THEGAYUK

Category: Comment

  • COLUMN: Just A Phase You’re Going Through

    We all have fears about coming out. It’s only natural.

    We’re told all these horror stories about people being disowned and beaten, told we’re a little bit dirty and wrong by some sections of society and taught self loathing by others. For some, coming out as gay/lesbian/bi or transgender does become a total nightmare. There are plenty of unfortunate stories. For the majority though, it’s more of a whimper than a bang.

    Talking to friends about it, I quickly realised that for some it can be a humorous experience. Let’s face it: straight people can have some odd ideas. They’re a funny bunch.

    I’ll start with me (of course). I told my mother when I was 17. I’d already come out to all my friends a few years before and was pretty open about it. I’d left home and was actually living with a male partner so thought it was maybe time to spill the (not very well tinned) beans. I caught her on an evening when she was alone at home and braced myself with a large vodka.

    The response was:

    “I’m very relieved. I thought you might be bisexual and I don’t like that. It’s greedy.”

    I disagree with this but it did make me laugh.

    Next:

    “I’m a little bit sad. Homosexuals lead very sad and lonely lives.”

    Oh Mother, how wrong you were. It’s not the 1950s anymore. We don’t all lurk in shadows and pine over unavailable straight men. I’ve never been especially lonely. In fact I’ve met quite a lot of very nice men, some not so nice men and some terrible monsters. Being gay has meant I’ve met a fair few men. Not to mention all those women who long for a gay best friend. It’s the latest accessory along with a pug and Radley handbag. I’ve also had a few long relationships which were fulfilling and fun, mostly.

    Finally:

    “I won’t tell your dad. He won’t accept it. I won’t tell your brother either and your grandmothers are too old to understand.”

    Within a week she’d told them all and they all accepted and understood. It wasn’t spoken of much, which is our way of dealing with things. It’s a British thing I think.

    Enough about me. Here’s what happened to some of my mates. The names have been changed to protect the less than innocent:

     

    1) Patrick told his parents and they took him to the doctor who told them it was a terrible phase he was going through. That was nearly 40 years ago. He’s still waiting for the straight phase to start.

     

    2) Dan told his mum and gran together (ten out of ten for bravery there). His gran chirped up “Ignore him Maureen. He’s making it up. He’s always been a little show off.”

     

    3) Adam’s mum asked him if it was a side effect of drug taking. That’s a new one for the ‘Just Say No!’ Campaign.

     

    4) Matt’s mum said “Gay? That meant happy when I was young. They can’t all be bloody happy can they” She’s not wrong.

     

    5) Jack had been married and had a teenage son and a very angry ex-wife who outed him to his son. His son’s response: “If that’s a lie then you’re wrong for lying. If it’s not a lie then you’re wrong for not letting him tell me himself.” I think he was a wise young man. He also accepted that his dad was gay.

     

    6) Seth’s gran blamed it on his sister. She believed that his sister had turned him gay by leaving her text books lying around the house whilst training to be a midwife. Mind you, those pictures can be grisly.

     

    7) Ben’s dad seemed to think there was inevitability that he’d end up having sex in public in toilets and develop A.I.D.S. He’s done neither yet.

     

    8) Mark woke his parent’s up and told them one night and his dad was jubilant. “See! I’ve been telling you for years he was gay.” He suspects they may have had a bet on.

     

    9) Max came out to a friend at Uni who said “Great! I’ve always wanted a gay friend!” They didn’t become friends.

     

    10) Rich was petrified that his teenage children would be teased at school. In reality, they had a lot of jealous friends who thought having a gay dad was pretty damn cool.

     

    Joking apart, coming out can be scary and we don’t all get the supportive or warm reactions we deserve. If you’ve done it then congratulations; if you haven’t then good luck. I hope it goes well. If you don’t want to do it then it’s your prerogative. Who am I to judge?

  • EDITOR’S LETTER: Coming Out

    Coming Out is a different story for every single person. Some have joy, some have sorrow but most have relief.

    I remember before I came out (I was in a relationship with a guy for 2 years at that point) I was petrified about outing myself. I thought lightening would crack me down, the ground would swallow me up. I worried that I’d haemorrhage friends like cash out of an Icelandic bank and that somehow every plan I had ever made for my future would suddenly become null and void. I was, however, aching to be free of this self-incarceration. I wanted to talk gay things, I wanted to talk about my relationship, I wanted to be myself – which when you’re bound by your own inhibitions is a crippling impossibility. I felt I had no voice.

    Plucking up courage and with 2 bottles of wine inside me (okay it was cheaper than wine – I was at university – so it’s excusable). I decided to come out to a friend,

    “Yes dear, we know, the whole university knows…” was the numbed response in-between smoking his Marlboro lights. I couldn’t believe it.

    “Really?” I said,

    “Yes, now pass more Lambrini!”

     

    So that was it. No lightening, no earth shattering and miraculously I hadn’t become a social pariah overnight. The next day, I felt open, more relaxed, I was easier.

    I am lucky because of my set of circumstances: the university course I was on, the city I live in, the country I was born. It’s easier than ever to be gay in the UK and I never take that for granted. We don’t live in a country were our very existence is abhorrent to the society at large. You won’t be stoned, put too death or spend a life-time in prison for being gay – and for that we should be proud.

    You may feel that people won’t understand, that your family will disown you and that the world will disappear down the toilet if you decide to come out, but more likely you’ll get a shrug of the shoulders and a:

     

    “If you’re happy, we’re happy…”

     

    You don’t need to come out in a huge explosion of confetti, glitter and gold lamé, you don’t need Liza Minnelli to attend the after party, you don’t even need to tell everybody, but coming out, I believe, is one of the most important civilisation changers we can do. It’s only because of our gay forefathers’ campaigning that we enjoy the civil freedoms we have today and they achieved that by coming out and having a public voice. You see coming out gives us a voice. It gives You a voice.

     

    Drunkenly or otherwise, I gave myself a voice 12 years ago when I came out in that dorm room. A voice that I have never regretted.

     

    This month is dedicated to Coming Out and new beginnings. We’re asking for your stories and your contributions. Visit www.thehub.thegayuk.com if you want to share your story.

     

    Opinions expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its management or editorial teams. If you’d like to comment or write a comment, opinion or blog piece, please click here.

  • COMMENT: I’m Coming Out

    Ok, I’ve decided to come out.” How much further out can you get” I hear you ask.

    Well, we’re not talking sexuality here. We’re talking about something much more contentious and something that carries a whole lot more prejudice. Age.

    My age is something I’ve purposely shrouded in a certain amount of mystery for quite a few years now. Look around the internet and you’ll see it documented as anything between 38 (on one or two rather old websites) and 55. The truth is something of a surprise even to me. If someone had told me when I was 20 that I’d still be gogo dancing, or making a living out of sex at the age I am now, I’d have told them they were mad. People of my age were old. They didn’t have sex anymore and they sure as hell never took their clothes off in public, except maybe at the beach, and then only to swim.

    For months before my recent birthday, I’d been subconsciously dreading the event. I decided against a big party or any big fuss. I hid my birth date on facebook to avoid the inevitable deluge of birthday wishes from people I’ve never met. My intention was to let the day slip by much like any other day. That way, I figured, I didn’t have to think of any big change occurring; and actually it worked. I don’t feel any different now from how I did before this momentous event. The day arrived and nothing changed. I was able to lift the same weight as I always did in the gym. I was able to keep up the same intensity in my cardio workouts. The mere fact that I am embarking on another decade of my life does not make me a different person. Anyway most, no all of those I reveal my true age to, are open mouthed with disbelief. And indeed what have I got to moan about? I’m fit. I’m healthy. I’ve finally got most of my insecurities out of the way. I actually like who I am. What’s more, I may once have thought that older guys didn’t have much luck in the sex department, but actually I find it easier to pull now than I ever did, and most of the guys who run after me are young enough to be my son, some could even be my grandson. They all think I’m younger than I am, but when I tell them my true age, really that seems to turn them on even more. I’m trying to think of the downsides, but honestly I can’t . There surely hasn’t been a better time to be able to call oneself a “daddy”.

    Society has its version of what I should be like now, but I have no interest in it. Society likes to pigeonhole people, put them in boxes, but I’ve resisted all efforts to define myself by strict parameters all my life. Why should I stop now? Those multiple choice questions with little boxes you tick never seem to apply to me. I always need an extra one for the option “none of the above”.

    The young guys at Soho gym, where I work out, think I should tell the world how old I am, more than one of them exclaiming, “I want to be like you when I get to your age!” “You’re an inspiration!” said another, “you should be proud”.

    So that’s it. I’m coming out. At least to those of you who read this blog. A while back I turned 60. As I said, I let this momentous event slip by without any real fuss, but I did do something to celebrate. I was asked to gogo dance at a club and I did. I did this for one reason only – because I can. Well maybe there was one other reason. When I’m 70, or 80, or 90, I want to be able to say I was still gogo dancing when I was 60. For, you see, it is just a number. It does not define who I am or what I can do. I am me and I will adapt to the passing years in my own way, not the way society would thrust upon me.

    Greg Mitchell is a contributor to The Gay UK. You can read more of Greg’s writing atwww.thegregmitchell.blogspot.com

    Opinions expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its management or editorial teams. If you’d like to comment or write a comment, opinion or blog piece, please click here.

  • COMMENT: Pride, Who Cares?

    This weekend is possibly one of the busiest on the Pride circuit for 2012, and warm ‘Pride’ greetings to you all in Brighton, Grimsby, Cardiff, Barnsley and here in Leicester.

    Once again members of the LGBT community will be celebrating their sexuality in public, and cities and towns enjoying the diversity that the LGBT community gives to each of their respective locations; and this is truly wonderful and great, and reflects the time and open society which we in the UK live.

    I wonder though, how many of the revelers will spare a thought for those in other parts of the world where ‘Pride’ is not a party, where sometimes it is a struggle or a fight against oppression or criminalisation; where being gay doesn’t mean a drunken party in a park, but means imprisonment or possibly stoning or death, purely because they love someone of the same sex? Sadly I suspect very few of us celebrating this weekend will even give this a second thought; if we see a stall in the ‘marketplace’ we will probably walk by and ignore it, after all £3 for a bottle of WDK is much better value than the same amount could do for our persecuted bothers and sisters across the world.

    Looking through the programmes for several of the events this weekend their seems to be little or no sign of any campaigning or political speakers or messages which focus on campaigning for our rights whether it be marriage equality here in the UK or more general gay rights and freedoms elsewhere in the world.

    We will be quite happy being fed the normal diet of gay ‘culture’ the jaded drag queen we have all seen a thousand times before; the second rate X Factor rejects; the D list celebrities who ‘troll’ theirway round the pride circuit trying to revive their sagging careers. Where now is the campaigning spirit and fight that once pride were about; we now have parades rather than marches; we don’t even mention ‘gay or LGBT’ in our event titles now (of the 4 events this Saturday none mention LGBT or Gay); do we really believe that ‘Pride’ is now a brand so strong that we don’t need to call it gay, or has Pride just become an excuse for a piss up on a park, devoid from spirit, fight and conscience?

    In the UK, having gained freedoms and rights over the last 45 years, which older members of the LGBT community could never have imagined in their wildest dreams back in the 1950s we seem to have sat back and said thank you very much and now believe we ‘have it all’ We don’t, and neither do other parts of the world.

    So perhaps, as we walk proudly on our pride parades to bemusement or applause from the city shoppers we pass by, and watch the same mediocre acts on our stages across the country, we might just think about what we have, how we got there, what we need to do to retain these rights and to gain the same freedoms for our brothers and sisters across the globe.
    Visit the campaigning stalls on the park, sign their petitions, put some money into their collecting tins; remember we are as a community much more diverse than the fare we are served up at pride events, and if you don’t see any of these campaigning organisations or hear a speaker asking for your support for LGBT campaigns start asking some difficult questions of your local pride organisers ( who do a tremendous job for nothing) but who maybe don’t feel that we have any campaigning concerns or issues any more, or event better start something in your area yourself.
    Most of all, have a great pride wherever you are; be safe and look after each other, be proud but remember those less fortunate than us!

    James Coltham is: Sane, sorted professional, left-leaning, community activist and campaigner. Based in Leicestershire, interested in politics, art, music,s inging countryside and LGBT issues

    Opinions expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its management or editorial teams. If you’d like to comment or write a comment, opinion or blog piece, please click here.

  • COLUMN: Made To Measure

    There’s always that question in my mind whenever I see a traditionally dressed skinhead in Doctor Martin boots and braces: Is he gay with a skinhead fetish, a Neo Nazi or part of the real skinhead culture? Maybe all three?

    (more…)

  • COLUMN: Mind The Gap

    What is it with gay couples and the age gap thing? It seems to be so much more prominent in gay life but that could be my perspective as I have a mildly jaundiced view.

    A friend of mine is in his mid forties yet wouldn’t consider entering a relationship (sexual or otherwise) with any man over the age of thirty. His ideal is twenty-five. He constantly trawls the internet, bars and Grindr looking for attractive younger men who he can bed and or develop a relationship with. Oddly, these relationships don’t seem to go well. They tend to be messy and short lived. I can’t imagine dating someone a lot younger than myself. If they haven’t heard of The Clangers, vinyl records or can’t remember when the pound was a note, then I don’t want to know. What could we possibly have in common apart from sex and you can only do that so many hours of the day…

    Maybe my view is skewed through past experience. My first boyfriend was older (by one year). It was a full on teenage infatuation. I loved him madly to the point where I couldn’t eat or sleep. Two weeks later I realised he was actually a bit dull and had a funny whiff about him. I then upped the ante. My next boyfriend was a lot older. I met him aged almost seventeen in a gay bar (I was precocious and illegal, O.K.?). He was 39. He wooed me, by telling me I was beautiful and buying me books and gin, which was a sure fire way to my heart.

    The power balance was skewed from the outset and by the time we were living together a year later he was definitely assuming the role of the older and wiser one. I didn’t know how to manage money, pay bills and shop. I was still a teenager. I could cook and clean but not much else. I was pretty useless with a power tool too. This felt fine and him keeping my bank account card seemed a positive and sensible thing.

    I think I made a fundamental mistake though. I fell in love with an older man rather than pursuing one for his money. My older man was penniless with terrible career prospects and a deep love for alcohol.

    Fast forward twelve years: I was now 29, still without my own bank account and believing I was unable to function at the most basic level without him supervising everything practical for me. He chose the holiday destinations, the TV we watched and where we went out. The basic problem was that he wanted me to stay a teenager, naive and vulnerable. Unfortunately for him, in the intervening years I’d gained a career, friends and confidence. The balance of power shifted and along with this I gained the characteristics of someone hurtling towards thirty (ear hair, the beginnings of crow’s feet and general grumpiness). It didn’t bode well.

    When I finally left him it was a revelation that paying bills, changing light-bulbs and making choices in life wasn’t that taxing for me. I’m also pretty good with managing my own money. I vowed to myself that never again would I enter a relationship where the age gap was more than the amount of time Eastenders has been on the BBC for.

    The next relationship was with a man who loved young fair haired men who were slim. He was a more sensible choice at four years older but his adoration of youth came to become a stressor. My hair grew darker, I grew older and less toned and frisky and we disintegrated, going our separate ways after six years.

    The world of internet dating that I found myself in aged 36 was at times frustrating. I’d read through a profile for a hot looking man of my own age only to come to the crunch line: No one over the age of 25 need apply. This happened time and time again. It seemed bizarre to me. It seemed to be a recurring theme that the older you get the younger you want your take out or take home to be. I’m not bitter, I met some decent men and of course a few cads. It was fun at times, demoralising at others.

    Then there was the withholding of truth. A hunky thirty five year old would turn up on a date and you’d quickly realise that he was actually ten years older and twenty pounds heavier. Maybe the grainy Polaroid picture with the Wham posters in the background should have been a clue. The Eighties mullet should have told me those photos weren’t recent. Liars are really not my thing.

    Eventually, I met my current partner. I know that’s a lot of long relationships but serial monogamy is so my thing. We didn’t meet in a bar, on the internet or Grindr but in actual real life. How odd is that? Here’s where I reveal my hypocrisy. He’s a fair bit older than me. The balance of power is fine. We’re both equally powerless. It’s pretty good so far. I go with the flow and am happy with that.

    I know some of you will be shouting at your screens: “But I’ve been with my boyfriend who’s twenty years older/younger for ten years and we’re blissfully happy.”

    Good luck to you, if that’s the case. Maybe I was just unlucky and it was just the wrong man. I just hope you can cope with those awkward restaurant moments well. It’s never nice when people address him as your dad or son. Unless that’s your thing of course but that’s a whole other topic.

    Chris Bridges is a regular writer for The Gay UK and also writes more of his observations on his blog:http://www.gayboyinterrupted.blogspot.co.uk/

  • COLUMN | Older And Wiser

    I always dreaded ageing. I cried upon reaching 25, thought hitting 30 would be the end of my life and 40 felt like an impossible milestone.

    I was actually pretty certain that like a lot of my A-list celebrity idols, I would have burnt out long before I hit the fourth decade. I tried hard with generous slugs of vodka and copious cigarettes but I’m still here.

    The funny thing is that I actually like it. I’ve gained a few scars along the way but the advantages outweigh the disadvantages. O.K., so I have a daily running battle with my ear and nasal hair and the hair on my crown grows thinner by the week. At least I don’t have to follow fashion so ardently. I actually don’t have to go through the tricky logistics of wearing trousers that start below my buttocks. I don’t have to wear things that stretch gaping holes in my ears. I can get away without having to squeeze myself into uncomfortable and unflattering fashions now. I can actually wear what suits me. Yes, I am growing old with a little bit of grace.

    The most important thing about getting older for me is that I’ve learnt what I like and am no longer willing to waste loads of time on tedious things. I now know that weddings usually bore me senseless and have learnt to decline the invitations. I always say that I’ll go to the next one. If people bore me, I move on. I no longer have that desperate clamouring I once had to have people around me all the time, regardless of what their qualities are. If an activity doesn’t appeal, I don’t feel the need to indulge. I just say “No thank you” and do something else. It’s the same in relationships. I wouldn’t put up with things in my 40s that i did in my twenties.

    There’s a benefit to all my grubby history. I’m not sure I believe in the adage that whatever doesn’t kill you will make you stronger. In most cases, traumatic experiences just made me more messed up and more cautious in the future. There is a benefit to heartbreak, mental turmoil and angst though. They make you more useful to other people when they’re in crisis and give you material to write about too. I like that I’ve lost my black and white view of the world. I recall saying at 17 that if a man ever cheated on me, hit me, lied to me etc. Then I’d be off. Guess what really happened. Life is much better in greyscale.

    I always thought that being older would make me totally unattractive. I look back on pictures of me in my twenties and see someone who was more gauche and uncomfortable with himself. I might have had less crow’s feet but I wouldn’t have looked you in the eye. I might not have grown up to be prime older man totty but being happier with who I am definitely makes me feel more attractive. It’s all about the confidence and knowing your style. Naturally my bedroom repertoire is wider now. I just like to do it all a little earlier now and without the need for intoxication.

    People surprise me when they say that inside they still feel like teenagers. I definitely don’t. I feel better than I did aged 16 and pity anyone who doesn’t. Being young can be bloody hard. I say embrace the older version of you. It’s coming at you anyway. You might as well grow to like him or her.

    Chris Bridges is a regular writer for The Gay UK and also writes more of his observations on his blog:http://www.gayboyinterrupted.blogspot.co.uk/

  • COLUMN: My 8 Dating Disasters

    Have you had any bad dating experiences? For my circle of friends, both gay and straight, they seem to be the norm.

     

    My default state has always been to be in relationships. I met my first boyfriend when I was 16 and was in the Lower Sixth and he was in the Upper Sixth. I was madly in love with him for 2 weeks and couldn’t eat or sleep. For the whole 2 weeks I thought about him constantly and loved the smell of him, the touch of him and the sight of him. I then spent another 8 weeks trying to get rid of him when I realised he was a complete nerd and irritated me intensely. There are few joys to being a hormonal and moody teenager.

    I continued the pattern by then entering a relationship with a much older man which lasted 12 years and lurching almost straight from that car crash into a much healthier relationship lasting 7 years. Oddly, I suddenly found myself on my own aged 36 and felt adrift. For the first time in my adult life I was living alone and had no boyfriend.

    Naturally frantic serial dating was the only option. I needed a man. Being single was alien to me. My friends told me to spend some time alone and “get to know yourself”. I was horrified by this and wondered whether I might actually like myself or not and was better staying as a stranger.

    I started dating and entered a strange and scary world peopled by the desperate, the freaky and the caddish. I met a few thoroughly decent men who were unattractive to me and a handful of men who I liked who weren’t attracted to me. I also met a few freaks and oddballs along the way. I’ll list a few of the more outlandish and odd but these are merely a sample.

    1. The man who was so dull that he described meeting Joan Rivers and made it an uninteresting story. We met at 8pm and he told me he was planning to get the 2am bus home. I persuaded him to get an earlier bus.

    2. The man who showed me a series of photos of his hideous collection of fine porcelain. He was so dull I almost did a runner. The only thing keeping me there was the fact that his dating profile said he had an enormous knob. I expect it had a Wedgwood pattern on it in. He may also have been lying of course. I didn’t see it.

    3. The man who unashamedly told me he’d worked as a male escort and had starred in many porn films but hid the fact that he had a teenage daughter as he thought it would put me off. He was fun though.

    4. The man who sang along to Beyonce in his car at full volume in a high pitched voice as he drove me home. It was a convertible though. He had money but no style. He also talked a lot about his money.

    5. The uptight policeman I dated for a few months who was insistent on how keen he was on me but was actually dating other men the whole time. He was getting to the point when he was choosing my clothes for me when we split up, so I think it was a lucky escape.

    6. The dancer who couldn’t stop tapping his foot and doing little dance moves all the time.

    7. The teacher who accidentally sent me a text message intended for someone else then pretended it was a network error caused by a virus. The message told me he wanted to suck my truncheon. It later turned out he was also dating a policeman. I think he lied about the phone virus.

    8. The man who bought me a box of chocolates and a pair of tight Speedo trunks on the first date and asked over dinner if he could pull my hair really hard during sex.

    I came to the conclusion that being alone wasn’t such a bad thing. I’m useless at drilling and have to pay a man to do my DIY but it gave me more time to read and I knew my house would be the same as I left it when I returned home. It took a lot of getting used to. After spending 14 months as a single man and using all the time and energy I’d put into attending bad dates into enjoying myself instead, I realised it was time well spent. I made good friends, went on a couple of holidays on my own and took in a lot of culture and art. I also read a hell of a lot of good books too.

    I’ve finally met a man, quite randomly, who is making me happy which is fine and dandy. We didn’t even go on a date to meet which was a relief. I couldn’t have stood another one.

    Who knows, there could be a man out there right now talking about this odd bloke called Chris who he met on a date. Now he was a real freak.

  • COLUMN: Games People Play

    I hate to conform to stereotypes but I don’t understand sport at all. It’s a complete mystery to me.

    (more…)

  • COMMENT: Is It Time For Gay Games?

    As we reported earlier in the week OutSports.com had announced that there were only 20 (now 21) openly gay or lesbian athletes in this year’s Olympics in London, United Kingdom.

    This is up from only 11 in the Beijing games, but this number still feels incredibly low if you take the ‘reasonable estimate’ from Stonewall that between 5 to 7% of the population is homosexual.

    Outsports.com who originally broke the story of the openly gay Olympians said:

    “There are stages of being out. There are many more LGBT athletes out to some people — family, friends, some teammates — than feel comfortable publicly declaring their sexual orientation. Athletes are focused solely on their sport and training and coming out publicly is seen as distracting from that. Straight athletes are “out” all the time, easily discussing wives or girlfriends but for a gay athlete, that’s more than just a simple statement.”

    However there are some athletes who have embraced the media and their sexuality such as Matthew Mitcham, 24, the Australian diver, who has publicly used Twitter and the media to talk about his sexuality. He is the youngest out gay athlete in the games. When asked whether he saw himself as a ‘gay icon’ by the Australian TV show Sunrise he replied:

    “I’ve never really thought of myself as an icon, maybe as a role model, I’ve always wanted to embrace that and be the best role model I can be for young sports people, gay people, just anybody who can draw inspiration from my story…”

    Mitcham’s story is inspirational, and his country and countless fans across the globe have taken him into their hearts, regardless of his sexuality. His pranks have been picked up by the UK’s tabloids and his Twitter followers rise in the thousands everyday. Yet, the focus is on his antics rather than his sexuality, so maybe it is time for more athletes to come out, as the fall-out seems to be negligible.

    Jim Buzinski from Outsports.com said:

    “It helps, (having a strong role model like Mitcham) but people come out on their own terms and based on their own unique circumstances. Mitcham can actually have more of an impact on the wider gay world.”

    The question remains however, that while homosexuality across the globe is becoming far more acceptable and as brands and big name companies start to champion gay rights what pressures are gay sportspeople facing? Is it financial?

    “I find it hard to believe a company would ditch an out athlete, since that would be an enormous PR blunder. Companies like Nike are very pro-gay and would embrace such a person. But the prejudice and fear remain.” Says Jim Buzinski

    The Independent recently reported that the UK is the ‘Best place in Europe’ to be gay, due to its laws and progressive policies supporting and protecting gay rights. So is it time with the world focussed on London and the United Kingdom, for the next month, for closeted sportspeople to feel empowered and to come out?

    Opinions expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its management or editorial teams. If you’d like to comment or write a comment, opinion or blog piece, please click here.

  • COLUMN | Men And Their Photos

    What is it with men, mobile phone cameras and their penises? I remember being on a date with a man once, who during the date showed me a picture of his penis. Apropos of nothing he passed me the phone and showed me the goods…

    Mind you, it wasn’t a bad one, I must admit. If it had been mine I’d have been especially proud. I wonder if he often showed it during random social encounters like a coffee morning or a hand of Bridge?

    In the occasionally horrifying days of internet dating (prior to meeting my current partner) I’d often click on someone’s online profile, see a nice face looking back, only to find that the rest of the photos were grisly crotch shots. Worse still would be the profiles of the married men, the not out of the closet men or the shady and shy. They generally had no picture at all and would message you and start a conversation. I’m a little bit shallow, as we all are, and looks do count for something, so would generally ask for a photo only to receive a little dick pic in my inbox a few seconds later. Most of the pictures were like so much meat in a butcher’s shop.

    I met Andy (the name has been changed to protect the not so innocent) through an online site and he seemed acceptable. He sent me pictures of his face which whilst not stunning were not bad enough to scare a toddler. He was a similar age, had a good but dull job and seemed fairly polite. We met for a drink and I quickly realised that his pictures were about 5 years and several stones earlier. It’s a strange thing to do. It’s not like someone isn’t going to notice when you meet them that you’ve suddenly gained a lot of years and weight.

    He was polite enough. We chatted freely and whilst he was personable I found him a little bit mundane. He rattled on a lot about his love of a certain type of music that I hate, detailing his favourite songstresses and their incredible vocal ranges. He showed me pictures of his recent decorating projects which were Ikea generic and soulless. I’d already decided not to meet him again when he told me the thing that would have sent me running anyway. He was once part of a religious sect.

    He’d been thrown out of the sect when he came out and although now ex-communicated; he still believed in their entire creed and longed to still be shouting his views out loud and clear. I’ve got nothing against people with strong religious views and try hard to respect them. I just don’t want to date them. I also don’t really want to befriend them or spend any length of time in their company: anything longer than a minute, maybe.

    The date ended and we didn’t kiss. He wasn’t for me. I decided to do the polite thing and just not send a text message or email again. I got home and received three text messages from him. I reconsidered and out of decency, called him and said I thought he was very nice (he was acceptable, in reality) but not for me and didn’t want to meet again. He seemed to understand this and was fine.

    He messaged me five times the next day, three times the day after and six times the next. I decided the best policy was to ignore him. I’d been polite enough to state my case and surely he only needed telling once. I felt like my doorbell was being persistently rung. Finally, he tried a new tack.

    What would you do if someone had declined a second date, didn’t want to message you and clearly had no interest? Yes. You guessed it. The next logical step is to send a picture of your genitals.

    My phone beeped and there it was in all its chubby pink glory. Nestling under a roll of stomach sat a small plump, very pink penis in a nest of straggly pubic hair. Needless to say, this object of delight did not set me racing to call him in spite of his bland personality and conflicting religious views. It merely made me gag. I ignored him. He went away. They usually do.

    Chris Bridges is a regular writer for The Gay UK and also writes a blog containing reviews, views and observations at: http://www.gayboyinterrupted.blogspot.co.uk/