Tag Archives: Italy

The Fashion World of Milan – means nothing; Doubts and order

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It’s strange.  Since V & I split, I have come into contact with more people in the fashion world than I ever did with V.  Well, I suppose it’s not that strange, really.  After all this is one of the great fashion cities of the world and there is, most probably, a higher proportion of gay people working in that industry than, say, the one I work in, Engineering.  And now I’m ‘out and about’, I meet the people who work for the names that we all know.

Interesting; and I hope V is doing the same because this was the world he always wanted – although it would be slightly ironic if he wasn’t meeting these people and I, much less interested than he, were.  I mean, for him, someone working for, say, Dolce & Gabanna, would be highly interesting, for me, it’s just a name and, unless they are Mr Dolce, really, of no interest in its own right.  He would ‘use’ the connection, for me it’s just like working for, say, Marks and Spencers.

I start having doubts.  This is based on a previous experience.  Am I just wanting him because it is ‘somebody'; a warm body; it could be any ‘body’?  Is it like that?  He makes me laugh, he is funny, he is nice, he has a great body (even if he doesn’t think so), he’s not incredibly handsome but it is a nice face – but…..will it be enough….will there be other things I like but, more importantly, will there be things I hate or are there already things I hate that will become ugly?  I want him but is that because he is available rather then I really want him?  I wish he were here, with me, so I could find out.

I keep two things in my wallet.  One is the card that Gordon gave me the night before last and the other is the piece of paper, torn from the notebook with the designer’s name on the bottom, for whom he works, on which he ‘scribbled’ the name of the pub for the previous night and the directions to get there.  Except they weren’t scribbled.  They are meticulously written words and a drawn map.

Normally, I struggle to read Italians’ writing.  His is immaculate, tidy, ordered, done with such care (I watched him do it).  It is beautiful writing.  I’m not sure that anything he does is unordered.  Everything is so perfect, so tidy.

I wonder if that is something I could live with?  And, whether he could live with me….but he says that, at first, with his ex, who is also a blue-eyed, British Taurean, he briefly put their clothes together in the wardrobe.  Later he split them as everything had to be ordered for him – so much like V but worse.  Or maybe that was why V came first, to get me more used to the idea?  Gordon says he is used to someone not as tidy as he is.  Maybe it will be a problem for him?

He had a dog when he was a kid.  And he is looking after a dog on the weekend after next or the one after that.  But, with my two?  With the fact that, really, the house should be cleaned every day; that nothing can be left within the reach of Dino; that, if they’re ill, it’s not pleasant – how does he cope with that in the ordered world of his?

He likes the bathroom, the cleanest place in the house, maybe?  He used to do his homework in the bathroom – it was his favourite place.

I take out the note, just to study how tidy and perfectly it is done.  It’s a scrap of paper but more like an artwork.

Maybe I will frame it :-)

Basta il pensiero – and, although it’s not enough, it will have to do.

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He points out, quite correctly, that we have seen each other 3 times in the last 4 days.  In reality it is every day for the last four days.  He also points out, again correctly, that he is here because he wants to be here and, if there were nothing, he wouldn’t be here.  I know this to be true.

But, he says, he is 40 and he is looking for something more or even different, from what he wanted before.  And I remind him of the chat message, on the evening that I moaned to him, where he said that we are all, in the end, looking for the same thing.

He was late.  Normally I would say ‘siamo in Italia’ but, for him, already, I am forgiving and excusing.  He had some visitors in the office and they wouldn’t go.  He texted me to tell me.  I texted back to say that I understood (which I do).  He was about half an hour late and the weather is cold now.  Some winds from Russia or something.  In any event, I need to dig out my winter stuff.

We sit outside as there is no room inside.  There are just too many gay people here, I noticed, whilst I was waiting, propping up a lamppost nearby.  The bar is Elettrauto in Via Cadore.  It is windy but we are somewhat sheltered.  However, it is still cold.  We order beers; he gets some apero food, he is hungry.

We talk about his day, what he is doing tomorrow, etc.  We have another 2 beers.  I like that he doesn’t drink like an Italian.  It is late; later than either of us would like.

The conversation moves to relationships and, because I will, probably, not see him for about 7 days, our relationship, if it exists.

But it does exist, in some form or another.  It’s only been 4 days – if you don’t count the chat beforehand, which, in some weird way, I do.  I try to explain that.  I try to explain things in my head.

He tries to explain why he wants to go slow, to be sure, to know me better beforehand.  We both think that things are getting lost in translation.  I try to understand.

He suggests going for a pizza.  I realise that he must really like me…..I know he has to prepare for tomorrow and I know that he is eating into this time by remaining with me.  But the conversation needs to be finished; a form of closure is required; we need to know that we understand each other.

I explain that, OK, I don’t need the full-on thing but I need more than just a meal, a drink, a visit to the cinema or museum.  I need some physical contact, some kissing, some hugging, some touch!

I think, at the end of this we do understand.  At least, this morning it was clear.  And, anyway, he is away until Thursday night and then he goes away (holiday) the next day until Monday.

I want to see him on Thursday when he’s back but there may not be enough time.  I decide that I will hold back, knowing that it will be rushed and difficult even if we did meet.  I guess it will be the week after.

We got a taxi home, my house is first so I get dropped off first.  We hold hands in the taxi on the way back.  My fingers stroke his fingers.  I wish we could kiss like I see the couples kissing on the street but, even if he was brave enough for that, I am not.  But, the holding hands thing, this is what I mean.  And this is enough for me, at least for the moment.  Later today, I don’t know.

I text him to thank him, he texts me back to thank me, calling me his sweet English man.  I am sure it is true.  I want it to be true anyway.

I text this morning to say Good Morning.  I explain I feel guilty about the lack of sleep he must have had.  He says I am guilty and we both know that he is equally guilty.  As he said last night, if he really wanted to leave he had plenty of reasons and excuses.

We text many times this morning.  He is travelling by train.  He is sweet and sends me kisses and hugs and I am grinning and although it’s not enough (although he sends the Italian phrase ‘basta il pensiero’ which, from what I can make out, means thinking about it is enough), it is better than nothing and will have to do.

There is this warm feeling that I have.  I am not in some crazy place, like I thought I may be, but in a nice place, a gentle place, a happy place.  I will speak to him later, I know.  I wish he were here but am happy that he will be – on Thursday or, if not, then next week.

Trying to explain something.

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We have texted and phoned during the day.  He agrees to meet for an aperitivo, at Bar Basso on Viale Abruzzi, one of the most famous bars in Milan.

I wonder, as I do, if, when I see him I will feel the same as before.  I know that, if we were in bed, I would feel the same but without that, how will I feel?  Will it be enough just meeting for a drink?

I decide that I will invite him to meet the dogs, since he has said he loves them.  I know that will mean bed and sex too…..I also know that he will know that……I am certain that he will decline because it’s a ‘school night’ and he knows it will not mean a good night’s sleep.  And I know that he won’t do that.

I am there early, of course.  I wait outside the bar.  I see him coming, he waves. I grin.  We kiss, on the cheeks, as one does in Europe, gay or not.  It’s a strange thing that I’ve never quite got used to.  I mean to say, not with men, anyway, not in public, not in the street!

He is wearing jeans, a striped jacket, done up, not with a button but with a big safety pin, a scarf, a top with a T-shirt underneath.  I feel the same.  I want to hold him; close; closer still.  I can’t stop grinning.

We sit down and order beers (yes, he drinks beer too).  He chats to the waiter.  I follow the conversation, more or less.  He is known here.  He is comfortable and in his environment.  That’s OK.

We talk.  I can’t tell you exactly what about.  We talk about the weekend coming (he is going to a concert in another European country to see a diva that he loves); his ex, currently over here and looking for a job; what he expects from a relationship (which matches what I expect); ‘almost’ relationships (which he explains to try and show me why he is wary and cautious); his job and what he’s been doing today; about how everything must be in it’s place (which is, absolutely, not me at all) and how he understands I will not be like that because I am English; spontaneity (something that he put on his profile) and how he is not but how, in his mind he is – and that came about because I did, indeed, invite him to see the dogs and he knew what it meant as I knew that he would; and he knew that I knew and that was why I was asking and he explained that he needed to take a shower – but with his shower gel and his stuff before he came over and that, maybe, we could do it next week, when he is back from his trip; and I said that he didn’t need to explain; and he said that he did and he wanted to and he kept explaining everything as if he wanted me to really understand and I tried to explain that I did understand and what I failed to say was that, I thought I understood him perfectly and, anyway, we weren’t a couple and that he shouldn’t feel the need to explain and he just kept on talking and talking and I couldn’t take my eyes off him (I had put my contact lens in again for this meet) and I couldn’t stop smiling.

And he touched my knee and I told him not to…..and then added that it was because it turned me on…and so he took his hand away and I had to explain that I was just joking…and I was joking about him not touching my knee but I so wanted him to do it again and again ……and he said he knew I was joking and he did touch it again, more than once.

And, yes, he was a little effeminate but not much more than V and, in fact, in some ways, more like V than was healthy…….than is healthy…and I’m not looking for V but, I guess, I’m attracted to the V’s of this world….

And he wanted to tell me about his ex and how, three months into the relationship, his ex had picked him up from work and they had gone to a bar and his ex had spent all the time looking at some other attractive guy and how he told him that, next time, if his ex came to pick him up and take him out, he should be with him and not looking for something else….and I agreed as I stared at him as he was talking, watching his face, his mouth, his eyes, not being able to take in everything but wanting to, so much……………and I know I would not do what his ex did because I never did it with V and I would never do it with any man that I loved…………if I do love him…………and I don’t know, yet……

But, and I really can’t explain this in words that make sense or in any words at all, but I was so very happy to be with him, even if it was cold, even if he wasn’t going to come back to my house, even if there would not even be kissing tonight.

Suffice it to say, I just can’t get enough of him.  In any form.  Even sitting opposite me over a table at a bar.

We have another beer.  I don’t want him to go.  I think he doesn’t really want to go but he is sensible.  This is what I meant before, when I said that I need someone to compliment me….it is good for me to have someone sensible….something, actually, that V did not provide.

Oh, and I know he’s not perfect – no one is, but, you know, he has something and I like it a lot.  And I will miss him like hell when he is away from tomorrow……even if I’ve only seen him twice…..it’s been a long twice (but just not long enough for me).

I don’t know what to give as a title

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It was strange. The restaurant (Wok of Milan) was near his house and, therefore we went there. It was OK but, to my mind, nothing special. Again, I say, if you’re a Chinese restaurant be Chinese, if Japanese, be Japanese but don’t mix and match – it’s just not possible since the food is so different.

However, we chatted about crap. I told him that Rufus had not been so well and that, surprisingly for me, I thought that, perhaps, this was it for him. He wants to come round and see him.

We talked, tentatively at first, about the online thing and about Italian men, in general. Each saying we had ‘interesting’ experiences. He admitted that one should always read the manual (in this case profile) before one ventures forth. But, then, so should I it would seem. I seem to not be able to ‘see’ the photographs properly or, rather, I seem to look at them and think that the person can’t possible look like this and it’s just a bad photo.

But it is not, generally, a bad photo. In fact, if anything, it’s a good photo! So, I should take a look, imagine that they don’t look this good, and go from there.

Anyway, back to V & I.

So we’re chatting and, eventually, he admits that he’s rather smitten with someone. He says that the guy is short and nothing like me. I say that he should go for it and not hold back like he is doing.

It seems strange to me that, after all the time we were together, I don’t feel bad about this, nor like it’s a problem only, if I am honest, slightly jealous that I haven’t found someone before him. But I put that aside, and tell him (and I mean it) that he should not worry about how the guy looks but in how he feels and if he feels like this he shouldn’t waste the chance to be with someone who could be ‘the one’.

We continue this conversation in texts as I go home and as I take the dogs out for their walk.

I get a little fed up with him and, eventually say that he should stop being so stupid.

He accepts this in the way it was intended, i.e. He should just try and see. I hope it works for him (although, obviously, providing that I find someone also) :-) I also add that he shouldn’t be thinking about the fact that the guy isn’t like me and that, in fact, the guy shouldn’t be like me – otherwise it would be me……and we can’t go there again.

Still, it was all very relaxed although I can see myself being his agony aunt, which, given my free time right now (virtually none as you may be able to tell by the blog entries) may be more than a little difficult.

And, then, last night was the sweet guy from Varese.

It’s from a different site, one where they try to match you for compatibility rather than looks or whether you are Top or Bottom or somewhere in between. We are something like 75% compatible. But I should read the manual and, in this case, rather than the small-print, the pictures. OK so a little chubby, not pretty. But the photos have got to be bad ones.

Um, no. The photos were good

He is, actually, a nice guy but I have been with V for 20 odd years. I want the 40-year-old man with the 30-year-old body (and face) – something that Italy seems incapable of providing). We go for a walk along lake Lugano (on the Italian side), stop and have a drink and then go to a pizzeria that he knows.

OK so it is a nice evening but the whole thing is very one-sided in that he is thinking ‘Wow!’ and I am not. How do I know this? Well, a) it is the first thing he says when he meets me and b) I can just tell it doesn’t go away during the evening.

He looks like my M (my first partner of 10 years) only if he were now 60 (even though the guy is supposed to be in his 40s. Actually M won’t look like this. This guy looks like M’s father!

We do kiss but there is no Karl Spark – nor will there ever be. Friends, yes. More, no!

And then, because I had moaned at Gordon (via chat) about Italian men and how difficult it was for me to handle them, I am now preparing to go to his flat as I write this. Gordon has a beautiful body – a 30-year-old body and he’s 40. So far so good. Now, on my new PC (bought today), his face does not look so good but neither does it look so bad. He doesn’t look 40 for certain.

Now I read back, you won’t get the steps between moaning at him and ending up going to his flat but, briefly, it goes like this. I moan. He asks what is wrong with Italian men. I say there’s not enough room to write about it. He says he is listening. I ask are you sure. He says yes. I give him brief idea that these people don’t do what they say (see the previous post) and, anyway, they all carry too much baggage in their heads. He writes a serious response about all this chat stuff being fake but it makes me laugh and I tell him so. Then after a bit more chat I ask him what does it make our chat, real or fake?

He then says we can meet. I say that, for some reason (and I think it is because I am quite scared – he is too beautiful, too perfect) I am not pushing this and chatting is fine but, in any event, we arrange to meet Saturday.

And so, here we are. I am about to leave and go to his place for a glass of wine (having drunk half a bottle already and not really eaten anything). This one actually seems important but will, in all probability, end up like the rest.

However, who’s to know?

Tomorrow is Boris. Coming down from Cantù, near the lakes. He wants to go to Borgo, a bit gay disco held on a Sunday night. I don’t. Other than it is full of gay people, it is Sunday night and I have customers in on Monday! Hmm, we shall see. So, Pietro, if I am less than awake on Monday, you will know why.

Oh, and by the way, another person at work now knows I am gay. It is about time that everyone knew and then I can stop pretending…….

Dreams should remain dreams; All mouth and no trousers; Categories from Top to Bottom

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I have Karl.  In my dreams he is the perfect man – funny, witty, beautiful, clever, etc……

If we were together the world would be perfect.  I wait for him to call me; to be the knight in shining armour, on the white horse, taking me away from all this – to a better life, a perfect life.

It will not happen.  And, even if he was the knight and took me away, it would not be the perfect life and nor, necessarily better.

And he is not the perfect man (he is Italian, after all and, worse, he has more hang-ups than a lot of the others, it seems).

He won’t call and, in a way, it is better like this.  The dream of him being the perfect man can remain forever.  Anyway, I am Top Only, which I will explain later.

And so, the friend I thought had a problem with the sweet guy (who is currently blowing me off, so it’s time for me to move on) did not.  Instead her dream was crashing with the dream being a million times better than the reality.  As I said, if he said ‘I love you’ and you didn’t feel that love that he didn’t mean it and it wasn’t true.  And it wasn’t true.  He said that he loved missing her.  And so, for him too, the dream was what he wanted – the reality being that he no longer had to miss her.

As I’m getting to start the meeting of people, I’m finding them all mouth and no substance (or, all mouth and no trousers as the English expression is).  Well, that’s not entirely true, of course, but a lot of them are like that.

The date for tonight (with Gordon) will, almost inevitably, be cancelled.  I can see it coming like the light of a train coming towards me through the darkest tunnel.  It is coming and unstoppable – or maybe I’m just too cynical.  Yesterday and last night we chatted through the site.  I even said ‘no’ to my piano player from Pavia for tonight on the basis that we would be going out!  Last night everything was fine.  This morning he is not well.  He has a headache!

I know, it may not seem much but now he has gone to work.  Later, sometime this afternoon, the chat will go something like this:-

Him:  My headache is even worse.
Me: I’m really sorry to hear that.
Him:  Yes, I have to go to work too but I will have to go home straight after work so cannot meet you tonight.  I’m sorry.
Me: You’re full of shit, you know that?

Obviously, that last line won’t happen.  Instead I will say something like, no problem, maybe next Wednesday…..

Of course, Friday night will happen.  I know that.  The guy phones me almost every day.  Tomorrow night, with V, will also happen – but, then, he’s not Italian.  If I wanted, the lawyer from Pavia would keep his word.  The tall, dark and handsome guy would keep his word.  Unfortunately, they can only be friends as there is no Karl Spark with them.

Last night, whilst talking to my friend with the shattered dream, I was explaining Top and Bottom.  She didn’t realise what this all meant and I was trying to explain that it wasn’t all about the sexual side but also about character and life choice, etc.

So, if you are interested, I will explain it here.  If you’re not interested, the post has finished.

As with most things in life, there are the extremes and then the shades in between.  In any couple there will be one who is more dominant than the other, the difference between the two being greater or lesser, depending upon the character of the people involved.  This is also true of the gay world too.  And so, not only in a sexual sense, a method has evolved to determine, easily, what role you wish to be.

So we have Top and Bottom.  Top Only, as I am, tends to be someone who wants to make all the decisions and is quite strong and dominant in the relationship.  Bottom Only is someone who doesn’t want to take any decisions and wants to be led through the relationship.  The shades are More Top, Versatile, More Bottom.

Being a Top Only means that, actually, the dream of having my knight in shining armour whisking me away is just that, a dream.  It can never be fulfilled because it is I, in fact, that will play the role of the knight……..which I do when the circumstances are just right……like with sweet guy, who I just want to take in my arms and fight off all the evil people who would harm him.  It is what he would want too (but, I guess, in spite of what he has said, he just doesn’t fancy me enough – ah well).

Of course, the friend wanted to put it into the man/woman role and I permitted her to do that, but it’s not really that easy to do.  We don’t do the man/woman role at all.  We have no rules like that.  It makes a gay man no less a man just because he is More Bottom or Bottom Only and doesn’t mean that he actually takes on a role that you could consider that of a woman – but, if it makes it easier for you to understand it, then so be it.

And so, being a Top Only, I am looking for Bottom Only or More Bottom.  At a push, I will look at Versatile – but the problem there is that we would probably clash too often and I wouldn’t be prepared to allow him to be Top from time to time.

OK, so that’s cleared that up.  Feel free to ask any questions you like.  I will try to answer them.

The meaning of X; why do I put myself in these situations?

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When I was a kid, we used to write cards (birthday cards and the like) to grandparents, sisters, brothers, etc.  Always it ended with ‘Lots of love X’.  If you were really generous it would be even more ‘x’s.

I had always assumed, like one does, that everyone did this.  Here, quite often, people end with ‘baci’.

More recently, I have stopped using baci but have been putting ‘x’.  It seems that things are not (and it has taken me about 45 years to find this out) quite as I thought and that not everyone uses an x in place of baci.

Not only don’t they use it but they don’t recognise it!  Who knew?

So last night, on the phone, I was asked why the ‘x’ and was it like a signature or something.  So I explained and, in the process, learnt yet another thing that separates us from the Italians, culturally.

So, catching up with friends, as I was last night.  Telling them of the guys and why I was dropping some of them and why others were working (maybe….early days yet).  Now, I spoke to Best Mate the other night.  Told her about the sweet guy.  She was fine.  Another friend was fine…..one friend was not….

It got me to thinking, this is my problem really.  I put myself in situations that other people find hard to take.  But, and here is where the real problem lies, it is my opinion that it is their problem and not mine.  I don’t do the compromise very well.

And so, should I take up with the sweet guy, then I am sure to lose some friends along the way; people who remain ignorant; people who, because it does not seem to have touched them, still think of HIV as something that is a gay plague and that it is the fault of the person who has it and that it can be transferred just by touching, or something equally preposterous!

That’s a shame because, other than this one thing, they are nice people – but I know that I won’t compromise on it.  And that bit is my problem too.

In the meantime, my date for tomorrow (Gordon) returned to Milan from a weekend away.  He is feeling tired.  Hmmm.  This could be the prelude to bailing out for tomorrow night………shame because I found that I had missed our chats online.  Still, it will all be for the best, whatever.  Also, my piano player from Pavia is saying that Sunday will be difficult.  Hmmm.

Still, I still have Varese on Friday night.  And, tonight, hopefully I will see my friend A who I have not seen for a little while…..which will be nice.

Out on the scene again; is it the Karl Spark?

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I felt I should amend the previous post in case it gave the wrong impression……so I did.

Last night was the Mexican meal with the sweet (but far too effeminate) Stephen.  Nice kid though.  A shoe designer.  Interesting conversation, pretty and slim – just right for me in some ways but a little young and just a little to out-going.  After the meal he took me to some bars where we met many of his friends.

It was very nice for a change and his friends were nice.  I was, of course, new to the ‘scene’ so attracted interest but, although it was all very pleasant, I remembered why I don’t really like this way of spending your Friday and Saturday nights.  Still, I might go do it again with him as he is very popular and so, who knows who I might meet – except most of them aren’t ‘my sort’ at all.  I’m just such a ‘straight’ guy trapped in a gay world.  Must be the same sort of thing for effeminate but straight guys!  It makes me feel like I really don’t belong.

Still, tonight is the theatre with the nice guy from Pavia.  This, I know will be fun evening and then we shall go home (to our separate houses) as he is in for the long-term and is wooing me more than anyone else at the moment.

Of course, I haven’t really mentioned one guy that, perhaps I should.  He is very, very sweet.  Not effeminate, not my type  – but I find myself very attracted to him.  Not sure whether this is the Karl Spark but it’s pretty damned close.

Just a couple of things that are and, at the same time, are not important.  One is that he is definitely not the dominant type and, so, I’m not sure that he is strong enough – I mean to say, I sometimes need someone who is equal to me and will ‘fight’ with me.  He may be just too much of a pushover.

Oh, yes, and the other thing is that he is HIV+.  Now, before you go giving me advice and all that, bear in mind that I do know about this and I know we would have to be very careful but, really, it didn’t make any difference as to how I feel about him.  He was surprised at my reaction but I look at it this way, he’s nice, we are attracted to each other and, if I’m honest, the cigarettes are probably going to kill me first before anything else gets a look in.  And, if we’re careful, it shouldn’t be a problem.

He is a bit reticent though and I’m not sure why.  He’s also seriously Italian with all of the baggage that that entails (*sigh*).  And, he doesn’t smoke or drink, was a vegetarian (so is fussy about his food) – you know, all the things that would mean, oh, I don’t know…….

I need to see him again to see if I still feel the same way…..and if he does too, of course………

An almost full dance card

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Well, we’re moving forward and, I have to admit, this is great fun.  At the moment, I can’t take it too seriously and nor do I want to.  I know that it’s all about finding the next ‘partner’ but I know I must keep hold of myself and not just jump into the first relationship available.  This time it’s different.

And there are, at the end of it all, many, many men out there of all shapes and sizes.  None of them perfect but then, nor am I.  All of them (the ones I am in contact with) have something to offer – and the ones I have met are nice guys, some more than others, of course.

Last night it was the turn of Trevor (not Robert as I thought in my last post).  Nice guy about 8 years younger than me.  We had chatted a lot on the phone and on the chat.  He seemed funny, witty, intelligent and a great sense of humour, so similar to my own.

We met in town (he lives in a city about an hour away) and went for a pizza.  The talk was easy, interesting – we were finding out about each other – in the process we found many, many things in common.  It was comfortable, for certain.  We talked and talked.  He told me about his marriage (they are now divorced) and his young daughter and what happened and why he got married in the first place…….

It’s a strange place, Italy.  And the family thing (and particularly the mother attachment) is something that, quite frankly, no one comes close to understanding – and trust me, I know people who were/are really close to their mothers in the UK – but it ain’t nothing like this.

So Trevor goes to his parents for lunch every day.  When he was married and lived in the flat above his parents-in-law, they would have dinner with the parents-in-law.  When he stopped them doing that, his mother-in-law would, instead, prepare food and bring it up to their flat so they could have dinner on their own!

Most Italians phone their parents once per day.  He phones his parents (and, remember he has lunch with them during the week) 3 times a day!!!!

Anyway, I know this is what it’s like and if I do end up with an Italian, I have to accept this stuff.

But, I don’t know if Trevor and I will end up as anything or nothing or friends.  We are going to the theatre on Saturday night (he has season tickets) to see some comedy called ‘The Kitchen’ although it will be in Italian which means I will be lucky to get half of it.  Still, it’s nice and, again, like Dennis, it’s a proper date.

But, right now, it’s getting a little full.  My dance card is almost completely full between now and this time next week.  When I started this, I didn’t expect it to be like this but it’s good and fun and I get to meet some interesting people and, anyway, it’s really good practice!

Men are a problem – can’t live with them, can’t live without them!

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So, this post may be a little shocking for some of you, in which case, please don’t read it – but this is the ‘gay scene’ and it is, shall we say, lacking in some morals.  I know, this will probably go to confirm that we are all bad people – but, and this is my opinion, if you (that is the general populace) hadn’t made it all illegal for so long, I really believe it wouldn’t be like this………

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How to say ‘no’ and ‘My mate fancies you!!’

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The other night, with Dennis, was, almost, the perfect date.  We met and went for an aperitivo.  We talked.  A friend of his (well work colleague, who was incredibly beautiful – if I were straight…..) came over and chatted for a bit.  It was nice and, unlike last time, didn’t feel so strained.  OK, so he’s a bit camp but likeable.

Then we went for dinner.  The Brick Oven near Porta Venezia.  We both had bacon/cheeseburgers (I haven’t had one for ages) which were not bad.  I had beer – he doesn’t drink.

We talked about relationships.  I said I was really concerned that, should we have a relationship, the smoking would be a big problem for him.  Still, the most important thing was that we talked.

We agreed to meet again.  I teased him about how, I could come back tonight and that could he really wait until Saturday?

He phoned the next morning to say he had thought about it and that I was right, the smoking would become a problem, eventually.

I’m kinda glad and kinda sad in a way.  However, we are to remain friends – and the difference is that he thinks it was his decision, which is fine by me.  Maybe I’ll also get something else from it……we’ll see on Saturday!

I’m finding this new site interesting and, certainly, there are many more available people.  However, it being a site where most people are looking for sex, I thought that the chance of meeting anyone for a more long-term relationship was fairly slim.

However, and it’s early days yet, I’ve met Bruce.  Bruce is very good looking and, it seems, wants similar to me – i.e. someone to love – over and above the sex.  There’s a long way to go from here to something like that but, there’s a chance (again) and each one of these fills me with hope and gives me the certain knowledge that one day, one of these men, will just slot right in as if he was always meant to be.

One of my problems, I have found is that I may be too direct.  Most of the time I just shrug my shoulders as these people seem to do the blah, blah, blah without any substance and, to be honest, that’s not what I want.  Not only am I too direct but, worse than that, I want it NOW.  And I don’t mean the sex bit (although that is always welcome, of course).  What I mean is I want the long-term thing to start immediately.  This may strike of desperation but, I assure you, it’s not.  It’s more to do with the fact that I am impatient and because starting a relationship is so fraught with difficulties and misunderstandings, in addition to the extra stress that a gay relationship seems to impose, that I just want to get that bit over with.  You could say that that bit was all part of getting to know someone and, of course, you would be right.

However, the problem (in the past and so, for me it is the ‘norm’) is that then there are times of not speaking, of saying things one doesn’t really mean, of the slamming of doors and the ‘meaning to hurt’.  And that’s not what I want.

However, I suppose that it is inevitable and that, now, these days, there is less inclination to try and set up a life with someone, everyone having been bitten before, so, therefore, more wary, more circumspect and, from the other side, more suspect.

I’ve never really got into the ‘gay world’ and every time I get close to it is both shocking and intriguing at the same time.  So I was (still am) shocked by the amount of people willing to show you pictures of parts of their body that, they think, you may find appealing (although, sometimes, they are appealing).  I always thought that it was, partly, the element of surprise and imagination that made the whole thing sexier.  It seems not.

On this site, I don’t include a photo of my face.  However, if people ask I will send one.  To me it is quite a good picture (given my age and the fact that a good iron wouldn’t go amiss if applied to my face – that’s been the smoking and the not listening to V when he said I should have been using cream all this time) but I’m not for every one.  So, on sending my pic, if a good response isn’t forthcoming or the usual ‘you’re not my type’ is returned it can be a bit disappointing.  I won’t say gutting as, although it may seem that for a split second, I realise that I do the same.

However, when I get a good response, it makes me very happy.  So I put up with the ‘not so good’ responses for the responses that are good.

And one guy, today, said that, unfortunately, he was looking for someone who looked older, which, in a way, was a compliment.

Still, whichever way you look at it, even if it is a bit like school and going up and saying ‘I really fancy you’ only to get rebuffed with the girl turning to all her mates in fits of giggles, leaving you standing there like some sort of jerk, it isn’t quite like that and it does take some of the nerve-wracking ‘having to actually physically go over and then getting left and everyone seeing’ thing out of it, which, for me, is great. And, in any event, it’s better than getting one of your friends to go over and say (with a London type accent, of course) ‘My mate fancies you……..’

It doesn’t stop that tinge of disappointment though.  Ah well, right now, I seem to have enough on my plate, so maybe I’ll start to take it a bit easier and see who ‘comes’ to me!  (Actually, I have been doing that and I too give the standard ‘sorry, you’re not my type’ when they don’t look as I would like.  Hey, right now, in Milan alone, there’s over 900 guys online and looking to be hooked up in one way or another – so I think I’ll get other chances, don’t you?)

On that optimistic note, I’ll stop; there are men to be found…….