Chapter 6 - Abandonment

It’s been three weeks since I was advised to reconsider writing this blog. I do take the advice that I have been given seriously, god knows I have relied on the advice of others to get me through the last few months. Who have been my advisors you may ask. Well it has been a range of people from Doctors, counselor, nurses, and peer support group members. I know their advice is out of concern for my well-being, that through their experience it seems like the best thing for me to do. Why do I have this feeling that I am being told to build a new closet to hide myself in (see chapter 4)? As I said in chapter 4 and will say now, I have no use for closets except for items of clothing. The liberation I felt when I came out as a gay man was profound, it gave me strength and confidence so why step backwards and hide ‘me’ again. I realise that this closet is different, my first closet growing up could be decorated with colour, somewhere that I could hide and be myself and find some semblance of joy while I developed as a gay youth, if even for a short time. This new closet is black, no light is allowed in, it’s a room full of despair, darkness and is joyless, who in their right mind could think this was an appropriate response to any situation or a healthy place to be. In saying this, I have already suffered the ignorance of fools because I stepped out of this dank hole and exposed myself. 

FUCK IT!

I’ve made a decision, it may turn out to be the wrong one but I feel within myself that it is the right one for me.  And this is for me, I am perfectly comfortable shutting people out of my life if they are not at least neutral if not positive in their support. I gained a lot of strength by coming out as gay when I was young, I developed a thick skin and a shield that I used to repel any negativity that was thrown my way. I plan on using that strength to deal with anything that heads my way from what I am about to talk about, I am getting used to abandonment.

So I return to the doctor’s surgery back on 12^th March 2018. He is still holding my arm as he looks at his computer screen checking my blood results.

“Why did we do these test?” he asks.

Now this may seem strange, you would think that a medical practitioner would know why he requested tests on a patient but this was his method of ensuring that his patients understood the purpose of the tests. He expected his patents to respond with at least some understanding of what he was looking for.

“Well,” I responded, “I had that flu a couple of weeks ago that was really debilitating and I just wanted to check everything out to make sure everything was okay.”

“Okay,” he said as he turned back towards me, maintaining his grip on my arm he looked me in the eye and said.

“I’m afraid your results are back and you are HIV positive.”

I know he was still talking to me because I could still see his lips moving. My hearing shut down as if to shield me from what I had just heard, then I could no longer feel his hand on mine as the rest of my senses began to turn off. My mind had stopped at the mention of HIV and was too busy trying to work out how to digest this news and was shutting out all other activity while it tried to process the news. This must be what it is like at the moment of death, everything shutting down all sensations dropping away with just a glimmer of life around you visible in the periphery. I remember seeing my doctor’s lips moving so I know he was still talking to me but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. He must have asked a question and not received a response before he realised that I was only physically in the room with him, he stopped talking but kept his hand on mine. We sat in silence until my mind started to re-boot and come back online. I pulled my hand from under his, rested them on my falling forehead, closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths.

“You need to contact any sexual partners so they can get tested,” was the first thing I can remember him saying as I began to reanimate. He was to say this to me another 3 times during the remainder of our conversation and I really felt like screaming at him that I understood and knew what I had to do. He offered to fax a referral across to the Princess Alexandra Hospital so that they could arrange to see me and discuss treatment options but I wasn’t waiting for a phone call. I took the referral letter and decided I would present to the PA the next day and move things along. 

All I could think about was Mark, a friend from Sydney. He was the flat mate of an old family friend who provided me with somewhere to sleep when I first moved to Sydney from Brisbane. I lived on their couch for a couple of months while I looked for work and then saved enough money to find a place of my own. Mark was someone that I really admired, it wasn’t a crush so much as hero worship. I was inspired by his self-confidence, the way that he had incorporated his gayness into his life. We were never close friends but comfortable enough to chat if we happened to catch up. Which is why I was surprised when I got an invitation to meet him for a drink a few months after I had moved out of his apartment. We met at the Albury, a popular gay bar in the centre of Oxford Street, a bar styled like any local pub in Australia with the long bar on which to rest an arm over a beer. We sat and talked about what we were up to for a while before he paused to tell me that he was HIV positive. My first thought was about the latest treatment options.

“Why are you telling me?” I asked

“Because we lived together I just needed to tell you, He replied.

“Thanks, but there’s no risk for me, you didn’t have to tell me,” I replied, which was true, sharing a toilet or a mug is never going to be a transmission source, I knew I had nothing to worry about. ”How are you going?” I asked, “What treatment are you going to take?” 

We chatted about his future for a while before I leaned over and gave him a hug at which point it became too much for him and I could feel the emotions rising. “Thank you, you’re the first person who has asked me about me,” he said, “everyone has been more concerned about themselves.”

“I’m fine, you’re the one that needs a hug at the moment, if you need anything let me know.”

We sat and finished our beers before he had to go and meet someone else to have the same conversation again and again.

He never did need anything from me, which was fine I was glad that I was able to make what was a difficult conversation easier. This was all I could think of as I left the doctor’s surgery that day, how was I going to tell the guys I had been with. First thing first I had to call work and tell them I wouldn’t be in the next day. The conversation was awkward, I couldn’t name the reason and when I explained that I had to see a specialist the next day and was asked if it was serious I could only answer “yes”. I was in no place to name the problem that I was facing and in no state of mind to discuss it.

That taken care of I then spent the rest of the night with two conversations rolling around in my head, one that I would use when contacting sexual partners and one for work. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, every time I’d start to fall asleep the speech I would need to have with a growing number of guys would start to roll around in my head. I decided I needed to construct a precise and simple statement which stated my new reality and requested him to arrange a test for himself. I knew that I couldn’t have a long drawn out talk over and over again and needed to pass on the information quickly like pulling off a Band-Aid because my list was now in double figures and I didn’t know how much strength I had to keep repeating the same conversation. The next morning after a sleepless night I had a set script in my head that I was going to use. Some of the guys I had to contact were only available through text messaging so I began with them although I had to send each message separately as I couldn’t group text and make each aware of the other guys on the list. It simply said.

“Hi, I’ve just been advised by my doctor that I am HIV positive, please arrange to have a test to make sure that you are okay.”

I then began making phone calls to repeat the same statement to the next group of guys, the conversations were brief, I was having enough trouble vocalising what I had to say that any further conversation was too difficult to deal with. The response was as could only be expected, fear, panic, expletives abounded and I felt responsible for placing all these guys into this situation, my guilt grew with each conversation. As soon as I finished making all the calls that I had to my phone began to ring. Guys that had received a text began to call in a state of panic, but there was nothing I could say except to repeat my message,” get tested then you’ll know, there’s nothing to worry about until then.” 

This was to become my night mare for the next two weeks. Every morning on the way to work I would receive a call from someone who was panicking over a possible result and all I could do was try and reassure them and try and calm their anxiety. By the time I walked into work I was drained, I was still trying to come to terms with my situation but was spending my mornings counseling other guys who were yet to know what their status was and I was not coping. I would struggle through my day occasionally hiding in the bathrooms to cry and let out some of the emotions that were building up within me but as soon as I left work it would begin to build again. The moment I would arrive home the phone would ring and another group of guys would begin to ring to express their concern over their safety. On and on this went, day after day, week after week, and the feeling that I was responsible for the well-being of all these guys forced me to try and be strong and supportive of them while they waited for their results.

 “Why?” you might ask.

We all played with each other at some point, someone, possibly one of the guys I contacted was the source of my infection but still I felt that it was my responsibility, to put aside my distress, my shock, my panic and focus on getting them through their concern. I know I should have been focusing on myself but I felt that I couldn’t abandon them while they were being checked out, if any came back positive I would have to be there for them.

A few days after contacting everyone I began to receive a new message, results started to come in. 

“I’m clear,” I was hearing and I have to say that this was a great weight off my mind, I didn’t want to feel responsible for putting anyone else into the position I was in, “Fuck it gave me a fright though,” they’d continue.

Slowly I began to receive a mix of calls, guys still in a panic about upcoming result and guys who had been given the all clear. All I could tell those in a panic was that everyone so far was okay so not to be concerned until their results were in. As I said, this continued for a couple of weeks but by the end the 18 or 19 guys that I contacted informed me that they were all clear. There were a couple who never got in touch after my initial request to be tested but I felt that I had been up front and honest with them so there was nothing else I could do, I hope they, like everyone else were okay. Although I do wonder why I never heard anything and I hope they didn’t knowingly infect me for some reason. I’ll never know. 

These conversations confirming a negative status began a whole new issue for me. As I was being advised that everyone was okay I began to notice that the conversations were one sided, everyone was expressing how scared they had been, how happy they were with their result and how they had been panicking for the last week.  No-one had yet asked me how I was, did I need anything, and was I okay? Then it was made blatantly obvious why no-one had asked. Conversations began to end with a statement like, “Don’t contact me again!” or after the call I discovered my number was either blocked or I was being un-friended on social media. I was being deserted by my whole social group.

Two weeks after being diagnosed I found myself alone, abandoned by everyone in my social network, everyone that I had told my status to had decided that I was already dead and no longer worth the time of day, crossed out of people’s lives as though I had never been there.

The final blow came in the third week, as Easter approached I received a text message from a friend asking “Are you going to David’s Easter gathering, how are you getting there?”

I hadn’t heard anything about this event and really needed to spend time with people to try and have a normal life so I texted back asking for details. This group contained about 6 guys who I had been in touch with over the previous couple of weeks, a group of friend I had spent a lot of time with over the last couple of years and I thought that maintaining this group of friends would be really helpful. When there was no reply to my text I tried calling but couldn’t get through. I decided to call someone else in the group to try and get details.

When I finally got in touch with someone the conversation was brief and to the point.

“Look, your name was part of a group list and when Jay sent out that text he forgot that your name was on it,” He stated, “You’re not invited.” At which point he hung up.

You know how there tends to be a major group of friend that you see all the time then smaller groups or individuals who you might catch up with from time to time. Well this was my major group, the bulk of my closest friend. I had already been shunned by those individuals and smaller groups and now my main social group had walked away. I spent Good Friday deleting names from my address book and as it quickly emptying. 

I’d never felt more alone, more despised, more worthless.

What a miserable fucking story right. Why would I want to write about that? Well the answer is simple, I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to forget the way I was treated by my peers, I don’t want to forget the way it made me feel.

The way I was treated and shunned had, and is still having a major effect on how I  see myself. I can feel myself closing down, I began to shrink away from the world around me trying to hide from everyone and everything. I became apologetic over anything I did. I began to convince myself that it was all my fault anyway, that I was only getting treated the way I deserved to be treated. I might as well get used to being alone, that quiet guy that doesn’t say much but kept to himself because I didn’t deserve anything more.

I was at my local supermarket picking up a few supplies before scurrying back home to lock the doors and isolate myself as I felt I should, when I joined the queue for the registers. I realised that standing in front of me was one of the guys I had put in danger. What should I do? I felt that it was wrong of me to force him to deal with someone like me so I turned around and walked away, circling the aisles until I was sure he had gone before heading home. I had no right to be seen by anyone, I had no right to force my presence onto anyone, I could spoil their mood or make them feel obliged to say something to me. 

It’s now been about 8 weeks since Easter. I’m still alone but now I have new issues to contend with. The only people I have told my status to are those that need to know, clinical staff who are treating me, my managers at work so that they can understand my needs if I have an issue and those that I have slept with. I have stated receiving comments from people on the street, usually young guys and usually in groups.

“AIDS Cunt,” is being whispered in my direction as I walk down the street.

“Faggot,” is not uncommon.

The only way that these youths could know is if someone I told has thought it appropriate to spread the word. At the moment it is only verbal but I am trying to avoid any one on the street because I don’t know who knows or how they might react. I thought everyone I told would at least respect my privacy but obviously I was wrong and once it has been shared beyond the group I have told I no longer can tell how far it has spread. 

I honestly thought that the treatment I have suffered would not have occurred in this day and age. I thought people would be better informed about the issues around HIV particularly the gay guys I have been hanging around with. I was really shocked by the aggression attached to the rejection I have endured and now with the decision by someone to spread stories about me with the gang youth in my local area I’m feeling really vulnerable and panicked.

So why would I want to write about this and expose myself to further abuse considering what I have already experienced?

I really don’t know how anyone reading this is going to react, this might be the biggest mistake I ever make. But I started this blog to record memories about my life not for anyone else but for me. This experience has been the toughest I have had to endure and my journey has only just begun. Someone, who I may never identify thought that it was fine to expose me to a virus that I have avoided for 35 year of sexual activity. The fact that no-one in my little black book has had a similar result shows that my sexual practices have kept everyone safe. That can only mean one of three things, either the person who gave this to me didn’t know their status and a condom failure wasn’t noticed, they knew their status but there was a condom failure they didn’t notice or I was deliberately exposed by someone who knew their status. I really hope it wasn’t the later but I how do I discover that and what difference could it possibly make for me now, the damage is done.

By putting this into a blog I once again expose myself to further abandonment but so be it. I need to reassess everything in my life. Looking back as I have been doing reminds me that I can overcome any obstacle and that I am a survivor, I will survive this. I need to know who is for, and who is against me so that I can discard the negative as I have been discarded by those around me. I need to completely reevaluate and change my situation, a new beginning on my terms because I refuse to let a virus dictate who I am or what I can do.

To that end I am first of all moving house, a new beginning. I need to get out of this area considering that most of the friends who abandoned me are here but also because the reaction I am now generating when on the street is making me concerned for my personal safety. Verbal abuse I can ignore but this is only occurring through the day when other people are on the street or driving by, which at least makes me feel that it won’t progress any further. But if I have to leave the house at night and run into one of these groups I don’t know if they will be so retrained and be satisfied in simple name calling. I can’t move until August so I still have a couple of months to survive here before I can move but I have already told my real estate agent that I won’t be renewing my lease. I have put in a leave form at work so will be taking off 4 weeks so that I can get to real estates, look at properties and apply during business hours which I couldn’t do while working. And will have plenty of time to get a new lease, move and clean before returning to work with, hopefully a fresh outlook.

I wrote the above last night but now I feel like I am being abandoned again.

I’ve been told by work that I can’t have the time off, I can take the following month if I like. This is useless to me. I’ll have no lease, no home, I can’t work with that. If I go to work I won’t be able to get to real estates to inspect properties during their open house periods which are usually mid-afternoon and only weekdays. I will end up having to just take the first place I can get to if I use sick leave to take a day off to get to an inspection which means I won’t find a place I like but simply somewhere to live. I can’t take anymore, I thought I had planned this out and I was finally getting to a good place in my own head. The thought of moving into the city where I could be close to the services that I need and hopefully to an area with a stronger gay community where I might find new, more supportive friends had finally started improving my mental state. Now I find myself falling back down. I’ve tried thinking of a new plan but I’m left with few choices, I end up having to rush a move to anywhere I get or end up on the street but I’d keep work happy with my presence or I take the time off anyway and suffer the consequences but make the move properly, but that could result in my sacking which means that I wouldn’t be able to pay the rent so I’d end up on the street anyway.  I could just stop taking my medication let the virus come back and wipe out the rest of my immune system, there’s not much left anyway and with winter coming some infection can finish the job it started or I’ve just picked up 2 months’ supply of my medication which would be plenty to cause liver, kidney and heart failure, this fucking thing is determined to win anyway why not just be done with it. I work for an organization that talks about work/life balance, paints itself as caring for its staff  but it’s all talk, it doesn’t matter what you do for them they don’t really care about you. I have to stop now, I’m getting too upset.

Chapter 5 - Top 10 Unusual sex venues

Chapter 5 – Loss Top 10 Unusual sex venues

As you can see the title of this chapter has been changed. I have left the original title as a reminder for me to return to this topic. 

Why the change?

My story so far has been leading to this point and now that I am here I am having trouble recalling anecdotes from the past that link in with what I want to say. The subject is the primary driver behind the commencement of this blog and it is important to me to express how I feel about the situation I find myself in. My intention is to use this forum to help put things into perspective so that I can move forward with strength and resilience as I have always done. But, legal counsel has advised me to reconsider writing this chapter; that the ramifications to me socially and financially if I proceed may not become clear until it is too late to withdraw what I say. I don’t know what to do. So with this in mind I have decided to pause the narrative of my story while I take stock of exactly what I am doing and considering whether I am presently strong enough, within myself, to continue.

In the meantime I thought I’d have a little fun reminiscing about the more unusual places that I have hooked up with guys. This is my top 10 list of unusual sex venues. Let’s see if you can spot any that allow you to say ‘been there, done that!’

Number 10 Night Club Back Alley

The summer of ’92, I had recently lost my job due to the company that I worked for moving into receivership. On the dole while searching for employment in an environment where jobs were scarce was not a fun position to be in. That didn’t mean that I was not having a social life. I could often be found in the Springhill Hotel at any time of the day or night, having a drink while working on applications or recovering from another unsuccessful job interview. I did start to think I frequented the bar a little too much during this period when all the bartenders would pour my drink the moment I walked in and would have it sitting on the bar before I got up to it. But I was poor and it wasn’t as if I would drink myself under the table and remember this was a period when it was still illegal for the bartender to serve me or let me onto the premises (queers and perverts not allowed). It was like a home away from home, a comfortable place to be. And so that’s where I found myself one Saturday night in October. The bar was crowded as it always was on the weekend, so I grabbed my drink and found a stool at an empty round bar table from which I could watch the action. Even if my intention was not to pick anyone up, I still enjoyed, and still do, watching the crowd, working out who was chasing who, who failed and who succeeded. 

I was soon joined at my table by another guy around my age and before long we had struck up a conversation. Like me he had arrived alone and was similarly just out for a good night out. We were quickly sizing up the ‘trade’ in the bar, judging from afar if they were tops or bottoms, single or taken (if taken, available?), cute or not. It was shaping up to be a good night of simple relaxing banter with the possibility of making a new friend. Before long our table, which up to this point had been our sole domain was crowded by a new guest. Now this new guest had not made it onto either of our radars. If he had his assessment would probably have been; HOT, well built, obviously a gym queen but had found the perfect middle ground between built and oversized hulk, the most perfect skin I have ever seen, creamy without a single blemish, no freckle or mole to break the perfect veneer of his outer casing. Clear blue eyes that forced you to dive in for what you thought would be a quick dip in the pool but resulted in you coming out like a prune because you had stayed in too long. We would have placed him on top of the unavailable list, 11 out of 10, either taken or well and truly out of our league.

You get the picture.

“I’ve been watching you guys, I know what you’re doing,” was his opening remark.

“Shit,” I thought, our fun was over, only a few days before at the same bar I had been having a drink at lunchtime after a job interview when the barman had come over to ask me to stop writing in my diary. Someone else at the bar was watching me and was concerned that I was an undercover cop taking notes about the people in a gay bar. Our community was completely paranoid.

“So who’s going to hook up with who and what’s your rating system,” he continued.

He bought us both a drink and our night continued. We didn’t dance, we didn’t sing, just the three of us in the middle of a gay bar with dance music blaring, bodies all around and we chatted the night away. He was up from Sydney to see family and this was his only opportunity to go out before he returned home the next day but he seemed happy spending it with us and we were enjoying his company. Although we were having a great time I was still wondering why he wasn’t out playing the field, he could so obviously get his hands around any guy that took his fancy but come closing time he was still at our table. As we all rose to leave he took hold of my arm and whispered in my ear, “Come with me.” We headed out and he dragged me around the corner and towards the alley that ran behind the club. Enough to say that we got up to some mischief without going into details, a bouncer did come by and attempt to move us on but we weren’t going anywhere until we were done and my partners charisma seemed to work on the bouncer as much as me so we were left alone.

So this is number 10 on my list, not because it was such a unique venue but because he told me to catch up with him in Sydney if I was ever down there. Within 2 weeks I had packed my bags and moved south. I did call him but it was obvious that he hadn’t expected me to actually contact him and that was okay. He had given me a great night and had boosted my self-confidence simply by picking me up, that he changed my life and that doesn’t happen often with a one night stand.

Number 9 Clothing Store

This one shows that anyone who thinks ‘GAYDAR’ is a fallacy is talking out their arse. We’re still in Brisbane, just after midnight and I am walking the streets of Stones Corner on my way home. The streets are quiet as this is before the area was gentrified and invaded by wanky bars catering for the yuppie ‘in crowd’, this was still an area dominated by working class and lower income households. I was in no rush to get home as I had been out clubbing and had drunk enough to be in a nice relaxed mood. I browsed into the store windows as I slowly made my way homewards. As I came towards a women’s clothing store I noticed that it seemed too brightly lit for the time of night. The full fronted glass wall flooding the street with its harsh white light. Strolling past the windows like a vampire trying to avoid the harsh light of day, I glanced in as I wandered past. With no interest in browsing through the goods on display, the clothing inside was not even fit for the cheapest drag-queen to wear, it was more of a cursory glance to ascertain why the lights were on. Nothing seemed out of place so it didn’t look like a robbery. Just as I reached the far corner my eye was drawn to a pair of legs entwined around the nozzle of a vacuum cleaner. That explained the lights, the cleaners were in.  But as I reached the darkness of the next storefront I stopped. In my slightly drunken state my senses were a little slow, those legs were male and cute. Pausing for only a moment I turned around. With a slow return journey passed the windows I focused a little more on the contents of the store, with a distinct focus on the choice of cleaning crew. I was able to ascertain that it was a solitary figure inside, so that was a good start, and that my initial assessment of the state of the legs were in fact correct and that the rest of the body to which they were attached were also cute. My interest was further enhanced when I made eye contact with the deep brown eyes of the industrious guy inside. By now I had reached the far side of the store and there was nothing for me to do but turn around and re-pass, my home was in the opposite direction I was now travelling in, but as I turned around the store door opened.

“Hi, having a good night?” asked legs, the vacuum cleaner piping still encircling them.

“Not too bad so far,” I replied, “It can always get better,” I continued, subtlety never being a strong point.

“Come in, keep me company for a bit.”

I can remember that it was winter if only because the floor was tiled and cold but the rack of fake fur coats removed that. We never made it to the back room or even behind the counter. So on full display in the middle of the store lit for anyone passing to get an eye full we went for it sliding on the tiled floor on a bed of fur coats. My GAYDAR worked again, and his.

Number 8 Football field

I wouldn’t say that I am a big ‘footy’ fan, although I do enjoy watching a game from time to time. What I am a big fan of are footy shorts and the legs and butts they try to cover. I often find myself sitting to watch local games if I notice they are on and I have nothing else planned. Watching the game is fine if it’s a good game but watching the players can be much more entertaining. There was a sports field in Randwick that I used to wander passed occasionally and if there was a game on I’d stop for a while and watch what was happening on the field. It was on one such occasion that I want to talk about. It was late on a Saturday afternoon when I noticed the flood lights on and decided to check out who was playing. At a glance the teams looked like they were made up of 20 to30 year olds so I thought it was worth my time to sit for a bit. Finding a spot close to the centre line I got comfortable on the grass to watch the action. There were a few great pairs of legs attached to a few exceptional torsos. There is nothing more entertaining than watching two men tussle for control of a ball, wrapping themselves around an opponent to wrestle them to the ground. It was a good game and I was thoroughly entertained by quite a number of the players, but all things must end and as the game came to a close the players moved off the field and the remaining spectators headed towards the carpark. I was about to continue my journey home when I noticed one of the players loitering not too far from where I was sitting. I quickly realised that he was one of the players that I had picked out during the game to keep an eye on and we had made eye contact when he was near the line I was sitting at. I assumed that he was waiting for someone, but I did give him a small wave of recognition when he caught me glancing in his direction. It was one thing to have a bit of a perve from the sidelines but I wasn’t stupid and knew I had to be careful that he didn’t take offence to me ogling him. He smiled and waved in response and then began to move in my direction.

“Did you enjoy the game?” He asked as he took a seat beside me.

“Yeah it was a good fast game,” I replied, “You must have liked it, you won,” I continued.

“Always good to get a win,” He said as he sidled up beside me so I could feel the hairs on his legs brush against mine, “What are you up to?”

“Nothing planned, just having a cruisy night.”

“Great, same here, I like to just sit for a bit after a game.”

And so we sat chatting as the remaining players and spectators finally departed leaving us alone on the sideline under the lights of the field. I hadn’t realised that the lights were on a timer and didn’t require someone to turn them off so when he placed his hand on my thigh I was a little concerned that someone would walk out of the club house and see us. I should have known that he knew what was going on, and that we were now the only people there. So starting off slowly on the sideline I soon found myself wrapped around this little power horse on the centre marker. This was new to me but it was obvious that it was a regular occurrence for him. So, trusting that he knew we were alone we spent the rest of the night ‘kicking-off’ under the flood lights in the centre of the playing field, I didn’t notice when the lights went off the game just kept going.

Number 7 Café Istanbul 2016

This one is number 7 not because it was such a unique venue, but because it was in a foreign country and didn’t happen after business but during. Turkey is a strange country where it has never been illegal to be gay, it is just frowned on culturally. Luckily GAYDAR doesn’t rely on culture, boundaries or language to function. I was wandering around the centre of Istanbul late one afternoon, I had been in the city for a couple of weeks and knew the area around the Blue Mosque quite well and had soon realised that it served the function of a gay cruising area. I wasn’t looking for action but I was enjoying watching the action from afar learning the subtleties of Turkish cruising. It was very cautious and careful and it was obvious that those participating were not open or free but the desire to make a connection was too strong to keep them away. After watching the theatre on the street I wandered along one of the smaller side streets to a café that I knew would still be open to get some water. There was only one guy left serving and it looked like he was planning on closing as I walked up to the counter. When I asked for the bottled water instead of reaching into the fridge he used his broken English to strike up a conversation. I say broken English but I have to give him credit, at least he had some English at his disposal where I had no Turkish. It was during this idle conversation about the sights that I had seen and those that I was yet to see that I noticed another sight. His hand, that had been heading for my water had changed direction and was now intent on making his ‘boy’ parts more comfortable in his jeans. This would not have given me more than a passing thought, it’s not an unusual move to see someone do for the sake of comfort, if it wasn’t for the fact that his hand remained where it was and was now making his obvious ‘men’s’ parts uncomfortable in his jeans. Always eager to learn local customs when travelling I used the old adage, ‘When in Rome’, and responded in kind. Well that was the signal he was waiting for and his hand left his crotch to clasp my hand as he turned towards the interior of the café. He took me up the narrow set of stairs that led to the mezzanine sitting area and on a bed of embroidered cushions I found out what a Turk hides in his jeans. Luckily he only had to run down stairs a couple of times to serve people who rudely turned up to make purchases. I never did get my water but for some reason I forgot all about it.

Number 6 Tied to a tree

This one is number 6, although I wouldn’t say it was the most unique of venues but it was an interesting night. I ran into a couple of guys while I was on my way home one night, I did know them, somewhat, although hadn’t spent much time with them. I was wearing a kilt for work where I sold a lot of costuming and yes I am Scottish so no need to ask what I wear under it. They told me that they were heading for drinks and invited me along. We were walking through a park to reach the venue when things took a different twist. Before I knew it I was ties to a tree in the middle of a cemetery in Brisbane and so the night began. I do like cemeteries and always try to visit one when I’m traveling but usually in day light and not for this kind of fun. Don’t misunderstand there was no violence although not expected. I don’t know where they found anyone in the middle of a park at night but there was soon a small crowd who worked out for themselves what a Scotsman has under his kilt. Dry cleaning bills are a bitch.

Number 5 Venetian wall Heraklion

Back on a cultural experience for this one. Heraklion in Crete is quite a large city but even after 3 weeks of exploring the city I had found drug dealers but no gay scene at all. I had been warned in Athens that I would be surprised by the cultural difference be in Crete from that of mainland Greece and they were right. As the last area to be recovered from Turkish occupation there was a very strong push to re-establish a Greek culture that strongly influenced the feel of the place. They were not Europeanized like the mainland but were still trying to re-establish their Greek heritage and it strongly influenced the attitudes in the city. The Venetians had spent quite a bit of time in the city and had built great fortifications to protect the city from the Turks as they were pushed out. The Venetian wall which surrounds the old city was a great place to sit and look out over the Mediterranean and I would often take something to eat and a Cretan novel up to the top to relax after a day’s exploring. It was on one of these explorations that I met John, not the only gay Cretan I’m sure, but the only one I managed to meet. It was a real eye opener sitting talking to him. The shock that he expressed when he realised how openly gay I was, he was so far in the closet that it was a wonder he had been game to come over to talk to me. He continually needed reassurance from me that it was okay to be gay, so much so that I didn’t expect anything else to happen but the providing of a counselling session. But as the sun began to set over the Venetian fortress protecting the harbour and sink beneath the, now pink Mediterranean he moved in closer. I’m always very careful when travelling to not make the first move, I never know if what I am reading as a ‘move’ is simply a cultural closeness and that was what was happening here. I couldn’t make a move until John had shown his intentions, particularly after the very restrained and self-conscious conversation we had been having. 

“Sorry,” he said, as he shuffled away from my side.

“Sorry for what?” I asked

“I thought you might have wanted to play,” He responded.

“I’d love to play, I just didn’t want to scare you away if you didn’t”

And that was that. We found a nice grassy spot on top of a medieval monument once used to protect the city and now protecting us from the city, overlooking the Mediterranean as the sun set on a warm autumn night in Crete.

Number 4 Railway Station Newtown

Newtown railway station is always busy. With a large student and youth population in the surrounding area public transport was well utilized. But there are always quiet periods, particularly later in the evening. So late on a Thursday night I am heading home from work which was located in Chatswood in the northern suburbs of Sydney. By the time I arrived home in Newtown it was about 10:30. I was tired, uncomfortable in my suit after a day on the sales floor. There was only a handful of people who got off at the station so the platform was soon clear. I took a seat for a moment to put the book I was reading back into my bag and to retrieve my house keys under the stronger lights of the station. As I fished in my case for the keys I noticed a guy coming down the stairs towards the platform. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked down the platform as if searching for someone. He caught my eye and made his way straight towards me.

“Hi, how are you going?” He asked.

“Tired, just heading home from work?” I replied, “How are you going?”

“Horny!” he responded as he extended his hand towards me.

I reached out to take his hand which was soon clasped. Then he took a step closer keeping my hand in his which was now moving in the direction of his crotch.

“See what I mean?” he asked as he rubbed my hand on a very real issue.

“Whoa, you’ve got a real problem there, you need to get help with that.”

“Want to help?”

“Sure, want to head to my place, it’s just up the street?”

“No, can’t wait.”

Okay, an eager beaver, so probably recorded on security tapes for prosperity, in plain view of anyone who decided to catch a train or possibly the driver and the entire passenger list of any oncoming train we went for it. I must say that it wasn’t the most comfortable of locations to spend time with someone, nor was there a great deal of time to get to know each other before the opportunity would pass us by, but it was exciting due to  all that.

Number 3 Paper mill Istanbul

When traveling I like to get to know the city I am visiting. I tend to stay in a city for most of my time and really get to know my way around its streets. This means I like to wander all areas of a city including areas tourist would tend not to go, it’s amazing what you can find. It’s always nice to find a restaurant that the local would eat in rather than one catering for travelers, which is what I had done this night. After wandering around an area of Istanbul which contained light industry factories I discovered a little café style restaurant where I had the best lamb dish in my time in Turkey. Finishing my meal I continued wandering around the streets, just looking around the building, the little streets, watching the locals go about their business. It was during these wanderings that my eye was drawn to a guy sitting on a bench in what seemed like an empty street. The chair sat against a large wall, on the opposite side of the road sat a row of small factories closed for the night. As I walked past he said something to me in Turkish which of course I didn’t understand a word of. Not to be rude, I stopped and tried to explain that I didn’t know what he was saying. We were not getting anywhere through speech but his body language and tone were friendly so our short and uneventful conversation didn’t seem like a waste of time. I continued on my way but had to take a look back before I reached the next corner. I realised that he had moved off the bench into the middle of the road but was maintaining eye contact with me as he crossed the road. Something was up I thought. So waiting at the corner for a moment I decided to walk back up the road but on the other side of the road so I could see where he had gone. When I finally got to the spot that he had disappeared I could see him down a small alley which led towards the doors of a factory set back from the street. The alley was obviously used for deliveries and towards the end I could see the guy I had been watching standing at the entrance to the factory. He signaled for me to head towards him and if an opportunity presents itself, why not. So I headed down the lane until I met him at the door, again we had to struggle with the language barrier but he soon got his intentions across. When we entered I found myself in the middle of an empty paper mill. Huge rolls of paper stacked one on top of the other, small printed papers packed into stacks filled the corridors as we headed deeper into the building. It was silent and it was obvious that we were alone. At the back of the factory was a room that was obviously set up for the night watchman who I was apparently accompanying. It was a pity that there wasn’t a cot for the night guard to sleep in, but I suppose he wasn’t supposed to sleep. All there was to play on were stacks of paper. I swear it took days to get that news print off my ass.

Number 2 Nudist beach Royal National park

I love camping, and when I say camping I do mean a backpack, tent and camp fire, not a log cabin or sleeping in the back of a car. Sydney had great areas to bush walk and camp and I used to arrange my working week so that I would have a long weekend every 2 weeks, so in summer I could go camping a couple of times each month. One of the benefits of being the store manager and being in charge of rostering which I took full advantage of. The Royal National Park, south of Sydney was one of my favorite areas to explore and I had several different routes I could take over a three day period to vary my time there. One of the great areas I discovered was a nudist beach in the centre of the park. It was close enough to the entrance that it was popular with day visitors and was an area that was not designated as a camp site, but I had worked out that if I spent the day there without pitching my tent I was fine. It was quite a hike to get to and if the rangers came it was usually in the middle of the day so that as night fell and those who had made the trek for the day left it was easy to remain at the water’s edge for the night. It was on a night like this that this story takes place. The beach was magical, soft sand with pebbles clustered into groups by the tide. Each time the tide changed all of the rocks and pebbles would be picked up by the waves leaving clean sand then on the next turn the rocks would return but in a different spot than before, sometimes placed into 3 strips up the beach other times clustered together in one strip in the centre. I loved sitting on the shore watching the tide play its magic across the shore and hear the wildlife in the forest behind me sing to the full moon. I never came across anyone else who camped overnight while I was there, although others must have from time to time. It was a night like this with the stars reflecting on a still sea that I saw the lights of a boat heading across the waters. I was surprised to notice that the lights were getting stronger and appeared to be heading my way. My first thought was that it was park rangers looking for poachers farming the waters around the national park but I was sure they wouldn’t see me as I had no fire going. I watched as the boat continued to move closer and closer to the shore. Not knowing who it was heading my way or their intention I thought it best to move off the beach and head for my campsite, out of sight behind the tree-line. I had reached the shelter of the tree line as the boat came ashore. Only one person jumped out and landed on the beach so I didn’t think it was park rangers but still couldn’t work out who it was. Whoever it was they were heading straight for me, nothing for it but to wait and see what was next. It was then that I remembered that I was on a nudist beach and I was still ‘freewheeling’ which wasn’t how I thought it best to confront this new-comer so I headed for my tent to put something on…..why bother. He managed to make it to my tent before I got there and was sitting on a rock watching me arrive.

“Hi,” I said, trying to gauge his attitude, “How did you get up here so fast?”

“I know the area, I have crab pots in the bay and I saw you set up your tent this afternoon,” He replied.

“Do you have something to drink?” He continued, looking towards my tent.

“No, but I may have something to smoke if you’re interested,” As I headed towards the tent flap.

Before I knew what was happening I was being followed inside by a crab fisherman. Can’t recall if we ever found that smoke but we did create some sparks. When we had enough entertainment for the night he left me sitting on a warm rock watching as he walked back across the sand to the boat bobbing on the shore. I watched as he sailed away, back across the waters towards the setting moon.

Number 1 Mosque

OMG, number one.

 I personally think this one is going to be hard for even me to beat. Again I am in Istanbul, yes this is the third time Turkey appears on this list but with the cultural situation in Turkey unusual places just present themselves. Once again I am spending some free time wandering the city after a day’s shopping in the Grand Bazaar.  What is it about ‘the other’ that makes them so attractive? I could sit for hours looking at the Turkish men walking the streets of Istanbul. I was doing just that when my final (for this list) man arrived on the scene. He was tall, fresh faced with pale blue eyes that I could see from across the plaza. I couldn’t help but stare, his eyes were so captivating that I just couldn’t let go no matter how hard I tried to look away. He crossed towards me and I thought we were going to come face to face but as he came towards me he veered left and continued on his way, but not before pausing slightly to stare me down. “Okay,” I thought, “I got an eyeful anyway.” But when I glanced back in the direction he had gone, he was now sitting on the next bench looking back towards me. Mmmmm, what’s going on here? I sat and continued watching the crowd go passed aware that I was still being observed from the next bench. Before long he was up onto his feet and once again was heading my way, but once again apart from the direct look as he came up to me he continued walking beyond me. Once again he stopped at the next bench and sat back down. Something was up so I thought I’d push the envelope a little. I stood up walking in the opposite direction to where he was, although I made sure that he saw me look at him before I left. As I suspected I was being followed, the game was on, but where the fuck was I going to lead him to? I had to stop at a store window so he could catch up and hopefully take the lead. And he did, so off we went through the darkened streets of Istanbul. The streets were familiar but he was still a little ahead of me so I wasn’t sure where we were heading. I saw him turn a corner but before I could get there I realised that someone else was following me. I turned around to see a distinguished looking guy in a suit siding up to me. We made small talk about where were, what we were doing in Istanbul, it turned out he was an executive from Fiat Italy here on business. Then he offered to buy me a drink which we could have in his room. If I wasn’t already working on someone else I may have taken him up on the offer but I wanted to see where my first mark would lead so I quickly had to say my farewells to Mr. Fiat and get back on the chase. By the time I finally reached the corner I couldn’t see where he had gone and Mr. Fiat had turned back the way he had come. Great no fun for me tonight. Then a huge wooden door opened and I instantly recognized the eyes that looked back down the alley. The head disappeared back inside but the door remained open.  I cautiously stuck my head inside to see an interior garden with my guy standing at the top of a flight of stairs leading down to a building underneath the garden I was now walking through. As I reached the top of the stairs I took a moment to look around and get a better impression of where I was. Shit, I had been here earlier today just not through this doorway, I had visited this mosque as a tourist today. Before I could think any more about the ramifications of getting with a guy in this location he was signaling from the bottom of the stairs for me to get a move on. Down I went to discover a small apartment hidden under the mosque, no windows only one door but amazingly cool and airy, don’t know how. We had a great night but I was chased out early, it was obvious that it probably wasn’t a good idea for me to be discovered on the grounds as morning prayers began. Unfortunately he was so keen to get me moving when we saw the time that I left my glasses behind, which I didn’t realise until later. I thought it best not to head in the next day to see if I could get them back, I wasn’t sure quite how to explain how, where and why I had left my glasses in the caretakers apartment. Oh well, it was worth it.

So how many could you see and recognize from your own experiences?