I loves ya

Men are bastards

Obsessed with sex, driven by their small heads, not their big ones, afraid to love, afraid to care and hyper-competitive.

Yeah, yeah, I know.  It's a generalisation.  And I know one or two top blokes, who are loving, kind, caring, compassionate, thoughtful, honest and good.  Some of them -- will wonders never cease! -- are even straight.  There ya go.

But the broad male culture ... I hate it.

Chemistry

I was talking to a gay-shaded friend who was complaining about the lack of someone special in his life, but who has a lot of close male friends.  I asked him why he didn't have a relationship with one of them.  He said there was no "chemistry".  But ... the chemistry, that mad wonderful hysteria of "in love" always dies, and what you're left with, if you're lucky is "love".  Friendship, companionship, caring, sharing your burdens, laughing together, listening while the other vents, choosing birthday and Christmas presents for your other half, knowing that he or she loves you (even if they're not "in love" any more), forgiving, accepting, loving.  Sharing your lives.

Maybe that's not "chemistry".  But it is magical.  Yet to get there takes hard work from both of you.  Like a beautiful garden, it doesn't just "happen".  It's made.

Doggie

A vulnerable face. Somebody who, like me, needs to be loved.

And no guarantee that he'll get it.

Sometimes I hate men.

Arm-in-arm

The need for others; the need to be loved; the need for companionship. Sometimes it involves sexual desire, sometimes it's just love/affection/caring/compassion/friendship. Either way, it can be beautiful, especially when two men set aside their competitiveness to replace it with love.

Friends

Sometimes animals do it better than we do.

Majorca Flats -- 129

Keith's flat was large—the whole top floor of a weathered Victorian house just a couple of hundred yards from The Lord Grey. Jason wondered why he'd never come here before, and then realised that Keith was trying as hard as he to make their relationship work, and he hadn't wanted to push it when Jason had turned down sex with him. The flat was furnished with just a king-sized bed, a coffee table and in a very 70s touch, bean bags. Except for books. Everywhere Jason looked there were piles of books or bookcases made from planks, held up by bricks, stuffed with books. Ouch! he thought to himself, judging people by appearances again! Keith was obviously a lot deeper than his barman persona at work — and his past as a rent-boy — made him seem.

“Some more brandy?” asked Keith. “Maybe some tea, too?”

Luigi and Jason both nodded, and while Keith was busy in the kitchen slumped into two of the bean bags. Keith returned with steaming mugs, brandy snifters and a bottle of brandy.

“It's green tea. Watch out — it's hot. Don't burn yourselves!”

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Majorca Flats -- 72

His towel was about five metres away and he stepped over to fetch it. Flicking the sand off – but, thoughtfully, not into Jason's face – he spread his towel next to Jason's and sat down on it facing the same way Jason faced, looking out across the scintillating blue of the bay. He produced a pair of Dolce and Gabbana dark glasses and put them on. Jason didn't have any dark glasses and found himself squinting into the glare.

“You're going to get a headache,” said the other man.

“I am,” replied Jason. “But I won't be staying too long, I have to meet someone at four and get showered and get changed for work. And it's midday now.”

“Here, borrow this hat. It'll shield your eyes.” The bloke handed over a baseball cap with NYC written on it. “Hey! I suppose we’d better get introduced. What would Miss Manners say?”

Jason grinned at him. He instinctively liked the other man.

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