Married Men and their Gay Trysts

Amit Ghosal* was like your typical Delhi-based businessman in his late forties. A successful entrepreneur that lived in the very posh district of Maharani Bagh, he had a wife who he had been married to ever since he was in his early twenties. She gave him two kids a year promptly after marriage and he gave her enough cash to keep her occupied. They attended swanky Page3 parties where they hobnobbed with some of Delhi’s elite. They vacationed in St.Barts during the winters and Austria during the summers. He had politicians in his pocket just like she had Amex Platinum Cards in her's. And while she expelled excess energy by maxing them out on jewels, designer saris, and Louis Vuitton purses, he had boys half his age visit him at his discreet condo in Noida.


It’s not uncommon to find this scenario in New Delhi. In fact, it’s almost like a mini gay stereotype – The Rich Married Guy. To the outside world, they are model citizens who uphold family values to the core, while behind the sequined-curtain they help themselves to an array of younger men and never really hesitate to being labeled a Sugar Daddy.


A couple of weeks after my disastrous first date, I decided it was time I get back to the gay online sites in the vain hope of finding a like-minded soul. I was still in touch with The Bull (a name I shall be calling the guy who took me out on my first date as a reference to his astrological sign and his prowess at bullshitting) and I had more or less gotten over how he treated me on our first date. We still chatted over the phone for numerous hours at a stretch, and the great chemistry we had together was back in play. However, I figured that he wasn’t gonna sweep me off my feet and carry me into the sunset just yet. He kept mentioning that he loved the way he could just talk to me about anything and everything under the sun, and how he was amazed to have made such a good friend such as I. Although my heart swelled with joy each time he said that or indicated it, I knew that it was best I try my luck elsewhere. Although, I decided that I wouldn’t meet anyone face-to-face yet, but chat with them online and get to know them better. True, that didn’t really help me before, but hey – better safe than sorry.


So back online, I again received a slew of messages with the usual “Hi, a/s/l? Top, Bot, Vers? Cock Size?” but on my fifth day back, I got a surprisingly witty message that was generously laced with charm. After exchanging a few messages I added Amit Ghosal on my MSN list and we began chatting. His charm and wit just seemed to grow with each passing minute. Smooth and crisp with a compliment thrown at the right place and time, he seemed like he genuinely cared about everything I had to say and acknowledged everything with a thoughtful remark. It was only at the fag-end (pun unintended) of our conversation did he mention that he was married and signed off promptly, leaving me with my jaw dropped in sheer shock!


I didn’t mention this incident to The Bull out of fear that he might think it was shitty of me to cyber-flirt with a married man. Plus being one to always give the benefit of doubt (a trait that at times has become more of a liability over the years in the gay scene) I decided I should give Amit a chance to explain himself. He told me how his family came from a small town in Punjab and his grandfather was terminally ill and it was his wish to see his firstborn grandson married before he kicked the bucket. Small town traditional values prevented him from objecting a dying wish and hence within a few months, his father arranged his marriage to the daughter of an affluent land-lord of a neighboring town and he received a handsome amount in the form of dowry and moved to the big city to set up his now his import/export business. His grandfather lived on for ten more years where he made many-a-more ‘dying wishes’ that included grandchildren and quarterly visits to his death bed with the entire family.


By the time he did finally kicked the bucket, Amit had become all the more comfortable with his marriage of convenience. He had a wife who had an extremely low sex drive (so he thought), kids who spent most of their lives in boarding schools and now lived abroad, a wealthy business that was founded by the dowry received by his father-in-law, and a constant supply of young gay men who were always available to him at his beck-and-call (wealth can always bring such a convenience when in a city like Delhi and in the gay scene). To him it was a situation where he could have his cake and eat it too – or should I say cock.


As far as he could tell, he had always preferred men to women. Apparently, growing up in small towns of Punjab only fueled his homosexual desires as boys from the age of thirteen onwards used to meet behind the proverbial haystacks in the vast fields for an afternoon romp in the hay. He was told by the eighteen year-old who took his virginity that it was the best way to get rid of sexual urges of any sort because if they were caught having sex with girls, they would be forced to marry them at the earliest. And it wasn’t just the closet cases who indulged in it, but the very-hetero married men claimed to enjoy it too because the thrill of getting themselves serviced by younger men with more stamina was way better than the sloppy excuse for a blowjob given by their wives.


To top it all, he didn’t really consider himself gay! He was one of those ‘bisexuals’ who although rarely had sex with a woman, claimed to live their lives in accordance to the theme of Hannah Montana – You get the best of both worlds.


Despite all his convincing and sweet talking, I couldn’t bring myself to meet him in offline. True, I did chat with him for sometimes online, mainly because it was so rare to find someone on the gay sites who could carry off a conversation without asking my ‘stats’ and if I had a place every two minutes. I cursed my luck that a guy who seemed seemingly nice on paper turned out to be a married philanderer. After a few weeks, he announced that he had taken upon a new boyfriend and felt it would be disloyal to him if he continued to chat with me online (he certainly did have an odd sense of loyalty).


“Married men are the absolute scum of the gay scene here in Delhi!” announced Wolfie*, one of my few gay friends who didn’t hesitate from sharing a strong opinion – honesty is truly a welcome trait in the oh-so-faux Delhi social scene. He too was once approached by a married man online, but due to his old fashioned code-of-ethics, refused to meet with him offline. He later discovered that the guy was already dating a couple of boys, to whom he had announced his marriage way after he had succeeded to get them emotionally involved with them. When I asked why would those boys stick around? He claimed that to them it was a great deal. Not only did they get sex on a regular basis, but also got him to pick up their tab whenever they sojourned to ‘Pearls n Petals’, where they promptly left him at the bar and danced the night away with any random guy who was willing to come back home with them for a threesome. It’s interesting to note how like most marriages, some gay relationships (even adulterous ones) were based on convenience.


Later that year, I was at Wenger’s at CP, buying a birthday cake for my hag (a gay man’s best girl friend is also known as a fag-hag), when a voice whispered in a low-baritone, “So we finally meet” behind me. I turned and saw a tall man well into his forties. After I arched a quizzical brow with silence, he reminded me that we had chatted quite a few months ago online on the gay sites. Not able to ring a bell, I just politely smiled and apologized for not really remembering. He shrugged his shoulders and said something along the lines of, “I guess I shouldn’t have let you get away so soon.” I smiled and thanked him and promptly turned back to the counter and he headed off to another section where a young twinky boy was eyeing an array of assorted chocolates with delight. The man wasn’t really the kind of person I’d find remotely attractive. Even though the hair on his head were receding to a point not even a ‘comb over’ could save, his ears and nostrils showed no signs of balding. Though in a full-sleeved shirt, you could see tufts of thick black hair on the back of his hand and knuckles. If that’s all on his hand, imagine what his back and bikini area would be like.


Upon my exiting, I heard the twinky boy say, “Oh come on Amit! You’re rich enough to get me a crate full of chocolates, and yet you expect me to choose just four”. My eyes widened with shock as I just realized that this was the classy-married gay guy who had almost won me over with his wit and charm. After taking another good look at him, I smiled to myself and headed towards my car. His eyes had bags that could pack an entire shelf of The GAP, while his stomach protruded like a beer-keg. His mouth seemed as though it remained in a perpetual grimace while his shoulders drooped that made his stance look depressive. Money did buy him designer clothes, and a twinky boy at his disposal, but it did seem that it was at the cost of his own health and happiness, and it was clear that the twinky boy saw Amit as nothing more than a meal ticket. I’d almost feel sorry for him, but then again, he got what was coming to him.


* Names have been changed to protect identity (and so that I don't get my ass kicked... hehehehe).

The Morning After and His Call

"Relax dude," said a patient Harvina the next morning, "everything is gonna work out, I'm sure there is some logical explanation for his behavior". I sighed as I wiped my tears and gently curled out of the fetal position I had been cocooned in for the past few hours as I howled and wailed about my first date ever being such a complete disaster. I didn’t know whether I hated my ‘date’ for the fact that he turned out to be such a sleazebag and a complete and utter tool for treating me this way, or did I just hate myself for having being put into such a position and not having said something when I had the chance. At this moment I couldn’t really decipher between the two as the logical half of my brain was probably clogged with the excessive phlegm that’s created when you cry.


I felt a sickening feeling at the pit of my stomach over the incidents that had passed. The images were bright and vibrant in my mind (at times they still haunt me till this day) and despite showering at least twice when I got home the prior night and once in the morning, I could still feel the essence of the last night on me. It’s like being sprayed by a gay skunk that smoked Marlboro Lights and drank cheap beer that he acquired via the ‘free coupons’ one receives at ‘Pearls n Petals’ after paying the cover charge - I suppose that is the sole plus point of that seedy joint – you just can’t get rid of the stench no matter how hard you try. The fact that I was so desperate to do so only made it all the more worse for me. Luckily I was sober as I hadn’t drunk anything last night (the glasses looked filthy and some had old lipstick stains on them) else that would have just added on to the sick feeling that was overpowering me. Although now that I think about it, maybe the intoxicating effect of alcohol would have made me more mellow and led me to actually enjoy myself a bit. Oh who am I kidding?


Last night was more than just a blow to my ego; it also shattered my personal sense of esteem in a way that seemed way beyond repair. I couldn’t fathom how someone could be so charming and classy online and over the phone turn out to be such a major tool in reality. Granted, it’s rare that people actually act like themselves online, but still, to just reveal their true colors so soon and on a first date itself confused me all the more. It hurt all the more because this was the first time I had actually developed feelings for someone – who was neither a celebrity nor a hetero guy I secretly crushed on à la Barbra Streisand in Yentl – and I felt all the more lame to have actually thought he could have been someone special in my life. I suppose this is the downfall for reading your mom’s stash of Mills and Boons novels as a child instead of playing cricket with the rest of the boys; it creates super high expectations and leads one to delude themselves into thinking the first guy you have a ‘spark’ with would sweep you off your feet and propose to you after an entire chapter’s worth of passionate love-making.


It depressed me even more to realize how crowd at the sole gay bar in town was far from fabulous. I mean, no wonder this country is so homophobic to begin with – look at the gay men here. I used to detest the typical Bollywood stereotype of showing gay men as effeminate queens or sleazy creeps who were greasier than a pepperoni pizza from Domino’s. However, after last night, I felt Bollywood was only too kind to them. For all you know, perhaps those writers and directors did visit Pearls n Petals occasionally to see what the crowd was like in order to get the casting right. Then again, maybe the Americanized portrayal of gay men had filled me up extremely high expectations causing me to believe they all looked like clones of Gale Harold from Queer as Folk or Kyan Douglas, the dreamy ‘grooming guru’ from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. I suppose on some level I needed the reality check, although I wish it wasn’t so harsh. Then again, the quote “Life is a Bitch” must have been coined for a reason.


Melancholy had colored my aura in a depressive shade of grey as I began listening to almost every Barbra Streisand ballad stored in my computer’s media library. I curled up in one corner of my bed and began mouthing the lyrics of the title song of ‘The Way We Were’, as I mourned about what could have been a lovely relationship between me and the guy. Even though it was just in my imagination and last night had proved that such a thing was never ever possible, but, it was such a lovely vision that I didn’t have the strength to let go of it. One of my biggest fantasies was to have a love that was epic like the love Hubble (Robert Redford) and Katie (Barbra Streisand) shared for each other in ‘The Way We Were’ – no guesses needed over which of the two I envisioned myself as. After all, after spending more than twenty years single and leading a closeted existence, a part of my soul craved for a great epic romance that would have made up for all those years of waiting. It isn’t too much to ask for right?


Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep and was woken up by the fact that I had drooled all over my arm that was throbbing due to the blood circulation being cut off due to my head resting upon it. It was a quarter to five in the evening and I had just realized I had spent the entire day celebrating a pity party for one. Disgusted by how pathetic I was behaving (and much to my cousin’s relief), I jumped into my shower and with an extra dose of lavender scented shower gel, I scrubbed myself as clean as I could while belting out an extra empowered version of Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’ (no wonder this is considered a gay anthem). I viewed this as a cleansing ritual of sorts and as the warm streams of the shower splashed upon my body I felt this surge of energy fill me up with a jubilant sense of optimism. I figured that if this is the worst possible date ever, then others would only be better. For the first time in the entire day, I was smiling brightly, and when I got outta the shower I was dancing to every power anthem I had (from ‘I’m Coming Out’ to ‘Don’t Rain on My Parade’). My cousin Harvina was thanking god that my TV set had cordless headphones with it, enabling him to watch one of the many versions of CSI, without having to neither hear my incredibly gay-themed music nor watch me shake my Latina-esque booty.


As the sun set, time came for Harvina to pack up and head back to his college hostel. I hugged and thanked him for being with me through this ordeal. He smiled and assured me that I will feel much better about all this, and after sometime, I’d be laughing about the whole thing. For a straight guy, he was incredibly sweet and understanding. I guess he’s one of the few exceptions who are secure with their own manhood that they can handle being close to a gay person without feeling threatened or intimidated – why can’t there be more men like him? Afterwards, in order to cleanse my room off all the negativity that must have filled it due to my pity-party-for-one this morning, I lit a stick of sandalwood incense within my room and begun tidying up while dancing away jubilantly. Nothing could possibly bring me down! I was feeling empowered and was on top of the world. It was almost as if last night hadn’t happened and I was completely healed from the experience. And then he called…


At first I didn’t want to answer it, I didn’t want to have anything what so ever to do with him. He was scum, and a total bastard for the way he treated me. And yet, for some reason, a part of me wanted to hear what he had to say. What can I say? I guess I was raised to believe that everyone deserved a chance to tell their side of the story.

“Hello” I answered my phone in my Ice-Queen tone with an air of casual indifference.
He responded with a groggy and very hung-over, “Hi”

We exchanged bits of small talk with me trying my best to sound breezy and calm, while my inner-self was screaming, “How could you treat me like that you worthless son-of-a-bitch!” Tired of the minutiae I decided to ask him about his ‘friend’ from the previous night in the most polite and possibly concerned tone I could muster.


Without an apologetic trace in his voice he began narrating his side of the story. Apparently, the toilet fuck-toy was a friend of his who had just gotten over a major break up. He was so overcome with grief that he had taken a few-too-many tabs of E and drank too much beer the other night that my ‘date’ had to take him to the loo and make him puke it all out, and hence couldn’t really pay much attention to me. Upon my asking about the way he was dancing about with all the random guys, he flatly replied that it was the way everyone danced in a gay club. And when I asked what he did afterwards, he replied that he dropped his friend to his home at Gurgaon (the neighboring city which in my opinion is nothing but a concrete jungle filled with classless hooligans and shopping malls – no offence), after stopping by at Yusuf Sarai market for late night parantha’s. Upon reaching Gurgaon, he realized it was past three a.m. and he was in no state to drive back all the way home, and hence he crashed upon his friend’s couch. It was only about a couple hours ago that he woke up and managed to drive himself back home where the first thing he did was call me.


My brain was determined not to believe a word he said and was trying to convince me that this was all just a convenient story to cover his shitty behavior. My heart on the other hand was going all ‘awwwww … poor baby!’ I guess the fact that he said it so blatantly and so frankly, without the usual hemming-and-hawing a person does when they lie, made his story sound all the more plausible. Plus he did say that the first thing he did when he reached home was to call me. Even if it wasn’t true, I guess it was something that I just needed to know in order to feel better about myself.


And towards the end he mentioned that he truly wished we could have had a better first meeting, and even though he wouldn’t blame me at all for hating him for the way the night carried out, he wanted me to know that he really liked me and considered me a dear friend and someone he felt incredibly close to as no one else understood him the way I could. Although I just said a casual, thank you, my heart was performing somersaults of sheer blissful delight. He liked me! He said he liked me! Sure it wasn’t the same as saying he ‘loved’ me, but it was the closest I had ever had to it. Plus he the fact that he wanted to reassure me of how much he valued my friendship made me feel that perhaps on some deep level, he did have similar feelings for me, but was a bit hesitant to say so because of last night.


We hung up and I fell onto my bed grinning away blissfully. It will only be much later that I come to realize what a complete manipulative and abusive prick he’d turn out to be and how it would take me almost five months to be able to get over him completely – including a shamanic cleansing ritual and soul retrieval. But for that moment, I was on top of the world. I finally had a guy who liked me for the way I was. He didn’t mind me being chubby, nor cared that I was a complete newbie to the gay scene. I felt that I was finally getting the epic love story I so badly wished for. He was going to be my Hubble, and I was gonna be his Katie, and our love story will be as beautiful as ‘The Way We Were’. In my moment of blissful illusion, I forgot that at the end of the movie, Hubble and Katie break up and move on with their lives, forever keeping the memories of their times together in their hearts. But that’s a story for another time.

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!