The Nipple Pinching Flight Attendant

Being a flight attendant is like a dream job for many gay men. You get to travel all over the world wearing uniforms that make you look cute and adorable, with free hotel stay as well. You get to meet and greet all sorts of people – from celebrities and big power players in first class, to the suburban middle-class ruffians in economy. You get paid to smile, to look young, and keep fit – what gay man wouldn’t just love to be paid for that? And the best part is – you can also become a regular patron to the infamous ‘mile-high club’ (if you have no idea what that means, you so need to get out a little more often).


One of the things that I love about most flight attendants, at least the ones that lived in my fantasy world, is that they have a sense of poise and graceful charm about themselves that very few ‘civilians’ tend to possess. In fact, many people in the hospitality industry in total give the impression of being well-groomed and well-read and having quite a culturally enriched upbringing. With their knowledge of the way different cultures mesh with each other, and their ability to know when to bow before a Japanese businessman, and how Italians view cheese in a different manner than the French, one might think they stand in the same ranks of many cultural anthropologists.


That would have been true in cases of swanky airlines with attendants that have grown up in more gay-friendly and well-cultured environments. The Indian gay flight attendants, especially the ones raised in New Delhi, the city where people consider being ‘greasy’ as someone who applied too much hair gel, are a different story all together.


One such person is Rajiv, whose name has been changed for the purpose of this story.
What I liked about the way Rajiv approached me on gaydar was the way he used a mild casually flirty opening message, without sounding too corny or too cheesy. A rare feat indeed!


After a few messages online, we graduated onto yahoo, where our banter took a mild, yet cheeky, flirtatious turn. Unlike most of the men that one would chat with online, he had a rare quality that charmed me a whole lot – he made me laugh. And not just in the friendly ‘lol’ manner. I was laughing to the point that I spat on my monitor. Okay, I know that’s gross, but still, any man that can make a person laugh like that has got to be witty. Then again, it was 2 am and I was having a bout of insomnia, I could have just been an easy mark.


He was cute, but not in accordance to my extremely high standards (which leads me to be super-critical of myself), but more in the average Delhi-gay standards. He was reasonably tall (180 cms), light skin with blue-ish eyes (I prefer a golden tan with hazel or green eyes, but Delhi-ites have an obsession for all things ‘Gora’). He wasn’t well built, more of the naturally slender kind who don’t really need to work out and yet never really skinny nor fat, just slender (yes, I was jealous of that fact – why does god have to be so mean and give me cellulite!) What I liked was that none of the pics were too “posed” nor looked like they underwent a digital autopsy via Photoshop. Plus, he had that cute naughty schoolboy grin that no matter how hard he tried couldn’t mask the mischief going on in his mind.


The next night we chatted over the phone, and unlike most conversations that revolve around a third degree slew of questioning, we chatted about random things and made seemingly boring topics to stimulating battles of wits. From the exceedingly materialistic and spiritually shallow upbringing of majority of Delhi children, to how Delhi girls have no idea how to dress (that shall be a topic reserved for another blog). However, despite the seemingly casual breezy conversation, something about him just didn’t go well. My spidey-senses were tingling, and not in a good way.


When he asked me where I lived, I mentioned that I lived near a rather upscale part of town. Usually I would get a response like, “Ah okay, cool… I live in so-and-so place” and then the subject would change accordingly. I didn’t really expect the following – “Ooooo someone has grown up in the lap of luxury!”


I wasn’t really offended by that remark, although it did make me wonder where on earth he got off making a comment like that. For the curious reader, I’ve not lived in the lap of luxury, nor had a silver spoon in my mouth (or elsewhere). I just have good tastes and am well-read, and know enough about good manners to know that it’s very improper and downright rude to discuss things like wealth or similar with a complete stranger. In fact, even with friends it’s bad to talk about money. Doing so gives the impression your parents raised you to have a soul-less existence.


However, not wanting to be labeled judgmental, I ignored that remark and tried to change the topic with a quip about the latest season of Nip/Tuck. Unfortunately, Rajiv wouldn’t take a hint. He went on and on asking questions that I personally find quite offensive. How much do I earn? What all cars do I have? Do I only wear labels? So on and so forth. Finally I faked a yawn and informed him I needed my beauty-sleep in order to wake up fresh and early for Yoga. He ended the conversation with a tarty jab about sleeping on silk sheets.


Another thing that irked me about him was that he always tried to portray me as some kind of Casanova that juggled men. At first it does seem flattering, but then he just would go on and on and on without known when enough was enough. For instance, one Monday morning, he asked me what I was up to, to which I replied jokingly that I was trying to adjust to the drudgery of the week ahead. He then went, I see and you’re adjusting your appointment book. I replied, as a matter of fact, yes. And he went, I see, so it’s Tom at 10 am, Dick at 1, and Harry at 3, when is the time for me? Arching a quizzical brow I replied, “Darling do you really think I’d just bed any Tom Dick or Harry?” in the hope of diffusing the moment. He then went on about how I probably have men around the clock chasing me, and then more quips about the area I live in.


Perplexed, I decided to call Wolfie, the only gay man I can trust to listen to my tales-of-woe in the dating world and give me a complete and honest feedback.


“YOU’RE DATING RAJIV!!!” the ever-blunt Wolfie bellowed.


“No, I’m not ‘dating’ him! I’ve not even met him. Although he’s been pushing to meet me so much” Which was true, he had asked me to meet him in person over 5 times already, and it hadn’t even been a week of chatting over the phone. Not that I wouldn’t have accepted, but he kept insisting to meet at the drop of the hat. For those who wonder why that’s a problem, read parts one and two of The Art of Dating.


“Did he ask you to drive to some weird far off place?” Wolfie questioned.


“Why yes, in fact he wanted me to drive up to Sarita Vihar of all places! I never even knew such a place existed until I checked with Yahoo Maps. ” My geographical skills are exceedingly poor.


“That’s because the bastard is too cheap to go anywhere else. He lives near that area and only goes to places close by, or where his office cab can take him to if on the way to the airport. Plus the guy is a total pretender!”


“He is? Do you know him?” Of course he would know him, Wolfie knows virtually everyone in the gay scene. Aquarians – they sure do get around.


Wolfie went on to tell me about his date with Rajiv. He too was charmed by Rajiv’s wit and his calm relaxed and non-intimidating style of flirting. He too was pestered to meet him as well. On the eleventh time, Wolfie was free to meet him, and so they met up at a café near Deer park.


Once there, the first thing Rajiv did was comment about Wolfie’s weight. Like me, wolfie is a bit on the heavier side, and hence we both share a common bond of working our butts off to be thin – him by means of killing himself on a treadmill and home-weights, and me by a macrobiotic diet and yoga (so Madonna-chic I am). Wolfie was taken aback by Rajiv’s blunt comment, and said nothing, only to be shocked when Rajiv commented, “Lose 10 kilos more and you’ll look presentable enough.” Bastard!


Throughout the evening, Rajiv kept eyeing Wolfie in the creepiest manner. And anytime Wolfie mentioned anything seemingly innocent, Rajiv would perversify it and make it sound crude (come would become cum, peanuts would not be something that is edible, and let’s not get started on what all he did with ‘cream’). By the end of the evening, Wolfie didn’t just feel bad about himself and his issues with his body, but was completely offended in more ways than one. And the fact that Rajiv’s baby blue eyes had their mischevious sparkle replaced by a lecherous glaze didn’t help at all.


Just as he thought the worst was over, Rajiv walked Wolfie to the parking lot, where in broad daylight reached out and pinched his nipples. When he let out a tearful yelp, Rajiv pinched the other one. “What the fuck are you doing?” snapped Wolfie, covering his chest with his arms as if he was a woman in a bad b-grade Bollywood movie rape scene. Rajiv replied that he was so turned on by Wolfie’s nipples that he couldn’t help but sneak a pinch. Before Wolfie could reply, Rajiv went, “Gosh I so wanna fuck you in the ass, let’s get inside the backseat of your car and steam things up.”


Without a second thought Wolfie pushed him aside and drove off like a screaming fairy on the last day of a shoe sale. I’m glad Wolfie didn’t give in. It was a shitty thing to do. Make someone feel selfconscious and then shamelessly hit on them. It’s just making someone feel vulnerable and then take advantage of them when their defenses are low. Such moves are often made by date-rapists, child molesters, and sleazy casting-couch agents taking nightly auditions. To top it off, Rajiv continued to call Wolfie, begging for a hook up. It took three weeks to get him to stop doing so.


The minute I got off the phone with Wolfie, I deleted Rajiv’s number from my cellphone. He still calls. He still leaves text messages. Too bad they get deleted without being opened.

The Art of Dating - Part 2: The First Date

So, you finally managed to score a date with that hot guy from the online sites. Now is time for Act II in the courting ritual of the classy gay man – The first date. Not many people know this, but the first date is an extremely important event in the dating world, because if the first date is a total bust, forget about ever meeting the hot guy again. If he does agree to meet you despite a tragic first date, he’s either completely desperate and has low self esteem issues, or he finds you amusing and adorable at your worst. The second is highly unlikely, so don’t even bother counting on it to ever occur.


Before you ask someone out, it’s essential to at least have some chemistry online. True, one can’t really judge a person online; however, if you two can’t even click despite the apparent anonymity and the security of being shielded by computers and digital technology, it’s very unlikely that you two would click offline. It’s one of those things that even though may make you sound judgmental, almost always holds true - just like being bad on the dance floor equals being bad in bed. Although, I have been on first dates with people I’ve had barely any online interaction and they’ve turned out to be wonderful, however, they rarely make it past the first few dates, and it just leaves you disappointed that you wasted time over nothing.



Planning the First Date


Once you’ve discovered the two of you have good chemistry online and you do like them for their personality as well, it’s time to plan the first date. Now exchanging numbers is an iffy area because in the world of online dating – especially in the gay world – privacy is almost always an issue. If one of you isn’t comfortable exchanging numbers before meeting, it’s best to plan the date via chats and/or email. The pro – you can maintain privacy, and if the date doesn’t go so well, you breathe a sigh of relief that you are in no danger of being called again. The con – anything online loses the personal touch, and in case something happens last minute, you can’t call of the date without making the other feel stood up.


If you do decide to exchange numbers, it’s the initiator who makes the first call to plan the date. Keep the conversation light and casual, and for heaven’s sake, please keep the conversation on a PG-13 level. Anything more explicit than that just ruins any chance of having a romantic spark ever. Mild flirtation is always appreciated, but make sure it’s at the right time and the other person is clever enough to know the difference between a casual flirty compliment and a come-hitter-pick-up-line (and make sure you know the difference as well).


When to fix a date? Well, this is the tricky part. In a perfect world, the best first date is held sometime in the late afternoon/early evening on a Friday – the day of Venus, the goddess of love and all that jazz. However, with the onslaught of BPO’s and brutal rat-race corporate culture, it is essential to ask about their schedules and days and times that are convenient and match it up with your schedule and fix a day of the week and time that’s good for the both of you. This way both of you can feel comfortable without feeling the need to rush for the sake of schedule. And it’s best to try for sometime between four and five in the evening. The reason why that time is good, apart from being a time one won’t feel overstuffed or have their dinner appetite ruined, is that a first date should be casual and comfortable, and hence nothing can be better than grabbing a nice cup of coffee at a coffee shop.


Never ever go to a Barista or a CCD though – going there is almost like taking someone out to McDonalds for dinner. Instead, go to a non-evil-corporate chain coffee house that has comfy seating with a soothing ambience, and big cups of coffee in order to keep conversation flowing longer. However, if you find it hard to find such a place, or too expensive (as they tend to be), then settle for Costa Coffee. True, it’s a chain, but it’s not cheesy like Barista or cheap-looking like CCD, and the coffee is absolutely delicious and cups are generously sized. I’d personally recommend trying a medio size Café Mocha with cream, and if you aren’t counting calories, sweeten it with brown sugar - it’s heaven in a cup!


Now this part is important. It is essential to keep a good amount of time between the day of planning the date, and the day of the date itself. Along with the strains of one’s schedule as mentioned above, keeping a good amount of time shows you care for the individual and respect their time and convenience. I personally say it’s best to keep at least five days of a gap – i.e. if you wish to meet on the weekend, call sometime Monday or Tuesday. If you call by Thursday to plan for a weekend date, that’s acceptable, but it kind of gives a mild hint that you had nothing better to do on the weekend and hence thought you’d just pass some time with the person you’re pursuing. If you call on a Friday or on the day you wish to meet, it clearly gives the impression you don’t really care for the person and are selfish enough to believe that anyone can abandon their plans just for the sake of meeting you. So on the safer side, keep a gap of at least five days, and on the night before, call or text to confirm it.



Appearances DO Matter


By that I don’t mean the way you look, because I’m sure by the time you’ve planned your first dates, you have exchanged pictures (real ones and clear face pics – cock picks don’t count and are a big no-no you perv) and both of you find the other reasonably decent looking to agree to meet with in person. However, the way you present yourself in real life matters a whole lot, because it’s the first impression you shall make with someone offline, and this may be a cliché, but it’s exceedingly true – a first impression is an always lasting impression.


Now the theme for the first date, as we’ve established, is casual, and comfortable. However, don’t go dressed in track-pants or Bermuda shorts and open-toe sandals; being comfortable doesn’t equal to being shabby.


Only wear a pair of jeans if you’re in your twenties (and sometimes early 30s if you’re athletic and have a cute butt), because anyone older in a pair of jeans just gives the impression you’re either trying too hard to recapture your youth, or you’re just the Indian version of a redneck farm hick. However, many Indian men tend to fall into the trap of wearing pants that are only to be worn in corporate settings and formal occasions, so to be on the safe side, go with something cool and comfortable, and linen! Whatever you wear down below, make sure it falls nicely on you, flattering your legs by making them appear long and lean, and makes your ass look nice – don’t make it look too flat or like the rear half of a Maruti Swift. Shorts of all kinds are a big no-no, and only if you have well muscled calves can you try wearing Capri-pants.


Round collared t-shirts again are to be worn only if you’re in your twenties (or early thirties if you’re fit and can carry it off). A nice collared t-shirt would look good on all ages, or even a cute lil button-down shirt would look good. However, if you’re on the heavier side and wish to mask your ‘curves’, try wearing a light colored t-shirt (round necked) with a dark colored button-down shirt on top (unbuttoned of course), that way you can easily create the illusion of not having too many ‘curves’ – although it really wouldn’t hurt to take up yoga or join a gym. If you wanna experiment a little, here’s something a friend tried and looked really cute in. Take a light colored button-down shirt (full sleeved) and pair it up with a dark waist-coat of an intricate design. However, make sure you can carry it off well.


Never ever wear those big bulky sport shoes! And the same goes for open-toed sandals. Wear shoes that flatter your attire, and complement your personality. Boots are only to be worn if they are chic, not the cowboy nor the transvestite pole-dancer variety. I personally love my Converses, they are comfy enough to walk around all over and shop all day in, and trendy enough to wear almost anywhere. A good rule of thumb is that your belt and your shoes should be coordinated. It’s the cardinal rule of accessorizing.


Always shampoo and condition your hair on the day of the date. I don’t care if you use any other product (such as gel, hairspray, mousse, wax, etc); just make sure your hair looks neat and presentable. My grandmother once said that you can tell a whole lot about a person by the shoes they wear and the way they keep their hair. Trust me, it always holds true!
To those who complain and crib about getting pretty for a date think about this – would you like it if your date came as a total slob?



The Date Itself


Once the date is planned, and you’re done making yourself look pretty. It’s time for the date itself. Arrive at your meeting point at least fifteen minutes before the due time. That way you can grab a nice table and avoid having to stand and wait. Plus, punctuality is a virtue that’s rarely put into play by the average Delhi-ite, and having to wait for someone is my personal peeve, so arriving early will make a good impression on your date. However, if someone is more than 20 minutes late, that person doesn’t deserve your time.


When your date arrives, smile and wave him over in a friendly yet subtle manner (you don’t wanna look like a kid waving at Donald Duck in the Disney Land parade). If you really like him, head over and personally escort him to where you’re sitting, and pull the chair out for him – being a gentleman is always a good thing. And pay him a compliment once you’re both seated, but make sure its genuine and heartfelt and about something you do really like about the way he looks at the date, men too like to be adored you know.


If the coffee shop is the kind where you’ve got to go up to a counter and order, a good way of making an impression is to ask your date if you can get him anything. Usually men already have their favorite style of coffee (and that can even say a whole lot about their persona but more about that another time), and hence they don’t need to really hem-and-haw about it (unless they’re a fickle Libra or a nitpicky Virgo). This way you can sashay up to the counter and order it for them on their behalf. A man that takes charge of any situation is a big turn on. Unless of course your date suffers from Florence Nightingale syndrome (or as my best friend and I have termed it “Flo”), then they’ll just love a helpless mess who can’t do anything right.


If the coffee shop is the kind where waiters comes to the table then ask your date what they would like before the waiter arrives. Ordering for your date is another thing that’s charming. However, make sure you do it in a tone that’s friendly and shows that you care for your date, not in a tone that makes them feel emasculated.



Conversation is Key


This is the sole purpose of keeping the first date comfy and casual. To TALK! Get to know your date better, discover his individuality, his beliefs, and his dreams. Be a good listener and smile and nod when apt, however, don’t clam up and expect him to keep going on and on about himself (unless he’s an Aries, Gemini, Leo, or Sagittarius), take an active role when required. A good sense of humor is so important on a first date, especially a little subtle dry wit used at the right time and place - for the love of God (or Marc Vanderloo) stay away from toilet humor and crude jokes that involve cuss-words and are pornographic in nature. However, a casual flirtation is always appreciated at the right moment, and sometimes it’s fun to put a flirty spin on things. Just be sure you don’t come off too strong or too desperate.


Given below is a list of topics one should NEVER discuss while on a first date (or any date or romantic situation for that matter). If you have to ask why they shouldn’t be discussed, I strongly suggest you invest in a course or a book on manners and etiquette:

• Sexual history and exes (lovers, partners, fuck buddies, the girl you experimented with just to be sure you were gay)
• Religion
• How much you hate your job (no one likes a whiner)
• All your accomplishments (no one likes a brag)
• Educational Qualifications (It’s a date not a freaking job interview)
• Financial Status and Income (unless of course you wanna give the impression you’re a gold digger)
• Future Plans
• Medical issues
• Celebrity gossip (do you really want to give the impression that your life revolves around E!)
• Your mother (this goes especially to all men who are Cancerians)
• Your secret fantasy of being a burlesque dancer a la Satine from Moulin Rogue
• The fact that you can fit a fist in your mouth

Who pays?


Okay, we live in the twenty-first century; one should always pay for their share. However, it doesn’t hurt to be romantic and offer to pick up the check (after all, the one who asks always is supposed to pay). If your date insists on paying, try negotiating with a playful “you can get it next time”, however, if he’s still insistent, allow him to pay his half graciously. If your date doesn’t hesitate at all or expects you to pay for him, then he totally is an entitled prick! And if he doesn’t thank you afterwards, lose his number.


And I have to say this – paying for the date doesn’t guarantee sex afterwards, let alone another date.


Ending your date


If all goes well, and you two click well, offer to walk your date over to their car. Hug, and based on how comfortable and “out” the two of you are, give a mild kiss on each cheek (muah muah). I’m an old fashioned romantic, hence I believe that it’s best not to kiss deeply nor go to bed with on a first date. However, it depends form person to person – although, if you really want this to be a potential relationship, don’t shove your tongue or dick into him on your first date. Also, only say you’d call him or keep in touch with him if you intend on doing so. If you don’t, then just smile and say, it was nice meeting you, have a lovely evening ahead, and then turn and walk away. It’s that simple!



After Date Manners


Later at night, at a decent hour, send a text message stating how much you enjoyed the pleasure of his company and look forward to doing this again sometime. If he replies along the lines of wanting to meet again soon, call the next morning and plan to meet sometime again (remember the 5 day gap rule between planning a date and the date itself). Now many people feel one should wait 3 days after the first date before calling. I feel that only worked when one was living in the 1950’s with girls who wanted to grow up to be Betty Crocker. Do you wait three days before telling an employer you’re going to accept the job? No, because the job will not be available by then. The same could go with your date. So seize the opportunity and plan your second date.

And that leads us to the end of this part. Stay tuned to part 3 – The second and third date!

The Art of Dating - Part 1: Making the First Move and How

Before I start this post, it is essential that we clearly define the term date, for in a city like New Delhi, where English is one of the most butchered of all languages (due to the fact the denizens so eagerly fuse it with Hindi and peasant regional lingos of their respective states), a simple term like ‘date’ can have so many misconceptions. After all, this is the very same city which says the act of asking a person out on a date is called ‘propose’ – yes, I too was shocked and appalled at this!


According to the Merriam Webster’s dictionary, a date is an appointment to meet at a specified time, especially, a social engagement between two persons that has a romantic character. This should not be confused with the term booty-call because not all dates are blatantly about cold no-strings attached sex.


Now this might be a bit of a shock to most people who read this post, but about seventy-six percent of the denizens of this city, not just the gay ones, have no clue about how to plan out a first date, let alone a second, third, or fourth. It was probably in the late eighties that the term ‘date’ began to be used in metropolitan lingo, and later on, the term spread through the masses all over. However, it clearly seems like none of them really know the etiquette involved, as well as, how to go about the entire process.


So without further delay, here is a little guide that when followed, will assure a ninety percent improvement in the success rate of your dates and your dating life in general.


Asking someone out

Knowing how to ask someone out is half the battle. Many a times people hesitate to do so and cite numerous excuses about why they do so – be it “a bottom never makes the first move” or “I prefer being asked not asking” and my favorite “it goes against my lady-like-sensibilities”. Whenever you give yourself such an excuse, it’s complete bullshit, because at the end of the day, it’s just your own low self-esteem issues and fear of rejection that prevents you from asking the perfect person out on a date. Majority of the times, people even claim to be shy, but the truth is they can’t differentiate between being shy and fearing rejection.


Now if you’re hungry, do you wait for food to magically crawl over onto your plate (unless of course you’re Korean and eat live squid)? If you’re thirsty do you wait for water to pour itself in a glass in front of you? No – you go satisfy your hunger by either preparing a meal yourself or going/ordering out, and when thirsty, you get off your lazy butt and pour yourself a glass of water. Being ‘shy’ and ‘lady-like’ doesn’t hold you back from eating when hungry and drinking when thirsty, and hence it shouldn’t really hold you back from asking the cute guy you’ve been eyeing on the gay personals site for oh so long.


What’s the worst that can happen? They say ‘no’ or don’t respond to your message? Big deal! Dating is risk. It could or it couldn’t work, but it’s a risk either way. At least when you make an attempt, you have a fifty percent greater chance of that person agreeing to go out with you, than if you don’t make an attempt due to your ‘shyness’. So next time you’re browsing through gaydar, manjam, or guys4men, or the various other sites out there, and you see the guy you fancy. Send him a message! The best guys are never single for long, hence make your move now before you regret it and live in a melancholic slump of “what if?” and “if only?”


The opening message


Now this is another essential aspect in the entire ritual of dating someone in the Delhi Gay scene, especially via online dates. Given below are a few sample messages that have been sent to me over the past few days. These messages are the kind one should NEVER send someone they are interested in. Why? Well, such messages clearly indicate the sender is socially illiterate and the lack of articulation is always related to a lack of dating and sexual etiquette. These messages are completely unedited and presented in their original form, with the exception of the telephone numbers, those for sake of privacy (and saving them the humiliation) are edited out.


Message One:

“hey mate i am 26 m 32wst 5.8ht fair good looking guy looking forno strings attached fun and more....would u be interested?”


Now such a message is a big no-no if you really wish to make a formidable impression on the guy you wish to impress. Your profile mentions your age and height, so repeating it in a message just makes it futile and repetitive. Including your waist size, and stressing that you’re ‘fair and good looking’ just shows you lack personality and have to rely on what you consider are your good-looks in order to make up for mental stimulation. Further on, make up your mind about what you’re looking for, is it “no strings attached fun” or is it “more”? Never are the two mixed, unless of course you’re looking for a ‘fuck-buddy’, in which case, it’s best to say so clearly. However, if you are really attracted to the person whom you are sending this message, by stating you’re looking for a quickie hookup goes to show that you feel you’re below the standards of the recipient and hence offer yourself like meat hanging in a butcher-shop, just for the sake of getting some kind of attention from them. Big mistake, as it will just end up eating at your own sense of self-worth, leaving you just hollow from within.



Message Two:

“m 28 5 11 sdel yahoo id is indieuswrld”


What’s the matter? Don’t think the recipient is worthy a basic, “Hi” or a “Hello” or even a friendly, “Hey There”? Is that the impression you wish to give? And to top it off, you’re giving your messenger ID away to a complete stranger. For all you know, the recipient might just send spam your way and clog up your inbox with viruses and spyware. If you wish to take it further to your respective chat programs, wait until a ‘third’ message is exchanged from both parties, that way it shows that the other is interested in you. And never presume the other person is on the same chat program you’re on. For all you know, he might just be on MSN. So always politely ask them if they’d like to chat with you online first, and then ask them for their respective chat ID, that way it shows you care.



Message Three:

“Hi dudie..wats up...ths s mukul in gurgaon...29..slim fair hairless body ...lets talk ovr the ph thr text msgs...or I can call u if u wan...my no 981012345....nt looking for life time relation,,,but a great frndshp...for quiet a gud time...thx”


First of all, if you type out a message, make sure you know how to spell and know the basic rules of grammar; messages like this only give the impression of poor grooming and a rather shoddy educational upbringing. Secondly, when specifying where you live, it’s always “from” not “in” a particular place. Thirdly, by saying you have a “slim fair hairless body” just gives the impression that you’re an overgrown Albino Chihuahua that lacks any depth or personality. Fourthly, an excessive use of short forms and abbreviations just shows that you’re lazy, as well as, lack the ability to construct a comprehensive sentence. Fifthly, the only kind of people who give off their numbers at first go on an online dating site are either pimps and hustlers, or the kind of person who defines their self-worth by how many hookups they’ve scored. I would only suggest the sender to get an STD check up at the earliest. Also, realize giving your number randomly over the internet can lead to numerous things, from identity theft, to having a stalker. Sixthly, such a message claims that the sender isn’t looking for a “lifetime relation but a great friendship”, I’m sorry, but I believe a great friendship is a relationship that’s supposed to last a lifetime isn’t it? Seriously, if you do not have a command over a language, use the language you’re most comfortable with. I could go on and on about this message, but I’m sure you the reader has got the point.


Message Four:

“Iam Rahul . if you intt pl call 980012345. in this time i am in c.p”


Now, we’ve already covered the perils of giving out your cell number and using abbreviations and incorrect grammar in the previous message. However, the second half of the message “In this time I am in C.P” just gives the impression that you think your time and convenience goes above that of the person you’re interested in meeting. Such a message just shows you’re selfish and shallow and lack any depth of character and personality.


Now that you have seen the kind of messages to AVOID sending, some of you might be wondering, what kind of message could you send to the man you like without coming off as a total social moron, here’s a tip – Keep it Simple!


You don’t need any fancy pick-up lines, nor do you need a long elaborate message. And for goodness sakes don’t ask a person’s ‘asl’, their age is mentioned on the profile, and on a gay site website everyone is male (barring the rare tranny in New Delhi), and asking one’s ‘location’ in the first message is just dumb, as the profile mentions it already. A simple message like, “Hi, how you doin?” can work wonders. It’s short, simple, and to the point. Another good opening message can be, “Hi there, I really liked your profile, it had a special quality about it that’s so rare to find.” However, make sure the person’s profile is actually worth the compliment for its written content, not the pics displayed upon it. Never focus primarily on a person's picture or how hot they are, that just gives the impression that you solely view them as a commodity, and let's face it, nobody wants to be treated as a commodity. We all want to feel special and appreciated, and the best way to do that is to express it through a genuine and heartfelt compliment.


And once a few messages have been exchanged, go ahead, ask them out for a cup of coffee – the ideal first date is best kept at something cool and casual like a coffee shop. But more about that in Part 2 – Planning the first date!

The Hookup from Hell

It had now been three entire months since I had made my first sojourn into the gay scene. During this time, I had learned so much about the (so-called) gay culture within New Delhi that I would later learn would be essential to my survival. I learned that the term ‘straight-acting’ was almost always used synonymously with the term ‘closet-case’ by the denizens of this city. I discovered that drag-queens were treated with abhor and scorn for being true to themselves, unlike majority of the ‘bisexuals’ who chose to live in denial of who they truly were. I learned that those whose profiles that were sparse in content belonged solely to those looking for a quick lay. And those who claimed they were looking for something more than a quick lay would magically change their minds the minute they exchanged numbers with a hot guy that was well-endowed.


Things were going pleasant with The Bull. Well, at least for him things were going pleasant. At first I was thrilled to be his ‘good friend’. We would speak on the phone for hours discussing every possible subject under the sun; from my obsession with Broadway Musicals – particularly the musical Wicked – to him going commando in linen trousers as the material felt amazing on his tool. Everything was going great, till he began giving me intimate details (that being the most ‘polite’ way of putting it) about his rather active sex life. He wasn’t what one would call classically good looking. He was rather short (5’7), his body was average but far from fit (alcohol can really affect a once toned physique), and if you took a close look at his face, you’d probably be reminded of a potato. If you had to think of a celebrity look-a-like for him, it would probably be Tom Drake – who played the role of John Truett in Meet me in St.Louis. And despite all that going against him, he certainly got a whole lot of action. But then again, he was a Taurus; they’re all hung like a bull. And like Judy Garlands character in Meet me in St.Louis, Esther Smith, I too found myself oddly drawn to The Bull despite my better judgment (and no, not because of what lay between his legs).


The worst part was that he would go on about his numerous sexploits in the manner casual acquaintances would talk about the weather – frank, to the point, and without a hint of hesitation. Even if he did get the slightest thrill of bragging about them, his voice showed no such indication of it. From male models to college professors; from married men to barely legal teens; from preppie clubbers to gym bunnies, and I could go on further, but just typing all this is giving me a complex. And even though majority of the times I would feel a mixture of disgust, jealousy, and wonderment over how he never managed to get an STD, I listened to it all patiently with the calmest smile I could muster. After all, that’s what ‘good friends’ are supposed to do … right?


One afternoon, whilst in the middle of narrating another one of his McNasty tales, the bull questioned why I never shared with him any gory details about my sex-life. Well, if it was someone else, I would have just given my usual schpeel - ‘a lady never tells’, but since we were well passed the stage of conversational etiquette, I told him that I honestly couldn’t bring myself to have a one-night stand with someone. And it’s true, I had never had one. Well, there was Laurent, the French man who gave me the best four hours of my life till that time, but that’s another story for another time. The Bull guffawed and told me that there was nothing to having a one night stand, claiming it’s the best way to release pent up energy. And since both parties knew it was only for the night, there would be absolutely no strings attached, and hence it’s a total win-win situation.


Although my mind wasn’t really convinced by that, my body spoke another story. Granted, I don’t go around having sex whenever the urge comes about – Bel Ami movies always help out – but it had been a really long time since I had any kind of action, and well, the way The Bull kept going on and on about his sex life, it did get me all hot and bothered. I suppose one of the many things that did keep me from indulging in random hookups was that I still wasn’t happy about the way my body looked clothes off. True, I had managed to lose quite a bit of weight in those three months, making me look quite cute in my face-pics, but being raised in a very looks-conscious household, I tend to be super critical about my appearance in general. To top it all, people in Delhi tend to have what’s known as a ‘small-town-mentality’ and hence gossip and rumors spread at the same rate as they would in high-school. And the gay community here would be like ‘The Plastics’ from the movie Mean Girls.


However, I rationalized that perhaps it would be a wise idea to indulge in a one-night-stand with someone just visiting Delhi, preferably from a different country all together. I figured that way in case things went bad it wouldn’t really become common knowledge with every single gay man within the tri-city area (also known as the National Capital Region or NCR). Although May wasn’t really tourist-season and that did reduce my chances greatly. But fate has a funny way of conspiring, and within a few minutes of my pondering, I got a message from an Indian guy visiting from London.


I couldn’t really make out what he looked like, as the pic he sent me was a full body one taken at a distance with a large pair of Ray Bans covering half his face. However, he was wearing a beautiful tan Dolce jacket with a stunning Hermes scarf around his neck that didn’t make him look queenie. So I figured that if the man could carry himself well and wear trendy labels, he would at least be presentably chic up close. Plus he said he was a Sagittarius, shameless hookups are their middle name. After exchanging a few messages back and forth, we arranged to meet up at the PVR Saket complex the next day.


I couldn’t sleep at night. My stomach was churning as if it were creating a cocktail of excitement, panic, and trepidation with a dash of anticipation. Paranoid thoughts races through my mind, ranging from whether or not I’m gonna become a total man-ho like The Bull or whether I might contract a sexual or social disease from the random stranger to whether or not my Latina-esque booty would end up being a bigger liability than it already was. Curses to be born a man with a pear-shaped body!


However, the fear of getting ‘panda eyes’ on my flawlessly bronzed skin was far more great at the moment – hey, I wanted to look my prettiest best – and hence I played Madonna’s Something to Remember CD in a loop to serenade to sleep.


The next morning, to my horror, I got a zit! And not just your common garden variety zits, but those icky puss-filled ones that look like a bright red cherry right on your forehead. Okay, maybe I was exaggerating, but considering what was supposed to happen later that day, I was screaming operatic notes of horror. Without thinking twice, I ran out to the market dressed in the exact outfit I wore while sleeping – a pair of boxers which had Bubbles from the Powerpuff Girls on my ass area, a T-shirt from my XXXL days that had the slogan ‘Deliciously Full’ sprawled across my chest, and a pair of lime green slippers with a faux fur lining (any chances of hiding my sexuality that day were exceedingly slim) – in order to get my secret weapon against any form of facial acne, a facial scrub made from lavender and tea tree oil. To my horror, the shop keeper informed me that the company that produced it had gone belly-up and he sold had sold his last stock a couple of days back, leading me to perform another operatic screech.


I began to run back home in a frantic manner. I was almost run over by an SUV while crossing the road. The driver pulled over ahead of me and got out and tried to block my path. I told him to let me go as I was having a life-or-death emergency (to me my skin is one), but he insisted on giving me a lecture on how I should be more cautious while walking on the roads in Delhi. Aggravated beyond comprehension, I bitch-slapped him tightly across his cheek and announced in my Diva-tone, “Outta my way Biatch!” and ran as fast as my slippers could allow me. In an almost Cinderella-like twist, the strap of my slipper came apart and I was forced to run the rest of the way barefoot. The fact that I had to abandon one slipper hurt more than the hot tar road that had been insulated by the Delhi sun – they were incredibly pretty!


Back home, I was pacing up and down in panic. Not only was I gonna have cold no-strings-attached sex in less than three hours, but I had a zit and a missing slipper to deal with. The whimsical side of me reasoned that perhaps a Prince charming would find my slipper and come searching for me. The logical side reminded me that it would probably be the driver of the SUV hunting me down to kick my ass. Luckily, I remembered an old herbal remedy that required turmeric paste, red sandalwood powder, and a mashed banana, and quickly made a paste of it and applied it generously upon my face, with an extra dollop where my zit was. Within an hour of application, the zit had visibly reduced quite a bit, and my skin had a luxuriant radiance about it. Pleased with the results, I began my elaborate ritual of ‘pretty-fi-cation’ while belting out “I feel pretty, oh so pretty” from Leonard Bernstein’s West Side Story – the best song to sing while getting ready before a date of any kind. Donning a black Hugo Boss golf t-shirt and a pair of indigo jeans that hugged my butt in the most flattering manner, I headed off to get laid.


Upon reaching the Saket shopping complex, I checked my reflection in my car’s rear view mirror. I don’t mean to toot my horn, but I was looking rather cute, and for some reason I was feeling all the more calm and breezy about meeting him and indulging in a hookup. Besides, hookups are common place in the gay world, and it’s almost part of the complex unwritten code of conduct that stated every gay man had to indulge in them once in a while. So with that, I headed over to Om Book Shop, where he would meet me in the ‘fiction’ section.


When I arrived, there were about three people in the fiction section. None of them were dressed in labels nor looked remotely pleasing to the eye. Biting my lip, I headed to the self-help section and grabbed a copy of “Men are from Penis and Women are from Bras” and pretended to be engrossed in it while eyeing to see who could possibly be my hookup for the afternoon. Within the span of five minutes, two of them had picked up their respective books and had headed out and it was just my luck that the ickiest one was left behind.


His face was more or less structured to resemble a chimpanzee, with a fat bulbous nose that was took the attention away from his thin rodent-shaped mouth. Calling his hair line receding would be a compliment for him, and unlike his picture, he was dressed in the shabbiest clothes ever – a cheap Sarojni Nagar sleeveless tee with ratty torn jeans. It made me wonder if the labels he had donned in his pics were cheap knock offs. Taking a deep breath, I decided to approach him, after all, I hadn’t gone through all the drama of the morning just to head home empty handed (although now I wish I had).

“Hi, are you Siddharth?” I asked (not his real name) by flashing my Venusian smile trying to generate all the charm I could muster.


“You’re fatter than I thought” he replied brashly – so much for English manners.


Arching a quizzical brow, I remained silent but made sure my eyes indicated that his comment was offensive and in my mind I felt like telling him that at least I didn’t look like the mutated half breed of an ape and a rat, but being brought up by a strict appreciation for good manners made me use the subtle approach of silence. Being a Sagittarius, subtlety of any sort is just wasted on them, and he quickly added, “But I suppose you look nice” to which I flashed my ‘I wanna smack you but wont’ smile.


“Alright, let’s get a move on, we have three hours before my mum comes back from Kirtan” he announced while heading out of the store. Great, while his mother was praising the lord in a prayer-meet, I would be screaming the lord’s name in vain in her son’s bedroom.


To top it off, he had come via taxi, and expected me to drive him back to his place. I didn’t mind, it was just a ten minute drive, and plus I just wanted to get this over and done with as soon as I could. So once there, he began to get all paranoid about neighbors seeing him and all. So he got out of the car and told me to park it around the back and enter through the back door. Too exasperated to argue, I just nodded and followed his royal cuntyness’ orders.


Once in his bedroom, after he locked all doors and windows and drew all the curtains shut, he ripped his shirt off revealing a not so fit torso that had NOT been recently shaved and jumped on top of me, shoving his tongue down my mouth. Wide-eyed I felt like I was about to choke, I pushed him off me and gasped for air as I asked him to slow down a bit. He rolled his eyes, “fine but hurry up, I wanna get this over with before mum comes home” as if I wanted to re-enact the scene from Titanic, where Leo and Kate were in the car, with him!


However, his tone magically became nicer after I kissed him, “Mmmm … you’re a delicious kisser!” I smiled cockily at my mild triumph and I continued kissing him as he let out soft moans of pleasure between kisses. Although I can’t say I had much practice prior to this in kissing, so I guess I’m just a natural (wink wink). Kissing him however, was not so pleasing to me as like his chest, his face hadn’t been recently shaved, and the stubble was really itching me and made my face feel as though it was gonna burn. A word to all the men who are reading this, either shave your stubbles or use a good moisture regularly if you wish to keep one. It’s murderous to kiss a human cheese grater.


The worst was when he removed my tee and lay on top of me, let’s just say I had to run home and apply a week’s worth of aloe cream on myself overnight to soothe the swelling his chest stubble caused. He was a clumsy lover, very wooden and no fluidity in his movement. I honestly wasn’t even enjoying myself and the voices in my head were singing a chorus of “I told you so” with a verse of “this is what happens when you do the McNasty with a random stranger online”. The experience itself was rather nasty.


“Sat-Sri-Akal Aunty Ji!” He answered his cell phone promptly after two rings, jumping off me as if I had the plague and got up on his feet and began conversing in Punjabi that was laced with his East-London accent, “Ki haal hai?”


With nothing better to do, I began thumbing through a men’s health magazine he had laying around his room, as he continued conversing with his paternal aunt and filling her in with all the trivial minutiae of his life. Just as I was engrossed in an article that was discussing the pros and cons of penile implants, he began tapping his watch frantically, indicating we were running out of time. I shrugged my shoulders as I didn’t know what to do as he was still on the phone. Without a second to spare, he kicked off his Jockeys to reveal his surprisingly hard dick (surprisingly because I found it hard to imagine someone maintaining an erecting while talking on the phone to relatives from their pind) and motioned me to come over and service him off. I would have said no, but just like Taureans are hung like bulls, Sagittarians are hung like horses, and being primarily fueled with testosterone, I just couldn’t help myself. Never ever blow a person in the middle of a telephone conversation, it makes them moan in all the wrong places, and giggling at the fact causes your teeth to hurt them a little – although quite frankly he deserved it.


Within fifteen minutes, he got off the phone and announced, “Oh fuck! You give the best head ever, I just gotta lay ya now!” Charm was definitely not his forte.


So I layed on my back, lifting my legs up and wide in the air yoga style, while he began the first of many unsuccessful attempts to penetrate me. You see, the genius did bring a set of rubbers with him (Kohinoor brand, pistachio flavored) but conveniently forgot the lube. He refused to rim me because he ‘didn’t do that’ and hence decided to use a variety of products down there. From talcum power to lotion to even VLCC shower gel. Nothing worked, leaving an icky-poo paste between my legs. I pushed him off and ran into the shower, cleaning my ass off that mess. Can you blame me for not having an erection throughout the entire ordeal?


Once I was cleaned up according to my standards, we decided to try to wing it sans the lube. Big mistake! Sometimes men who are blessed with a large endowment are unfortunately cursed with the disposition of not know what to do with it or how to use it well. He could barely get his head inside before I began letting out moans of anything but pleasure. He begged me to keep my volume down as he didn’t want the neighbors to hear about it. I snapped back that he should try shoving a ripe cucumber up his ass without a lube and try to remain calm and serene. He shut up and suggested we try another position. So we did. We tried seven more and got the same result. It was now that I realized that penis size doesn’t really matter at all, it’s technique that counts a lot more.


Disappointed I just pushed him off and gave him a hand-job till he came all over himself. I refused to let him return the favor because for all you know, he might just break it off considering how clumsy he was. Plus I still couldn’t bring myself to keep an erection going as the entire afternoon brought me no pleasure what-so-ever.


I showered again and quickly began to put my clothes on. He grabbed me and to my surprise he was hard again and stroking himself, “We still have an hour more to go you know”, and shoved his tongue again down my throat. Another note to men who are reading this – shoving your tongue down someone’s throat doesn’t make you a passionate romantic kisser. I pushed him off and made up a story of having movie plans. He didn’t have the courtesy of walking me to the door for he was afraid what the neighbors would think and so I marched off without even saying a polite goodbye.


I got into my car and sped back home with tears streaming out of my eyes. I was filled with a gross feeling of putrid disgust at myself for having done what I did. So strong was the sick feeling in my stomach that I pulled over at some random street corner and ran to the bushes nearby to throw up in revulsion. I crawled back into my car and began frantically dialing The Bull, hoping he would hear me out. He was in the middle of a meeting but asked me to come over to his office area where he would meet me down in the parking area.


Once there, I narrated the entire incident to him, and even though he listened patiently, instead of sympathizing with me, he just shrugged his shoulders and went, “Oh well, at least you didn’t fuck him!” and after finishing his ciggie, he headed back into his office as he got a call from his supervisor, promising to call back later in the night – which he didn’t.


Upon reaching home, I spent three hours in the shower, scrubbing myself with a pumice stone to make sure I had every bit of that guy’s icky essence off me. Curling into bed, I swore to myself – Never again would I ever let such a thing happen to me again. To quote Samantha Jones from Sex and the City – “Fuck me badly once, shame on you; Fuck me badly twice, shame on me!” I realized that I just couldn't bring myself to casually be with someone who not only didn't respect me as an individual, but would also just leave me feeling all the more disgusted by myself. I guess it was never the physical thrill that I was after, but more of a connection on an intellectual and emotional level. True, it's hard to find, especially in a city like New Delhi where the average gay man has an IQ smaller than his dick and empathy the size of a pea. I still remain hopeful in my quest of finding a like-minded-soul.


And this is why I never indulge in hookups and one night stands with random strangers off the internet.

My First Date and the Closet Gay Bar

Now I know what some of you who are reading this must be thinking, 'There is a gay bar in New Delhi, India?' Well, the answer is a simple, yet slightly complicated, yes and no - Yes, there is a gay bar and No, it isn't a proper gay bar. Tucked away in an almost inconspicuous space between a multiplex cinema and a hotel of questionable standard stands a petite structure barely two floors high that I shall call Pearls n Petals (its name is different but the initials are the same - my name makes it sound a lil bit more fabulous than it is).

I came to know of this establishment over a year back when I first felt brave enough to set up a profile on an online gay personals site. By that time I had lost a significant amount of weight and decided that perhaps I could meet a cute guy who was a bit of a chubby chaser (but then again, since when are chubby chasers cute?). After a few weeks of sifting through the usual riff-raff who just send one common message - hi, a/s/l? top, bot, vers? cock size? - I met someone who seemed rather charming and civil (later to discover he was a total manipulative shit but that's another story all together). We began chatting online on MSN, followed by telephone conversations that sometimes even exceeded four hours. True, he wasn't exactly cute by my standards, but then again, at that time, I was at least 50 lbs heavier than what I am at present while typing this entry, so I couldn't really complain. Within the span of almost 3 weeks, we had grown really close and knew almost everything there was to know about each other (barring a few super intimate details of course but you know what I mean), and even though we still hadn't met, I realized that I had started to develop feelings for him.


One Tuesday night, at about 9.30, I get a call from him, "You have exactly one hour to get ready". After a rather bewildered, "Excuse me?" he explained that he was going to take me out to a party. Arching a brow I asked who the host was and whether he would be okay to have someone he doesn't even know crashing. He explained that on Tuesday nights at Pearls n Petals, there is a gay night that is announced as a 'private party' so that the gay denizens of New Delhi can party in peace without being bothered by heteros and cops and all that jazz. Filled with a mix of panic and excitement I ran over to my closet (not the one I live in) and searched and searched for something nice to wear. You see, I was at that stage in my weight loss journey where none of my clothes fitted me nicely. They were either all loose and would have made me look like a bag-lady - or too tight and would have hugged my not so manly curves in the wrong manner (as a motivational tool, I bought clothes two sizes smaller than what I was to keep me driven). Luckily for me, my cousin (let's call him Harvina - an honorary drag queen name I gave him as he totally accepted me when I came out to him), was spending the night with us and helped me pick out something that I looked remotely decent in - a pair of khaki Dockers and a navy sketcher's button down, not the most fabulous thing for my first visit to a gay bar of any kind.


The guy was half-an-hour late, and I had begun to panic like a junior-high girl who was getting late for her prom. I kept pacing up and down my bedroom in histrionic fits - OMG, he's late, where is he? Is my ass looking fat in these Dockers? Did I say or do something wrong? Is my ass looking fat in these Dockers? Do you think it's odd that he's taking me to a gay bar on our first meeting offline ever? Is my ass looking fat in these Dockers? Do you think he'd like me in real life despite me being on the heavier side? Is my ass looking fat in these Dockers? - all to which my patient cousin answered in a deadpan tone while watching Prison Break - Relax dude he's on his way... no... no... no... no... chill man he'll like you... no.


Not satisfied, I ran into my reading room and pulled a card - 8 of Cups. Those of you reading this who are well-versed with the Tarot would know that 8 of Cups from the Thoth deck isn't the most reassuring card to get about a first meeting of any sort. But before I could pull out a clarifier, 'Rich Girl' by Gwen Stefani began playing from my cell phone, signaling that he had arrived. Upon meeting him, I was instantly reminded of a T-Shirt slogan that I saw at a store the other day, 'You looked better online'. However, my gracious Libra rising just made me swallow that comment and flash a charming Venusian smile and say, "It's so finally good to meet you." He smiled and we hugged and did the air kiss (muah muah), and while driving he confessed that he was relieved to see me and the way I dressed. Upon my arching a quizzical brow he replied that he was a little afraid that I was some flaming drag queen who would have arrived wearing some trashy sequined tube top and low-waist jeans with a Shakira-belt. I didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted so I resorted to the next best thing - a silent smile.


Upon arriving there, I got outta the car first so that he could go park it somewhere in the dingy parking lot, mainly as an excuse to just scope out the crowd that was outside waiting to get in. Let's just say this looked absolutely nothing like what I'd seen of gay bars in Sex and the City, Will & Grace, and Queer as Folk. None of the men looked like Adonis donning a Dolce. None of the men seemed as if they just stepped off the cover of GQ. None of the men looked as though they knew anything about style at all. In fact - this didn't look like a gay bar at all. More like some working class stag bar where men dressed like shabby heteros. Whoever said gay men were always the most attractive and the most stylish and refined had obviously never been to this gay bar.


Upon entering the bar, after the big burly gorilla of a bouncer with a big beer gut over what once must have been a muscular frame felt me up in all the wrong places, crappy remixed-bollywood music (like the non-remixed versions were any better) were blaring through the speakers as a miniscule dance floor was cramped with virtually every gay man within the tri-city area. Luckily as we're an endangered species here we still didn't violate any codes and restrictions over over-crowding. Icky sweaty slimy men all bumping and grinding against each other, thinking they'd resemble a pussycat doll, only to resemble Britney at her tragic VMA performance of Gimme More.


My so called date took me to the bar where he faux-introduced me (where you hug and kiss everyone and then turn to the person you bring, oh hey everyone, this is so-and-so without even looking at him) to a group of his friends who barely gave me a second glance. Before I could even say hi back, he was whisked away over to the dance floor by some random guy who seemed to have appeared outta nowhere. As expected, his group trailed off into their own lil world, leaving me alone in a shadowy corner of the bar, all wide-eyed and completely outta my element. I didn't know what was worse, the fact that I was feeling self-conscious by the judging eyes of all the gay men who were probably going in their heads 'who's the fat loser all alone'; or the fact that the guy who invited me over in the first place and who I had started to develop feelings for was dancing from one guy to the other and completely forgot about me. The icing on my cake was when I saw him holding another guy by the waist and entering the men's room. Unlike women who go to the ladies room together to re-do their makeup and exchange bits of gossip, when gay men go to the loo together, it's only cause they wanna do (as a friend of mine calls it) the McNasty!


Almost on the verge of tears, I noticed someone was heading my way. Even though he wasn't exactly someone I'd find borderline dashing, I quickly masked my sorrow with a quiet yet gentle smile. My smile turned into a frown of disgust when I found out that he was a hustler trying to get me to rent his services for the night. Dropping my jaw in horror, I shoo-ed him off. After twenty more minutes, my 'date' emerged from the men's room with that 'cocksure-after sex' smug expression on his face with the other guy following behind him smiling coyly. Luckily, it was now two a.m. and it was time for the bar to close (fire codes n stuff). When the lights came back on, he found me tucked away in my corner. "Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked with his eyes glazed due to all the beer and god knows what else. My smile said 'yes' but my eyes said, 'Are you freakin' kidding me?', but I remained silent nevertheless.



On the way back, I sat in his car with my arms crossed tight to my body with my lips pursed trying to control my anger as he swerved through the streets drunk and at a speed above 80 Mph, while his toilet fuck-toy was sprawled on the backseat, drunk and belting a slobbery rendition of 'Girls Just Wanna Have fun.' When we reached my place (in one piece) I got out and due to being born with etiquette, I smiled and said, "Thank you for the night out it was really nice meeting you to". He leaned out his window, "I'm so glad I met you cause I like you a lot" (He certainly did a good job of showing it) while the fuck toy at the backseat waved indifferently as he was on the verge of passing out, "Shall I call you sometime?"



"Only when you're sober." I replied and headed inside as he speeded away with Justin Timberlake's Sexy Back blaring.



And that was my first date, and my first night out at a gay bar!