Tag Archives: Guysexual

Ask The Guysexual: Love And Other Drugs Vol III

guysexual LOVE AND OTHER DRUGS VOL.3

Gay men collect questions like they collect friends.

Want to pack up and move on to the next step of your relationship with your boyfriend? Is mauve better than lavender? Does love really not cost a thing? How soon is too soon to say those three words, eight letters? Am I really as cynical as I seem online? More importantly, do you think I am cynical?

Now find answers to all these questions and more in #AskGuysexual’s Love And Other Drugs: Vol. III:

Dear Guysexual,

I’ve been in a loving relationship the past few months, and my boyfriend wants us to move in together.  I really don’t mind, but his parents keep visiting every few months and I am not sure whether I am ready for that kind of intensity in the relationship.  What should I do?

— BoomMate

Dear BoomMate,

Moving in with the boyfriend is the boss level at the end of every video game — your toothbrush joins his, and your antidepressants find their own little sweet spot in his shower cabinet. Your socks tangle in a passionate mess, your underwear finds its own intimate drawer, you even find your side of the bed (the one that doesn’t face the window). You are officially just moments away from getting matching towels. As you unpack and spread your life all over his, applaud. This is where the rollercoaster begins.

But it’s not necessarily where it ends either. When living with your parents can be quite the task, living with a set that belongs to someone else can be trickier — this is the bonus level where you fight a new big bad for brownie points. Firstly, you’ll have to deal with the following questions:

Do you say hello at breakfast just hours after you’ve done the nasty with their son?

How much small talk do you make as you ask them to pass the salt?

Are you supposed to make small talk as you ask them to pass the salt?

Most importantly, is it even polite to ask them to pass the salt?

It can go either way — you might be tugging at their heartstrings with heartwarming stories of your day at work, or playing tug of war for your boyfriend’s attention instead. It’s a risk everyone has to take at some point in his or her life, but is it one you want to take?

Like I said, you’ll be asking a lot of questions before you choose to pack those boxes up — just make sure you have the answers to them before you decide to split the rent (and the time with his parents).

Or you just might have to move away with the same boxes you arrived with.

Dear Guysexual,

I met a really great guy close to two months ago, and our relationship has skyrocketed ever since. I met his friends, and he met mine — and everybody is gaga about each other. I read somewhere that when you meet the One, you just know, and I feel like he’s the One for me. Do you think it’s too soon to tell him I love him?

— LoveFool91

Dear LoveFool91,

Quick question. Do you know what New Year’s Eve, the microwave and the American Billboard Top 100 have in common?

They all have a ticker — a numerical countdown that trickles down to the grand prize as you watch with bated breath — in this case, the New Year (and a new you), hot food, and everyone’s favourite top-rated song that’s currently playing at all the clubs around the world.

That’s the thing about tickers — they make everything about the destination, and leave little for the journey — how often do you hear of people who made their resolutions at 11.57 pm, or jive to no. 9 on the Billboard Top 100?

Just about never. Fortunately, there’s no countdown when it comes to love — because no ticker can ever tell you if you are ready to tell someone how you feel about them. Yes, every little instance counts to the big moment — your first fight, your first kiss, the first time you went to buy groceries together, the first time you bickered while out on a weekend getaway, the first time you spilled your drink on his shirt, the first time you farted, but every little instance is also the big moment. There will be many firsts, just like there will be the first time you tell him you love him.

If you feel like he’s the One, make sure you tell him right away.

Just make sure you don’t do it while you are farting.

Dear Guysexual,

It’s amazing that you’ve been solving matters of the heart for everyone else, but I was wondering if there’s someone who does it for you — what’s your secret?

— ConcernedGuy4You

Dear ConcernedGuy4You,

Firstly, I am going to take that backhanded compliment and store it in my tiny jar of self-validation — it’s little things like these that make me hate myself a little less every morning.

Just kidding. I love myself.

And that’s my secret.

I learn, laugh, love and live. You’ve probably seen the same advice on a DIY Pinterest board, because that’s where I saw it as well. If people learned to appreciate themselves a wee bit more, I wouldn’t be paying my bills writing an advice column.

PS: Although when it comes to matters of the heart, I just consult The Gay Man’s Guide To Dating (out now on Juggernaut Books) by the Guysexual (yours truly). Shameless self-promotion aside, sometimes even the ‘self-help section’ of the library needs help, just like everyone else does.

Have questions that you still need answers to? Tweet them over to @theguysexual and get them answered in #AskGuysexual’s Love And Other Drugs: Volume IV next month!

 

GuysexualRecommends: ‘The Gay Man’s Guide To Dating’ at Korner House

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Nine years ago, as I watched Sex and the City reruns, I had a dream. I craved to have a book reading for my (hypothetical) book, smile and pose for the press, and giggle with my friends over cocktails after – just like Carrie Bradshaw did (without all the bad decisions and bad boyfriends tbh). I was twenty and silly.

Over the next decade, my dreams and passions changed, and so did I – but this cringeworthy one remained. Did I want to keep calm and Carrie on?

Obviously, because ZOMG IT’S FINALLY HAPPENING!

Come along to the Korner House this Friday and watch (and laugh at if you want to) me read excerpts from my debut e-novel,  ‘The Gay Man’s Guide To Dating’ by yours truly (there’s a fun Q&A about douchebags, desirable men and dating dilemmas after, and I am full of zany one liners and undeniable wit). It’s going to be a riot of words (and delicious appetisers!)

What:  ‘Should I Call First? And other dating dilemmas resolved!’: An exclusive reading from ‘The Gay Man’s Guide To Dating‘ by Juggernaut Books.

Where: 6-8 PM, Korner House, 21, Union Park, Khar (West), Mumbai -400052

 

Why should you go: Come along if you are a friend. Come along if you are someone who supports the cause. Come along if you want to know more about LGBT culture. Come along if Mean Girls is your favourite film. Come along if you are looking for (fun) relationship advice (or want to secretly diss and judge people who do). Come along to cheer me on. Come along to heckle me along for all you want. JUST COME ALONG, PLEASE?

Number Fourteen: The Analyst.

 

fourteen
Art Work: Siddha Kannur.

It’s Independence Day. August has never been crisper. It’s cool and fresh, and smells of the holidays.

I stare closely at Fourteen as he smokes his joint – he has a traveller’s face – mousy, windswept hair on a lean stubbled face. His features boast of a deep tan, and a glow that only comes with not having wasted your life at an office desk for months. Is he an analyst with a tech giant or an IT junkie? Is he a writer? Is he a travel journalist? A baker, a butcher, a candlestick-maker? What does he really do? I’ve always been an unreliable narrator. However, we have more important things to think about. Is he going to pass it? Is he not? It’s such an exciting game –

I splutter and burst out into giggles.

He stares.

‘Take it all the way in, and then blow it out deep and slow.

That line is so infested with innuendoes; we’d need an exterminator (or probably two). He grins. The smile is only slightly lopsided, but that’s not a problem when my mind is fuddled with fumes, and running on overdrive.

What am I doing here?

He passes the spliff to me.

Yes, that.

We are at his house, a modest one-bedroom home in the depths of Andheri – any closer, and he would be a next-door neighbor, any further, and I’d never make the effort to meet him again. The house is sparse – it looks like one that lets you pack up and leave at an instant. There are bulging bookcases, but no wardrobe. He practically lives out of a suitcase unless his parents are visiting, he says. That’s when all his clothes go under the kitchen counter.

I spot William Darylmple’s City of Djinns on his book stand by the bed (single mattress, faded bedspread that smells only slightly of mothballs.) ‘It’s my favourite book,’ he tells me. I lie that I love it too. I don’t have a clue what it’s about – I’ve not really read it. But that’s the rest of his bookshelf – it’s full of books I’ll never have the patience to read, but will never tell the world. I take a closer look – there are some titles on sexuality and homoerotica.

‘Are you out to your parents?’ I ask – visiting parents would hardly glaze over a copy of Queer Science. He laughs. They found out a year ago – chanced upon his diary.

He has a diary?

Not of the conventional sort – it was a journal of his sexual encounters, in all its lurid glory. It’s my time to have a laugh now – where have we heard that before?

How did they take it?

The same way most parents do – there was some crying, some ‘where-did-we-go-wrong?’, some ‘are-you-sure?’ but in the end, it was all good. They came out stronger as a family, and he came out stronger as a gay man. It’s been a year since.

Where does he see himself a year later?

Travelling, he replies almost instantaneously.

I cough; he thinks it’s the joint. I’ve heard this one so many times; I have it tattooed into my mind from one of those cheap tattoo parlours at the mall. It’s a classic answer. A gay man lusting after the idea of travel is like gay men lusting after, well, other gay men. There’s always that one off chance that you’d find love while on vacation, something more than a vacation fling – something so remarkably beautiful that it has an airport story to it – for the quintessential homosexual, it’s the next best thing to saying that you met your future boyfriend at Starbucks.

Where then? I ask him.

He spent the last two months in the hills (and that explains the tan), searching for substance or spirit, and sometimes even both. But one thing that’s common – he’s always searching for himself. I find it all very confusing. Gay men often find themselves in the strangest of places – the hills, the beach, at the opera, a fashion show, the runway, and sometimes even in abandoned restrooms a little after midnight.

I usually head to the bookstore, and find myself in a book.

‘Sometimes I wish I could just pack up and leave.’ He’s excited about quitting his job and leaving with a suitcase and an undecided ticket. The man wants to live his dreams through his travels – scuba diving by the Andaman Islands, building bonfires in Rishikesh, attending local rave parties in Kasol. Instead, in exactly a year, he’d head on to work for a major political campaign, and then find himself at business school. But that’s all in the future. For now, his dreams and aspirations are as pure the Malana cream we are smoking.

“Have you been to Parvati Valley? I spent a month there. It was fascinating! Can you imagine sleeping under the stars and waking up to the morning sun?”

Yes, I almost say – it’s the morning after every night of drunken debauchery. Sometimes I even forget where my pants are.

‘I’d want to go back there, and never come back,’ he says wistfully. You know something else that isn’t coming back?

The joint.

He takes a long drag, and blows out the fumes in concentric circles. I can hear him breathe. It’s deeply unsettling.

‘You know what I was thinking-‘

What can it be? Why is the sky blue? How do touchscreens work? Where does life come from? Am I eyeing the joint too much?

He exhales. I can be at peace. He hands it over. That’s another dose of peace.

‘What?’ I ask. If this were a B-Grade softcore thriller, now would be the point that he would pull out his machete and hack me into pieces. Instead –

‘Want to see me hula hoop?’

Why not?

He heads inside, and comes out with hula rings and a pair of clackers. Soon, the speakers are playing EDM on loop, the strobe lights are on and we are at the toys like kids on a mad sugar rush – we might as well as be the music video for the next M83 song – it’s that trippy. The hula-hoop lies unnoticed. ‘I know just the thing that will help,’ he quips and darts back inside.

Ten minutes (or forty) pass, and he’s been inside the kitchen for too long. My paranoia could be the third wheel on this date. Maybe he does have a machete. If I end up sleeping with the fish tonight, I won’t be surprised. I’ve a good life, seen great loves, understood joy –

He comes out right one cue. There’s no gleaming knife; only a pack of chips and some salsa dip. As the English say, a good spliff deserves some good food. I’d even eat an old shoe right about now. Thirty minutes and two packets of chips later, we are satiated. Well, almost.

‘So what do we do now?’ he asks, expectantly. We fade to black.

‘Let me know if you ever want to come over again?’ he asks, as I prepare to leave half hour later. I smile, but hesitate at the same time. It’s a now-or-never situation.

‘I will, but I had a question. Where do you buy your stuff from?’ I ask, tying my shoelaces. I don’t give away my eagerness. He gives me a peck on my cheek.

He has a supplier who stays close – she’s a twenty-minute phone call away – any closer, and she could be my mother. I take down her number, and accidentally delete his.

 

The Date-o-meter: 6.5/10

Does this have a sequel? : Yes.

If this date were a song, it would be: ‘Paradise Circus‘ By Massive Attack.