He's Just Into Your Hole...

What's great about having a blog is the mere fact that its a forum in which I can communicate with others. Since starting the G Life, I've received a lot of messages via Facebook and other social networking sites were I have the link to my blog, asking me questions pertaining to their dating experiences. Although my blog is geared more towards homos (what's up, my peeps?), I find it interesting when straight women ask me questions as well - although most of their inquiries are whether or not their boyfriends' behaviors are "gay", which makes me wonder how well do these women actually know their boyfriends! Yet, I still find it amusing at how much relationships play a central role in our daily lives.
Duh! Humans are social animals at the end of the day... In any case, I've decided that because of my vast dating experience (most of which is bad... really bad, like Greek tragedy bad) I've come up with signs to help my fellow gays detect when their "partners" or potential boyfriends or whatever you call them are just into them for their holes. And yes, when I mean "He's just into your hole," I'm referring to the following: He's just in it for the sex. Here, I have listed the signs that help tell you when it's probably a good time to pack up and leave him in the dust.
He's Just Into your Hole when He's Always Busy:
Busy. I love that word, because it packs such a powerful punch. "What are you doing tonight?" "Um... I'm busy." With just one word, you're off the hook. To be honest, I just use the word when I'm seriously not in the mood to see anyone or when I'm avoiding someone in particular. "Busy" is just another way of saying "Fuck off". I learned the true meaning of the word "Busy" when I was going out with a guy back in September 2008. For some reason, he was never "busy" when he wanted to hook-up; however, the second the deed was done he got busy all of a sudden. He gets an "emergency" phone call and needs me out of there ASAP. A week would pass by and he would always be "Busy". Busy doing what? He would mumble something and say bye. The most shocking thing though was when he canceled on me because he was busy, but I ended up seeing him with his friends at ABC. Ergo, he wasn't busy enough to meet his friends; but he was too busy to spend some time with me. I understand that sometimes guys can really be just busy, they might have work or something else that is time consuming; however, I can't understand the excuse of "I was too busy to message you or call you." Puh-leeze! That's the lamest reason for not calling or keeping in touch with someone. "You were on Facebook the whole day, but you couldn't spare 1 minute to send me a text?" I sometimes text people when taking a crap, I even call people by mistake when I put my phone in my back-pocket; so no one is THAT busy that they can't get a hold of you. So if a guy is trying to get a hold of you just when his parents' house is free or when he's "in the mood" that's a clear sign that he's just into your hole. If he can clear his "busy" schedule for sex, then I'm sure he can clear his schedule for a cup of coffee and some conversation that doesn't involve moaning and grunting. Whenever you get the "I'm busy excuse", pause for a moment and think: Was he ever not busy when it didn't involve sex?
You're better than that, so the next time he calls to invite you over for some "fun"; just do what I do and tell him: "I'm just really busy, busy, busy..."
He's Just Into your Hole when He's Only Sexting:
Sexting is a term that means sending sex texts in the form of a "sex invite". I'm sure a whole lot of you are familiar with the whole sexting phenomena. It's usually a one-liner that goes like: "What are you doing tonight?"
You can tell a guy is just into your hole when all he does is just sext you... constantly. When a guy sends you a message at 11:30 asking if you want to 'hang out' at his place, you can bet he's not thinking about sitting on the couch and talking - he wants you to hang on to something, alright and I'm sure you all catch my drift. Therefore the subtext of that text is clearly just sex. If you're fine with that sort of arrangement then by all means go for it; however, if you're thinking this guy wants something more than just sex, I'll tell you to think again. I'm sure he probably mass-sext to everyone he knows and if you can't make it, I'm sure he already has another guy waiting in the wings just to be there. When a guy sexts you and you go running over to him, that just shows him that you're willing to throw everything for just sex. Basically you're his booty-call - and a desperate one too, if I may add. I know sex is a need and I'll be a hypocrite if I went all preachy on you guys and condoned your behavior. No, I think sometimes sex is fine; however, you have to understand that casual sex is just that - it's just sex, nothing more and nothing less. You deserve a guy who would want to text you even if there is no sex involved, not just one who texts you when his parents are out of the house or when he is doing a drive by around in his car and he suddenly got a hard-on. You're worth more than just that one liner... and sometimes they don't even bother using full words! I once got this: "U want 2 cum 2night?"
Nice... I wasn't even worth the time it would take him to fully write those beautiful words of poetry. I didn't bother replying.
He's Just Into your Hole when He's Not Introducing You to His Friends:
You can tell when a guy is really interested in you when he wants you to meet his friends, because that shows you that he sees your relationship as going somewhere beyond the bedroom. Guys talk to their friends as much as girls do, and gay guys tell their friends EVERYTHING. When my friends talk to me about their relationships and guys, it sometimes feels as though I'm part of their relationship because they tell me everything. When a guy takes you to meet the friends, it's a sign that means he wants to see if you'll mesh well with his crowd. Also, after the introduction - which I admit is a bit intimidating because gay guys are pretty territorial and cliquey when in comes to their circle of friends - the guy can get his friends' opinion of whether you are worth going out with. So when a guy you've been with for a while and he's never even suggested you meeting his friends or being seen with him in public, then that's your cue to know that this "thing" is not going anywhere. Again, if you're into the "whole secretive thing" and share the whole "let's be discreet" thing then there wouldn't be a need for you to dwell; however, it would be nice to know that there's something more than just lying on-top of each other and not doing anything else other than intercourse. You merit to have a guy who is so crazy in love with you that he would want everyone to know about you. He would basically want to shout it on every rooftop. When my best friend met his boyfriend, he did everything so that I get a chance to meet him. When it's just you, him, and the bed (or the car) and nothing else... then he's just into your hole. You'll know when a guy is really into you (and I don't mean that in a sexual context), when a guy really likes you, he'll want you to be part of every aspect of his life; including friends.
I know the term "He's just into your hole" sounds crude and a bit raunchy, at the end of the day, it's the truth because he's not into you - instead he's just into having sex with you. Sex is a need; however, you warrant more than just being seen as a sex-object or a as a blow-up doll. I know finding a relationship is hard, especially in the gay community, but there are guys out there that do want more than just a one-night stand and those are the guys you should look for. Next time you find yourself in a situation where you're with a guy and he's only seeing you when sex is involved, then I think its time you admit to the fact that maybe he's just into your hole and not you.

The Bad Boy

I met Druggie last year and it was instant attraction. What can I do? I guess it’s true what they say about bad boys, they do have a certain charm – a je ne sais pas quoi about them that makes thinking logically and rationally go out the window. I was in the dressing room trying on some super skinny jeans, when he pulls open the curtains and starts to undress in front of me. We shared the dressing room not speaking a word, just casually staring into each other’s eyes. And just as suddenly he barged into the small space that we occupied together, he left with a wink and a kiss on my cheek. Fate must have wanted us to meet again, because the following night, I bumped into him at Bardo just as I was passing through the glass doorway. Again, we didn’t exchange words; only stares and a wink here and there.

Drug Boy just oozed with sex appeal and he was a bad boy. The baddest, in fact. He knew he was sexy and he was pompous about it. He had sparkling green eyes that contrasted deeply with his dark tawny skin; but the thing that drew me in like a magnet, was his smile. He had a snaggle toothed grin and I thought his one imperfection was in fact his sexiest asset.

A week had passed and I hadn’t seen my latest infatuation; however, through the magic that is Manjam (I'm being sarcastic, of course), he found me and sent me a rather provocative message which happened to include his number, attached with it was an equally provocative picture.

Our first date was actually tame, which was sort of a disappointment since I had other expectations about what we might actually end up doing. Instead, we had a nice dinner; followed by a ride in his car around downtown Beirut and the Corniche. He didn’t even kiss me or make a move, which seemed sort of noble from him since I was acting like a slut and basically throwing myself at him.

Okay, I’ll be the first to admit that back in the days I wasn’t as classy as I am today… I was sort of a slut, meaning I would flaunt myself at anything that even glanced at me, and I think that was factored in by my low self-esteem. I wanted to be desired by everyone, which I think is a common “illness” for the gays. But with time… and with more dating disasters under my belt… I learned to have more self-restraint and what I hope is a little more self-respect.

Although I was putting myself out there for him, I’m sort of a cock-tease as well. For those of you who are new to the cock-tease concept, let me elaborate a little: Basically, a cock-tease is one that flirts and makes it seem as though they are willing to go all the way; however, when it actually comes time to take to the next level, they back out. Cock-teasing (the verb) was one of my specialties and that’s because I always enjoyed the chase more; I like leading guys on and then leaving them hanging. But I learned that gay guys lose interest fast… Even if you do end up having sex, they lose interest. I believe gay guys must have some kind of sex ADHD… Anyway, after our third date and me acting like a complete hoochie-mama, he dropped his “gentleman act” and started to act a little rowdy when we were alone together, and I was no longer in control of the situation and that made me more than a bit nervous. When I was always finding excuses to postpone our “alone time” as he called it, he started to act more aggressive towards me. On one of our dates he invited a friend of his, who when I went to meet them, was already trashed and bumping into people when she moved. He apologized, coming up with a bogus explanation about why he had to invite her out with us on our date; but, I decided to play it cool and act as though I was not affected by the drunken-third wheel.

The second surprise of the evening was when I found myself in front of Acid when we had agreed to go elsewhere. Now for those who haven’t been to Acid before… It’s a nightclub that is still stuck in 1999, including the green laser and bad music that goes well with the trashy wall décor; although I doubt the people who frequent Acid take the time to notice such things. As we were making our way to Acid from the parking lot, he turns and hands me a small Ziploc bag.

“Take this and shove it in your underwear,” he urged, grabbing the back of my jeans and shoving his hand right down to my butt-crack. “They don’t check feminine looking guys,” he added. I was shocked by the fact that he (1) was using me as a drug mule and (2) had the audacity to insult me a la passant.

Once we got into Acid, with no one having to check my butt for illicit drugs, he “dumps” his drunken friend on me, and removed the Ziploc bag out of the “security” of my ass. I felt like those Mexican immigrants who shove drugs and other stuff up their holes in order to bypass US immigration officers. I watched him stride into the Acidic crowd, looking left and right, and what I assumed was him looking for his client. I struggled to keep taps on him because I literally had another body on-top of mine, and it wasn’t anyone I wanted to get cozy or intimate with. The drunken bitch was slobbering all over my top and was leaving a puddle of drool on the nape of my neck… It was not a pretty sight. I walked around Acid feeling like a Siamese twin looking for him because I wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as possible. This date and this relationship were over… Like WAY over.

And there he was. In the corner of the grotesque club, making out with a guy whom I know was definitely not me. I’m not exactly sure what came over me, but I’m assuming it was a combination of anger and embarrassment – but I think anger fueled my actions more, because the next thing I remember doing was me hurling his friend on-top of him and his client/make-out partner. His friend fell face first on the floor and for those who have been to Acid before, they know the condition of the floor – it’s covered with glass. I stormed towards him and demanded that he never speak, text, or message me again. He stared at me with a glazed look in his eyes and I knew he was probably too drugged out to remember who I was or what I was telling him.

It was on that night that I ended my bad boy addiction.

Bad boys are like candy; you know you shouldn’t have them because they are bad for your health (your mental health included) and yet, we’ll do anything to have a taste of them. This applies to both candy AND boys! What I had thought was brooding sex appeal was in fact, a drugged-induced state of consciousness. Not only was he a drug dealer but he was a drug addict as well. I assumed him not talking much was part of his charm, you know the type… the strong silent ones that speak more with their eyes and smiles than with words, but it was probably because he was too high to actually form any coherent sentences. And that happy look on his face? I’m guessing it too was the effects of the drugs, because I doubt anyone would be THAT happy to spend that much time with me – I can be a bit loud, whiney, bitchy, and shrill sometimes; but I think that could be part of my charm! Or not… which might explain why I’m still single, but let’s not go there now…

After being used as a drug mule, having to drag an intoxicated carcass with me, and watch the guy whom I should have asked what he does for a living BEFORE going on a second date with him make out with a client of his; I realized that pinning after bad boys just leaves you feeling dirty, ashamed, disgusted with yourself, and wondering how the hell you got sucked into it all… The same feelings you have after you do something illicit. Bad boy rehab was probably the best decision I took.

Hi, I’m Gary and I’m no longer addicted to bad boys.

Unless… they’re really, really, really cute!

Note: I hate being preachy and all… but if you feel as though you’re being used to smuggle drugs and other illicit substances, please be wise to know that that’s your cue to leave. And no matter how attractive your guy seems, it’s not worth having to take drugs to impress him.

Happy?

Lately, I’ve been asking myself whether there really was something as one being happy. What exactly does it mean to be happy? What criteria do we use to justify our happiness? Is it the feeling of being flustered? Or the rush of blood that we feel in our systems, making a thrill go up and down our spine? I’m not looking for answers to these questions, because if anything they are rhetorical in nature; but, I was still intrigued by the notion and asked my mother if she was happy. She spoke to me without glancing up from her crossword puzzle book and answered, “I don’t think the word you’re looking for is happy. It should be content, as in: are you feeling content?” She didn’t elaborate much afterwards; however, she had given me some food for thought.

Content... Are we content these days? The question really allows you to take a minute and honestly ponder about it. One might start with listing the reasons why he should be content: I have good friends, my health is not bad, and my income is passable... But after listing these superficial items on one’s finger, are they really enough to allow one to be content?

According to “Happiness Expert”, Dr. Robert Dahl, happiness is mostly a by-product of our interaction, expectations, and desires with our environment. He also adds that happiness is in fact a subjective short-term feeling or sensation; whereas content is a more stable state of mind. I’m not a Happiness expert and even I knew that, but having it said from an “expert” really drives the point home. Yes, I know... I’m abusing sarcasm at this point. Even though the advice was pretty basic and straightforward, it really got me thinking about the reasons why I’m NOT content, and the common denominator that kept on popping up was Lebanon.

I don’t want to write an entire blog post bitching about Lebanon, but after living here for a while, the allure of Lebanon has truly faded and all I see are the cracks that I had once disregarded. If you’re a lover of parties, the nightlife, going out to meet friends over drinks in the middle of the week, and spend hours over pointless banter then Welcome to Lebanon and Enjoy Your Stay!

The concept of “Time is Money” is wasted on the Lebanese; when they say they’ll meet you in ten minutes, I always add an additional twenty. If you’re meeting Lebanese gay guys, add an additional hour to those ten minutes. In Lebanon, it’s all about being “Fashionably Late”. It’s about being the center of everyone’s undivided attention and whatever you do; please don’t forget to post it on Facebook the next day with “outrageous” comments detailing every aspect of your night out with the “awesomest” people... Because to be honest, nothing makes my day better than having the honour to browse through your drunken photos in the morning. Ah... How I envy you folks; to be so dumb, vapid, and void of any ambitions other than having a six-pack for the summer and achieving the perfect shade of bronze on your skin. I don’t know how one can even think of looking pale and pasty in the summer time in Lebanon; the audacity.

However, the one aspect of Lebanon that I find the most note-worthy is the constant stream of materialistic behaviour that everyone seems to be contaminated with. Everywhere you go it’s a competition to see who can drop names the most while perfecting their snobbery. It’s all about brand names and other “luxuries” that they’ve probably purchased by mortgaging their house or it’s actually the bank’s money... It’s a superficial world based on the belief that it’s all about “being seen” and I find it hilarious when people take their “going outs” so seriously; like anyone actually cares whether you’re going to White or SkyBar tonight, because in reality, everyone is so caught up in their own make-belief world in which they think they are God’s gift to everyone that they are too preoccupied with themselves to give a damn about you.

Peter Pan, the children’s book, is about a boy wanting to stay eternally young; however, even he realized that Never Ever Land was no longer that fun – we all have to grow up sooner or later. Lebanon is Never Ever Land in my opinion, a place where whether you are 18 or 50 it’s the same issues that are relevant regardless the cohort age group: where are the latest hang-outs and where are the trendiest places to be seen? There is no normal succession of mental development in this country – everyone is constantly in a “Party Phase” of life, which explains perfectly why this country was voted the Party Capital of the World; because, other than partying (and prostituting themselves to Arabs) Lebanese know very little else. Oh, I forgot... They are expert bullshit artists; I mean look at the politicians. They play football together and the next day, everything is okay with the world; archenemies are now best friends – a true Disney Fairytale ending.

I won’t even start on the driving in Lebanon, because that in itself needs another blogpost... The next thing I need to touch upon is the Lebanese BlackBerry obsession: everyone has one these days, because everyone is so busy with their “social calendars” that they need constant updates from other people. Okay, I admit that I have a BlackBerry as well, but I got mine at the age of 23; when I went and bought mine, I was the OLDEST there – kids, aged 12, had the Bold BlackBerry which cost 900$... But I guess they are prepping to be future business men...

With FIFA season on its way, the Lebanese have even managed to make me despise football. They act as though they are originally German or Brazilian when in fact they might originally be from some village in the ass-end of nowhere and they probably used donkeys for transportation ten years ago; they stick those flags to their cars and have fights over who is going to win – and I’m like: Seriously? Is this what we have come to? Fighting over Brazil and Germany in the middle of the street while cussing each other’s mother’s genitals? Half the time I feel like pulling over and shoving those flags and those nasty looking hand things that they dangle on their rear-view mirrors, up their asses; but that’s just me.

If someone were to ask me a year ago if I was content, I would have said: Yes; but today, with the new mindset that I have, I see things very differently. Lebanon isn’t a place that allows you to achieve your potential and seek to be the person you want to be. There is no room for personal growth and exploration of one’s talents and abilities. No, in Lebanon you follow the herd because if you stand out, the consequences are not pretty. I know things outside aren’t that different; there will always be vapid, superficial, materialistic, and crooked people wherever you go. However, a principal of mine said (Edgar Chemmali, to be in fact) that we need a lot of different people to make a world; however, in Lebanon there is no one unique or different – sadly, everyone is the same. Very few people think outside the box and that is a true tragedy.

So, the next time you’re thinking about your “happiness” or how content you are; do what I did and take a look around and then ask yourself: Is this the environment in which I can be content in? Let your answer tell you what to do next...

Till then, I’ll leave you with your happy thoughts.

The American...

At one point during the year, I had thought that the reason why I was so unlucky with guys is because most of them were Lebanese; so when an opportunity to meet an American came my way, I was more than a little excited to test the waters.

I had actually heard about American boy before I even met him. See, the funny thing about the gay community in Lebanon is that they get all excited when there is the prospect of a newbie making an appearance in the gay scene; so while I was vacationing in Canada, I kept on getting Facebook updates about American boy. To be honest, I sort of disliked him at first because I felt as though he was honing in on my territory, i.e. my friends.

The first few times that I did meet him were brief and he was always buried behind his Mac laptop, and I wasn’t in the market to look for new friends. However, in November, out-of-nowhere I received a text from him asking if we could hang out for coffee. Deciding that I had nothing better to do that night, I agreed to meet up for coffee. Our coffee became a four-hour conversation where we discussed various topics and I found myself enjoying his company. For once I was having a mature and intelligent conversation, that wasn’t focused on the gym, sex, dieting, who was doing whom, and where the latest parties were being held at. I was excited to see where this friendship would go...

By the time December rolled on by, we had spent almost every day of the week together. Our days were filled with lunches, coffees and snacks at cafes in Hamra, followed by walks on the Corniche with the sea’s breeze ruffling our hair, dinner and drinks would ensue, and we would have a nightcap at a pub in Gemmazeh. There was never any tension or awkward silences; the conversation kept flowing. I never found myself at a loss for words or things to say. When he was spending Christmas with a friend’s family, we continuously texted each other, and I felt as though he was rapidly becoming one of my dearest friends.

When the shit hit the fan...

Do you know the saying, “There is no such thing as a good thing?” Well, that was so true in the case with my American encounter. As we continued with our weekly rituals of meeting up for lunches and dinners, his conversations became more personal and at one point, very odd. Although we had been hanging out, I still didn’t know much about him; yet, he had already made plans for us to spend the summer in the US together, have me meet his family in July and stay in their summer lake house, and he made vast promises of getting me a job for next year, telling me that he’d move back to the US once he was done with Lebanon. Who makes promises like that to someone they don’t know too well?

Over coffee, one day, he started telling me how unhappy he was with the dating scene in Lebanon. “I’m a foreigner. I should be ‘fetishized’ and desired because I’m American. Lebanese guys should be all over me because I have white skin and green eyes!” I thought it was bizarre that he would think of himself as a “hot commodity” just because he has a lighter skin tone and fairer hair. But I didn’t dwell much about it because it was partly true; Lebanese gay guys become vultures when they see foreigners, hoping to have a few “foreign fucks” in their little black books, or they think it makes great conversation topics: “OMG! I had the best sex with this Italian guy...” Probably that Italian guy never got any ass or cock when he was in Italy, but let’s not go there now.

In January, an ex-boyfriend of his was visiting Beirut; so a week before his ex’s arrival, he tells me that he wants me to hook-up with ex. When I asked him why he would want me to do that; his answer was, “So I can show him how over him I truly am.”

Wow! That sounds like an amazing plan... That’s what I do all the time too. Have my exs hook-up with my friends to see how over them I am.

Although, I thought it was more than a little strange that he would ask that of me, I laughed it off, hoping that he was, on the off-chance, just joking. When I met him and his ex a few days later, he acted all strange and jealous whenever he saw me talking to his ex. Hum... I thought you wanted us to hook up? I couldn’t imagine what he would act like if I did sleep with his ex... I mean, he was acting like a crazed teenage bitch when I was simply talking to him... I guess someone wasn’t really over him as he claimed to be.

After his ex’s departure, his behaviour got even stranger... He started believing that my feelings towards him were more than platonic, that I was secretly in love with him. He would over-read the context behind my messages and our Skype chats and conversation. Like if I were to send him a text that said: “Hey... Hope you’re okay!” He would read the exclamation mark as an attack or as a patronizing comment from my part. He even went through my phone once and read my messages. He would over-dramatize everything that was said or that happened between us; his behaviours were theatrical and too dramatic for me to handle. When we did spend time together, he would be arguing with me over a misunderstanding, and I would have to spend the rest of the time trying to clarify what was either said or done. He was becoming exhausting to be around. At that time, I was seeing Mr. Nags A-Lot (he’ll be in another post; he deserves a post to himself... He was something else!) and he got weirdly jealous that I was spending time with him.

When I introduced him to my co-workers and friends, neither of them could stand him. He acted socially awkward and he would drink his wine like it was water. He would call our time together as “dates”, when in fact, they were nothing that I would call a date. There is nothing romantic about having to carry a drunken 23 year old back to the car while he makes obnoxious comments.

My friendship with American boy completely deteriorated once March started. I was fed-up with him and his bullshit; and the fact that he only contacted me when his other friends were busy with their own boyfriends or out of town. Although I was never romantically involved with American boy, the allure of foreigners died along with our friendship. Although I ended the relationship in what I considered a mature way; I had e-mailed him, wishing him the best of luck – he took another route. He blocked me off Facebook and acts like a bitch when we bump into each other at Bardo or other dinner parties.

My experience with American boy taught me one thing, that it’s all the same shit and drama, but with a different accent!

My Big Greek Mistake...

I've decided to start a new label for my blog titled, "My Biggest Dating Mistakes," and I thought it would be best to start my new blog label with my latest dating disaster - the 40 year old Greek.
Throughout my dating experience, I've encountered my share of losers, douchebags, and biggest mistakes - you can say that my dating CV is pretty extensive; every freak you can think of, I might have have dated or gone out with. At one point, my friends used to nickname me the "Freak Magnet" and that is no compliment! So you'd be surprised to know that I was not shocked to find out that my latest flavor of the month (I had chosen to go Greek this time) was nothing more than a major pain in my neck and hence here he is in in the Biggest Dating Mistakes I have made in my journey to find the 'One'.
If there is one thing I've learned from my dating experiences is this (1) older men are kinky bastards and one needs to tread that path carefully and (2) men with accents, no matter how sexy they sound, sputter more bullshit than anything else. Mr. Greek did not fail to meet those criteria! So there I was, for once deciding to study at Starbucks in Downtown - in all honesty, I wasn't really studying; I was more people watching - and before I knew it, Mr. Greek walked right up to me and took a seat in the empty chair opposite of me. I would be lying if I didn't say that I wasn't impressed by his ballsy move and then, with his heavy accented English he said, "Hello honey, let me get to know you." He added a wink for emphasis.
Gag... But seeing how bored I was, I thought I could use the entertainment - a sort of pass the time until I was done "studying".
Within the next fifteen minutes, Mr. Greek thought he should tell me his entire life-story: I was enlightened to know about his whole family tree (Stifling a yawn), his first wet-dream, his first sexual encounter (apparently it was when he was 10 - do guys even ejaculate at that age?), and about the sibling rivalry between him and his brothers. Of course, Mr. Greek thought I would be impressed by him telling me about his sexual conquests.
Um... A little note to all you guys: Talking about your sexual conquests does NOT make you more attractive, in fact it just shows that you are a pervert. Also, just because I'm a psychologist it doesn't mean you get to shit your problems on me - Go have a verbal dump elsewhere, thank you.
Throughout our (um... more like his monologue) conversation, he kept on throwing sexual innuendos at me; such as: "Let me help you study my body." [Wink, wink]
No thanks, I'll think I'll pass...
However, I was interested in seeing how far this little meeting would go; so we decided to exchange numbers. Mr. Greek told me his name is Antonio and that he is 45 - but between us, he looked much older.
The next day, Antonio messaged me and said that we should meet up for drinks in Gemz (that's what I'm calling Gemmazeh these days - pretty neat, huh?). We decided to have a nightcap in some dark pub. In our own little corner, Antonio told me that his name is in fact Georges and that he is 50 - also, everything that he had told me the day before suddenly changed.
Red flag anyone?
Again, more sexual comments; my favorite is when he leaned towards me and whispered in my ear (what I'm thinking he assumed to be sexy), "Let's go back to my place and let me drill a hole in your ass." For some reason, that cracked me up. When I told him that that would be pretty unnecessary since I already have a hole why would I need another one, he frowned and said, "I don't understand."
Yeah... I wasn't surprised.
I spent the rest of the evening, gently pushing him off me, and laughing whenever he suggested he drill more holes in other parts of my body... He's a real charmer this one!
On our third date - yes, I kept on going back for more... I'm masochistic - Antonio/Georges threw another bombshell in my face; his name this time was Alexandros and he is 52 years old.
Okay, another red flag anyone?
As we sat in the back booth of a restaurant in Monot, I realized that my short (very short) courtship with Whatever-His-Real-Name-Is had truly run its course; I had tuned him out most of the time, and in fact, I reached level 12 on the Word-Mole game on my BlackBerry (a real success in my opinion - and that was the highlight of my evening). As the waiter placed the bill on the table - by that time I had decided to thank God for answering my prayers - Mr. Cheesy Greek guy leaned over and said to me, "How about I pay for dinner, and you can give me dessert in your car." [Wink, Wink]
Hurl.
In the past, when I was young and naive - Awww... how long ago those days seem to be, I miss being that dumb sometimes - I might have swooned at all the bullshit that he said. He did nothing but compliment me; saying that I was the most handsome guy that he has ever seen. But how many other guys did he feed the same crap to? Did he think I didn't know he was just trying to get into my pants? He thought he was a pro, when in fact he was nothing more than a stupid amateur; Please bitch! I've dealt with worse fuckbags than you.
As I watched him lick his lips; he had a piece of black sesame seed stuck in his tooth, I realized that I've become so mistrustful of men - I've surrounded my heart with a metal fortress that has become impenetrable; and that, I think, is pretty sad to realize.
He followed me to my car, spanking me on my ass more than twice, and licking his lips. Once we reached my car though, I turned to him and said, "Lose my number and don't bother me again." The stunned look on his face was priceless. He literally stood there, mouth open. He probably thought he was being so suave, so debonair. He probably used all of the oldest tricks in the book: he complimented me every chance he got; gave me the "I'm so lonely excuse"; the "I have nobody in Beirut" excuse; the "I want to be more than just sex" excuse; and my all time favorite excuse of all, "I want to make love to you, not fuck you".
And just like Greece's failing economy, Mr. Greek failed to get into my pants.

Spinning Around...

We had always chatted about him DJing, but I had never actually seen him play before that night. Dim lights and cigarette smoke set the ambiance inside. As I saw him setting up near the DJ booth, he looked at me with his charcoal dark eyes and smiled in surprise. "So it seems you've come to see me play," he said with a wink. I didn't want to tell him that it had been by coincidence that I happened to be there that night. "Well, tell me what you think about the music afterward," he slid back onto the stool that faced the turning-boards.
From where I was seated, I had the perfect view of him. I watched in awe as he effortlessly changed tracks and CDs; his fingers seemed to move in complete synchrony and harmony to the tunes that seeped out of the speakers, giving a soundtrack to the smokiness of the room. He was one with the music; he bobbed his head to the lyrics, moving his body to the rhythm as well. It's as though he was oblivious of the fact that there were others in the room; it was as though he was playing to himself. I smiled as I watched him spin a CD on his index finger and gingerly slid it back into its protective case. That was when our eyes locked onto one another.
My heart beat as fast as the drums that played in the background. He gave me one of his cocky, but sexy half smiles, and lifted his glass of red wine. He took a sip and finished it off with a wink. In that moment, I imagined what it must be like to be with him... in his bedroom, even if it was for just one night. I started to wonder what kind of music would he be playing while we explored each other intimately and physically. Soft rock? Barry White? No, a bit too cliched I suppose. House music? I hope not... As I sat there, drinking him with my eyes, I zoned out everything and everyone around me. It was just me and him... The DJ.
When our eyes met for the third time that night, I knew they were beckoning me towards him. As I made my way to the DJ booth, my eyes never left his. His dark, almost black eyes, bore into mine with an intensity I had never felt for a while. As I approached him, he stood up and placed his left hand on my lower back, pulling me closer to him.
"So, how are you liking the music so far?" He whispered in my ear. As he spoke, I could feel his hot breath on my neck. The feeling sent tingles up and down my spine and I knew that at any moment I could melt right into him, right there and then. I wanted him to undress me with his light fingers; I was willing to let down my guard just for that night and not worry about the consequences that might happen the next day. I struggled to speak, but I managed to say that I was enjoying the music. If only he knew that I had enjoyed his touch far more.
Once 1 a.m. had rolled on by, I walked towards the glass door exit when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun around and saw him. In the dim light, his face and eyes seemed ethereal; he was beautiful. "I just couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye," he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on my cheek.
...And just like the records that he had spend the whole night spinning; he sent my head, and heart, in a tail-spin.

One Is The Lonliest Number...

I am sometimes afraid to admit this to anyone, let alone myself, but I am very lonely. The type of loneliness that I'm referring to is the kind that makes you feel as though there is a void inside of you that no matter how hard you try to fill, it just always seems to be there. Friends may provide temporary relief from that feeling of "emptiness"; however, at the end of the day it's just not enough. The truth is, even when I'm surrounded by friends, I still feel that bone-crushing sense of loneliness; one that, at times, just seems so overpowering that I start to zone-out. Plus, the fact that most of my closest friends are in relationships doesn't make it any easier on me. In fact, it just emphasizes how single I really am. As I sit across from my friends, a happy couple, I start to ask myself: "Why can't that be me? Why can't I find a guy who would love and care for me like that?" When I voice how lonely I truly am, my friends would roll their eyes and say, "Gary, you don't need a man to feel good about yourself. You don't need anyone to validate you." I would look at him and want to point out how hypocritical he sounded; he couldn't even go to the bathroom or make a simple decision without consulting his boyfriend first - but I decided to spare myself the drama and not bring that up; instead, I just nodded.
I've always made "excuses" to myself to why I'm still single: "I just can't find a guy who's emotionally mature for me," "The guys here are just too intimidated by how comfortable I am with expressing my sexuality," "Guys here just want sex and nothing else..." But I know what these all are, they are nothing but excuses; lame attempts from my part to try and rationalize how come I'm still desperately alone. At first, I blamed it all on myself: "I'm too picky," "I'm too needy and clingy," "I'm too feminine for some guys to handle," "I'm too this and too that..." However, I stopped victimizing myself when I realized that that is not true. Everyone deserves to be loved and appreciated; regardless of what and who they are.
"Oh, you'll find the right guy someday. Just be patient." I hate when people tell me that, it's like they are shutting me up. I feel like saying, "For how long must I wait? I'm tired of being patient! When is it going to be my turn to be happy? To gush about that guy that makes my heart beat a little faster? To want to share everything with him? When?" But just like I did with my friend, I just nod and pretend to be taking their "pearls of wisdom" to heart.
"Ugh, you have no idea how lucky you are to be single! I miss dating!" One of my friends actually said that to me recently and I wanted to smack him right in the face. "Lucky to be single?" He obviously has no idea what he's talking about. Dating in the gay community is like a tedious chore. I know dating, whether you're straight or gay, is awkward; but it's a whole different ball-game to us, homos. Because the community is so small, you're bound to know, have dated, or slept with a friend of his or an ex-boyfriend; the conversation doesn't always run smoothly; there is always this weird sexual question lingering in the air, 'Is he in it just for the sex?' 'Is he interested in something long-term?'. So no... I don't like dating, because I always end up more disappointed than hopeful.
The thing that really boggles my mind though is the fact that I'm not looking for something that is impossible to find. I just want a decent, normal (okay, that might be hard finding in Lebanon), intellectual guy who's interested in a stable, long-term, honest, monogamous relationship. In a nutshell, I just want someone who I can love and who can return that love to me. I feel as though I have all this bottled-up love inside of me that I want to share with someone, but I just can't seem to find. No wonder gay men adore their pets so much, because they displace all that pent-up love onto them. Who knew that finding someone to love unconditionally could be so hard? Plus, I'm not asking for much; a simple text message that says, "Hey, just thought I'd see how your day went so far," or a "I love you just because you're you," are more than enough for me.
I truly believe that everyone, including myself, are entitled to great relationships, ones that enforce the idea that we do need and deserve to be loved. So I end this post by saying, "To all those lonely single people out there, you're not alone..." I hope that was comforting enough for some of you!