Christmas time is nearly here...

According to my calendar, and everyone's gleeful smiles, it's nearly time for gay-Christmas.

Yes, Halloween is just days away...and like each all hallows eve before it, I find myself scrambling to come up with a costume.

I'm a creature of habit. Every year, I start October with a shudder; the leaves start to change, the air gets colder, and I swear that I don't care about Halloween. I maintain over the next few weeks that I'm over the whole thing, that I don't want to waste time and energy (and cash) finding a costume for one night that is never particularly memorable for me.

By around the third week of the month, I start to worry. Just what will I be missing if I don't get gussied up and into the festive spirit? I'm always bemoaning the fact I have a pathetic social life, so why would I want to miss a perfect opportunity to get out and mingle with the rest of Toronto-proper?

But then there's the stress, the trying to find a costume that would work for 'me', and of course, wondering if it's going to snow/if I'll freeze my ass off.

And then I break down, and frantically try to put together a costume, resenting the stupid holiday.



Apparently, most gays don't feel that way.

I guess it's the one night a year when everyone can be anyone, where the rest of society doesn't look down on men dressed in drag, or skintight leather. Or like the guy above, not much of anything.

I'm the first to admit that I have no comprehension of why gays make such a big deal of Halloween. Like I said, it probably has a lot to do with the fact that it's one night of the year where everyone, regardless of sexuality, lets out their inner freak.

That said, it's always really fun to walk Church St. during the evening hours, taking in all the costumes and the craziness. The town really comes alive, as Torontonians from all walks of life converge on the gay strip.



But as I usually do, I try to understand why. What makes it such a significant holiday? Why do gays embrace it so, dressing in nothing (but looking quite sexy) and parading in public. This isn't Pride, it's Halloween!

There is a part of me that would actually love to dress as a little angel, clad in nothing more than wings and a nice pair of underwear. I get the allure of being allowed one night of outrageous dress... I just don't have the body for it, or the resistance to our low temperatures.

I guess I also feel like, as usual, I'm missing the point, missing the party. Like there's something that I just don't get about the night, and everyone else does.

Whatever my thoughts on Halloween, I'll be there, on Church St., hopefully blended into a crowd of colourful characters. My costume isn't even remotely ready. I have no idea where I'm winding up, or who I'll be with. But I'll be there, a smile on my face, and hopefully letting a bit of my own inner freak out, too.



I just had to include this photo, I think this guy looks awkwardly adorable. Pretty hard to take him seriously...but at least he has the body to pull it off. Mostly.

Happy Halloween everyone!

Such a turn off...

Blood is not my thing.

Nor is vomit, or pretty much any other human bodily excretion. I'm not a squeamish person, per se; it just seems like when confronted with a pool of red, even if it's not my own, I get a bit of a gut wrenching feeling.

I'd make a great nurse, right?

So it was quite the moment in the men's washroom today that left me standing awkwardly a few feet from the grand white bowl, mouth agape and stomach clenched.

I'd strolled in innocently enough, planning to do my business and get back to work. Unlike many, I don't find the bathroom a refuge; there is no stack of magazines in my loo, since I prefer to do my reading on a softer seat than a plastic ring.

My phone was in one hand, tapping out a text message, while I locked the door with the other. I hit send, then looked down.

Inside, surrounded by clean, clear water, was a large dollop of blood and a small smear of brown.

Being the quick thinker I am, I flushed immediately before the sight made me gag. Only after the water had rushed away did I think about what someone had left behind. Can you say 'fucking gross!?', cause I sure can.

Of course, my mind then jumped to wondering just who it was that left a great deal of themselves behind in the toilet at work. It looked as if their ass had been raped with a rusty nail, then left to unload into a public rest room.

I shudder to think how this happened, and pray the poor soul isn't suffering too much. I mean, really! Jesus, that must have hurt!

I also shudder to think that anal sex can do such collateral damage to one's colon.

So, thank you to the guy who left a piece of himself behind in the toilet, only for me to discover after eating lunch. I sincerely hope you're not bleeding to death, or suffering any long-term effects from your backdoor activities.

I'll just try to focus on the good feeling instead of the bloody mental picture I have next time my own back door becomes the subject of certain activities.

The new friend...

I've made the acquaintance of a new friend in the past month.

We met online (shock and awe), randomly enough. I don't really even know what got the ball rolling, other than a 'hello' message that turned into IM conversations that turned into text messages...you get the picture.

And before anyone says anything, he hasn't hit on me, so I'm pretty sure he's not looking to get laid.

We've been getting to know each other, almost the same way that I've gotten to know guys via online who I wound up dating...which brings to mind the question of the difference between friendship and a relationship (save the sex, of course)...but that's another day's work.

Shocking, to think that I may now actually have a gay male friend. Well, one in the 18-22 bracket, anyway.

As I've gotten to know Vic, I see a lot of similar thoughts about life that we share. He's 19, but he's pretty damn mature, and pretty damn smart. Our conversations can drag and become a little slow, and we haven't gotten into any fierce debates about politics or the IMF...but we do talk about life in general, and I appreciate the fact that he isn't hung up on acting like a 19-year-old.

But he is such a conundrum, someone that I cannot wrap my head around. Great looking, model-quality even; someone that I would have assumed to have all the little intricacies of gay life figured out, simply because he's got the good fortune of being young and pretty.

But he's got this naive outlook on life, this part of him that I don't understand. Behind all the seriousness and the grounded nature is this naive gay guy who wonders about what a lingering glance means, questions his own life decisions, and generally feels pretty disconnected from the gay world.

Most of that is actually pretty endearing; he'll ask me what to do about this guy at work that keeps chatting him up, or wonder aloud if we should go clubbing and burn off some steam. Sometimes he really opens up about how lonely he feels, and we both have the same outlook on love; we want to find the guy that sets off the fireworks.

But it all perplexes me, and I really don't understand why. I guess I just find it hard to believe that someone so smart could be so...uneducated...about the simplest glance.

Who am I to complain, it's not like I would know what the hell I was doing if someone was smiling at me every day...then again, nobody is, so I've never had to learn...

But the hardest thing about this young, vibrant, sweet guy is the fact that dates men with Ferraris.

Maybe it just comes down to his seemingly infatuation with older men. He says he's looking for people that are "mature", yet he seems like he's more interested in guys that have the ways and means. Not that I would think he's a gold digger, but he doesn't seem to mind when a guy sends a car to pick him up for a date.

We've just started talking about past relationships, and already I recognize we have wildly different tastes in men. Nothing wrong with that...he's just part of the community that I cannot wrap my head around.

For instance, I asked what he was looking for in a boyfriend. His answers were completely normal, and pretty textbook, save for one; he says he likes men that are dominant, and we weren't talking sexually.

"But...what do you mean by dominant?" I asked, sort of stunned. Here's this sweet guy, young, with a seemingly good head on his shoulders, and he wants a guy to boss him around?

"Well, like alpha-male," was his response. "Someone who takes control."

Since this is completely not me, and I don't understand why anyone wants a guy to tell them what to do and how to do it (outside the bedroom, natch), I pressed for more details.

"I like when a guy knows what he wants. Tells me to meet him at 8 for dinner at this restaurant," he said. "My ex boyfriend was like that. I guess that's what I liked about him."

I couldn't help myself. "When I hear alpha-male, I think 'huge jerk'," I said. "Is there no room for your opinion?"

He laughed. "I dunno, I just like when a guy knows what he wants."

Here was what I assumed to be an innocent guy of 19, who moments ago was asking what he should do about a cute guy at work, talking about how he wants more friends and more socialization in his life...and now he's telling me that he likes men to boss him around.

It just...scared me. Someone young and naive and optimistic about the world...who also didn't mind if older guys told him where to go and what to do. It all seemed so imbalanced, like the classic power struggle that older, rich men seemingly hold over younger, naive guys. Just how compliant was he being in all of this; was he really in control of the situation, or was he allowing his real maturity level show in being told what to do by guys twice his age.

I went to bed worried that night, wondering about how different yet similar his life has been from mine. I'd say we're both in the same place, gay-developmental wise, with neither of us having a firm hold of the community or a social life that is threaded by its fibers. Yet here's this young boy, who admitted to a one night stand with a significantly older man, and enjoyed it.

It all comes back to my complete lack of understanding about age differences. I still, after two years, do not understand what a beautiful 19-year-old sees in a man of 38. I'm not knocking anyone, because there are great people everywhere...but on a physical level, this older, rich guy he slept with for fun would probably do nothing for me in the sack.

As I thought about him, I started to realized I wasn't so worried about him, I was more concerned with the fact that I've never done anything like this before. No guy has ever sent a driver to pick me up, or fucked me in the back of a Ferrari.

But why do I care? I mean, I don't even believe that older-younger works, and I get upset by the potential power imbalance...yet there I was, realizing what irked me about it most.

The attention.

Here's a model-cute boy, 19, smart, funny and caring, being propositioned by God knows how many guys (most of which sound like they have all the ways, and most of the means...). And me? I get creepy older guys with shriveled cocks and younger guys who never seem to have the mettle that I'm looking for, much less the fuse to my fireworks.

I doubt very much that I'd really get the kind of enjoyment he receives from dating this particular group, but the fact that he's got people knocking at his door and I simply don't really caught my attention.

I know it shouldn't matter what happens to this other guy, because he's putting himself in a totally different scenario...but the same thing happened to James, more or less. He too is a big draw for the older, richer crowd, and he's taken some of them up on their offers for dinner and drives...

Vic is supposed to update me about the other nights date, this time with an investment banker. I'll of course be interested in what happened, if he liked the guy, if they'll be seeing each other again...but I'll also be reminded that, while he's got the world knocking on his door, I really don't.

And even if I did...would I care enough to answer?