The Missing Reality in Gay TV Sex Scenes like Heated Rivalry
Television has made real strides in how it portrays gay relationships. Where gay characters were once relegated to subplots or stereotypes, many shows now allow them complexity, intimacy, and genuine sexual agency. Gay sex, in particular, is no longer automatically tragic, shameful, or implied off-screen. That progress matters. But for all this newfound visibility, there remains one oddly persistent fantasy: the idea that penetrative gay sex requires no preparation at all.
Across television and film, gay sex scenes often follow the same script. Two men come together in a moment of emotional or physical intensity. There is urgency, attraction, sometimes vulnerability—and then, almost immediately, sex happens. Smoothly. Effortlessly. As if the human body is always perfectly prepared for penetration, regardless of timing, context, or reality.
Anyone familiar with gay or indeed anyone par-taking in anal sex knows this is not how it usually works.
Preparation is a normal part of many people’s sexual lives, particularly when anal sex is involved. It can take time. It can require planning. It can even influence when and how sex happens. Yet TV narratives consistently erase this aspect, presenting a version of gay intimacy that is permanently spontaneous and frictionless.
Recent series like Heated Rivalry are far from alone in perpetuating this myth. I sat aghast (clutching my pearls) as Smootie making genius Kip – up early, busying himself in Hunter’s kitchen to make his famed Banana and Blueberry drink – only to be thanked by Hunter with a “can I fuck you” to which the answer is yes, presumably – Kip had the opportunity, before Hunter awoke to brush teeth, floss, morning poop and then douche, before digging into cupboards to find Blueberries, bananas and a nutribullet.
After work, in the middle of the night, during emotionally charged reunions—there is never a pause, a negotiation, or even a hint that logistics might play a role.
From prestige dramas to rom-coms, bottoms are routinely portrayed as being perpetually “ready,” no matter the circumstances. After work, in the middle of the night, during emotionally charged reunions—there is never a pause, a negotiation, or even a hint that logistics might play a role.
The problem isn’t that these shows feature sex. It’s that they strip sex of the realities that many people navigate, creating a polished fantasy that subtly reshapes expectations. For viewers who are young, inexperienced, or still figuring out their relationship to sex, these portrayals can suggest that readiness should be instant—and that anything else is awkward, inconvenient, or somehow undesirable.
There is also a quiet stigma embedded in this silence. By refusing to acknowledge preparation, television implies that it is too unglamorous or too bodily to belong in a romantic narrative. But bodies are part of sex. Planning is part of care. Communication is part of intimacy. None of these elements diminish desire; in fact, they often deepen trust and connection.
Importantly, realism doesn’t require graphic detail. No one is asking for explicit depictions or instructional moments. Small narrative choices would suffice: a delayed hookup, a brief exchange about timing, a moment that acknowledges sex sometimes requires coordination. Even subtle signals could normalise the idea that sex is something people plan with each other, not something that simply happens on cue.
Gay representation on television has matured enough to embrace complexity. It can handle conversations about consent, vulnerability, and emotional stakes. It should also be capable of acknowledging a simple truth: spontaneous desire is real, but sexual readiness isn’t always instantaneous. Recognising that wouldn’t make gay sex on screen less appealing—it would make it more honest.
Okay. Show of hands. Who’s had the experience of dating a fuckboy? We all know them! It’s that guy. You know; you know, the one who doesn’t respect you but relies on you all the time. He’s distant. He doesn’t care about your time. He won’t commit. He’s self-absorbed, does stupid things and fucks with other’s emotions. I feel like the majority of the guys I’ve been with or had any form of chemistry with have been fuckboys and it’s had a bit of a negative impact on my dating life, or actually, lack off. I’ve been used so many times by fuckboys that it’s become the norm for me to keep going back to them.
How do you spot a fuckboy?
Beware the fuckboy
It would be easy if they walked around with a sign above their head saying “Avoid like COVID. I’m gonna text you once in three months, then you’re gonna come over and give me the best head ever”.
Alas, life isn’t all black and white.
It was a while before I experienced a true fuckboy. I don’t have any contact with him now, only maybe when I’m a little bit tipsy and I might slide into his DM’s. I’ve met a few since then and developed a keen eye to spot them. So, here are my tips for spotting the fuckboys.
They will do or say anything to have sex
(C) BIGSTOCK
This is the first big red flag. There’s no romance involved. A true fuckboy will literally do or say anything to get you into bed. These include flattery, gaslighting and grovelling. Nothing is too low for them to try. The worst thing though is that they will do all this whilst actually do the bare minimum whilst doing it. They want to do it all on their terms. They will decide it, they will just sit there and let you crack on. Don’t forget; they don’t call them jobs for nothing.
They’ll hang out with a lot of men
Now, this might seem trivial; but they’ll always have a number of guys on the go at the same times. If they’re not committing; it’s probably because they’re playing the field and shagging a couple of blokes at the same time. They like to have options. They want to know that there are people around them that they could have sex with if they wanted it; and well, we all know gay men. They’re randy little blighters and probably be boning a different guy every night.
They’ll always be a little fragile
If you tell them you can’t hang out tonight – you’ve just caused world war three. They’ll barrage you with texts about how flakey you are, or you’ll get a torrent of abuse and probably turn it round and accuse you of being a fuckboy. You can’t hold them accountable either; they don’t like that one little bit. Fuckboys are unable to accept any form of responsibilty for their poor behaviour.
Don’t even start. They won’t change because they do not want to. They will do what they want to do because their world revolves completely around them. They do not care about anyone else but themselves. THEY ARE USERS.
Fuckboys aren’t nasty, horrible, people
They just don’t know how to have serious, mature relationships. You should pity them; and get rid of them. It might be hard at the start, but it’s gonna be better for you in the long run. You’re gonna be a stronger person for it. If you recognise some of this behaviour then congratulations; you’ve admitted it. Now you can start some make some changes in your life. Most fuckboys would never acknowledge it, so the fact you actually have, means you have the possibility to change.
The sad thing is that; fuckboys are out there, and you need to be aware. Also remember, that there are decent guys out who aren’t like that all; and that’s something that we all should covet.
There’s a common speculation gay people are more creative. This is foremost rooted in the observation that gay people are over-represented in creative pursuits. But is this speculation true? And if it is, why are gay people more creative? Let us discuss.
The idea of over-representation is an interesting one. It emerged anecdotally but has attracted scholarship in recent years.
In 2016, London School of Economics published their analysis of datasets from the 2008-2010 American Community Survey and the 2008-2009 U.S. National Longitudinal Study of Adolescent Health to comment on this. They found that gay people are “drawn to a different set of occupations”. Among those with the highest proportion of gay workers are creative ones: producers and directors, urban and regional planners, and web developers.
Their analysis suggests that gay people tend to be attracted to occupations with higher levels of social perceptiveness. This is based on the idea that knowing how to read social cues might be an important skill for gay people to acquire as they are more likely to have experienced the threat of discrimination from a young age.
Now for a quick lesson in creativity. Creativity is an inherently social process. The idea that it is a solitary process has fallen out of favour. We now appreciate that creativity emerges from dialogue, interaction, and practise with others. Though Kafka worked in solitude, his work was the product of his relationship with his father. His creative output is therefore the product of a social process.
It is thus unsurprising that the experience of gay people and its impact on social processes may affect their creativity too. At present, there is little hard evidence though. There are only a couple of major studies on sexual orientation and creativity.
The first, by Christine Charyton, a professor of psychology at The Ohio State University, published in 2007, reviewed the historical, empirical, and present literature existed on the relationship between sexual orientation and creativity. The study concluded that there is little evidence to support that speculation that gay people are more creative.
The second, carried out by Sultan Idris Education University, published in 2013, assumed that gay men share more typically female personality traits to disentangle the speculation. The idea behind this being that females are more creative than males. However, its findings mirrored the study by Charyton. It concluded that there is no ‘gay advantage’ to being creative.
It is acknowledged that more research is needed to draw definitive conclusions though. Current research is limited and its scope narrow. Indeed, the latter study measured only self-perceived creativity. The idea of being well-qualified to be creative by being skilled in reading social cues is one possible avenue for future research.
The truth is we don’t really know whether gay people are more creative. The speculation that they are is compelling though. I am left thinking that we need to continue to approach the question from new directions. Are gay people more inclined to creativity because of the escapism it provides? Or is queer culture fundamentally creative in its quest to break the mould?
If you ever want to know why I can always manage to put my foot in it – at any given opportunity, it goes way back to the multitude of “first-days”
The last week of August was always hell.
Except the one between primary and secondary school. That’s because I had, at the age of 10, decided that I didn’t want to follow the rest of my primary school classmates down the normal route of going to the secondary school that ours was a feeder for. Why? Well, every day of my existence at my primary school was filled with homophobic bullying. You see, I was unlike all of the other boys.
I played with the girls, I despised sports but was surprisingly good at skipping.
In my first month of primary school, I decided, that the boys’ uniform was far too bland and that the girls’ socks were much more in keeping with my sensibilities. Obviously, as a five-year-old, I had no means of obtaining my own pair of the crochet patterned socks, but I did notice a pair in the lost property. I’ve always had an eye for detail and a bargain bin. I snuck in one lunchtime and, I didn’t steal, I borrowed them.
I wore them proudly into the schoolyard, leaning up against the playground wall. I was working it. As far as I was concerned, I was the pretty minx in my mother’s magazines. That was the day my bully-free school days ended.
Whoever said your childhood years are the happiest of your life, clearly wasn’t a queer kid. You grow up quickly when you face that much hate.
Each “first day back” after the summer holidays became agony. That last week of the summer holiday, was the cruellest. I eeked out every last moment of freedom. Oh yes, I loved getting the new pencil case (from Woolworths) and matching it with my lunchbox (I was never allowed the My Little Pony one, due to fears of exacerbating the bullying problem). I’ve always been a strong believer in creating a brand, but despite my new classroom accessories – I, personally, was never allowed to rebrand. First day back would be groundhog day.
Then there was the summer of change, between primary and secondary. It was a summer of hope. I was going to go to a new school. Nothing to do with my old one. No one from my primary was going to go. Whilst my former classmates adhered to the feeder system, I went my own road, backed by my ever, increasingly worried parents.
But I was one of those damned queer kids that just wouldn’t or actually couldn’t conform. Once again I found myself hanging around with the girls, but not the Mean Girls – these were the year’s before it was “trendy” to have a gay best friend (even though I wasn’t out – or accepting of my own sexuality.
My football skills were woefully inadequate and the drama block was a magnet.
I was Baking Off before Bake Off.
By the end of the first day, I was literally dumped in a bin by a fifth former. That week I was “bin boy”, but soon that gave way to a slew of name-calling. One day my class decided to play “Did you hear?”. It was like an earlier version of Twitter. Someone would start a rumour and whisper into the ear of the next person. That day’s rumour – as I walked towards the form room, was that I had killed myself over the weekend. As I got closer, those rumours had flesh to bone added, the way I had dispensed with myself and how tragic it was for my family. People in class kept this pretence up most of the morning.
I just didn’t have the skills to deal with bullying. The “tell the teacher” mantra was inadequate and in the days of Section 28 – teachers just didn’t know how to deal with homophobic bullying.
I showed my taunters that it hurt. I now wish I hadn’t… I wish I had owned every name thrown at me and with a rye smile and a naughty side eye added, “and?”
Inside I’m crippled.
I’m always that ten-year-old in my mind – constantly worried about being binned again.
Perhaps if RuPaul’s Drag Race had started a decade (or two) earlier I could have learned to read each and every person who called me a poof, a queer, a pervert or gay lord. I think that fear of new situations has remained with me, even into adulthood. The only way I seem to be able to get through the situation is to say something… anything… usually something totally inappropriate.
You see, inside I’m crippled. I’m always that ten-year-old in my mind – constantly worried about being binned again. So I use humour and self-deprecation as a way of dealing with new situations. You see, life gives us constant New Days – or First Day Backs and now… I can always be counted upon to say the most inappropriate things at the right time.
Well, what if ‘she’ wasn’t a she at all? For too long, the male victims of domestic violence have been just as ridiculed and silenced as women.
I was nineteen years old, and the only care I had in this world was whether I could afford to go out drinking three nights that week or just the one. I had a lovely little life, a full-time job in a shop, money coming in, and good friends until I went on a night out in Manchester. It’s so melodramatic to say, but it’s true – that night changed my entire life. That night, I met a guy, who I will call He/Him. He was cheeky and confident and broad, and I fancied the pants off him. I ended up back in his bedroom with a group of his mates, all chilling and listening to music until I ended up dropping off to sleep. Nothing happened, and in the morning he took me back to my friend’s house. I left Manchester later that day, and we vowed that we would keep in touch.
We visited each other once, maybe twice, before I decided I was going to spend the weekend with him in Manchester. There was a party at his place that weekend, and we were all dropping ecstasy like it was going out of style. In fact, a few years later it did go out of style, giving way to an assemblage of other drugs. The next morning I woke up next to him without any memory of the night before, how I’d gotten into bed, or how I was undressed. I should have known there and then. He told me, without an ounce of indignity, that we’d had sex while I was talking to two women who lived in the bedroom wall.
I laughed.
Laughed.
I was nineteen. I can’t recollect what my thoughts on this were at the time, but apparently I saw nothing wrong in this. Now, over a decade later, I know what word I would use to describe this event.
I don’t know what possessed me. I was having a good time, and I felt freer than I’d ever felt in my life, and I remember saying to him, “I don’t want to go home”, he said “Well, don’t.”
I didn’t.
I called my parents and informed them I wasn’t going to come home, and that I’d come back to collect my things. I had absolutely no thought in my mind of what this would do to my Mum and Dad, left in Liverpool wondering what their young son was up to in another city.
The relationship continued to be fun, and I took more and more ecstasy, replacing alcohol almost completely on nights out. I hadn’t noticed the subtle ways in which he’d already begun to control me: “you don’t need to work, I can look after you”, “don’t wear that, wear this”, “what if you did your hair like this instead”. I got a job anyway as a supervisor in a now-defunct clothing store in Stretford Arndale. The job didn’t last long because of what happened next.
We were out on a Sunday afternoon in a pub near the house. His friends were there, laughing and joking, and he said something sexual about me. I was mortified, because it was in front of everyone, and they all thought it was normal. I don’t remember what he said, but I remember feeling not just embarrassed, but defenceless. I excused myself and went outside to call my Mum. I explained to her that I wasn’t enjoying Manchester any more and that I wanted to come home.
After I finished the call, I turned around and there he was – the angriest face on a man that I think I’ve ever seen. I didn’t know what he had to be angry about, and I was about to go back inside when he started shouting. I didn’t know what else to do so I ran off toward the house. I wasn’t used to confrontations. He chased after me, caught me on the main road, bashed my head five times into the metal poles of a fence, and stood over me shouting more abuse.
Crying, I somehow managed to get to my feet and start running again. I thought I was being clever by taking some back roads toward the house, but these only led back onto the main road where he was waiting. He pushed me to the ground, I remember my jeans ripping, my front teeth scraping the floor, and him shouting “What? What are you looking at?” to two by-passers. They didn’t stop to help. The next part is a haze. I think one of his friends caught up and dragged him off toward the house. I followed some time after. I got to the mirror in the bathroom and saw blood all over my face and head. His friend told me to “wipe it off, he can’t see the blood on you”. I told him he was going to have to look at what he’d done.
Then, he did something very clever. He came downstairs, took one look at me, started crying, took a knife from the kitchen and went out. Well, that was it. How could I leave a man, clearly emotional, on the streets with a knife, scared that he’d hurt himself. Needless to say, after hours of looking, I found him back at home. Unharmed.
The next day he apologised. He apologised the next day after each occasion, even after the time he put me in the hospital with suspected broken ribs. They weren’t broken, and I was released with a few pamphlets on domestic violence. I threw them in the bin on the way to the police station to give a false statement to the kindest man I’d met. He told me there was no need to lie, there was no need to do anything but tell the truth and be happy again. I told him it was just two lads fighting, and in the morning he was released.
Domestic violence isn’t just physical, we all know that; it’s the deliberate emotional and psychological demolition of a person.
I was one of those people. I was smacked about and strangled and kicked, and had knives to my throat, but I was also told I couldn’t have dinner if I questioned his love for me, that I’d need to “think of what it would do to the relationship” if I learned to drive, or got a job again, the threats that his slightly-dodgy brother would do something to me, my friends or my family if I left.
There was one last comment, the final straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back, one tiny little comment that made me think ‘you are never going to change.’
He was talking to his friends in the living room about his ex-boyfriend, who once had sucked water up the hoover that he’d spilt, probably in a rush to do it before getting a smack for being clumsy. And he said, I can hear it now clear as a bell: “He got a hiding for that, I can tell you.”
It clicked. I wasn’t the only one. I wasn’t the first, and I wasn’t going to be the last. But right then I decided that I wasn’t going to be the one right now.
Now, I’d left multiple times with the help of friends. But a good friend of mine at the time came all the way from Liverpool to collect me and take me back. I packed my small amount of belongings and I left. You might think this is the end of the story, but it’s not.
For months, I used to call and text and really long to go back to what I knew. I was beyond any level of damage that I, or my friends, knew how to handle. I’d go out every night drinking and not want to go home, I’d meet men and want them to hurt me. I felt nothing until I felt pain.
Over ten years later, I sit writing this as a man looking back on a boy he used to know. I feared for that boy’s safety, and more than that, his life.
He didn’t ask to be a victim of domestic violence, but he chose to survive it. He grew up, and he learned his own worth. True, the wind still blows the dirt and dust and uncovers some ancient archaeological history of that period in his life, but in the main he’s healthy and happy. Those who’ve lived through violent relationships are survivors only in the sense that they are no longer in that situation. You can’t, however, survive a memory that is always with you. You live alongside it. It’s your ghost.
Over a year ago… I was in an ex’s bedroom, and we had an argument. He turned nasty, and his voice and face completely changed, I thought: “this is it. This is it all over again.” He didn’t hit me, and instead, he looked concerned. It took me a while to realise I was freezing cold and shaking all over. Now, before this, I’d always thought of myself as stronger than ever. But this was a reminder that I am not healed.
In the years since then I’ve heard ridiculous questions, “why didn’t you just leave? Why didn’t you hit him back? You’re a man too, so it’s not really domestic abuse, is it?”
Well… you try leaving someone who has made you feel like they’re the only person you can depend on. You lift up your hands and make them into a fist against someone you know you’re physically no match for, and you feel like you love. You try having your food taken off you, being beaten for having a smart mouth, and being told you can only do certain things and speak to certain people. Trust me, it really is domestic abuse. It’s no less of a crime, no less of a heart-breaking, world-shattering situation to have been in just because I’m a man too.
All of the black eyes and cuts and bruised bones he gave me during those twelve months are healed, but the psychological and emotional scars are too deep to heal completely. I’m always questioning: am I a survivor yet or not? ?️?
This article was taken from Issue 20 – download our magazine app now and never miss a future issue and was very published on our website in May 2016. It has been updated with new and relative links.
“I’m giving it my all, but I’m not the guy your taking home – I keep dancing on my own”.
This article serves two purposes. It’s both a reflection on one of the greatest pop songs ever written and a larger, more encompassing commentary about independence and quite literally dancing on my own.
The song, “Dancing on My Own” is quite simply an inherently sad, gay disco anthem – or as I like to call them, a Sad Banger. Written for Swedish songstress Robyn for her 2010 album Body Talk, the anthem features hammer drill throbbing synths and electronic percussion whilst incorporating elements of electro and disco. It can be more easily described as a heartbreak anthem. Its lyrics speak of a person who is alone in a club watching their ex-lover, or someone that they are in love with kissing, or getting with another person – relatable – we’ve all been through that.
MTV News journalist James Montgomery noted the “thoroughly sad song talks about Robyn losing her man to another woman, but also about the notion of feeling alone in a crowded room, of being lost and unloved and having no choice but to be okay with these things”. It’s the second half of the statement that I wanted to look at a little bit further. Unlike some of Robyn’s Sad-Bangers, “Dancing on My Own” offers the listener very little hope of things ever getting better. You could say that “With Every Heartbeat”, offers a faint little bit of grim optimism to the listener – “Dancing on My Own” offers none of it, thus reflecting the stark reality of relationships and life that we don’t always get what we want.
More recently Robyn has gone on to elaborate on the theme of the lyric further by saying; “People have so many expectations when they go out, so many wishes about what their night is going to be: if they are going to meet that person, have a fun time with their friends, have a good high, hear good music”. Isn’t this what going out is all about for most people – as people, we long for interaction with other people. For those that are single, it’s the best opportunity to meet someone and develop a real connection of personality – something that in the age of Grindr and Tinder you scarcely find. Robyn then goes on to say; “People get drunk and turn into themselves in away, and they go experience some kind of emotion. But it’s not always about fun. There’s a destructive side to it.”
I think we can all relate to this last statement. Well, I don’t know about you, but I can. For me, at the end of a long week, going out dancing is a great way to unwind and let my hair down. I look forward to my Saturday nights in the Viaduct Showbar, one of the bars on the Leeds Gay Scene, throwing a few shapes on the dancefloor, whether that being with a few friends, or just by myself. Yeah, I go out by myself. A lot of people might be taken aback by that. I enjoy being independent and for me, this is an extension of my personality. I just cannot refuse the sound of a four-on-the-floor disco beat. Does that make me weird for going clubbing by myself? Is it something you should do with your friends? I must admit that I’ve had some strange looks and comments for going out by myself. I probably come off as a loner. People are probably right for assuming that. I’m incredibly independent, and I have been for a long time. It stems from growing up from feeling a little bit left out from life, friendship groups and events – it’s a reaction to being ostracised by people for who I am.
To me, it’s a sign of defiance that I’m not going to conform to what your opinion thinks, and what society thinks – it’s a bit of a fuck you really isn’t it?
I’m a very independent person, and I think that sometimes can be both a blessing and a curse. I’m perfectly happy with being by myself ninety per cent of the time. It means I can look after, and take care of myself, but it also means that I’m not that great at asking for help – which I can completely agree with. I don’t like to ask for help, whether that’s with work, or in my personal life. I have an attitude about me that things don’t keep me down for long and I can bounce back from setbacks pretty quickly, I also struggle to see my weaknesses sometimes. I think it also makes a kinder person because if we use our independence the right way, we can ensure that our lives are taken care off, and extend that further the wide community – but ultimately the problem with being so independent is that it will only reach myself. It doesn’t go very much further than that. They often say that there is a power within a partnership, and I agree with that.
If you’ve been as independent as I’ve been for so long, you struggle to let people in. It’s difficult to incorporate other people in your life, and relinquish some of the control, because you’re scared, and there is a niggling feeling at the back of your mind that you are ultimately going to be let down. But, we’re not made for doing life by ourselves, and I’m realising that that now as I hurtle towards my thirties. Our greatest strength lies in partnering with others and doing it as a team.
The destructive side comes with the alcohol I guess.
It’s widely regarded that increasing alcohol consumption leads to a negative impact on mental health. Alcohol can be linked to people becoming aggressive, anxious or depressed when they’re drunk. There has been a number of occasions where I’ll admit I’ve had a bit too much to drink and it’s lead to me feeling depressed, worthless and other feelings of pain, that we try to mask in our day to day lives – it brings things back to the surface. Alcohol goes one of two ways for me – I either become a very lovable drunk, or I go a bit crazy, often ending up sat on the floor somewhere, an emotional wreck, having to be put into a taxi by a friend, or bouncer.
I guess that’s why myself and so many people can relate to “Dancing on My Own”. The lyrics are universal. How many times have you been on the dancefloor of a club dancing with a guy and flirting with them, only for a few minutes later you turn around and see them with their tongue down someone else’s throat? I remember this oh so very clearly. I remember being out with a friend not so long ago, who I had a bit a crush on. We had a few drinks before going to a club. We were flirting, all very lovely. I remember going to the bar in this club and turning around and seeing this bloke on the dancefloor with his arms around another woman making out on the dancefloor. My heart sank for a minute.
It was like a gut punch to the stomach.
Your brain will then go on to analyse every word, every communication you’ve ever had with that person within the next thirty seconds. What do I do now? Do I leave? Do I go back up to them and break it up? Do I get back at them by flirting with someone else to spite them? Ultimately, it’s the understanding that you’re not going to be the person he takes home that night. You’ve given it your all to get the man – but it’s just not going to happen – maybe he’s just not that into you – and it’s okay.
Like Robyn sings in the chorus; “I’m right over here – why can’t you see me?” – sometimes you’re crying out for somebody to notice you and give you that boost of self-confidence you crave. But such as life, you can’t always get what you want – and then you just keep dancing – stuck in a never-ending loop until you find what you’re looking for. Ultimately, you accept this as par for the course, and you learn to deal with it in your own way – whether that ends up with a booty call, or a Grindr hook up at some ungodly hour of the night – but the pain doesn’t go away. You’ll remember that gut punch for the rest of your life, and whilst being single you’ll constantly be reminded of that. It’s not a one-off feeling I can guarantee you. You will feel it every time you go out as a singleton. You will be through this every single Saturday night until you meet the one.
As much as “Dancing on My Own” is both painful and true to life at the same time – there is something very therapeutic about singing that chorus as loud as you possibly can be surrounded by hundreds of other people. It’s a song that everyone will sing along with because everybody’s been through the exact same situation. It’s a universal message that nobody is averse to. It’s a massive fuck you to everybody that has made you feel inferior, hurt you, or even broken your heart. Remember that the next time you listen to it – or hear on a crowded dancefloor whenever we are allowed to. Turn the lyrics on its head and think of it as an anthem of empowerment and let the power of music help you through the hard times.
A one-night stand is supposed to be just that. One night. One night of half-decent sex with a guy who disappears into the night never to be seen again. I’ve never been a massive fan of the one-night stands; however, over the last couple of years, I’ve had a couple of outstanding ones where I’ve kind of wished it could happen again. You know; the kind of sex that you would rate at least an 8/10. On the flip side though, there’s been a couple which hasn’t been particularly exciting or rememberable. It’s actually these that you remember more; but they’re all for the wrong reasons.
The first guy on paper was right up my street. Cocky, confident, good kisser and had Geordie accent. The foreplay was excellent; he knew just exactly how to get me going; that was until it came to the deed. I’m by no means a power-bottom, however, I know how to be a good bottom, but if you’ve got a top that doesn’t know what they’re doing, then you’re in a situation that will probably end badly. This guy has watched too much hardcore porn and just attempted to shove it in there. No lube. Just strapped up and went in there. Come on. If you’re going to do it, at least do it properly. Safe to say that it was extremely uncomfortable, and I made him stop until he had lubed up. If it’s going to be successful, then both muscles need to be lubed up properly. These millennial bulls. Young, dumb and well. Attempt number two was no better. I’ll give him credit; he knew how to get me going. That Geordie accent turned me on, and he made the sexiest faces. He even remembered a few of my kinks, which he was more than happy to do.
The second guy, I don’t know really why I went there for a second time. The first one wasn’t all that great. He couldn’t keep it up, and he wanted to make it all about me. I’m not like that at all. I’m that self-conscious about myself I would rather spend the time pleasuring the other guy and making him feel good – I’m good at that. He didn’t kiss or do anything remotely resembling foreplay, and then to top he expected me to top him then. Oh, dear. This wasn’t thought through properly. Again, on paper, he was my type, but when push came to shove it just didn’t work.
I usually don’t go back to the scene of the crime more than once, but I thought well maybe they might have changed. How wrong I was. They say a leopard never changes their spots and you really can’t polish a turd.
Fuck me badly once, shame on you – fuck me badly twice then shame on me. As I said before, I guess I went into the second hook up with a thought that they might be different, and they might have stepped up their game. Oh, how very naïve of me. I often wonder why I went there again. Was it convenience?
I’m not stupid. I know that not every guy that I meet is going to be a perfect match in the bedroom, and you’re going to meet guys who aren’t quite the right fit, and I’ve accepted that as par for the course. Maybe I’ve become so dependent on casual sex and the need to have some fulfilment; I’ll get anything that I can regardless of who it is. I used to frequent the saunas when they were open after a few drinks, and the horn is particularly strong. I’ve met some great guys in them and had some great times. I must be some kind of masochist to go back to the scene of the crime on more than one occasion.
I didn’t used to be like that at all. Sex used to scare the shit out of me, and I guess it all stems back to my first time. Everyone can remember their first time, right? I certainly do. They say that your first time I always the worst – well you weren’t wrong there.
I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a May bank holiday and I made sure he knew it was my first time and I just really wanted to experiment and see what happens. He was also a lot older than me – he was in his late 30s – maybe early 40s. I was as nervous as hell. What I didn’t know that he was hung like a horse – and there was a lot of girth. I mean a lot. It was like a wall of flesh. I remember going down on him, and I didn’t know what to do at all. I’d only seen someone give head from porn – and that was always so rough and so I kind of thought well that must be what you do – so that’s what I did. Yeah. That wasn’t what you’re supposed to do. Well, not at first anyway. I won’t go into the full details – but I think it’s safe to say it wasn’t a great experience. I remember thinking at the time – well if that’s sex, then I don’t want to ever go through that again!
So, I didn’t for a long time after that; I didn’t have any form of sexual activity that is beyond making out with someone. Even at university, I didn’t have a lot of sex. When I moved to London in 2010, I thought this is the opportunity to have loads of sex and it just never happened for me. I used to go out clubbing on a weekend with friends, finding a cute guy on the dancefloor; maybe make out with them, but then I’d push them away and leave it there.
I think that first experience impacted me. For some reason – I developed a fear of sex.
Maybe it was PTFD, Post Traumatic Fuck Disorder, but even then, I don’t think my first was all that traumatic. It was awkward and uncomfortable, yes, but traumatic – I don’t think so. Maybe I’d spent so much time watching porn whatever I did was going to be a let-down.
As I’ve aged and become more confident sexually, I guess I’ve become more reliant on that being a part of my life. In my last column, I wrote about me trying to reinvent myself and part of the way I’ve decided to do that is by cutting out the casual sex. I’ve deleted all forms of dating and hook-ups apps from my phone and over the next few months as I get my life back into order, I’m going to avoid it. I’m not in the headspace for a relationship right now, and I’m certainly not in the place to be sleeping about. I’ve got to focus on me. Analysing it in my head, I’ve come to the realisation that I’ve got an issue with other men – putting them before myself. That’s not healthy, is it? I’m sure I’m not alone in all of this. Intimacy issues are common amongst many people – you’ve just got to work out what you want from it.
I need to take a break from other gay men. I’ve said this numerous times before, but I can’t seem to shake it from my head. Being gay is far from easy. You spend all that time as a young gay kid being bullied then when you finally come out of the closet and finally when you head on to the scene; it happens again. You get bullied by other gay men for being a specific type of gay. You’re too tall or too short. You’re too young or too old. You’re too skinny or too fat. You’re too hairy or too smooth. You’re also too fem to be a top, or too masc to be a bottom. All this is coming from a community who keep telling you to be yourself.
Maybe we’re too hard on ourselves in general? We are all determined to have that romantic love story, but not all of them have to be trilogies. Sometimes a short story will suffice. We can’t spend our lives stuck in the past. The past is like an anchor that is holding us back; we’ve sometimes got to let that go to become who you will be because at the end of the day, the most exciting, the most challenging, and the most significant relationship that you will ever have is the one with yourself. Don’t waste too much time looking over past mistakes. I’m a firm believer that if you’re going to make a mistake in life. Don’t just do it once. Do it a few times, just to make sure you’ve learnt the lesson! By god, I’ve learnt those lessons now. Maybe our mistakes are what determines our fate? Because without them; what would shape our lives?
LET’S start from the very beginning! Columnist Aled, from Justaled.com takes us back to the start
Such a tragic musical reference and yet a modest cliché!
Turning 30 something this year, really has opened my eyes to most things in my life, in particular my continual and monotonous reimagining that is my single life and the difficulties of dating other gay men in wales.
This is probably just a situation that I’m personally experiencing due to me being naturally overly fussy and will eventual die a lonely old queen surrounded by Japanese pugs and French bulldogs.
But isn’t being fussy ok?
Why should I just date someone for the sake of dating?
Why settle down with any Tom, Dick or Harry!
Some have quoted, my mother to be more precise, that beggars cannot be choosers, I’m still not sure if this is an underhanded, and yet viperous comment designed by mother dearest as an indirect but equally direct insult?
I’m in the early stages of my 30s and have, what can only be described as, a rather eclectic life, and I feel I’m forever seeking a new way or new platform to vent, especially when it comes to my tragic attempt to seeking a suitable life partner.
I was a considerable a late bloomer when I decided to exit the closet, jump onto the vega bus and enter the fabulous world of all things homosexual.
During my teens I became a recluse, living in my bedroom, away from my family, almost like a queer version of Harry Potter, forever holding onto my own wand, actually! Exactly like Harry Potter! I also have the scarred forehead to prove it.
I went to school, came home, and if I wasn’t out with my straight mates! Lads lads! I would be locked away from the world, locking away the truth that was inside of me, a truth that I was not ready or wanting to release to the world.
I come from a working-class background, with my family, being devout Labour supporters who had very strong views on such things as the traditional male and female roles, moderate racism and of course the dislike, or to be clearer, the ignorance and misunderstanding to homosexuality.
These are people who lived during the 80s and the AIDS epidemic and not forgetting the horrific propaganda the media created. So naturally, they were under the illusion that all gay men had, or had the possibility spreading the disease through simple means such as touch or possibly a slight graze of the shoulder, thankfully we know we now know better, well I hope we do.
My family home was like Piccadilly circus, people would come and go by the droves. My parents were and still are popular people in the village as well as my dad has his own business on site, and so we always had friends or customers in the house.
In my early teens, I remember people conversing in the kitchen about gay men or gay men that they knew of at the time. Poofs, Fairies, Arse bandits were just a few of the terms I had heard being used to describe gay men as well as how dirty and filthy they were.
“It was Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve,” a man in the house disclaimed.
“It says in the bible, that man shall not lay with another man”, said a white-haired, white middle-class white pensioner.
“Oh, he’s one of them” a very common saying, I still wonder what is one of them? What is a them?
“Your arse is for shitting not for shoving things, like a cock up there, can you imagine having shit on you cock, sweet corn in your J**’s eye,” this was the comments from probably one of the most disgusting human beings I’ve ever met.
Hopefully, from these wonderfully toxic quotes, you will understand why it became rather difficult to come out in my household.
A place where I should have felt safe in coming out yet surrounded by some of the most homophobic humans on the planet.
I must at this stage mention, that these comments were made mostly by the visitors and not of my parents, however, they cannot deny using the terms poof or fairy! To this very day, the word fairy offends me and I will attack you if used… You’ve been warned.
From my understanding, anyone quoting anything from the bible as fact is someone, we all should be very worried about.
Quoting passages from the Bible as fact is the equivalent of me going around quoting a chapter from Harry Potter, however I’m pretty sure Harry Potter is by far more factual than the Bible but that’s just my opinion.
If there were, say a Steve living in the Garden of Eden then maybe Adam could have stayed with him when Eve ate the forbidden fruit. And anyway, if you truly read the Bible, then you would know how much God actually dislikes women, forever portraying them as people who are not to be trusted, devious whores and of course prostitutes.
I digress, my disagreements with the Bible is an on-going battle, mainly between myself and my mother, the devout Christian.
For years, people and when I say people I mainly mean the straights, have disagreed with the way the LGBTQ+ community have lived their lives.
Their dislike and hatred of our community has always fathomed me,
Why the hate?
How is the love between same sex couples having an effect on their lives?
I believe this is the million-pound question which I don’t think, well not in my lifetime, we will ever come to terms with, but I mainly blame ridiculous religious notions and of course those who take the word of God as factual, blabbing about a mystical man in the sky who impregnates a young girl from a far. But like I said, I digress!
I repressed my sexuality from my teens to my early 20s until one day, one intoxicated and moderately medicated trip to Amsterdam, resulted in a tragically poor attempt to end my life.
As you see, before your very own eyes, I live, I breathe and of course I’m fabulous.
In the long run, the attempt was differed by my is who I eventually came out to as being “bisexual”, foolishly what I thought at the time was the first stage of acceptance for a closeted and repressed homosexual, however these were baby steps, for me and of course my family, however mother and father were still yet to find out.
Don’t forget to check out my latest blog post on justled.com, updated weekly.
Like most of us in life, we all either want to be some sort of writer or have that the urge to release our inner novel to the words and become the next George R.R Martin.
I was, I must admit, about to suggest, JK Rowling, as my example author, however, as a member of the fabulous LGBTQ community I struggle to accept her idiotic and ridiculous views and notions on the trans community, even though I was and at somewhat, still am a big fan of the Harry Potter series.
I am not trans myself, however, I fully believe and support my trans brothers and sisters.
We are who we are, we can be whoever we want to be and we should not need to justify ourselves to those narrow-minded individuals in this world. However, this is easier said and done. But I digress from my initial post.
I’ve been writing on and off for a few years. I find it’s a great form of self-therapy for me.
Writing gives me a platform to express myself and to release that internal monologue from inside my mind.
Since lockdown, I’ve created my blog called, Justaled.com, with the main aim to publish my life and life experiences to the world.
The blog is designed to be open and honest about the situations that I have personally faced as a single, gay man living in a small village in Wales.
At this stage, you’re probably wondering, this isn’t very exciting, this is a very standard issue for any gay man in Wales and we have all probably shared the same experiences throughout our lives, but then again, have we?
The blog started initially as a private journal but having been a performer and working in the Arts, it soon began to slowly transform into a draft idea for a potential one-man play, but still, it was missing something.
The more I wrote; the realisation became more and more clearer to me.
I am constantly writing, but nobody is reading my work! and the reason nobody is reading my work is quite simple, my writing doesn’t go anywhere, apart from the inner depths of my hard drive.
That’s when I thought, during the lockdown, why not publish my story online, in a platform that I can control, and that’s when Justaled.com was born.
Writing gives me a voice and a platform to express myself.
For those who know me personally, will say that, I am very open, honest and quite frankly a loud mouth sociality, But, when it comes to things such as life experiences, mental health status and matters of the heart I can and have the tendency to bottle these things up.
I truly have the tendency, like most men, unfortunately, bottle up and keep my issues and feelings to myself until my issues and feelings bottleneck.
And like a well shook bottle of champagne, my issues and feelings eventually, and of course dramatically, uncontrollably erupt.
I’m 33, and I have already experienced two nervous breakdowns in my life, one of which I’ve recently blogged about and the other due to bullying in the workplace, another post I’m considering writing.
I will add at this stage that bullying in any capacity is WRONG and should not be tolerated or ignored, especially in the workplace.
I idolised the film, The Devil Wears Prada, until one day I worked for a woman who embodied the character, Maranda Priestley.
I want you to imagine Maranda Priestly, assuming you’ve watched the film, but now imagine her 10 times worse, a walking and talking force of negativity, designed to crush and belittle anyone that stood in her way.
To this day I cannot watch the Devil Wears Prada, and I have promised myself I will NEVER be put in that situation ever again!
With life and age, I’m constantly learning from my mistakes hence the writing, or to be more precise the blogging of my past and current life events. I truly find it’s a great platform to vent.
To be quite frank, blogging is a great form of therapy! Plus, it’s cheaper than going to the Shrink!
Not only is writing a great way to express our emotions and feelings via words but it’s also a great way to be creative and let our mind and imaginations run wild.
A great friend of mine once told me to start writing, but write about what you truly know the best, and fortunately for me, what I know best is in fact, me!
I know me, I truly understand me. I think a lot more of us, from time to time need to take the time to focus on ourselves.
It’s not selfish, it’s not vain but we truly need some ‘me time’. Time to properly reflect on what we need. If someone says its selfish and vain then pfff ignore them, unfriend them or whatever, you seriously don’t need them or their negativity in your life.
So… to recap from my standard form of ranting, this guest blog post, from yours truly sums up the following:
Get writing, be more open and honest about yourself and your issues, there is nothing to be ashamed about.
Blogging is a great form of self-evaluating if not a great form of venting. Speaking directly to the gentlemen reading this post, gents its OK not to be OK, just let it out, talk about your issues and feeling, and if you can’t talk, then write them down.
Nobody needs to see your internal monologue, because quite frankly that’s what a blog is, but then again sharing can equally be rewarding.
As they say, sharing is caring and your words could be the answers to the questions of another seeking guidance.
As the end in sight for the great lockdown of 2020, it’s an anxious and nervous time for everybody. We have to figure out safe ways of coming out of our cocoons and start to navigate this new normal that we face ourselves with.
The so-called “new normal”. Urgh. This phrase has haunted me for the last 15 weeks; I don’t want a new normal – I want the old normal back with the life I had pre-COVID. I want to go back to a nightclub and get hot and sweaty with a crowd of people that I don’t know. Be that anonymous person that I once was.
Whereas for most of us key workers, we have continued to work throughout the pandemic, we have had the luxury of the of being able to work from home. For me, this means that my bedroom has been turned into a make-shift office. Not an ideal situation for anybody is it?
Rest bite has arrived this week, however, as I was lucky enough be allowed to move back into the office to continue working from there. I was quite anxious about it all. I hadn’t been anywhere in the last fifteen weeks, so the thought of social interaction was also quite daunting. Two days in, however, and it feels as if normality has been restored in certain ways. Back into the daily commute, albeit with a face covering, and the same old office banter that previously prevailed. Getting up at 6.30 am for the first time in 15 weeks was a real struggle and having to physically dress to something more than a pair of comfy joggers and actually doing my hair to a reasonably presentable state to leave the house. It certainly made me feel a lot better for doing all these things and getting myself back out in the world. The first couple of days has given me a bit of a confidence boost that I need to start getting my life back to some normality; or in-fact this new normal!
The one thing that I have missed during this lockdown is intimacy. Being the lonely singleton that I am, a weekend isn’t complete without a drunken Grindr hook-up at some ungodly hour. I’ve been scared to do that during the lockdown, and I have made a conscious effort to avoid it. I’m now at a place where I am ready to maybe try something. Dip my toe back in, so to speak.
During the lockdown, I have had a few conversations with friends about their forays into sexual interaction throughout the pandemic and nearly everybody that I had spoken to had abstained. This got my thinking into whether the lockdown is going to provide the best opportunity to break the chain of infection of HIV within the community.
The Terrance Higgins Trust and Sexual Health Clinic 56 Dean Street uncovered research that 84% of people were abstaining from sex outside of their immediate household because of the COVID-19 lockdown. The same research also shows that whilst eight in ten people are going to forgo meeting for sex, nearly one in five (19%) said they wouldn’t continue or were not sure as lockdown enters its third month. This survey of over 800 UK adults also found that prior to lockdown; “almost half (42%) would have one sexual partner a month, while a third (35%) would have between two and five partners and 8% usually have more than five partners in that period”.
Ian Green, Chief Executive of Terrence Higgins Trust, said: ‘This is an incredible opportunity to break the chain on HIV infection and help move us further forward in achieving our goal of ending HIV transmissions in the UK within the next decade. National HIV Testing Week is every November, but we need to act now because this chance won’t wait and won’t come around again.
‘It’s estimated that around 7,500 people in the UK are living with undiagnosed HIV, which is bad for their health and means they may unwittingly pass it on. If everyone is able to use their time in lockdown to get tested and know their HIV status, we can ensure something really good comes out of the devastation of the COVID-19 crisis.’
I reached out to Greg Owen, PrEP Activist and co-founder of the iwantPREPnow website, and he explained; “I think it’s clear from this small data set and from what we know about human nature to establish that this hiatus in sexual activity across our community is just that, a temporary measure. It cannot be sustained, nor should it be. Sex, intimacy, connection and pleasure are basic human needs for most people and I’d like to think we will gradually return to enjoying those things and celebrating them again once restrictions are eased further.
“Of course, not everyone has managed to adhere to the lockdown instructions, and we need to be mindful of those people too. It’s important we don’t feed into a culture of finger-wagging and shaming. That type of approach has never worked and will never work. We learned that only too well in the darker days of the HIV/AIDS crisis. Instead, we need to encourage people to be honest. Safe in the knowledge that they will not be judged and offer them the support, advice and services they require.
“It will be some time before we have solid and robust data on what impact the COVID-19 lockdown has had on HIV rates. What we can say is lockdown has provided people with the time and opportunity to test. Not just for HIV but for all other STIs too. It has prompted Terrence Higgins Trust and community organisations and service providers to increase the capacity for home testing, which is a great thing.
“We might see a spike in STI diagnoses in the coming weeks”
On the subject of testing and diagnosis, Greg went on to explain; “We might see a spike in STI diagnoses in the coming weeks as clinics begin to re-open and more people step forward to test. We might also see that drop-off and fall as those who haven’t had sex in lockdown start to attend their regular check-ups and return negative results.
“We’ve made a commitment to end new HIV transmission in this country by 2030. We are well on the way to doing that. We have everything we need to make this a reality. The four cornerstones of this will be regular testing. Treatment for anyone who is diagnosed with HIV, supporting them to become undetectable, which mean they can’t pass on HIV, condoms and finally, making PrEP free and easily accessible to all who need it. This all begins with education. There are exciting times ahead. COVID-19 will pass and we will begin the process of reconnecting.”
As a community which has been ravaged by the stigma of HIV, this statement is a welcome sign that we are well on our way to ending new HIV transmissions across the country. The COVID-19 lockdown has proven a great time for us to do so. I’m looking forward to seeing the data that comes from it in due course. This lockdown has provided us with a golden and rare opportunity to break the chain in this disease which has had a profound effect on so many of us.
One thing that the Greg told me, that stuck with me is that we must move away from the culture of blame, finger waging and shaming people for their choices. Gay men especially are often quick to pass judgement. I’ve said this before in previous columns, we need to make a conscious effort to be nicer to others within our community. We are not a pack of bullies. We are an inclusive and friendly community who takes everybody under our wing and looks out for one another. As we come back from the intermission, let’s make that change to be nicer to each other.
This weekend sees further restrictions of the lockdown here in England. From July 4th, the hospitality industry will re-open and we can finally go for a well-deserved pint. I’m not here to lecture about what you should and shouldn’t do but be mindful that this is an anxious and nervous time for everybody. I am heading down to one of my favourite bars in Leeds on Saturday to see how the new normal presents itself and experience it. I enjoy a bottle of wine as much as everybody else, but I’m nervous too. I want to get my life back to as close to normal as possible.
We’ve come so far within this pandemic, but still, there is a long way to go. Be safe. Be sensible. Look after yourself and most importantly, look after each other!
Columnist Al Jennings says that the LGBT+ community needs to invest some time and money in its scene or risk losing it forever.
When you think of a night out in Leeds; you think of the trendy wine bars of Call Lane, Millennium Square for the students, and the rock and punk scene that was evident in the early ’80s. However, Leeds has a fantastic, and diverse LGBT+ nightlife scene which has opened my eyes to some of the greatest nights of my lights.
I grew up in a conservative East Yorkshire town where there was no reference to an LGBT+ community. It was a pint of snakebite down the local boozer with the lads. As a young, impressionable eighteen-year-old, I was ready for some excitement and to meet like-minded people where I could be myself and find some acceptance. I packed up and headed off to London for university and fully embraced myself in their gay scene, I didn’t know that I had a whole scene on my doorstep I could’ve explored. From London, I moved overseas for a few years, and then back to East Yorkshire and began exploring my opportunities.
Leeds wasn’t really on my radar. Manchester’s gay village had been well popularised through Russell T. Davies shows such as Queer as Folk and Cucumber, and I began my professional career in Hull. I made a lot of good friends at the time in Hull, and it did have a great nightlife. It wasn’t until I moved to West Yorkshire that I discovered how much of a vibrant and exciting scene Leeds had and how much it could open my eyes, and I could find friendships and relationships that could truly enhance my life.
It’s clear that Leeds has got a great reputation for Queer nightlife. The Freedom quarter, that encompasses the Calls and Lower Briggate, is its main hub. A hive of activity with a great host of venues to choose from it, depending on what you are wanting from a Friday night. Whether it’s a few drinks on a Friday night after work in Queens Court or a night of gyrating on the dancefloor to the chart hits of today in The Viaduct then there is something that caters for everybody.
Ninety-five per cent of my nights in Leeds start in Queens Court. It’s welcoming atmosphere, spacious outdoor courtyard, it provides the perfect place to get together a few friends to chew over the fat of the last week, and catch up on the latest gossip in town. It’s budget-friendly drink prices throughout the week means that a night with friends with a touch of glass, doesn’t have to break the bank. I’d always recommend a visit on a Bank Holiday Sunday to one of their infamous courtyard parties, which brings a little bit of Ibiza to Leeds through their top name DJ sets and incredibly beautiful laser shows.
After a few drinks in Queens Court, I always find it’s time to pick up the pace and before inevitably ending up in a club, Blayds Bar is always on my list for a great time in Leeds. Hidden away in a back alley just off Lower Briggate, Blayds in a great intimate little venue with lots of charm and appeal. Blayds offers something different every night of the week and includes some great special events. Everybody’s is welcome in Blayds, making it one of the most inclusive in Leeds. Hosted by Drag Queens including Mamma Bear, Blayds caters for all with its collection of chart-hits and the Eurovision Deep Cuts that leave the gays wanting more. You’ll find me on the dancefloor recreating the hair-flips from Fuego most weekends.
If you’ve not had enough by now, then there is only one place to finish off your night. The Viaduct Showbar is the place to finish off your evening, or even party your way through until the morning. The Viaduct Showbar is undoubtedly the most well-known Gay Bar in Leeds, boasting live entertainment every night of the week thanks to some of the most fabulous and glamourous performers and Drag Queens in the country. With live performances throughout the evening, the DJ’s play the hottest new chart hits and all the classics in-between the fabulous and enigmatic performances.
Our scene needs us
During recent years, there has been a lot of press about the closing of LGBT venues all over the country. In November 2016, University College London published a report looking at LGBT+ nightlife in London since 1986. According to THEGAYUK.com, 151 gay bars and clubs in London have shut their doors between 2000 and 2016. A staggering amount. There are many reasons for this, including a rise in business rates and rents – but also, a question that simply gay bars are going out of fashion? Have we reached a point where the pink pound no longer is spent within its community? Have we reached a position in society where our safe spaces are not needed for us to express ourselves and have, we become more confident in ourselves to join the more mainstream nightlife?
Whilst in recent years Gay Scenes have seen a downturn in footfall, and the closing of bars and Safe Spaces, Leeds really does seem to be bucking the trend, but will it be able to survive the fallout of the Coronavirus lockdown?
Maybe the community need to remember where they came from and invest in their local venues a little bit more.
Bars and Clubs are going to have to be inventive and creative to get people back through the doors, and with seemingly a wider acceptance of the gay community, people have been moving away from the scene. Maybe the community need to remember where they came from and invest in their local venues a little bit more. Retaining our safe spaces is essential for many who rely on it as a haven especially for those of the trans community, who are facing a huge amount of prejudice on a daily basis in their normal lives – we must continue to support them and their journey of self-discovery.
So, when the lockdown ends, and it’s safe to do so – we must take to the dancefloor once again. Show up and show our local business’s our support. Most importantly, hug our friends – we’ve all been in isolation, and I guarantee we’re all a little bit apprehensive but we’re all here for the same thing; to blow all our worries and party like it was 1999!
I will see you back on the dancefloor, living my best life!
