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WBPBMS-1 What Began Playfully Became More Serious - PART ONE
THE SET UP
In those ten years we were together, all in the same class, I'm talking about roughly eight of those years he was just a classmate and no more than that. He was interested in different things - for a start he was way more sporty than I was. He liked chess though and we sometimes played each other; we just didn't talk much - I think that was as much my fault as his.
He got to wear a cute red-white-and-blue hoodie which I complemented him on when I first saw it and I think that is what started us being friends. I said, "New hoodie. Very smart." I don't know what made me make that remark. He simply said, "Retro," and winked, like it was naughty. But also warm. So it went from him being someone I was aware of but didn't have much to do with, to being my school-friend Joseph, who was a joker, like I was, but who also took his school work seriously, like I did, who would say hello when he saw me, and who seemed to expect me to comment if he got new clothes or a haircut or something. It became a thing that I would comment on his appearance. I remember once he got a new crop - a bit of a skinhead crossed with a short Mohican, (like Travis in Taxi Driver) and the teachers did NOT approve! Everybody made fun of it - they said it was gay, but soon stopped saying that, because obviously he wasn't and when they realised the Robert De Niro reference. I liked it, because it was so raw and sexy (and gay!) and I said so, when he asked me - not in so many words, obviously. "You lookin' at me?" "I don't see anyone else!" I joked (sort of). "So do you approve?" he asked. "Definitely ... though I liked it long ..." I would sit behind him in class and watch it brush his collar side to side whenever he moved his head which - I don't know if you've noticed this - is surprising how often people move their heads. "So you don't like it?" "No I do!! It's ..." "Whaaat?" "Umm, very, umm, hard," I said. "Hard as in scary or hard as in sexy?" "Umm, both?" So gradually this became a kind of flirtation - I mean I can see it now but I didn't know it at the time. I mean, back then, he was just one of several I fancied. I mean, not fancied, but who fascinated me in some aspect or other: one had these shoulders, blades that stuck out against his jacket; one had a neck that was particularly strong and seemed overly long and had a prominent voicebox that moved about all the time; one had a particular way of sitting, that accentuated the shape of his buttocks; one had a particular way of walking, like he might fall over of break into a run at any moment ... the list goes on. I knew that Joseph was well-built, and well-hung; I knew it since showers after sports. About him, everything I knew fascinated me. I watched him grow and change. We all grew and changed. He did a load of work on his arms so they were big and he had neat packed pecs that were squarish and clearly outlined with nipples like domino dots, one and one. And his backside ... Generally he was in terrific shape, so I did worship him pretty much, which is why being his friend, even in the limited sense we were, was heady dope for my nascent gay brain.
He was always nice to me even though I was considered a fairy - suspect because of my sensitivity and quietness which only got worse as the years passed and we changed more. I was 'gay' as in un-cool, gay as in an outsider, gay as in not a member of any gang, and people joked (increasingly as we came of age) that I was ... something strange. I don't know what. They never said, but they exchanged glances and made crude remarks and gradually ... they scared me. I mean, they were just boys being boys ... but they scared me and gradually me being scared was, like ALL I was. I mean, I knew I was scared of something, but I didn't know what it was and it was like being in a dark room, too scared to move in case you bumped into something and set off some kind of alarm ... or ... like if you touched someone and they knew, or like, if you are guilty of something - but not a crime. And it's like ... a sadness that never leaves you. Sometimes I felt like, if somebody touched me, I'd snap into a billion pieces - you know, like a glass door? It happened in the course of a single summer: I went from being a member of the class group, more or less popular, more or less liked, a bit strange; to, an outsider, strange, somewhat distrusted. It was awful, and I think you know what I am referring to, because you understand don't you? because you have felt it, haven't you?
Fellow classmates called him Jay or JoJo or Jos, as the mood took them, but I always called him Joseph though, in case he thought I was disrespecting him and he suddenly turned against me as I thought he might. But whenever he wore that hoodie I took it as a sign that he was still my friend. A secret sign even he was not aware of. A secret only I knew about.
He once said to me, "What's the matter with you? You used to be so happy." "I'm ok. Fuck off." "No you're not." "Sorry." And he said something funny - I mean you wouldn't think it's funny but I did - and I laughed. "That's better. It's nice to see you smile." Which made me cry, later (years later), because it was so sweet. And he didn't have to say that. And I didn't smile much those days. I've never forgotten it. I wish now ... I mean ... I wish ...
--- I turned a corner the day I came out. By then I'd gone to university and I was studying hard but I also needed to deal with this thing that had come to dominate my entire life. I knew I had to deal with it or I'd go under, so I dealt with it. You probably know what that's like, what with the joining gay groups, finding gay friends, realising you aren't alone, getting angry about the political situation, cruising random guys in lectures and occasionally getting off. I can't say how I ever lost my virginity. All I can say is that it eventually wore away! By the time I left with my degree and funding for a PhD to LSE, I wasn't a virgin any more. I knew that much. And I had made a lot of friends. And Joseph was a someone I remembered but didn't think about.
I continued to live in London - that's the L in UCL, my uni, and the L in LSE, my post-grad, so nothing changed. I had reasonable digs near Elephant. I was already out, so I felt fine about that side of things. I already knew the scene and just carried on going to the same clubs, seeing the same faces, making out with the same types of guys. One thing that did change is that my sexual focus kind of shifted. I mean, I already knew that I was basically a bottom; I don't think I ever hooked up with anybody who expected me to top! I was naturally passive. Nevertheless, this became gradually more defined as time and experience kind of herded me into a slightly tighter passive category: the submissive. I worked out, just because everybody did, but my six-pack and shoulders, my disco-tits and muscled thighs never made anyone think, Oooh he's hard! Like so many men, I used my physical development to advertise my availability and fuckable self-objectification; it said I was an easy lay and knew my place. Truth is, I enjoyed being that person. And the guys I mixed with were into me, they liked me, they liked what I was and wanted me that way. They were kind of protective, which I love, but also vulnerable in that they needed to confirm their machismo. I like it when a man comes on to me, making small talk that isn't much more than a series of compliments interspersed with statements of his male prowess. Just knowing that a man wants to fuck me turns me on, but allowing a man to use me like that also, somehow, affirms my self-confidence. I like it when a guy touches me like he wants me, puts a hand on my shoulder but slips it fast down my back's curve to grope my arse, checking out the goods and assessing, from my reaction, how open I am for a fuck. And I definitely am, open.
I grew a moustache because guys liked it. It wasn't particularly fashionable, the 70s chic, but it was retro, and I like retro, and it was a look and made me stand out from all the hipster beards and scruff. I cultivated a style that made me seem I had landed from a porn movie set in early-80s West Hollywood! I wore tight denim or leather jeans with a wide leather belt, and flowery or striped shirts with big collars, open at the neck to display my hairy chest. It was a look! Very retro. I liked that. It was kinda slutty!
I had started mixing with guys outside the academic bubble from early on. It made sense, for someone settled in London to make use of the vast gay network of pubs, clubs, cruising areas and other social resources (eg bookshops). Basically, London was a vast cruise with pick-up opportunities everywhere, especially if you were young and good-looking and sexually available, like me. Nevertheless, I was also active in the various political and social groups set up by students and academics. The political scene is always exciting if you're queer, it seems; there's always developments and changing attitudes to discuss and get heated about. I'm surprised I had any time for academic work ... but I did ok.
Political awareness meant I never fully alligned to any particular fetish on the scene. Political awareness meant cynicism, and a reluctance to go to extremes of drugtaking and unsafe practices. I was too smart for all that, I thought. I still thought of sex as a kind of game to be played at my own convenience; I didn't understand - even wandering around in my tight trousers and flowery shirts - that sex, is, identity and identity is never part-time. I didn't realise that I already had an identity which went beyond the sexual games I played with the guys I picked up day after day. I mean, I thought I was in control of my own life and what I did and where I was going; but to other men on the scene ... I think I must just have seemed totally unaware of what I was, where I was in the heirarchy of men, and, to them, I was simply another young guy, in his early-to-mid twenties, who needed to explore his true nature or lose out totally on the fulfilment that comes with real self-knowledge and self-acceptance. I can see now that a lot of my pickups were trying to tell me something, but they would lose interest when I drew lines, because they realised that they had not and could not gain my trust. They knew that trust is vital in any relationship - it IS the relationship - and so I did quite often feel abandoned by men who walked away when all I was doing was having fun.
A playmate - that's what I was looking for in the clubs and parks and streets, apps and contact groups, my friends-with-benefits, fuckbuddies, hookups and tricks. I wanted fun, no-strings, no hang-ups, unrestricted by emotions or complicated relationships. But perhaps you can see, more clearly than I could at the time, that this apparently simplistic agenda has its own underlying complexity, because, by avoiding restrictions, I was containing myself and allowing this avoidance to control me.
I had in fact been with one guy in particular, Greg, who remains my friend but used to be a regular fuck, who wanted to take things up a notch. He would become assertive and even a bit violent but I treated it as a joke. When I talk about it now to him he says, sadly (because he largely missed out on what happened), "You just weren't ready for it" - he was referring to the capital M in BDSM. He was one of a number of more demanding partners, men who expected a measure of obedience and liked to administer a measure of punishment. I liked being dominated, even got a thrill out of being beat up a little, definitely enjoyed being spanked (I found it sexually arousing as well as psychologically cathartic) but my attitude was casual and my style was vanilla. I never took part in anything that even required a safe word! That approach usually worked, that and, plus, I kept clear of men who were over-possessive, or who pushed towards equating their sexual pleasure with punishing me as though it was something my fault. I don't blame them; they were just trying to have a good time. But it WASN'T my fault! and I wasn't about to replace one load of pre-coming-out guilt, for another load of guilt manufactured by some Master trying to compensate for his own inadequacies.
Sorry, but I feel quite strongly about that.
I was looking for a guy like me, physically like me and my kind of, you know, intellectual development, but top. Simple as that. It seemed like a small ask, but I was prepared to let Mr.Universe take her time; no rush whilst I was still out there, on the scene, having fun and still making waves academic-career-wise.
So that's the set up. Let's get on with the story.
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END OF What Began Playfully Became More Serious - PART ONE