51 Degrees

Autumn arrived, signalling the end of a summer that had never really got going. The rain fell for three days without let-up and when it did finally stop, the clouds remained, the threat of more rain hanging over every Londoner’s head.

Cafe Nero on Old Compton Street has always been my port in a storm and last Thursday it was a port for locals, gays, media whores and couples who had journeyed from the suburbs to see Jersey Boys. The prospect of a warm drink and a place to dry out was tempting to all and a queue of people snaked out the front door. This time, Nero would not offer me a port in a storm.

I decided the LJ Coffee House, situated on Winnett Street between The Welly and Rupert Street, was worth a 45 second walk in the rain. It would be a lot quieter than Nero and David, the owner and general manager, would be there offering his usual friendly service and friendly chat.

I was relieved to find the coffee house busy but not packed. There was no queue and I managed to get a seat on one of the comfortable battered leather sofas. I had a bit of preamble with David before getting cosy on the sofa, hunkering over a large chi tea. The warmth of the drink, the chatter of the other customers and the music – ironically an acoustic version of Rain Down Love sung by Siedah Garrett – lifted my spirits.

I noticed a couple snuggled in a corner at the opposite side of the cafe; one was a camp, older guy probably in his early forties while his boyfriend was in his mid-twenties and rather butch. My first assumption – the very first word that ran through my head – was rent. At first I didn’t question this learned response. Would I have made the same assumption if the couple were straight? Possibly...

I like to think that I am a free thinker, that I don’t entirely confirm to society but I realised this wasn’t true about me. Society teaches us that non-conventional relationships – be it people of different age or looks or cultural backgrounds – are to be viewed with suspicion. Despite my experience of different relationship types, and despite having had relationships that go against social norms, this ingrained cultural behaviour had asserted itself.

Promising myself to be careful about my assumptions, I continued to observe the couple and noticed each wore a ring on their wedding finger. So they were married. If two people who looked so incompatible actually were actually compatible, what did that mean about my assumptions? I realised I had been potentially closing myself off from romance and writing people off before I had even met them.

Take the guy in The Box last week. He was slightly younger than me, definitely a ‘plastic’ but attractive. His only fault was that he wasn’t of the type I had told myself it was appropriate to be attracted too. By his constant stares and smiles I could tell he was interested in me but because I didn't think he fitted with my idea of whom I should be with, I ignored his advances.

Had we gotten to know each other that evening and had I been able to judge him not only his looks but personality, would I be writing something similar now, stating that opposites do indeed attract?

Shock horror! We weren't in Soho and we weren't even Vauxhall. We were a lot further than that. We were in SE1. In a straight bar – and after a long weekend in Brighton for Pride, it was the perfect antidote.

The four of us - Jason, Frankie, Owen and I - were assembled round a large mahogany table sitting on plush green velvet, vintage sofas. Jacks Bar is a modern bar that caters to a metrosexual crowd, attracting those people working on the Southbank. It's up to the minute design somehow compliments the bare brick Walls and old fashioned furniture. Tonight was 2 for 1 on cocktails so naturally our table was littered with empty glasses.

I had arrived late, having to make a call - a few loose ends from Brighton that needed tying up. Jason had ordered drinks for me and with no need to go to the bar I quickly got comfortable on one of the sofas. I greeted them cheerfully but no one spoke instantly. Owen looked at Jason and Jason smiled half-heartedly at his glass. Something was wrong.

"What is it?" I asked.

I noticed Frankie's left leg bobbing up and down which it always did when he was nervous; he was in on whatever was going on.

"I got set up on a blind date," Jason said. "I wouldn't normally do something like that but it was a friend of a work friend whom I trust."

I was confused. "It’s a good is thing isn't it?"

"Depends who your friends know," Owen added.

"So I met this guy but he wasn't my type. He was American and had an annoying accent, works out in West Hollywood and is a flight attendant for American Airlines..." Jason trailed off.

"Sound like anyone you know?" Owen asked.

"It sounds like... but that's impossible!" even as I said it I knew they were talking about Owen's ex Casey. "How?"

Jason looked into his cocktail and let Owen explain.

"Casey did get promoted at American but he was never reassigned to another route. He is still doing LA to London. If anything, his promotion means he will be in London more than ever before. Fuck..."

We sat in silence for a few moments waiting for Owen to go on. "His feelings changed for me. He wasn't ready to commit and didn't think I was the one for him.”

“All this despite the talk of moving permanently to the UK,” Frankie commented.

Jason continued the story. "The job promotion came at the right time and gave him a good excuse to break up with Owen. Casey couldn't tell him how he really felt so he lied."

Owen sighed.

"And Casey told you all this.” It was more a statement of assumption than a question.

Jason nodded and Owen continued.

"He was never good at showing his true emotions and he would always flare up when I tried to talk seriously about anything. He was one of the moodiest people I’ve ever known yet he would be the first to tell someone to lighten up because they were moody."

I was shocked. Not at Owen’s account of Casey's mood swings - the three of us had never really liked him - but at the fact the guy could string Owen along and lie so readily.

"So what did you do?" I asked Jason.

"Clawed his eyes out and bitch slapped him like the über gay I am."

"He punched him," Owen said. "Twice!"

Frankie laughed and I couldn’t help but join in.

"I also said I’d beat him twice as hard if he ever came near any of us again."

"You could have been arrested," I said.

Jason shrugged. "And potentially lose my job but no one treats my friends like that."

Owen gave Jason a squeeze on the shoulder but said nothing.

If Owen is the one we can lean on for support then Jason is the one we turn to if we need a hero. All four of us have our roles within our group, something that evolved unconsciously and naturally. What we offer each other is the love, respect and trust that come when you open yourself up to true friendship.

Being in Brighton has given me a sense of perspective and I have some answers I didn't want but definitely needed. I've been away from Frankie, Owen and Jason so news on them when I get back to London.

Lessons I will be taking away with me back to my life in the big city:

Someone can give you signalls, make you promises and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, pour them like honey and not mean a word they say. Trust your instincts and act on them. Actions really do speak louder then words and a sudden silence can say more than a thousand empty words. Be careful not to give your love away. Make sure he deserves it and understand the gift you're giving.

Stay safe and see you all back in 51 Degrees.

There is a feeling in the chest - a pressure that makes you feel like you can't breathe. Lying in bed at night you try to breathe normally and sleep but you can't because the adrenalin is flowing and your heart is beating.

That's what love does. Is it worth it?

This past Thursday afternoon was a rarity for my friends and I. We managed to meet on a weekday afternoon and were at 33 Old Compton Street, balancing on the uncomfortable stools and hunched over the narrow counter with our coffees. We looked like twitchers in a hide waiting for a rare species of bird to come along.

Frankie had described our gathering as an emergency meeting of the war counsel and in a way he was right. Jason, Frankie and I had answered an emergency distress call from Owen. The normally stoic, emotionally secure Irishman was a wreck after having been dumped by Casey, the American Airlines trolley dolly whom he’d been seeing for a while.

Casey had been staying with Owen whenever he was on a layover from Los Angeles and they had gone so far as to declare themselves in a monogamous relationship (unless they were having group sex). As Casey was in the UK at least three times a week it was easy for them to maintain a relationship, which by and large was unaffected by long distance. However, Casey had been promoted to Head Purser reassigned to the LAX-SYD route. This meant that he would be spending more time on Oxford Street in Sydney than Old Compton street in London. Therefore he had ended the relationship.

It was unnerving to see Owen in such a state. He was, after all, the one we all turned to when we needed support or advice. So here we were, trying to bring Owen out of his funk by talking about anything but Casey. Topics so far had involved the Iran elections and protests in London, MPs expenses and a well known gay club promoter buying expensive art..

The current topic of conversation was the muscle mary. All four of us go to the gym (more for vanity than actual fitness or health concerns I admit) but Owen is the only one who could be described as a muscle mary. He is a beefy, solid leather daddy in his forties but doesn’t look anything like those guys with orange perma-tans, botox faces and too-bright white teeth.

“I’ve never been a muscle mary,” said Owen, “because I’ve never accepted that label. It’s like a gay guy accepting someone calling him a fagot. I wouldn’t know what it’s like to be a muscle mary because I’ve never been one.”

“But you have known to be answer dirty faggot though,” said Frankie. “I know. I’ve seen the pictures of you hooded and plugged.”

Owen smiled then tweaked one of Frankie’s nipples playfully.

“That is so weak, Frankie,” Jason said.

I tried to change the subject quickly and addressed Jason. “Did you go on the date with what’s-his-name on Saturday?”

“Perhaps we shouldn’t be talking about romance in front of Owen?” Jason never liked talking about his encounters and this was the perfect excuse.

“You’re not getting out of it so easily,” Owen said. “Tell us. Didn’t he have a funny profile name?”

“Thanks a lot. You’re too kind, Owen, really. ”

“So?” I said.

“It was nice but there wasn’t any chemistry so we’ve decided to remain friends.”

“Oh, that old one.” Frankie said. “Do you know how many dates I’ve got as ‘just friends’ and have never seen again?”

“Well this is different,” Jason replied. “I met-up with him last night and it turns out that he has been talking to you as well, Owen.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. I think before you met Casey. He got very excited when he found out I knew you.”

“Oh really? Who is he?”

“His name’s Chris. He’s 25 and lives in Kent.”

Jason got a blank look from all of us.

Jason looked exasperated. “Pantsboy.”

Owen cracked a smile then laughed out loud. “Oh yes, I know him. He’s a cute kid. We never did hook-up.”

“He’s not a kid. He’s a great guy. You might like him.”

I noticed Frankie had been quiet and could tell his was thinking about something. Realising I was wondering why he was so quiet Frankie clarified with “I know him too. We talk online but have never met.”

“It seems like Pantsboy gets about a bit,” Owen said. “I don’t need that.”

“I know him too,” I said. “I met him once while he was seeing a guy who lived in my apartment block. James said that Pantsboy, er, Chris was very loyal while they were seeing each other. I think James regrets that they broke up.

“Perhaps,” Owen said sceptically.

“He is also a good writer,” I said. “He writes and illustrates an online comic book which is full of gay superheroes. Funnily enough, Pantsboy is one of the lead characters.”

“Anyway,” Jason said. “He’s a cute, single bear-cub in his twenties. Whether or not he is shagging around, we all know we’d be doing the same thing in his place.”

I had never known Jason to be so positive or protective about someone he had just met. I generally trusted his judgement about people and having met Pantsboy once before, I knew he was ok.
Perhaps, a young bear cub from Kent would be the perfect antidote to a leather muscle bear from LA.

When I suggested this to Owen he said, “If he is that great a guy I don’t want to rebound on him. Plus, I’m not ready for romance.”

Jason’s Blackberry started to ring and without a word he ran outside to take the call, which was likely to be work-related. Minutes later he returned but didn’t mention the call.

“Remember when I broke up with Roy?” I said. “I got depressed and really lethargic. You said it was like lethargy had seeped into my bones. I was always tired and couldn’t do anything – even getting dressed was difficult. I stopped my drama class and couldn't face the gym. Strangely all I could do was get drunk and have random sex.”

Frankie and Jason remained silent. They didn’t know me when I was breaking up with Roy.

“Owen, you helped me out of it. You made me go back to the gym and you introduced me to some new people.”

“I remember.” Owen said.

“You said to me that going for a drink with someone, was just that. It was a few hours getting to know someone. It didn’t have to be romance or sex or anything else.”

“I’m now regretting saying that.” Owen said with something between a weak smile and a grimace on his face.

“Well, what was good for me might be good for you. Introducing me to new people and forcing me back to the gym kicked started my life again. It might work for you too.”

“I think Matt’s right,” said Frankie.

“I hope he is too,” said Jason. “That was Pantsboy on the phone, wondering if I fancied meeting for a cheeky drink in Comptons.”

“Oh no,” I said. “What did you do?”

“I told him that I was out with some friends and couldn’t meet up - ”

Owen interrupted. “Thank God for that.”

“Wait a minute.” Jason said. “Let me finish. I told him I was out with my good friends Frankie and Matt, whom he both knew. But my good friend Owen would be in Comptons in about 5 minutes and would meet him there.”

“You bastard,” Owen said as he covered his face with his hands. “He’s not going to meet some random guy because you tell him to.”

“No he wouldn’t. But you’re not some random guy. You’re my friend and you’re RawMuscleBear online. Like I said earlier, he was very excited when I said I knew you.”

“What did you tell him?”

“He knows the score. I didn’t tell him specifics but he knows you just came out a relationship.”

“Shit.” Owen said.

Frankie gave him a friendly slap on the arm and said, “That’s the spirit. Go have fun.”

“But only if you want to,” I added.

Owen sighed heavily and conceded. “Ok, I’m going. But I’m not promising anything though.”

“No need to. Just enjoy meeting someone new,” I said echoing his words.

Owen quickly finished his coffee, checked himself in the reflection of the glass window and deemed himself presentable.

“You’re looking hot,” Frankie said. “He’s gonna love you.”

Owen flexed a large, tattooed bicep as a goodbye and headed towards Comptons to find his antidote to Casey.

"He's going to have fun," Jason said knowingly and Frankie nodded in agreement.

I was thankful to Pantsboy because, just like any normal superhero, he was around to save my friend at exactly the right time.

Badboy_4u: hi mate. nice pics. you look well nice. up for a meet?

me: hi, thanks. yes up for a meet. do you have any pics?

I was logged on to a well-known gay dating website that Owen had set-up a few years back. It’s one of his many internet business ventures. What’s that song, The Internet is for Porn?

Badboy_4u: yeah. will send em over mate. u accommodate?

Me (thinking this is a waste of time): sure thing but would need to see pics first.

For most of this year I had been meeting guys who were time wasters, or guys who thought they knew what they wanted but changed their minds. Of note is Jean Pierre whom Owen had introduced me too at the gay rugby match. We had spent about two weeks together, never being away from each other for more than 15 hours or so. It was a whirlwind romance that ended abruptly when Jean Pierre had accused me of cruising guys in front of him, had cried because of his issues and told me he was fucked up. A day later I had been dumped by text. I don’t blame Owen for his teammate’s actions but I know he feels guilty.

I waited for Badboy_4u’s pictures to come through, scrolling through a list of other guys online; some nice, lots very bad. Five minutes later, I was still staring at the screen and drinking a cup of cold tea. I decided there were other ways to spend my afternoon than waiting for timewasters like Badboy_4u.

I decided to make a cup of Cape Malay Rooibos Chai, playing with my Kath and Kim fridge dress-up fridge magnets as I waited for the water to boil. The magnets were a Christmas gift from a friend who lived in Sydney and, although not normally something I would buy, swapping Kath’s and Kim’s outfits has taken up a lot of my free time so far this year.

My computer pinged and I went to take a look. The message wasn’t from Badboy_4u it was from Owen.

RawMuscleBear: Hey, change of plan. Frankie suggested doing something else and as Casey will probably be too jet lagged to troll around the bars I said it would be cool. We’re all meeting at the venue at 7.30. Hope you don’t mind. O x

Casey was Owen’s Mr Dark Room and tonight was the night we got to meet him. In other words: check him out, evaluate his looks and generally see if we approved of him being with Owen. As every bit muscle bear as Owen, Casey was based in West Hollywood, Los Angeles. He worked as a flight attendant for American Airlines on the LAX-LHR route (in first class – where else?) and often had to stay in our fair city between flights. He had been on a period of rest days when he had decided to venture to XXL and had ‘bumped’ into Owen in the dark room.

I checked the time and realised that flight AA137 non-stop to LHR would be touching down within the hour. The only reason I know what flight Casey was working on was because Owen had told me at least once every day for the past week. Each time, I had replied by suggesting Casey would rather stay in a luxury Borough apartment than sleep under the synthetic, scratchy sheets of a Holiday Inn – LHR bed.

I typed a reply message into the online message centre and hit send. Seconds later my Iphone rang.

“We’re going to fucking bear bowling!”

“And hello to you too,” I said to Jason.

I pulled the phone away from my ear momentarily; the sound of a siren wailing in the background was almost unbearable. Jason works for one of the emergency services and somehow always finds time for a chat when he is on his way to a “job”. I jest of course; he is the most dedicated person I know in his field. His work is his top priority over anything or anyone else. He is also very direct and to the point. It took Frankie, Owen and I a little time to realise but we managed to work out Jason wasn’t always deliberately rude.

“I can’t believe Frankie this time. It’ll be worse than gay naked Yogalates.”

Yogalates: “The integration of Pilates methodology into the practice of hatha yoga for a more complete system of exercise.”

The siren abruptly stopped, allowing us to have a normal conversation.

“I’m sorry; did I hear you say gay naked Yogalates? I didn’t know you did things like that! Where are you anyway?”

“On my way to a job and yes, once or twice. The instructor is a minor TV celebrity...”

Jason’s gay naked Yogalates: “The pretence of seeking physical and mental wellbeing in order to look at hot naked men and potentially have sex.”

Jason had thought that gay naked Yougalates would be full of buff guys that were there to cruise rather than make their muscles supple. Instead he was put in the back row by the very cute teacher and ended up behind a guy that he would rather not have been. In the still, silent studio the class began and everyone did their best to do a perfect Downward Dog.

“As we bent over this guy did the loudest fart and all I could smell is egg. I look up and all I can see is this hairy thing winking at me! And everyone just carried on like nothing happened. Anyway, it was crap.”

“Quite literally.” Pun intended.

“But not as crap going to Elephant tonight.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s always been fun when I have been before.” I said as happy thoughts of men with Vauxhall stubble and chest hair playing with their balls ran through my mind.

Jason ended the conversation abruptly, saying he had arrived at the job. Moments later I was back in front of my computer reading not one but two messages from badboy_4u. I opened both messages and viewed the pictures; tight body with short hair and stubble.

Me: When can you cum over?

Badboy_4u: Now

Eager to practice my ball swing before Bear Bowling, I gave Badboy_4u my phone number and waited for his call.

Lately my social functions have all revolved around sporting occasions or social groups. From Bear Bowling to El Gee Bee Tee Ishigaki Ju-jitsu; it seems that if there was a social function involved, I would be there. I admit that I had more fun at Bear Bowling than I thought I would and that, although practicing how to fall safely was not my thing, I’m glad I gave Ishigaki a go. If nothing else, these groups were a good way to meet new friends and potential lovers.

This previous Saturday was a sunny, crisp spring day and as I navigated my way around east London to stand on a muddy rugby pitch to watch men chase balls, I couldn’t help but feel happy. The dates I had recently and the one night/day/week (delete as appropriate) stands I’d been having were leaving me unfulfilled.

So, I decided to tri something else.

Owen has been playing for the Kings Cross Steelers for about a year and such manly competition had awakened a need in Frankie to try out for the team. Where Owen is naturally built for the game Frankie is slimmer and not as broad. Still, I couldn’t help admiring him from doing something new and giving it a go.

For those who don’t know about such things, the Steelers have a First Team and a Second Team. The more experienced players go into First Team and compete (and often win) against mainly straight teams which are in the same league. Second Team is reserved for the less experienced players, which gives them exposure to the game and helps them improve in ability and gain confidence. Frankie was in the second team and was playing his first match today.

Jason was also in attendance, hear to give our friends (especially Fankie) some support, and I found him on the muddy field. He was with a group of supporters, sandwiched between two pitches where First Team and Second Team were playing concurrent games and I squeezed in with him. It was good to see the supporters of all four teams were mingling quite happy.

“I suppose they are the WAGS,” Jason said pointing towards a group of fat women who all needed their roots doing.

“That’s what we’ll look like.” There were five of them in total, dressed mainly leggings and baggy tops. As we watched the game being played by the first team they would all proudly shout encouraging things to their husbands on the pitch, all the while smoking cheap cigarette and feeding their children crisps and cola.

I watched the game with mild interest and must admit that the guys in the straight team seemed sexier than the gay team. I tried to concentrate on Frankie and how he was playing but it was hard with all that muscle and aggression.

“You might be here to find a husband Matt but I’m here for the game.”

I gave Jason my raised eyebrow look, knowing he was there to scrum for the ball(s) as much as I was. How he could tell I was more interested than the eye candy than the game, I don’t know.

“It must be in my genes,” I began but was cut off. Suddenly, one of the WAGS shouted “Drop the fucker!” causing a three of the Stealers (one of whom was Frankie) to stop running and look in our direction.

They were sitting ducks on a playing field with too many predators and seconds later a similar number of opposition players – presumably carrying out the WAG’s order to drop someone – crashed into them like a herd of charging rhinos. I had to look away – the carnage was more than I could bear – and turned towards the other pitch to watch the first team. Jason, ever the on-call paramedic, jumped up and down on the boundary eager to treat some injuries.

On the opposite pitch the first team were in fighting form and I saw them form a scrum; a row of tree-trunk legs and tight green and blue shorts. I must admit that my heart fluttered for a few seconds before I realised that Owen was somewhere in that row. For the remainder of my time on the pitch I watched the First Team. It was just as a brutal as the other game but the more experience Stealers of First Team gave just as good as they got; that made it easier to watch somehow.

Seventy-odd minutes later and the first team won 24-22 against the opposite side, the (not so) Elite East Essex while the second team lost against 45-8 against the Watford Cheetahs. I felt a private swell of pride for my friends in both teams and wondered how Elite East Essex team felt about their lost against an all-gay team. It was all very civilised, with teams shaking hands and chatting jovially as they headed to the changing room.

Later, in the rugby club bar, Jason and I caught up with Frankie and Owen; the former looking slightly traumatised while the later glowed with pride although slightly preoccupied.

“I never knew Rugby could be so fun,” I said flippantly.

“Especially with all the cute guys, yes?” Frankie added enthusiastically. He winced and rubbed his shoulder.

“That guy really hurt you out there,” Jason said. “Of all the stupid games for you to play, Frankie. Come on, I’ll buy you a beer.”

I let them find their way through the crowd, which left just Owen and I.

“I was really impressed out there,” I said. “How long have you been playing?”

“I played when I was growing up in Ireland and then started playing for the Steelers about three years ago.”

Something caught his attention behind me and I smiled. “Oh here’s Jean Pierre.”

Jean Pierre was had recently taken over the Captaincy of the team and by all accounts he was very good at it. He was as broad as Owen and slightly taller, with dark hair and olive skin.

“Jean Pierre, this is my friend Matt. He came to watch Frankie and I play.”

“Ah yes, hello. Owen has told me quite a bit about you.” He smiled and I couldn’t help but notice his bright eyes and that cute dimple.

“Well he’s told me nothing about you,” I tried to say as nonchalantly as I could. “But it’s nice to meet you none the less.”

“Have you been to a rugby match before?” Jean Pierre asked.

“No but I used to go to rugby clubs quite a lot, when I was a child.” I felt myself going red and wondered if I had been set-up.

Owen grinned at me in a less than subtle way and then walked off to speak Frankie and Jason. There was a moment of silence and I “My mother and my aunt went quite often and both of them met their husbands at one.”

Jean Pierre chuckled. “Like mother, like son. Yes?”

I was momentarily confused and then the realisation hit me. It was like realising for the first time that your parents actually had sex. Like the time my half-sister and I realised we had the same taste in men and that we must have got it from our father because we had different mothers.

I felt faintly sick as the penny dropped. I remembered the many Saturday nights that I looked forward to going to the rugby club and hanging out with the other kids there. Obviously, my mother went to meet a potential partner.

Just like I had.

“Are you ok?” Jean Pierre asked. “You look ill.”

“Er, what? Yes. I mean no, I’m fine”

“So like mother, like son then?”

I laughed, trying to shrug off my embarrassment. “I suppose so.”

“I was hoping that would be the case,” Jean Pierre said. “Can I buy you a drink?”

I looked down at my untouched pint of Stella.

“I didn’t mean here. I meant somewhere else, maybe this evening.”

I smiled.

Like mother, like son.

Badboy_4u: hi mate. nice pics. you look well nice. up for a meet?

me: hi, thanks. yes up for a meet. do you have any pics?

I was logged on to a well-known gay dating website that Owen had set-up a few years back. It’s one of his many internet business ventures that have earned him enough money to live in the style to which he is accustomed. The popularity of the site seems to be increasing and there are now members all over the world. What’s that song, The Internet is for Porn?

Badboy_4u: yeah. will send em over mate. u accommodate?

Me (thinking this is a waste of time): sure thing but would need to see pics first.

Badboy_4u: sure mate. sending you some private pics.

I waited for Badboy_4u’s pictures to come through, scrolling through a list of other guys online; some nice, lots very bad. Five minutes later, I was still staring at the screen and drinking a cup of cold tea. I decided there were other ways to spend my afternoon than waiting for timewasters like Badboy_4u.

I decided to make a cup of Cape Malay Rooibos Chai, playing with my Kath and Kim fridge dress-up fridge magnets as I waited for the water to boil. The magnets were a Christmas gift from a friend who lived in Sydney and, although not normally something I would buy, swapping Kath’s and Kim’s outfits has taken up a lot of my free time so far this year.

My computer pinged and I went to take a look. The message wasn’t from Badboy_4u it was from Owen.

RawMuscleBear: Hey, change of plan. Frankie suggested doing something else and as Casey will probably be too jet lagged to troll around the bars I said it would be cool. We’re all meeting at the venue at 7.30. Hope you don’t mind. O x

Casey was Owen’s Mr Dark Room and tonight was the night we got to meet him. In other words: check him out, evaluate his looks and generally see if we approved of him being with Owen. As every bit muscle bear as Owen, Casey was based in West Hollywood, Los Angeles. He worked as a flight attendant for American Airlines on the LAX-LHR route (in first class usually – where else?) and often had to stay in our fair city between flights. He had been on a period of rest days when he had decided to venture to XXL and had ‘bumped’ into Owen in the dark room.

I checked the time and realised that flight AA137 non-stop to LHR would be touching down within the hour. The only reason I know what flight Casey was working on was because Owen had told me at least once every day for the past week. Each time, I had said that anyone would rather stay in a luxury Borough apartment than sleep under the synthetic, scratchy sheets of a Holiday Inn bed.

I typed a reply message into the online message centre and hit send. Seconds later my Iphone rang.

“We’re going to fucking bear bowling!”

“And hello to you too,” I said to Jason.

I pulled the phone away from my ear momentarily; the sound of a siren wailing in the background was almost unbearable. Jason works for one of the emergency services and somehow always finds time for a chat when he is on his way to a “job”. I jest of course; he is the most dedicated person I know in his field. His work is his top priority over anything or anyone else. He is also very direct and to the point. It took Frankie, Owen and I a little time to realise but we managed to work out Jason wasn’t always deliberately rude.

“I can’t believe Frankie this time. It’ll be worse than gay naked Yogalates.”

Yogalates: “The integration of Pilates methodology into the practice of hatha yoga for a more complete system of exercise.”

The siren abruptly stopped, allowing us to have a normal conversation.

“I’m sorry; did I hear you say gay naked Yogalates? I didn’t know you did things like that! Where are you anyway?”

“On my way to a job and yes, once or twice. The instructor is a minor TV celebrity...”

Jason’s gay naked Yogalates: “The pretence of seeking physical and mental wellbeing in order to look at hot naked men and potentially have sex.”

Jason had thought that gay naked Yougalates would be full of buff guys that were there to cruise rather than make their muscles supple. Instead he was put in the back row by the very cute teacher and ended up behind a guy that he would rather not have been. In the still, silent studio the class began and everyone did their best to do a perfect Downward Dog.

“As we bent over this guy did the loudest of fart and I can smell is egg and all I can see is this hairy thing winking at me! And everyone just carried on like nothing happened. Anyway, it was crap.”

“Quite literally.” Pun intended.

“But not as crap going to Elephant tonight.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said as happy thoughts of men with Vauxhall stubble and chest hair playing with their balls ran through my mind.

Jason ended the conversation abruptly, saying he had arrived at the job. Moments later I was back in front of my computer reading not one but two messages from badboy_4u. I opened both messages and viewed the pictures; tight body with short hair and stubble.

Me: When can you come over?

Badboy_4u: Now

Eager to practice my ball swing before Bear Bowling, I give Badboy_4u my phone number and waited for his call.

Monday lunchtimes are surprisingly good for window shopping on Old Compton Street.

Even though Spring is far from being sprung, the gay community seems to have come out of its winter hibernation and come back to the streets of Soho. The best place to people watch is at one of the many cafes that adorn the north side of the street. This is why Frankie and I have a weekly ritual of meeting for coffee. We get together and catch-up no matter how busy our lives are. I love spending time with my group of friends but sometimes it’s nice to spend time with them individually too.

This particular lunchtime we sat at inside Cafe Nero watching the people go by. It’s a bit like living in a fish bowl but it really is good for people watching. This particular afternoon we sat on the Old Compton Street side rather than the Frith Street side. Outside, seperated from us by a mere millimetres of glass, sat a man in his late sixties, dressed like Coco the Clown . Seriously, he had the wig, the nose and bow tie but he also wore a uniform that could have easily been from Westminster council. The guy was obviously quite mad but he seemed happy enough; maybe it was the Red Stripe he was drinking.

“How is work?” I asked as I avoided getting foam on my nose from my cappuccino.

I got an exasperated sigh from Frankie. “It’s crap right now.”

“Well you are lucky that you have a job. I hear lots of people are getting made redundant. I know two people that work in the City who were laid off last week.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

Frankie is a junior architect in a large international firm. He enjoys the creative side of his work but the doing a 5-days-a-week, mainly office based job is not fulfilling him. He is currently looking at jobs in other organisations but they are generally the same thing that he is doing now.

“May be this is the problem I ask. You can’t find your dream job in a role that is the same as the role you’re in now that you hate. Perhaps he should get out of his comfort zone and try something else?”

He says he doesn’t really know what he wants to do. “I don’t mind working; I just don’t want a job.”

I understand exactly what he is saying and silently count my blessings for being able to work on something I love. A few years ago I got a job doing admin work for an advertising agency. It was a full time role and generally involved filing, co-ordinating the diary of the head of department and running to Starbucks whenever someone in the team fancied coffee but couldn’t be bothered to get it themselves. I stayed there for two years but generally felt frustrated all the time. I didn’t know what else I could do so I joined an acting class and worked part-time for a club promoter friend of mine. Doing these things gave me creative outlets that I didn’t have in the job and made going to work bearable. They also opened up new opportunities for me that, in a roundabout way, led me to what I do now.

Not wanting to our get together to spiral into depression I look at the crazy clown bin man. “You could always join the circus,” I flippantly suggest.

Frankie laughs. “Do you think free Red Stripe is a perk of the job?”

Can someone in a monogamous relationship get perspective on that relationship by cheating on their partner?

This past Wednesday Frankie, Jason and I were invited to Owen’s apartment in Borough, SE1, for dinner and drinks. At 40, Owen is the oldest of us all; a muscle bear that could give any twenty-something gym bunny a run for their money. Typically, he was wearing a tight Fred Perry polo shirt which hugged his muscles and designer jeans that showed his Kings Cross Stealer legs. The age difference has never been a problem for us and, if anything, his experience and maturity often go a long way to keeping our group harmonious.

On this particular evening we were in the large kitchen diner, seated at the table with glasses of wine while our host finished the starter course. Naturally, after the talk about work and important issues such Piaf being in the final weeks of its run at the Vaudeville Theatre, our conversation turned towards sex.

Neil (who was occasionally helping/hampering Owen with dinner) asked Owen, “Have you let Mr Dark Room fist you yet?”

Jason, who had a mouthful of wine, spat it out across the table narrowly avoiding my white shirt.

“Fuck, do you have do that Frankie?” Jason glowered at our friend as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. Owen and Frankie chuckled and I joined them.

As Owen and Frankie bought the food to the table, I asked who Mr Dark Room was. Two weeks before Christmas Frankie and Owen had been at XXL. Neither of them knew the other was there until they groped each other in the dark room. After the obvious embarrassment and mild disgust they felt for mistakenly crossing the friendship boundary, Neil and Owen had agreed to share custody of the dark room. And definitely, never, ever mistakenly fumble each other again.

Owen took first dibs and disappeared into the fury, hunky mass of flesh. There he met Mr Dark Room, who, from Neil’s account, was a cute bear cub type. Owen was quite smitten and had seen Mr Dark Room four times since although he wouldn’t give away any more details.

“Only in the gay world can you fuck then date,” I commented.

“Or fuck and become friends,” Jason commented, indicating how Frankie and Owen has originally met.

With that, we tucked into dinner and discussion naturally moved on to other things; the UN suspension of its aid operation in Gaza, Celebrity Big Brother and a new play called this isn’t romance by British-Korean playwright, In-Sook Chappell.

Over desert and our third bottle of wine I asked my friends about litmus test sex and whether or not it’s right.

“It’s wrong and ultimately makes a relationship less stable,” Jason answered. My friend has a reputation for being straight talking and principled and it’s a reputation that he in his personal and professional lives. I know that whether I need advice or just an answer to a question Jason will provide it a no nonsense way. “You should sort the shit you have before making more.”

I asked Jason if he was a one-guy guy and he said that he was.

Owen said it was ok to do only in the early stages of a relationship. “I’m really into him although it’s only been a couple of weeks and a few dates,” he said describing Mr Dark Room. “I want to see where the relationship goes but I do need to get some distance in examining my emotions. Besides, neither of us has agreed that we are going out. We’re not in a relationship.”

I didn’t quite understand what he meant and, hoping further alcohol intoxication would provide greater clarity, re-filled everyone’s wine glasses.

“I’ve done it twice so far,” Owen continued.

“Fucked other guys?” Jason asked.

“Yes. Each time the sex was fine but...” He trailed off and reached for his glass, drinking half of the contents before continuing. “My heart just wasn’t in it, you know? I could have done those things with him.”

But what about litmus test sex in an established, monogamous relationship? Flashback six years...

Frankie had been in a long-term monogamous relationship and during a bad patch had met someone else. He had spent an evening after work in Barcode Soho with his friend Lee. Throughout the night this cute guy has been flirting with him and Frankie had flirted back. Knowing that he was having problems in one relationship Neil decided to enjoy the attention but not take it any further. By the end of the night both Frankie and Lee had consumed one too many beers and Neil decided to speak to the guy who had been flirting with him.

Jean-Luc was 32, French, had lived in London for 10 years but had recently moved back to Paris. Jean-Luc would be back in London for business in two weeks. They kissed, something, Frankie explained he wouldn’t have done if there weren’t problems in his long term relationship in the first place. They exchanged numbers and e-mail addresses and during the next two weeks spoke almost every day. Meanwhile, Frankie’s relationship was getting worse but he ignored it; the thrill of meeting someone new coupled by the romantic vision of having a lover in Paris blinded him to the problems he already had.

They met for the weekend - after Frankie had told a string of lies to his boyfriend - and had a fantastic time. They decided to keep in touch and that Frankie should visit Jean-Luc in Paris. Three weeks later Frankie was in Paris. There he met Jean-Luc’s friends and had a good time. It was like a third date except that it was taking part in Paris. Frankie had told his boyfriend that he was visiting his parents and found it easier to leave a double life. Procrastination, it seemed, was better than making a decision about his relationship.

It happened when Frankie’s boyfriend found out that he hadn’t been visiting his parents. Over the same weekend, he cooled things with Jean-Luc and moved out of the home he shared with his boyfriend.

The final outcome?

“Broken hearted twice in one weekend,” says Frankie. “With a couple of non-refundable tickets to Paris but the feeling of freedom.”

It seems the litmus test worked for Frankie; it made him realise that he wanted to stay. It just destroyed his relationship in the process.

I’ve discovered there is no single, easy answer to my question. Litmus test sex does obviously work but the answer it reveals may not be the answer you want or expected.

Is the gay world so small that you are only one person away from someone you know?

When two friends of mine, a couple named Billy and Paul, invited me to a party they were throwing I accepted without hesitation. The invite read Post New Year Blues Party – celebrate the start of 2009 spring our winter wonderland! The invite also promised ice bergs, a huge modernist Christmas tree, a DJ and lots of free alcohol. I RSVP’d as instructed but asked if I could invite my three best friends Owen, Jason and Frankie.

We arrived thinking we wouldn’t know a soul except my two hosts. Their Vauxhall (Kennington) apartment – very swanky with double height ceilings – was a vision of lovely luminous winter. Papier-mâché Icebergs were attached to walls which hid large speakers. On the mezzanine level they had created a little grotto for anyone that fancied getting away from the mass of people in the living area. The centre piece of the whole party was a luminous Christmas tree made from plastic balls, each suspended from the ceiling and illuminated by UV light. They had even wrapped small gifts and placed them in a pile under the balls.

After greeting us, Billy and Paul offered us drinks and canapés and we planted ourselves next to the drinks table. After a few minutes, it became apparent my three friends knew a lot more people at the party than I did. Frankie described it as ‘Facebook and Recon coming to life under one roof’. I told the others to go mingle and that I would be fine next to all the free booze.

I scanned the room and noticed the cute DJ mixing in his decks; cropped hair, cute face, broad. A tidy little package. Before I had time to react he looked up as if searching for someone and noticed me checking him out. I smiled briefly and looked away slightly embarrassed. Why does it always happen to me?

Most of the evening was spent being introduced to people and checking out who my friends were flirting with. A few hours and few too many drinks later I decided that it might be time to leave. I was a little horny and in the mood to dance and thought I might go to The Eagle. I sent a text to my friends and explained where I was going and that it would be cool to see them there later. I went into the bedroom to look for my coat but was interrupted by Paul.

“Are you going? Is everything ok?

“Yeah fine thanks; just drunk and tired.” It was true but I omitted that I was thinking of going to The Eagle.

“Well you can’t go yet. Do you remember I told you about that guy I wanted to introduce you too?”

I said I did and tried to muster some enthusiasm. I have never liked blind dates or being set-up by friends. All I knew is that Paul met him just in December his monthly rock climbing group.

Emphatically Paul said, “He really is your type.”

He led me out of the bedroom, through the living area and up to the grotto on the mezzanine level.

I saw Paul’s friend in the middle of a throng of people and he saw me. We locked eyes and everyone and everything around us faded away.

Paul's voice seemed far, far away. “Mark, let me introduce you to -”

“Roy,” I finished the sentence for him. “My ex.”

Bewilderment replaced the smile on Paul’s face. We broke up a year ago after he hit me during an argument at a club. He had been drunk but I didn’t care; there was no way I would give him a chance to do it again. I had left the club with a swollen eye, left a message on his voicemail saying we were through and I had not seen or heard from him since. Owen was the only person who had ever met Roy (we met Frankie and Jason later on) and had promised to give him what-for if he ever saw him. I hoped that didn’t happen tonight.

“How are you Roy?” I asked coolly.

Anger and embarrassment crossed his face. “I can’t do this,” he said before walking away.

My relationship with Roy had been a mistake. I had come out of one relationship and gone straight into another with the first person that would have me. My need to be in a relationship and feel needed over-rode my sense of reason. I ignored the warning signs and it took a black eye for me to learn my lesson.

My face flushed and I was acutely aware of Paul and his guests staring at me. Strangely, the area around my left eye – the place he had hit me – tingled with the memory of the blow. I realised I was shaking slightly and then started to cry. Paul ushered everyone out of the grotto and said he would be back with a large, stiff drink for me.

While Jeff was gone Frankie came upstairs to see the commotion and found me sitting there. I gave him a brief overview of the situation and thanked him for his offer to stay with me. I also asked him not to mention to Owen what had transpired as I would talk to him later. Paul returned with a large vodka and, although it probably wasn’t what I needed, I drank it gratefully

“Sorry,” I said to both of them, not really knowing what I was apologising for.

“Don’t be silly.” Frankie said.

“I was going to ask him to leave,” Paul replied. But he was walking out the door when I saw him. I can’t believe he is the guy you were talking about. I feel so stupid.”

“Don’t. You weren’t to know.” I replied.

“Anyway, I have some good news.” Paul said, smiling. “Steve told me he likes you.”

“Who?”

“Steve, our DJ.”

“He is cute.” Frankie added emphatically. As if I needed convincing!

I laughed involuntary and dried my eyes. “I better go and introduce myself then.”

* * *

The following Tuesday afternoon I phoned Steve and we made a date for the following Saturday. Naturally, being a DJ he was working that Saturday night so I said I would come to the bar and listen to his set. The same day I made the date I also received a call from Paul to say Roy had apologised for the scene. Paul had told Roy that he wasn’t the sort of person he wanted to associate with. I don’t think it was entirely fair – Roy made mistake and shouldn’t be punished again – but I was grateful for Paul’s loyalty. I was also grateful that Frankie had been there to hold my hand, as he had many times in the past.

We may choose our own friends but we can’t choose their friends.

In a world like ours where the scene is so diverse yet so small, it can be easy to make new friends and new lovers but forget the ones you already have.