered with tissues was today littered with our trousers and briefs. Should I blame gravity or our hyper hormones?

I can’t tell you where all my lips and hands trespassed in those 7minutes, but it was mutual, well and reciprocated despite being illegal. The 16 hour foreplay, the longest that I have ever had, finally came to an end making me think if I should I apply to the Guinness book of records?

The goodbye…

In the past I have used sex to exude and experience power, traded the currency of love and lust irresponsibily and today life taught me to celebrate a stranger’s longest foreplay of kindness and love in union.I immediately stopped questioning the economics and opportunity cost of intimacy and left my senses of gratitude command my hormones without worrying if it was trick or treat.

I hugged him one last time and I disappeared into the security area with great satisfaction. I lifted my hands for the second time that afternoon and let the machine scan by body. And if they were to question me on those hickies I would have said, “Some friendships and sex are born out of respect and love and it cannot be labeled as a quickie, fling or escapade.And we all know there is never a good-bye moment to love and kindness...and it continues till life exist on this planet.”

Trick or treat – OMG!

In a few months I will be completing 25 years of being physically active with men, not sure if my Silver Jubilee is worth celebrating, but I don’t fail to celebrate the interesting ones that have come my way since I began writing this blog.

What do people say when unexpected expect happen to them - Oh my god? Here is an experience I had at OMG, a newly opened Desi Gay bar in the Castro area of San Francisco.

It was Halloween weekend and the club owners at OMG were expecting more people to stop by that night, but coming early always gets you the vantage seats and stares in the house. That night when I entered OMG he was the only one seated at the bar. My friend knew the owner/bar tender so he occupied the seat by the bar and besides him sat a fair and tall man, hair closely cropped and neatly gelled and was casually holding the drink and his demeanor beyond reasonable doubt confirmed that he was a local.

It is not common to meet strangers at the bar, befriend them for a quickie and move on. I am okay with that idea, but I hate men who incessantly stare, send confusing messages, and who don't show courage to come up and strike a conversation when interested. And during the ride to the bar that night I told me friends how such passive and shy men are a big turn-off for me.

The meat

Finally when I came back after doing my club recce, my friend introduced me to this ubersexual man. He readily put out his hands for a shake, while I had to hiss my name in his ears at the noisy bar. His eyes were not the roving kind; his chin was up, he held his drink steady and looked unlike many of the wam bam thank-you mam types, not atleast for tonight. We exchanged minimum personal information and I told him I was visiting from India and was just 24 hours from taking my flight, just incase he had bigger plans for us and then we went our ways at the bar.

Very soon the exotic costume clad women swarmed the floor and danced to some hot and groovy Bollywood songs. One of the women dancers was in her early 70s and she flew all the way from DC for the performance and I found this when I spoke to her after the performance. Infact I even told her she was turning me straight with the moves and the way she swerved her hip.

The dance to courtship….

Soon the man whom I met at the bar came from behind and asked me if I would like to dance with him. This was a question women folk were asked during the bride diligence process in those days, but I wasn't taken aback. But how sure can I be if this question was just a casual invite to dance and there was more to it? I openly confessed that I am not a dancer and threw back a challenge at him to either teach me to dance or tease me to get to dance.

He accepted my challenge and taught me a few steps. I danced a bit with him and that was when I discovered that the man was like a patiala glass, tall and broad, with palms as big as dinner plate (I could have a meal out of his palms) and his long and fleshy fingers were a big turn on. In the darkness at the club I saw my desire dancing in front of my eyes. But more than that what attracted me was his demeanor. He was calm and despite being on his sixth drink he was well behaved and far from being frivolous and silly.

And when you least expect…

Neither of us was at the bar that night looking for a pick-up or hook-up, but then why does life offer you something when you least expect? Every now and then I would see him with a gang of friends, but his eyes were curiously looking for me. Finally before I exited the bar, I went up to him to exchange good-bye courtesies and that is when he asked me about my plans and if he could come along with us to Castro.

Two months after we met, over Yahoo chat he tells me that he was attracted the moment he saw he entering the club and asked my friend who sat beside him for an introduction. That night we left OMG and walked towards the Castro area. Leaving the bar with a stranger, holding hands and kissing him during the tram ride to Castro and taking a few pictures was our way celebrating togetherness. In the end life comes down to good moments and memories and I don’t deprive myself and others of OMG moments!

Marriage talk in half-hour…

Did you guys just meet at the bar or do you know each other from before asked the half American and remaining Iranian girl in the queue outside Q bar at Castro. And when we said we had just met at the bar she remarked, “OMG” and said we were a cool couple and would like to be invited to our wedding. It was nice and refreshing to hear that, but don’t we all know that gay meets and dates are pretty much like trick or treat!

I excused myself to go to the CVS Pharmacy hardly a block away from Q bar to get a few bottles of water and suddenly he appears from the behind and tells me he wants to spend more time with me. Both of us were aware that I would leave the city in the next 14 hours and this infatuation will get us nowhere, but still this man was hunting down every minute to spend it with me. I also enjoyed the attention and company, and deep inside those were the two qualities that tore us apart in my previous relationship.

The two-way conversation…

We headed to a nearby snack place to feed his growling and intoxicated intestine. He tried to convince me to have a strip and insisted that he pay for it. Not sure if it was from the 6 drinks or it kindness was his innate nature, to add to this his non-sexual speech and touch made me hold his hands tighter. While he waited in the line to get his pizza, I let my emotion cool and engage in a two-way conversation with my intellect and fate. Why do I have to meet such a warm and loving person when I am getting ready to leave the country? Strangers are rarely come with such warmth and friendliness, so should I just draw the line of friendship and carry on with no emotion, desire or disappointment. Even if we decided to take it any further, distance and time-lag would make it impossible...OMG, why this? and why again?

The ride back home…

Come back next week....

Finding a roof for love

Last evening at 6.30 pm I spotted a young couple stopping by every house in my street and striking a quick conversation with the watchman. I had no clue if they were they searching for a door number or looking for a missing child, but I could not afford to miss the cloud of anxiety replace excitement when spoke to the watchman.

Are they newly wedded? I looked at her neck and toes for the marriage license, but the dim street light sponsored by Chennai Corporation returned my scan with an inconclusive result. They must be in their upper twenties, and very much looked like our Madhavan and Shalini from the movie “Alaipayuthey”, so next door, and eyes loaded with love and anxiety.

How many times do we come across a young couple holding hands and anxiously walking the streets? I know it sounds like a scene right out of the movie, but how could I ignore a couple in love and anxiously pacing my street?

I intercepted the couple and asked if I could be of help to them. And before the young man replied I scanned him from head to toe and then came back to catch his lips move. He was my height, 5’10’’, and clad in business attire, sporting a scruffy look, and in perfect shape with no paunch. Since he didn’t sport a paunch, the probability of him being single was higher. While he kept talking, I quickly scanned the young women. She was his height, clad in a hand printed mauve color Salwar without a duppatta, with no bindi on her forehead and her hair let down. What a pair! Bombay Kadhala?

I was lost looking at the couple’s simple beauty, their complementing personalities, and how they let each other speak and at the same time paused and completed each other’s sentences. My heart felt they were still in love with each other and always in love to be with each. By the time I scanned the couple and made my first impressions, the man had almost completed answering my question. All I remember hearing was that they were looking to rent an apartment in the street.

The young woman’s casual evening wear contrasted her body language. Her speech and facial expression confirmed that she was definitely more anxious among the two. Her body language clearly said that this is the man of my life, we are starting a life together, and we want rent a place to start our life together and grow our love. How could I turn blind to such passionate, innocent and rightful claims of love walking my street?

Before responding, I asked them a few preliminary/customary questions – their budget, no of bedrooms and how soon they were looking to rent. My mind was again on a trip recollecting the song “Puthu Vellai Mazhai” song from the movie Roja. Madhubala’s expressions of innocence, blossoming of first love, and trust she had in the man dawned in the young woman’s face. And the young handsome Arvind Swami was resplendent with confidence, zest for life, courage and joy from bringing her into his life.

During the interaction they revealed they were classmates from college and were classmates of my neighbor who also got married to his love from college. Were they all enrolled in the college of love? They must have been in love for atleast for 6+ years and they had grown their love to the next level. They also revealed that were trying to find something on their own to avoid broker commissions and use that money towards furnishing their home. They were not banking on their parents and they knew their priorities, responsibly managing their finances, and how they wanted to start their life, and all they needed was a roof!

I felt intoxicated and enamored like the vanaras in the jungle watching Rama and Sita in love. Having bet on the wrong horse twice in my life and my dreams still being dreams, I wanted to play a small role in their life. I wanted to help them find a roof for their love and I wanted a small part in their love story.

And within the next few minutes the three of us walked down the street sharing anxiety and joy. That evening I went home with an invite for their wedding and I felt like I was holding my own wedding invite, I was ecstatic, exuberant and for the first time I felt I had won in love. I also felt I had known them longer than love.

Among Countless Shades of Grey...

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The gay clichés…

I left America 10 years ago and back then I hadn’t even visited gay bars, saunas and hadn’t even thought of a relationship with a man. And 10 years later, after 2 fulfilling relationships, a million miles accrued from sleeping around, visiting gay bars and saunas across the world, a backpack full of lessons and experiences that revealed more of my personality and character, I landed back on the soil built on freedom and liberty for some new learning. And to my surprise I discover that gay men in the land of freedom and liberty live and repeat the same clichés that gay men in Indian cities do…. So what are they? 

Cliché 1: Gay men in this city suck! 

I asked few of my friends and new acquaintances on the gay dating scene in the city and their plans to settle down with a man of their choice. Is there a Cliff notes out there on such frequently asked questions? Well their answers bewildered me. “I don’t meet anyone from this city,” said one and when I prodded further the other one said, “Gay men in this city are more often confused, all-over the place and are not sure what they want and as a result the dating game turns into a mind game. I don’t see my man in this city and I have to either move out or stay single in the city”.

We have heard psychologist write on Men are from Mars, and Women are from Venus, but do they know where gay men are from?

Cliché 2: Sad, bitter, and lonely!

There is one common gay flavor across the world, and it often smells of sadness, bitterness and loneliness. I don’t know if I should call this a curse or a cliché.

 I thought they must have gone around the block, learnt their lessons and must be ready to settle down by the time they reach their mid thirties. And I was surprised when their bandages dissolved over a few drinks the alcohol and exposed their wounds and scars deep below.

One said he realized that he is not a relationship material and is prepared to live a “lone wolf” for the rest of his life. The other said he has lost hope to find love in life and has signed up for a life with a fag hag. And the last one other said if he doesn’t find love by 40 he would move in and start living with his gay friends. What do you call these people, pragmatic, practical and pessimistic?

These are men in the Castro area in San Francisco, who had left their country to finding it difficult to manage their gay identity and lifestyle. But far away from home their lives were still painted with melancholy and misery.

A few wrong meetings, a few bad decisions, a few failures and disappointments definitely seem to push gay men and down into bunkers of sullenness, grief and misery. 

But where do I find gay men who are really contended, happy, peaceful, clear, and who are devoid of sourness, baggage and drama? Drop me a line if you find their coordinates….

Cliché 3: Waiting for the best!

While the sad, bitter and lonely belong to one end of the spectrum, there are the “stupidly optimistic” on the other end. It is good to know what you want, but sometimes it is unreasonable to have lofty expectations and foolishly throw away worthy ones hoping that the best is yet to arrive.

These men have unreasonable demands, foolish expectations, relentlessly play the field and constantly go on the trip looking for their prince charming and picture perfect and dismissing their discoveries to be mortal pond frogs.

I am not asking them to settle for less or go for a compromise, but there is a big difference between being stupidly optimistic and foolishly pessimistic.

The above responses pretty much matched with the responses that I heard back from my friends/acquaintances in West Asia, and South East Asia, where there is not a lot of freedom and liberty for gay men. All of them extinguished the lighthouse hope I had on the land of freedom and liberty. May be freedom and liberty guarantees clichés and not clarity?

We all know that it takes one of every kind to make this world colorful; however, being gay can sometimes be as much a cliché like poverty, unemployment, ailments, and illiteracy.

When a noun morphs into a transitive verb and turns verbal

Just like we all come in different shapes and sizes, we also come with a variety of emotional, physical and psychological needs. May be that earned us the “queer” title? Sometimes we discuss and understand each other’s need before we jump into the bed, while many at times we discover each other’s kinks and fetishes in bed only to feel exorcised more than exercised. Here is an experience that created a little storm in me.

Sex as a noun sounds plain vanilla, while its usage as transitive verb sounds hormonal, recreational and exciting. I am sure you will not contest this statement of mine. I looked at his picture a dozen times and we also did the size talk before I decided to take him up on his invitation to sex. And finally when I rang the door bell, little did I know his lurking fetish for unparlimentary language behind the unopened door. I checked out the face and statistics to ensure it matched with the text and picture he shared and when it did, I started mileage counter with a kiss. Every step we made towards the bedroom there was a piece of clothing one of us shed. And by the time we made it to bedroom the house was strewn with clothes that couldn’t contain our lust.

Since we had sexted our preferences before I arrived, I didn’t have to do much courting. And when I was cajoling him to get into the perfect yoga pose, the downward dog, he turned around and asked me to abuse him in my native language. We had never discussed this before and now I was confounded with a challenging tasks and shooting from my hip and lip at the same time. For me anger and verbal abuse went together and not sex and verbal abuse.

I have abused men who ran into my car, who jumped queues, who honked from behind, but this was the first time I was asked to abuse during a sexual act. His fetish was unfathomable, but given his cute bubble butt how could I not make an effort. Without knowing what I was getting into I decided to offer him my choice of words in a few languages, while he offered me the rubber and lube menu.

I ripped open the plastic sachet and with pride dressed up my little man in a ribbed rubber suit smeared with strawberry flavored lube, but every time I tried to utter an expletive my mind turned blank, my tongue froze and my drippy hard went into the downward dog pose and failed to penetrate his tight ass.

How do I tell him that I don’t have a performance issue? How do I tell him that my body doesn’t secrete endorphins and testosterone while abusing his mother, his birth and talking ill about his sister? I had no idea how a man could be turned on hearing volley of abuses. I confessed that I am not good at this game and cajole him to give me another chance. This time I bargained to get inside him and then start the abuse.

I got him out of the downward doggie pose and with mutual effort and focus we got my boneless muscle back to the horizontal position. I realized the extra skill and effort one needed to turn a noun into a transitive verb and risks of turning it verbal.

Pictures and descriptions on gay men profiles have no forbearance to their behavior and most often what they share is their wannabe self rather than the real self. Irrespective of how you engage with gay men, horizontally or vertically, there can always be surprises. May be should we run a disclaimer like what those on the rear view mirror?

The Famous Five

People who we met, both offline and online, turn the act of consummation or one time fuck into an act of examination with barrage of questions. I marvel the depth of questions, their intent, and often wonder if this was a mind fuck before the real fuck? But sometimes, we all want to play along and give them responses that would make them feel accomplished, intelligent and powerful.

I shared the five questions we commonly ask men with Gayla, our gay relationship expert and sexpert, and requested her to share her sharp and titty and witty responses.

Q: How is the gay scene, given the fact that your city is small?

A: Honey, now I know you are a size queen. I haven’t comes across any study that correlates the size city to its gay scene. Mumbai doesn’t make gays sane and sorted and Nagpur doesn’t make gay men closeted and complicated. Irrespective of the place, country and society, gay men are the same world over. They are confused, yet claim they are sane and sorted, being married to a woman they lie they are single, they cheat on their boy friend by claiming they are in an open relationship, and it means they are looking for sex when they say they are looking for friendship. So sex, lies, drama are a standard menu in the gay world. Remember, the size of the city and size of the phallus has no correlation with satisfaction. So move on the next question. Intelligent one, please!

Q: What are you interests in bed?

A: Next to hobbies, this is the most direct and interesting question someone has ever asked me. And isn’t that the reason why we are talking? I only wish you are as intelligent and interesting as this question. If you need takers, turn into an aggressive bottom or a versatile top with interesting but not a parasite (read as bed bug).

Most men who claim to be Tops are predictable and not delectable. They are sexually inept and their high school hand jobs are awful, and sadly know nothing beyond shoving the hole. Most Bottoms in town are submissive and are ready for sodomy at the drop of the trouser and lay down in the bed like an Egyptian mummy. In between the predictable Tops and the submissive Bottoms are the other kinds that can offer you costumes fetish, golden showers, poppers, etc, and their variety is certain to send your hormones out of your body. So be the in-between and make men wise and teach them new vice, kinks and fetish, but under the blanket of mutual respect and on the pillow of reciprocation. Contact this blogger for more tips.

Q: Are you married or single?

A: You have to kiss a thousand frogs before you kiss the Prince or Princess. Even the Royal family doesn’t give a fuck when it comes to sex and relationship. Diana had her way with Dodi Al-Fayed while she was still a Princess and married to Charles. And Charles was riding Camilla Parker Bowles on the pre-text of riding the horse. We all know that mortality is high when it comes to morality and relationship have been tagged with “Its complicated” labels long before Facebook arrived.

So, if you are looking for a fuck and a fling, this question shouldn’t matter. If you are trying to make the other person feel guilty by asking my marital or relationship status, understand, it doesn’t get you far. Don’t be a Shobha De and search for a partner where your kids and his kids can play together with your kids. Btw, didn’t you read the title of this blog? The blogger claims to be single and fabulous! Check him out.

Q: What do you do for a living? Where do you work?

A: My profession may not sound as interesting as me, but I understand some people have fetish for men in uniforms like Doctors, Sailors, Scientists, Firemen, Police, Truck drivers, Actors, etc. The first part of the question is very much answerable and can make you feel powerful, excited and push you to engage in power sex. While the second part of the question is like leaving my name and number in the toilet at my work place. In the past, when I disclosed my work place, I have had people drop names of my colleagues who’ve dropped their pants for them. This information is as both invasion of privacy and very scandalous. I know information is power, but I never entertain and enterstain Julian Assanges and Sherlock Holmes of the gay world.

Q: Are you out or closeted?

A: I strongly believe closets are for cowards to hide their fears, smelly secrets, old clothes and torn shoes. But that doesn’t give you freedom to drag your pets to do the pride walk with you. But I definitely don’t advice you to take home fuck buddies and introduced them to your folks. Since folks never did their “sex talk or sex education” with me and don’t traumatize them with unnecessary details on who you do and what you do with them.

Remember, sex is a primal need and be comfortable with your sexuality and also every comfortable others being aware of it, though it is none of their business. And if people are not aware of it, believe their ignorance is bliss. Instead of worrying about people living in their closets, be Carrie Bradshaw and use your closets to increase your sex quotient or be Samantha and use their closets have sex, but don’t be Charlotte and snoop around for their skeletons.

Advice from Gayla: Ask intelligent questions that will bring about physiochemicobiological changes in the body of your men. And remember to love kink more than pink and it is easy to score with logic than comic!

PS: Please don’t befriend Gayla on Facebook. She is not willing to assume the role of a shrink or fag hag, instead chase good looking men, men in relationships, and with status messages that says Its Complicated and you may get lucky.

5 Car(di)nal rules to managing relationships

Headlines claim sane and sorted, profile descriptions say no drama and mind games, screaming post scripts say no pic no response and candid announcements tempts with an offer to trespass the boundaries of engagement for friendship and more for the right one! What a variety in physical, mental and emotional needs that comes with clear constraints and spelt out conditions spelt for the scrolling mouse and twiddling thumbs. Yet people fail to distinguish between the physical need and emotional need and end up relentlessly searching for one in another and waking up to pain from loneliness and disappointments from failure not just the morning after, but every passing morning.

Here are some rules that I follow to establish connections, qualify relationships, set expectations, and manage communications, and call it off.

Rule 1: Understand your needs, if you want to be understood!

Online portals and Smart Apps have made meeting and trading of meat easy, but you have to make our announcements loud and clear for a successful trade. You may be curious seeking test-ride, a married gay man looking to find a fuckbuddy, or traveling bloke looking to understand the local gay scene, whatever be it, state your needs clearly, define your negotiables and non-negotiables and how far you are willing to bend back backwards and bend over for a disappointment-free trade. You set wrong expectations the moment you break your trade rules. Define your needs and together set expectations for a long innings.

Rule 2: Be Samatha and not confused Carrie!

You don’t need friendship to yank out the sausage in his trouser. Friendship is born from patience, perseverance, mutual respect, earned trust and shared interests and values. And gay sex is born out of pure physical need and comes with or without repeat performances, no commitment and no satisfaction guaranteed sticker. Sex at one end of the spectrum sounds very casual and inviting, while friendship on the other end comes with responsibility. Sex can give rise to friendship, but the converse is seldom true. So, let sex be a chalk and friendship remain a cheese. Don’t be afraid to be Samatha and keep them away and separate!

Rule 3: Graduate relationships based on 3 Ps (purpose, performance, perseverance)

I am not a guy who plays the volume game on social networking sites. But I find it ridiculous to add people I meet online or that I meet for a casual fling to my mobile, Facebook, Twitter, etc. Why would I want to remember hook-ups unless they are good? Why do I want to store numbers with a “G” as a pre-fix or suffix in my phonebook? Why would I want to open up my online life to them? Why would I want to respond to their silly good morning, good night and forward text messages?

I find it is too much work to spring clean numbers of my fuckbuddies from mobile, Facebook, Twitter, Gtalk more than cleaning the stained bed sheets. I have a minimum one month wait time to add a number to my phone book, 1 year wait to add them to my gtalk and 3 years to add them to my Facebook. So simplify your life by wisely choosing your connections and communication medium. Get them in the queue and graduate them based on the purpose of the engagement, and their performance and perseverance.

Rule 4: Never mix cocktails with mock tails!

In my first relationship, my boy friend reached out to my colleague, confided in her and in the process outed me to her. In my next relationship, I got a call from my boy friend’s mother asking me to stay away from her son. In one of the gathering my gay friend’s nosey colleague wanted to know if I were gay and if I was seeing him. People are best managed when kept in silos because their tongues can be acerbic and congregation unpredictable. So restrict your colleagues to LinkedIn, friends and acquaintances to emails, close friends to Facebook, and keep family for face to face interactions.

Rule 5: Tell them when it is over!

Every relationship comes with an expiry tag as much as it comes with a role description and responsibility. You may be getting married, or you may have found a permanent fuck buddy or a boy friend, or you are ready to dissolve a friendship for having broken rules of engagement and trust. The key to managing successful relationships is to tell people know where they stand whether they have been upgraded or downgraded on the journey of life. Not everyone travels with us on the journey of life. It is natural and healthy for some to drop-off and for new ones to join us on the journey. So, tell them when it is over, make your good-bye speeches grand and don’t let them assume from your silence.

Don't we all learn about ourselves from others and the relationships we hold? Not sure if it will help you find Mr. Right, but it will definitely let you wake up and walk around with clarity and also not runaway from people.

(I)den(t)ity!

A week after that chat with a friend (refer to be blog below) I realized how people can be heated like thermosetting polymer and re-casted!

Titles are self-proclaimed and labels are self-printed but when challenged and questioned people always feel threatened, insecure, cornered, confused and some even go to the extent of willing to print new ones. Here is an experience I recently had with two straight men at a bar.

After a three year wait her divorced had finally come through and we had to celebrate her new singlehood and have some pictures with pegs and pints, tits and wits to ring the bell and welcome the change in her Facebook status from “It’s complicated” to “Single”!

It was four in the evening when I and another gay friend (Dino) along with his fag hag (Alisha) ventured into a decent and affordable bar in the city. My friend was expecting a colleague (Shawn) and his college-mate (Georgy) to join us at the bar. I looked around the barely occupied bar and found two interesting straight males (engendered or endangered, was it to be determined?). A closer look revealed that the two guys were ahead of us!

We joined them at the table and we placed the order for drinks after a quick round of introductions and handshakes. A straight crowd is always curious to know what do you do and while a gay crowd is curious to know where you meet him. “So, what do you want to know gentlemen”, I asked Georgy’s pupil dilated and he acted surprised, while Shawn was busy trying to dissolve the ice in the glass of whiskey. Not sure if it was alcohol or they were comfortable in their own skins, but these guys were seemed not bothered to find out what I did or who I did. What a careless crowd to be with! But are they really cool and careless or they pretending to be that way? I was determined to peel their skin, layer by layer to ascertain their identity!

Me: Georgy, I think I have a cool name for you. Wanna hear?

Georgy: Oh yes! I have been called so many names before, but let’s see what you got for me.

Me: I am sure you are a sporto! What do u think of Orgy Georgy?

Georgy: You are so witty!

Me: You get witty only when you don’t go behind titty! And I gave a seductive look to Orgy Georgy!

Georgy had recently got an admit card to study in the US and I said he would have lots of opportunity to live-up the name. Georgy gushed and giggled like a high school girl, while Shawn with a pair of round and ready to pop out eyes peered through oversized spectacle frame trying to fit the world into and acted as though he wasn’t interested in any kind - orgy or Georgy!

Shawn hates fat people and he loves to play cruel jokes on them and to get him all warmed up and include him in the conversation I shared the picture of a fat man I clicked on the train journey, how he kept me awake all night with his monstrous snore, and when confronted how he asked me to travel in a coupe while I retorted by asking him to travel by a freight train. A thunderous laughter punctuated my words!

By now the ice had dissolved in Shawn’s Whiskey and he was no more figidity and was alive on the table.

Me: Alisha, do British guys refer to “harmonica” as a “mouth organ”? Because when I said “mouth organ” to the Americans they snickered and made fun of me. A penis was euphemistically referred to as a “mouth organ”.

Alisha: Americans are weird and are sadly they coin their own terms and try to make it a global standard.

Me: Alisha, in gay lingo (in India) we refer to a flautist as a person who gives a blow job! So, did you know Shawn was a real flautist and not a euphemistic one?

Shawn: No…no… I only blow air through the bamboo reed and not what you guys think.

The first bottle of Kingfisher was done by now and Shawn made a loud whistle to draw the attention of the bar tender for refills. I was kind of completely in control with the conversation on the table and also in control of the short-eats, while the straight men were walking down my aisle with comfort.

Georgy to Me: So, are you really gay or you playing a prank on me? You are all muscled up, not pansy and don’t seem to fit into a stereotype.

Me: Georgy there is nothing called straight or gay and here is my friend JV’s line “you have a life time to prove otherwise”. So Georgy, have you ever felt curious to try it out with a guy?

Georgy all ruffled, hurriedly up said, “No!”

Me: So you don’t know what you are missing. And you may have a gay gene and one does finds it out only when tested or pushed to test! This is like HIV! You need to get tested to know if you carry the gene and it is essential before you marry a woman.

Shawn: Well I have tried it out once and I didn’t seem to like it.

Me: So Shawn, do women give blow-jobs? And do they give better blow jobs than men?

Shawn and Georgy in chorus responded with a big yes! And I said, “well then you haven’t tried it with the right man.”

Me: So Shawn, how old were you when you tried it out? Where you conscious or drunk when it happened? Did you initiate it or did someone else initiate you into trail?

Shawn: I was 16 and I was not drunk. And I consciously made the move to check if I had homoerotic attractions.

Me: Shawn you are an experimenter and you could be a mentor for Orgy Georgy. Sometimes when you are conscious and trying to figure out which is better, you kind of tend to lose the real pleasure. So you must douse yourself with some “moral lubricant” aka alcohol and lose your sense of judgment and then decide the morning after.

Shawn: But I am not attracted or aroused by men.

Me: Under the influence of alcohol you may be. And you need to do another round of testing before you can be so sure. And moreover what you felt in 16 may not be true when you at 25. We all go through psycho-biological changes. May be you should give us another chance before labeling yourself as straight and walking the aisle with a women!

Shawn rolled his mammoth eyes again, but I couldn’t figure out if he was willing to go for another trial run. But nevertheless, approved alcohol can make it easy.

Me: Georgy, genitals decide gender, and not a mouth! So you must give it a shot and share your experience before making tall claims about your straight-hood!

Dino: So Georgy, are you cut or uncut?

Georgy was shy and worried and didn’t answer that question since he was surrounded by self proclaimed straight friends Shawn and Alisha. But once they left for a smoke, he came closer to me and confessed his “cut” status.

Me: Georgy if you are cut then you are going to leave someone with a rough tongue.

I pulled out my iphone and turned on the gay app “Grindr” that I use to hunt gay men in my city and flashed the list of options he has in the city. Georgy was again shy and giggly, and without giving a notice I took a picture of a smiley Georgy and I threatened I would post it on Grindr with his mobile number and make him Gay Georgy or Go-go Georgy or Orgy Georgy. To make him feel comfortable I coaxed Alisha to pose for a picture and post her under the fag-hag category on Grindr.

A few rounds of alcohol were enough to loosen up the guys, widen their perspective and rediscover and giving me an opportunity to dent in their identity. At the end of the 4 hour session, Shawn was ready for his next experience with a man under the influence of alcohol and offered to do a comparative study report, while Orgy Georgy said he was now a curious cat on the wall, and Alisha said she was ready to start a Planet Juliet portal for straight women and lesbians.

Straight people are petrified with the gay label, but when counseled and coaxed under the influence of alcohol they are willing to go the next mile and test it out. So don’t forget alcohol with its unique OH! bond is a great solvent. It solves differences, blurs traditional boundaries and turns frigid and formula driven sex into something more fluid and fun.

So the next time someone flaunts their “straight” stereotype status, remember what my friend JV said, “You have the right to test them” and tell them that “they have lifetime to prove otherwise”. So go on and take the straight fellas by their horns and certify their identity and reorient them! Ofcourse we can’t be losing our men to women!