Soho is a No-go

It seems every time I sit down to update my blog I am apologising for yet another long absence. These moratoriums are usually because I don’t have the time. I tend to update my blog during my lunch break at work and as lunch breaks can be rare around here, I have a legitimate excuse for not updating with the frequency with which I would like. And furthermore, I have the attention span of a fruit fly whereby I forget I even have a blog, with literally one’s of five’s of loyal readers, to update.

I update the blog at work as I refuse to go online at home. I feel there is something quite sacred about being the only Lady of The Lavender left on Planet Dearth who isn’t. It makes me feel kind of unique. Truth be told it was also far too confusing for me trying to install Broadband so I threw a hissy fit, cancelled my BT line and am now without connection. That was two years ago, and you know what- I’m still Without Connection At Home. If anything I want to prove that one can exist without 24 hour internet connection.

My friends question my sanity and in a bid to get me on-line, one of them even set up a profile a year back on mysinglefriend.com in the hope that it would have me sashaying into the nearest BT Broadband outlet and promising the blood of my first born to get me on line. It had the opposite effect and after three days, I pulled the plug.

They say things like ‘How can you possibly cope without a Gaydar profile?’ Um, quite fucking effectively actually. No Gaydar for this one. Not Moi. Uh-huh. Been there once about four or so years ago, and won’t do it again. I actually consider Gaydar the devils backyard and anyone logging on is headed straight to hell in a handbag. In my case it was once bitten- turn celibate.

Then there is the ‘But honey, what about the porn you’re missing?’ What the Blanket Michael Jackson are they talking about ‘missing’? It’s as if no self respecting Mo can exist without having a profile on a website that even by logging on you risk getting the clap, or having 24 hour access to online porn where guys are so allegedly ‘perfect’ that you end up feeling completely inadequate and believe that unless you can pull off things like ‘you like that big cock don’t ya’ & 'Yeah take it boy' in a Southern Drawl (and lets be honest here, in a Southern Squeal a lot of the time) you will have more chance of securing a million dollar record deal even though your throat has been cut and you are actually headless then you do of swinging on another Mo’s appendage.

Anyhoo, so I haven’t updated for quite a while I know, but to be honest, there isn’t a huge amount going on. I have been slowly but surely withdrawing from going out over the last year, for many reasons, firstly money (I recently forked out a huge amount on, let’s just say a ‘procedure’ and also, I now have a mortgage to pay), boredom with the gay scene (I have been going out in Soho for nigh on 14 years, and its getting tedious) and finally, Soho is also a walking graveyard of those failed relationships, and the thought of bumping into scary men from my past is all too much, a sentiment which was cemented a while back when I was approached in one night not once, not twice, but thrice by a man that I cut out of my life three years ago.

I don’t take the decision to cut someone out lightly, and you must push me to the edge to be a candidate for this most severe course of action, but when I do decide to, the decision is final and that person will be erased from my life, and any connections to them are severed. They no longer exist- it's simple. I had cut him out as I was going through a lot of personal changes, re-evaluating who I did and didn't want in my life having been recently uncerimoniously attacked and abused by some people I considered to be friends which has hurt and shocked me to my core. It was all very messy and traumatic and something I still can't write about as to this day I still can't quite beleive it actually happened.

Anyway, I digress. Prior to this (nasty) surprise encounter, I had been forced to change number years before after growing tired of his vile voicemails after I had politely suggested we had gone as far together as we could and thought it best if we no longer had any contact. Big mistake. Big. Huge. So he resorted to trying to contact me by email. All these attempts were ignored, and even when I moved, he went to my old address to get a forwarding address and one evening he appeared, bold as brass outside my window calling my name.

There were sooooooo many factors in him being cut out of my life* so I was astounded he had the temerity to even approach me that night particularly after how awfully he had treated me when I'd suggested we should go our seperate ways. Each time he approached I said firmly ‘I have nothing to say to you’ and whilst at first he was saying ‘Please, can I talk to you’in a nice tone it wasn’t long before he showed his true colours. I can’t remember word for word what was said but I think it was something along the lines of me being called bitter and twisted, a leech, a nasty little cunt, you know, real positive stuff, and how I think that everything was about me (um, it kind of is) and he generally yelled fuck at me on the street like I was a common dog for a few minutes. Nice. I can't believe my hesitence at speaking to him.

As he stormed off my friend and I looked at each other aghast, and decided to call it a night, as even though this was the first contact we’d had in years, he managed to put a dampener on the evening. Any doubts I had about whether I’d made a mistake were answered. No, I hadn’t. The funniest thing was that he had no idea who I was with, for all he knew, I was on a date, or with my new boyfriend so he just seemed intent on hurting me or potentially scaring the man I was with off by making me out to be some sort of sadistic bitter and twisted queen. But they do say that sociopaths pursue endless vendettas against those they perceive to have wronged them, so I shouldn’t be surprised. I learnt that in therapy- aren’t I clever? Let me tell you those were some intense sessions - the quack had me screaming at the plant in the corner, things like ‘WHY?!’ ‘how could you have done that to me’ and 'stop fucking with my mind’. It seemed insane at first, but soon I was doing it to any bush or piece of foliage I passed. For a while, Kew Gardens was off my list of places to go. Six months of yelling at a yukka plant to find out I inherently pick the wrong men and friends who will cause mass destruction because all I’ve ever known is drama. Fab. Yeah, cheers, great, thanks a lot.

So, when you factor in the cost, the boredom, and the potential of bumping into crazed ex’s who are unpredictable and seem to have it in for you, it’s easy to understand why spending my life in town is somewhat less appealing. Some might think that is letting him win, but I say, you can only win if you’re playing a game, and I most definitely am not. I think a respite from the gay scene will do me wonders, and I look forward to returning to it soon, with gusto, for some much needed debauched fun, and fingers crossed, an STI. Who knows? Tequila still goes out and is still very much the social butterfly, and there are always going to be stories to tell, but for now Soho is dead to me.**


*Just off the top of my head, some of the deciding factors about his removal:

Sociopathic behaviour, pathological liar, sex addict (even though this threatened to destroy the relationship he kept on regardless and turned it on me saying it was my fault ), infantile behaviour, at times it was like dealing with a 13year old rather than a 35 year old, constantly forcing me into situations that I was uncomfortable with, extreme jealously over a friendship and regularly trying to come between it, hostile voicemails, one in particular saying he couldn’t wait for my mother to die so he could come and dance on her grave, accusing me of murdering the love of my life, who very sadly committed suicide when I was 21 (the most devastating thing to have happened to me, which he saw perfectly fit to use to hurt me. It did, irreversibly), abusive texts promising to destroy certain friendships for ever........you know, as I'm writing this, I think he might be my ideal man.......

One day, I did snap and I hit him in the face. I’m not a particularly strong person, and believe me am no fighter, but still he had me arrested and thrown in the slammer for the night. If I’m listing his shortcomings, it’s only fair I list mine. When I was released I had 36 missed calls from him. Where the hell did he think I was, in a piano bar singing show tunes with Liza?

** The book is open on just how long it will remain dead to me. One week anyone?

UNSENT

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Me & Mr C

Can a man really change? I find myself asking myself this question today. Usually my gut reaction is to say no, absolutely not. You are more likely to have a a string quartet playing a symphony to sold out audiences in your rectum than that ever happening. But today I wonder if maybe just maybe a man can change, maybe he can stop playing games, treating you like a puppet on a string and finally let you into his life after years of letting you down?

Mr C and I go back about 4 years now. I met him in my local gay bar in Islington, exactly one week after my previous boyfriend had unceremoniously dumped me, by emptying out my flat and doing a runner while I was shopping. It had been a very turbulent relationship, and whilst I was absolutely crushed about the end of it, it was more the fact that I had put up with so much during my time with Tinker (a man who had repeatedly cheated on me, sunk me thousands of pounds into debt, manipulated me, preyed on my vulnerabilities) that I was REALLY devastated about. I should have been the one to end it not him. So I decided I would go out and find me a man. We all know that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else so, fuelled by a couple of cans of Strongbow cider (for Dutch courage of course) I went to the local Homo haunt. This was the night that I met Mr C. He was with a group of people and one of them invited me over. They were all your average local gays, all seemed to have have slept with the bar staff, they called each other 'Dear' and most of them were a good 30- 100 lbs over weight with bald heads and ill fitting jeans. But Mr C was a cut above the rest. He was very attractive, and very stylish for an older guy. I put his age at about 37. At my almost ripe 23 he was an older guy.

They welcomed me into their group, bought me drinks and showered me with attention. I was having a great time, and Tinker was the furthest thing from my mind. I was having such fun and found myself completely high on the feeling that everyone was interested in me. Each one of them was trying to get me into bed and I was really enjoying leading them on and making them think they were in with a chance. The only one who wasn't making a play for me was Mr C. I kept trying to engage in conversations with him but he was quite stand offish. Fortunately enough for me, I wasn't drunk enough to lose my inhibitions, so played it cool. However, I was so drawn to him, and the way he kept looking at me suggested he was attracted to me. I couldn't work it out. I went to the toilet and as I was coming out Mr C came in. He didn't go to use the toilet but instead pushed me against the wall and kissed me. It was the most passionate kiss I had ever had and it told me everything I needed to know. It was soft and hard all at the same time, and he pulled me closer to him by my head whilst we kissed. It is the closet to having a dry orgasm I had ever been. He asked for my number, which I gave him, and he said that maybe we could go for a drink sometime. 'Yes, I'd like that' I replied as seductively as I could.

We didn't sleep together that night but a few days later, Mr C called and arranged a date. I am embarrassed to say when I put the phone down I jumped for joy. I hadn't been able to get our kiss out of my mind, and I just had to find out what another one of them could lead to. He arrived on time and was even more devastating handsome then I had remembered. I wondered if he was out of my league. I had never been on a date with someone so sexy. He became even more desirable when I discovered he was a plumber. The idea of him in overalls immediately sprang to mind and it wasn't long before I had to go to the toilet and readjust myself.

The date was going well. Mr C was funny and charming, and I was becoming dangerously attracted to him. I had to have him. I feared if I didn't make a move I might lose my chance to sleep with the most attractive man I had ever been on a date with. I decided to be upfront and ask if he fancied coming back to mine to finish that kiss. The Gods, or should I say the Fairies must have been looking down because he said he thought I'd never ask.

I won't go in to detail, as I have never really been one to shag then shout, but lets just say, Mr C was amazing. The best sex I had ever had. I was convinced he must be a wonderful plumber by day, because he certainly knew his way around pipes in the bedroom. As I lay there, post the best orgasm of my life something odd happened. Mr C got up from my bed and began putting his clothes on, and started mumbling something about how he had to be up really early. I felt cheap. I had known that it would probably just be a sexual encounter, but I had never counted on just how awful I would feel once it happened. I was prepared for the fact that after any extreme high there is certain to be an extreme low. I just assumed it would be tomorrow morning when he left. Not twenty seconds after having sex. At this point, the only sexual experiences I'd had, were with boyfriends. I had never had a one night stand, but was pretty sure that a one night stand meant that both parties were obligated to stay for one night? It all happened so quickly and before I knew it, Mr C kissed me and said he's give me a call soon.

This is pretty much how our relationship, if you can call it that continued for the next 2 years. It turned out that Mr C was in a relationship which he claimed to be profusely unhappy in. He told me they were living separate lives, didn't communicate, never had sex and he wanted to get out to start a new life with me. The oldest story in the book. Unfortunately as has been an inherent problem my whole life, I believed him. I trusted him. I became 'the other woman' a role I had always promised myself I would never act. But suddenly I found myself in the lead part of An Affair to Remember.

Except there wasn't really anything to remember. We would meet up every few weeks, have some drinks, ocassionally dinner, go back to mine, have sex and then he would leave. He never invited to to his place, and I never even knew where he lived. But even this wasn't enough to make me see sense, I was in love, and Mr C assured me it wasn't unrequited. He led me to believe we would one day be together...............

Four years down the line, and after quite a lot of turbulence, we are just friends. It is definitely not sexual. I think that Mr C is actually destined to be in my life, and maybe we needed to go through what we did in order to come out the other end as friends. Sometimes people come into your life and we are far too quick to categorize then by putting them into the wrong box. Maybe I put Mr C into the "Boyfriend" box, when I should have put him into the "Friend" box?

But, it seems that he is changing. When we make an arrangement to meet, he never cancels, he hasn't stood me up and he is not in a relationship anymore. The biggest change of all is this. Tonight I am going over to his place in Crouch End for dinner. So, maybe a man can change?