Chapter 11 - Love & Sex part 2

Chapter 11 – Love & Sex part 2

Am I a romantic? I like to tell myself that I’m not but if I’m honest I’m really the worst type of romantic there is. The very idea of having someone who would slay dragons to protect me, or someone that I would slay the dragon to rescue, someone who could stare into my eyes and not need to say a word to express how they feel just makes my heart skip a beat. Images of being part of a couple fill my mind, strolling in each other’s arms, lying in each other’s arms on a lazy Sunday morning. Having coffee at our favourite café, he smiles at me over the brim of his cappuccino, his eyes expressing the joy of being together, simply having favourite places to go or things to do as a couple. 

Was Andrew a romantic? The answer is a simple yes. We’d send each other little love notes even if we were seeing each other that night. Notes left on pillows or placed in a jacket pocket to be discovered at some later time. Little snippets of poetry or quotes from our favourite authors. Because this was a regular feature of our lives, to make small romantic gestures to each other I don’t recall them all, which is heartbreaking as I sit here remembering the experience but not the details. It is this that makes my remembrance of that final note I was to receive from Andrew, the Longfellow quote I placed in part 1, all the more powerful to me. Why do I have to remember the end so clearly while the fine details of our time together fades?

I know what my problem is, I have always known what my problem is when it comes to romance and love. I’m a hopeless romantic. This seems like the perfect place to be, a hopeless romantic will see the romance in everything, will create romance even when none is present, will love the object of their affections unconditionally and forever. You only need to think about my discussion of Andrew to know the truth of that statement. My problem doesn’t lie in my ability to love, my ability to find joy and contentment in the arms of someone I love, my problem is sex.

I’m going to talk about sex a little later because it plays such a large part of my life experience, my past, present and future but I want to move back to the current topic of Love.

So as I said before, the end for Andrew and I occurred when he walked into my apartment to discover me entertaining two other guys. Who were they and what were we up to? Well the first to arrive was Daniel, he was an aboriginal boy who had moved into the apartment below me with another friend. Shortly after their arrival there was a knock on my door and when I opened it I discovered Daniels flat mate on my doorstep. “Hi, my flat mate thinks your cute and would like to get to know you.” Was his plain and to the point statement. “Great, tell him to come up and say hi.” This he promptly did and we soon began to spend the occasional afternoon rolling around my apartment satisfying our carnal lust for each other. There was never any thoughts of this relationship developing any further than spontaneous sex, Daniel knew I was in a relationship, he often ran into Andrew and I together in the building. This is the fault in me that I was talking about, I have always separated love and sex so seeing Daniel was never cheating in my mind because there was only physical attachment never emotional. The other guy who was present that fateful day was Jorge, our relationship was in much the same vein as that with Daniel although it was becoming dangerous because I was beginning to develop feelings towards him. But I will say in my defense that Andrew came into the apartment to find the 3 of us in my lounge room, fully clothed, sitting apart and not post coitus. I just felt that I needed to set the record straight so that no one thinks Andrew walked in to find me wrapped around two guys performing the pages of the Karma Sutra.

The problem was that both of the guys sitting in my lounge that day knew about Andrew, both were happy to play with me behind his back, I think that this was part of the thrill they received in playing with me. But when confronted by his presence their guilt shone through and it was this that Andrew picked up on that infamous day. The disappointing thing about that day, and I’m going to appear shallow but I didn’t get any sex that day both Daniel and Jorge left shortly after Andrew’s departure. I never got together with Daniel again after that day, Jorge on the other hand was a little more resilient, so let’s move on.

Jorge was very different from Andrew in many ways. To start with Andrew was a little shorter than me but only just, Jorge came up to my shoulders, he was heavy built compared to Andrew’s slim frame. Solid and muscular he was quite capable of lifting me up like a pebble and carrying me to wherever he wanted. He was dark and handsome, with his dark hair and olive skin a polar opposite to Andrew’s Anglo appearance. He was also endowed with the thickest largest Latin cock I have ever had to contend with. Nature had well and truly blessed his smaller stature with equipment that would put most other men to shame, which combined with his ingrained South American machismo made our love-making intense forceful and tonsil ticklingly satisfying, if I’d still had tonsils. I met Jorge in Centennial Park in Sydney, one lustful afternoon. As usual whenever I was out and about I was cruising. I don’t mean that I was constantly out specifically looking for sex but rather I was, and am, always checking guys out and where possible flirting, I can’t help it. I was just thinking that this ability to flirt even when in the company of others may have developed while I was working as a prostitute but that’s not true, I think it was a skill that allowed me to be reasonable successful in that role but one that I already had in my arsenal. Anyway Jorge and I got each other’s attention without a word being said and before you know it the karma sutra comes out and we lose the rest of the day. That should have been it, we should have gone our separate ways and most likely never seen each other again, but Jorge’s pillow talk. 

English was not Jorge’s first language and it showed, his errors in word choice or grammar simply made me laugh, his mistakes were endearing. He would revert to Spanish in frustration which made me laugh all the harder but at the same time was making my heart melt. If you have never had a South American boy lie beside you after frenzied love making talking to you in Spanish, I highly recommend it, it’s like strawberries and champagne, sunsets and moonlit nights and slow dancing until dawn. His Latin maleness, the ease and confidence with which he carried himself made me swoon, and so began our affair. So on the rare day that I wasn’t seeing Andrew I began to spend time with Jorge. They were polar opposites not just in appearance but in personalities, Andrew was gentle, soft and placid whereas Jorge was strong, forceful and in charge. Jorge was most definitely trapped in the Latin views regarding gender roles and he knew where he sat in regards to his and my roles in the relationship. We discussed machismo a lot because it oozed from every pore. He was always in charge and I was his, but he was so fucking hot! 

So I want to talk about machismo for a little bit because it was such a fundamental aspect of Jorge’s personality and, thinking about it, part of why we were together for almost four years. The idea of gender specific roles where the man is boss and the woman is subservient seems strange and outdated to most of us, but in Latin countries it’s still a dominant force. Jorge was influenced by this growing up in Chile like everyone else.

 I think when he discovered that he was gay it only reinforced his need to prove to himself that he still fitted into his societies construct, that he was a man, so his machismo simply grew stronger to the point that it was the dominant feature in all his decision making. I was automatically assigned the female role within this Latin relationship so decisions on where we were going, what we were doing, how and when we would make love were all controlled by him. To some this may sound like a dominating, abusive type of relationship but I want to show that it never was. The contrast between Andrew and Jorge was profound and it was this that drew me to Jorge. Andrew offered and gave me a relationship between to equal partners, mutual decisions and mutual choices and with all that there was always going to be those times when choices or preferences were in conflict. That was fine we discuss options, come to an agreement and proceed. With Jorge that process did not exist, once he had made a decision, or made plans it was assumed that I would be ready and prepared to accept the choices made for me. There were rare occasions where I was asked what I wanted to do and if I had something in mind he was happy to comply with my wishes, but I think that by the time this option was ever offered I had already been so encased in the choices he would make I would select something that would appeal to him anyway. It was a beautiful thing to be treated this way. Really who doesn’t want to be treated this way, loved, pampered, taken care of, protected and cherished?

This makes it sound like an abusive kind of relationship but it was nothing of the sort, I’m not stupid and could see what was happening around me and so could Jorge. He was fiery, yes, but never violent, forceful but never hurtful, dominant but never domineering. He allowed my nurturing traits to come out when it came to language. With English as a second language I was constantly correcting his word choice or syntax, it was inevitable that he would constantly revert to Spanish when trying to convey and idea and would usually attempt a straight word for word translation as best he could, sometimes with hilarious results. And that boy did he have hips, you have not been dancing until you have danced with a Latin man, the steam that would rise as the music took control, be still my beating heart. When we were on the dance floor there was no one else around, he would just draw me in, let me know that I was his partner and let the beat take control, I swear to any god you people used to give us space once we got going, which is quite an achievement in a gay nightclub.

His energy was contagious, he loved life, wanted to savor it all, constantly chasing excitement and thrills and as his partner I was along for the ride. Life with Jorge was exhausting, he lived like there was no tomorrow, never leave for tomorrow an experience that could be lived today. His energy was boundless and exuded from every pour being as close to him as I was it was impossible not to absorb the energy from him, and he had enough to feed everyone around. The reason for this boundless love of life became very clear the moment Australia allowed Chilean dictator Pinochet to step foot onto our shore. Jorge loved Chile, his cousin with whom he shared an apartment loved Chile, their families, what remained, loved Chile but everyone hated Pinochet. The only reason I met Jorge at all was the fact that escaped from Chile with his cousin, if he hadn’t escaped to Australia he may not have been around for me to meet and fall in love with at all. The Pinochet regime was brutal to the gay community in Chile, most of Jorge’s friend had been arrested and disappeared under the policies of Pinochet. Family had been arrested, imprisoned and killed. When we discovered that Pinochet was to be received at Sydney Town Hall I was to see the full force of the hatred Jorge had for this man, the anger, the ability to kill someone that rose to the surface at the very mention of his name. We went to Town Hall that day to protest his presence, how could we not. As far as I know ASIO still have Jorge and my pictures on file because we saw them there photographing events and us. I think that if I hadn’t been present beside Jorge that day I would have lost him forever because although we threw rocks and abuse tried to smash the windows of the car Jorge would not have been satisfied with that and would have sacrificed his life to get his hands onto Pinochet’s throat. Don’t think I held him back, there would have been no way for me to even try if the opportunity had arisen but I think my presence was enough to stem the rage a little. I saw a side of Jorge that day that I had never seen before. To watch someone’s blood boil so fiercely that it is like a nuclear bomb about to explode and is capable of wiping out anything in its path that was Jorge. How can we as a society allow someone into this country when we know what they are doing to their people at home? How can we as Australians accept our governments interacting with regimes that still persecute minorities and perform atrocities onto their own people? 

I get so angry when someone mentions that they are going to Bali for a holiday, does no one think about who they are giving their money to? Do we as Australians care more about a cheap holiday that the lives of our fellow man? How can it be acceptable for someone to travel to Bali, Indonesia and give their money and by their presence, support to a government that still thinks it’s okay to walk young men into a forest and shoot them through the heart for a drug offense, real or not, which did not harm anyone else? Why do we accept that it’s okay for a neighbor to break into the house of two young men  20 and 23 years old because he suspects that they are gay and for his testimony that he saw them having sex to be enough for both of them to receive 84 lashes in a public display of homophobia? Don’t tell me you are going to Indonesia because I have loved someone who has had to escape a society that would have murdered him for being gay, I have seen the damage done to someone because they have had to live through that experience. If we travel to countries that are still prepared to treat it’s population without humanity, that specifically are prepared to treat my fellow gay brothers like dogs that can be punished and put down then we are saying that we accept that nations choices and I for one DO NOT. 

So I learnt a lot from Jorge, my politics grew, my focus widened and my attitudes changed.

His energy stemmed from the fact that he survived, that he had found somewhere where he could be alive. He lived like there was no tomorrow because he had spent the majority of his life in a place where no tomorrow was always a possibility. He loved fiercely because the joy of being free to love let loose a desire to experience love with such a passion that at times it felt we would burst into flames.

Our love reminds me of a book and film that I could not recommend more strongly, “Like Water for Chocolate” by Laura Esquivel. If you haven’t read or seen it then please search and find it, if you have a romantic soul in your body it is going to be forever grateful for the experience. I didn’t see this film with Jorge but with Andrew and by the end we were both so on fire that there were two things on our minds that had to be satisfied, we needed something decadent to eat and we had to find a bed straight away. Luckily we saw the film in the evening because if we had passed a bedding store that would have been our destination and no one could possibly have stopped us. Thank god I didn’t see it with Jorge I think I would have ended up in a wheelchair once the passion the film creates had abated and he didn’t need the assistance, he never needed a spark for his flame to be at full roar.

So how did this romance end? Well his fiery passion knew no bounds, he was hungry and feasted. On Christmas morning I gathered my parcels and headed over to Jorge’s apartment to spend the afternoon with him, his cousin and flat mate as we had done for the previous 3 years. When I arrived his cousin answered the door and I could see her face drop at the sight of me. When I entered Jorge was on the balcony his arms around another guy, one that I had introduced him to through my volunteer work. Although this new guy was six foot something and solid when he saw me he actually cowered at the edge of the balcony, not a smart move to be so close to the edge I thought. Jorge’s cousin was furious that Jorge hadn’t spoken to me about the situation and offered for me to stay for lunch as I was already here. But that would have been uncomfortable for everyone so I left my gift and departed from Jorge’s life. I have always wondered what the trigger was and I keep coming back to the same moment. Over all the time we were together Jorge always took the dominant role in our love making, this was fine with me as I am what is generally referred to as a ‘versatile bottom’, but just before Christmas that year I forced Jorge into reversing roles for once. Was that my mistake? Had I broken the dynamic of our roles through his machismo eyes and made him less of a man by taking that dominant role? Was this just me being shown what it felt like for Andrew when he discovered Jorge and me together, it felt like it? Again there was no argument, no screaming or histrionics, simply a parting of the ways.

It is a bit like when I was writing about Andrew in the last page I am feeling emotions that I haven’t felt for a long time as I reminisce about Jorge and the live we had. I once again find my eyes welling up with the memories. I think with everything that has happened to me this year so far I am feeling sentimental about the past, and a little sad thinking about what I might not get the opportunity to live through again in the future.

 Love, it changes your life, you can feel your heart swell when it finds you, you can sense the glow that comes from someone in love and there is nothing more beautiful in the world. I have been blessed by finding love twice, with two very different but equally beautiful men. They influenced my thoughts, my values and my life. I know I wouldn’t be the man I am today if it wasn’t for them being in my life and I am so thankful that they were. 

Once again I find myself not wanting to continue with the subjects I listed in the title, so there needs to be a part 3 to this blog if I am going to discuss sex.

Chapter 10 - Love & Sex part 1

Chapter 10 – Love & Sex part 1

Love and sex. Do they go together? For some they are a part of the whole, one goes with the other, for me they are two different although related emotions. I have always had a distinct separation between the two and after what I got up to last night and the consequences and meaning of my activities I have gotten to thinking about love and definitely, sex. I once again place a warning right at the start of a new page. What I am going to talk about may seem distasteful to some, I don’t care really. Some may look at me in a different light, but then again isn’t that why I am writing this? This is my life and soul laid bare because I want to. Much of what I have, am and am going to write about is usually ‘kept to oneself’ but why? Why do we hide so much about ourselves from everyone around us? Is it a western sensibility, an ingrained prudishness that says certain topics are taboo and not discussed in public. To this end I have decided to discuss the topics in the order they are listed so, probably rightly, love comes before sex, although in my experience this is never the case.

Because these two terms are so separate in my experience of live I want to spend a moment breaking down my definition of these two emotive terms. Both originate in the mind and while both may end up moving towards the groin, only one resides also in the heart on its journey. Sex, as an independent pursuit, stems from lust which begins with the mind attaching a desire to an observed object. I use the term object specifically to illustrate the purpose and attachment of sex to my life journey. I have since puberty always separated love from sex and that separation has remained with me throughout my life. Sex is simply a narcissistic pleasure, even when the intention, as it most often is for me, a pursuit to provide pleasure to my partner at that moment. Love is different, and strongly so. Have I been in love? Yes, fully, madly, deeply, with all my heart and soul. I have experienced all those amazing emotions that you don’t think are possible, that sense of joy at the sight of a loved one, the despair of separation and the joy of reunion. 

So here we go, Love, with a capital L.

I’m sitting here wondering who I want to write about. Who have I loved, truly loved? In 34 years of sexual activity I have to admit that I can only find 7 years where I can honestly say I was in love. That may seem sad to some but it does indicate to me how hard love is to find and how intense this time was in my life. I only have two people to mention in this section of this dialogue, Andrew and Jorge, both so different, both intense in their own way and both owning a part of my heart for ever more. I have mentioned both in earlier blogs but now I want to talk about their influence on the person I am today in a little more depth.

Andrew, Andrew, Andrew. I have talked about him before and I will try not to re-hash the details I have already discussed, although I can’t make promises. We were both in our mid-twenties, I was living in Darlinghurst in Sydney. Although we both worked for the same company, Florsheim shoes, we would have never met if it wasn’t for the work Christmas party. I was the manager of the second largest store in Sydney while he was a casual employee in another store. Apart from a brief business conversation over the phone we would have never made contact. Andrew was completely in the closet but luckily I was not. When we left the Christmas party together and made our way back to my place it was somehow different from my usual pickups. Maybe it was Andrew enjoying the physical contact that he so craved, maybe the scandal we were creating for our work colleagues to discuss. Our love making was slow and tender and lasted into the next day. We had breakfast and made definite plans to see each other the following day. This was not in keeping with my usual practice of getting a phone number I would never use or more commonly no phone numbers as both parties understanding that future contact would simply be another chance encounter. Within 5 mins of returning to work after this night my phone was running hot, my supervisor, and Andrews’ manager, was on the phone wanting to know how I had managed to corrupt Andrew. She had worked with him for 4 years and had no idea he was gay, how did I know after 1 drink?

 Really?

Andrew was a little shorter than me with milky white skin with the softest down of pale blond hairs on his belly. He has a blond afro with curls so tight I was never able to run my fingers through his hair. His smile was easy and generous, his whole face lighting up as his pearly white teeth sparkled with their own inner glow. He swam daily so had a tight well-proportioned body that had strength and a flexibility that we both enjoyed. He was also a little ‘camp’ his hand gestures were a little light and flighty, his manner almost theatrical at times, how could she not know, it took me about 5 seconds. The stars were obviously aligned because without knowing what was happening and with no intention of getting involved with someone in any kind of ‘stable’ relationship I found myself dating Andrew. After only a few dates, usually meeting for drinks at one of the gay bars on Oxford Street, we would then head to my place to get changed before heading out for dinner, back to a bar before heading home for another night of lovemaking before falling asleep entwined in each other’s arms. We had a perfect blend of things in common, things that we were both interested in that the other was actually involved in and enough separate interests to have diversity in our conversations and our lives. I think if you are too similar then there is no room for the growth of each individual in the relationship, but we had none of those concerns. It was soon time to ‘meet the friends’.

Andrew was studying Law and Languages at Macquarie University but was a member of the Sydney University Music Society (SUMS). This was my biggest challenge, a whole choir who played a huge role in Andrew’s life, his major social activity and social group. They were amazing, welcoming and warm, they were a tight circle who opened to welcome me. I was soon a regular feature at all their gatherings and on several occasions was told by one member or another about the change they saw in Andrew now that I was in his life.  We’d go to the choirs’ local hangouts and they would soon burst into song, I’d sit back in Andrew’s arms and enjoy the performance. I was nearly going to say free performance but I was a groupie of the highest order and I never paid to see them perform unless it was at the Opera House. Ah, the Opera House. Andrew’s family had season tickets for the symphony and choral performances and it was soon part of my calendar to attend with Andrew which is where I met the rest of his family. His older brother and his girlfriend were great, we only met rarely but it was always cordial and open. His dad was indifferent which was fine, he was never rude or negative towards us; he simply failed to express any sort of opinion on me or his sons’ involvement with me. Mum on the other hand was a different kettle of fish, she simply hated me. If we met in public she would turn away and ignore my presence. I was Andrew’s first lover. We were happy, we were in love and mum saw me as the corrupting influence that was going to destroy her sons’ life. I reveled in this conflict and would intentionally dress in a fashion to disturb her sensibilities. Torn jeans, white t-shirt, leather jacket and Doc Martins to a performance of Tchaikovsky’s 5^th symphony, I thought she was going to faint for dramatic affect. Don’t get me wrong, I tried to play the perfect son-in-law but she never wanted a bar of me. How did Andrew feel about this? Well it was simply a need to be free, he was gay, I was allowing him to come out of the shell he had been hiding in and I had probably influenced his gay politics enough for him to support my actions. He forced the issue our second Christmas together, remember we met at a Christmas party the year before so he thought that the fact that we had been together for a year would soften his mothers’ attitude towards me so off we went to a family Christmas.  I have never spent a cooler Christmas since I left Scotland as a child. The food was glorious, the wine was delicious, and the conversation was non-existent. If Andrews’ dad or brother directed any question or comment in my direction mum would change the subject instantly, often not waiting for the question to be asked because she saw the danger in my inclusion within the family group. I felt sorry for Andrew, he was being confronted by a very real demand from his mother to ‘leave me where he found me’. The risk he was taking was much, much more than simply the relationship with his mother. The family was well placed in society and not without some gold coin to pass onto the next generation. This inheritance was only one of the weapons mum tried to use in influencing Andrew to discontinue seeing me. But Love, ah Love, Love conquers all as they say.

Andrew recognized that the attack on me by his mother was an attack on him. The answer was simple he had to live his life and all she achieved was a strengthening of our relationship. A relationship which was to continue for at least another 3 years, while she slowly lost more and more of her relationship with her youngest son.

It was during this time that I had issues with my mother. Andrew and I were a couple, a gay couple in gay Sydney and we were having the time of our lives. Conversations with my mother would inevitably revolve around what Andrew and I were up to, he was my life. This was too much for her to deal with and when she asked if I had to talk about what we were doing all the time. I had to place an ultimatum onto our relationship. “It’s who I am, it’s what I am doing, if you don’t want to hear about it then we won’t talk”, and we didn’t. This might seem like a harsh and difficult thing to do but it wasn’t. By this time I had suffered enough at the hands of straight bigots who simply wanted me and my kind to die that I refused to be silenced and mother or not there were no exceptions. I think this was a good thing because she did come around and we did begin to talk again. She traveled down to Sydney with a friend of hers to see a show one weekend and so we arranged to catch up. I took the pair of them to Gilligan’s the best cocktail bar on the strip. Barbie, the cute blond waiter who was really a gorgeous Ken but was such a queen that Barbie fitted better flounced all over my mother. It was a sight to see, I had given the staff that I knew a heads up on who I was bringing and why and they went all out to pamper and flirt. Does that show how much time I spent there when the staff go out of their way to make you mother feel welcome? Even the trans. owner (I can’t remember her name) who was a piece of work and one of the toughest broads you were ever likely to meet came over to ask if everyone was having a good time etc. I think it is the ultimate conflict any gay man has is the relationship with his mother. Everyone understands what a fellow gay person is up against when dealing with family and the staff at Gilligan’s were no exception. There is a brotherhood that is difficult to explain or understand between gay men, we all know each other’s struggles and are always willing to stand up and support a brother. This was one of those times and the staff were showing me that they were there with me and they were going out of their way to make my mother feel welcome. Then Andrew turned up, I thought he would do his usual North Shore courteous meet, but no.  Instead he walked up to where I was sitting, tilted my head back, said ‘Hi’ and planted the most luscious kiss on my lips, a kiss which included some tongue by the way, before ignoring the seat I had at the table for him and sitting on my lap. With his arms wrapped around my neck he turned to my mother and her friend and began his introductions. I loved the fact that although he was nervous about meeting my mother for the first time he was strong enough to know that my need for him was greater than his fear of her. He later told me that he had sat on my lap not for comfort, not to try and shock, but to be a barrier for me. A barrier between me and my mum if things began to go sour he wanted to be the wall that would keep me safe. God I loved that man for doing that for me. We all had a great evening everyone had a great time and I think that my mother, for the first time realised that I was happy and okay, she liked Andrew, but then again what wasn’t there to like, he was intelligent, funny, good looking and mine.

I have just looked back at what I have written so far and realised that I haven’t even started to scratch the surface of the relationship that we had together. It wasn’t tumultuous that gives the impression of chaos and we never had that. We never had an argument, a disagreement. We were never at a loss for something to say, we were never happier than when we were together. I’ve still got Jorge to talk about, let alone the sex that I mentioned. I’m enjoying the memories that writing this is bringing to the front of my mind and am loathed to let them go simply to write a blog that covers the topic I mentioned, so I want to keep writing about my time with Andrew until I have no more to say. I have tears running down my face, flowing so strongly I can barely see the keyboard to type. The memories I have of Andrew are overwhelming my emotions, I have the joy of the memories mixing with the thought of the loss, and I’m not sure what I feel right now. These pages usually take me a few days to write and I think this one will definitely need some time. I think I’ll pause for a bit and continue after I get my emotions back in check.

I may have to split this dialogue into two parts so you don’t get eye strain or weary from reading a novella.

So I’ve had a days break since writing all of the above memories. I will admit this is an emotion filled episode, at least for me, the memories bring both joy and sorrow but isn’t that what life is about.

Why did Andrew and I work so well together? I think the answer is simple, we filled each other’s needs. Andrew was a North Shore, public school educated boy. He was surrounded by University students who were welcoming to diversity but it was within the conservative sphere of the Law School arena. He was eager to explore his sexuality and break away from the conservative upbringing and explore the wilder world. I was a state school educated party boy. My life on the other hand revolved around the drug and party scene. This was a period when E’s were the bees knees (bees don’t have knees by the way). I was out most nights of the week at least for a few hours, partying on the strip. I wasn’t completely caught up in this world, don’t get me wrong, it was through this time that my political and social activism was building in strength and importance. A party boy with a social conscience. When Andrew and I met we provided each other with the components that were missing in each of our lives. I introduced Andrew to the joys of recreational drug use, he introduced me to a greater appreciation of choral music. I remember the first time that Andrew took drugs for the pleasure of it. I had introduced him to a couple of good friend, Bridget, who was an old family friend who had helped me move to Sydney and Mark, who I mentioned earlier when I discussed him disclosing his HIV status to me. They were both excited to meet the guy that was having such an influence on my life so we arranged to go out for a few drinks and a boogie. When we arrived at their share house Mark produced a packet of speed that he had gotten for the occasion. Bridget and Mark eagerly partook and I was eager to join in but Andrews’s apprehension held me back. He admitted to not using anything before, which was fine. This was not a make or break deal I wasn’t going to use if he didn’t want to. Options for use were offered and he decided, on his own I want to make clear, that he would ingest but not snort. Fine with me, so, loaded up out we went. One aspect that Andrew could never seem to control was his ability to talk to anyone about anything and hold a conversation on any subject as long as required. By the time we hit the club we were well and truly starting to feel the effects of the speed we have ingested so as usual Bridget and I hit the dance floor to work it out. Mark stayed at the table with Andrew, who had not given me any indication of his dancing abilities up to this point. Mark and Andrew seemed engrossed in whatever they were talking about and Bridget and I, as always were dancing like there was no tomorrow. Suddenly Mark joined us on the dance floor. “Fuck Dean, Andrew’s great but fuck can he talk!’ was all Mark could say. “He’s never had speed before it’s not his fault, but yes he can talk” was all the comfort I could provide. Things had to move in a different direction so I moved to the table took Andrews’ hand and pulled him onto the dance floor. He was still talking so I pulled him to me, planted my mouth over his and kissed him so hard I think Bridget and Mark blushed. He was kooky, he was from a different world to ours and I loved him. ‘Dance with me” was all I said and Andrew discovered that the energy that was driving his constant conversation could be channeled into much more enjoyable exploits. The four of us danced the rest of the night away. It made me so happy when Bridget told me later how much they both like Andrew and how they thought he was perfect for me because I was thinking the same.

I was able to introduce Andrew into the party life that I enjoyed so much and he so craved while he provided the balance by introducing a more cultural aspect to my life. We’d party all week and hit the Opera House to hear Gorecki’s 3^rd symphony on a Saturday night. It seems so clique to start talking about yin and yang but the more I reminisce about our relationship that was what we were. I could pull Andrew in directions he didn’t know he could go and Andrew would and could provide the same influence on me. I think that our time together gave us both an opportunity to grow as individuals. We expanded each other’s horizons and gave each other the opportunity to view life and what it had to offer from a new and invigorating perspective. 

So did we make plans for the future? Well the answer is yes. Andrew was finishing his law degree and was thinking of applying to the Department of Foreign Affair. With a law degree and the ability to talk in 9 different languages he would be perfect for a position in the foreign office. We would move to Canberra and set up home together and travel the world working for the Australian Government. We couldn’t get married, not then, but what was a piece of paper was how we had to justify things at the time. We would know. 

So what happened, what could have destroyed this bonding that could have lasted for ever, this love that strengthened with each passing year? The answer is simple, me. Andrew arrived at my apartment one day to discover me in the company of two guys and it didn’t take him too long to realise what was happening. He left that day without a word, the next day I received a card all it contained was the following quote. A quote and poet I have hated ever since.

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.

H. W. Longfellow    

From the instant I opened that card and read the quote it contained I knew that I had just killed the one thing that made my life complete. The one aspect of my personality that I had managed to keep from Andrew had been discovered, like Dr. Jekyll I had been discovered as the monster I had so tried to shield him from. We never spoke again after that day, not that we spoke that day anyway. I just had to look in his pale blue eyes to see how much I had hurt him as he turned away from me and walked out. I saw him only once after that fateful day, dressed in a leather harness being lead on a leash onto the dance floor at Mardi Gras. I did feel a little proud that he was still exploring who he was and further developing but it was tinged by the thought that I was no longer going to be holding the end of that leash.

I’m going to stop writing about Andrew now because the more my mind is focused on him the more I get angry with myself for the loss I created, the sorrow of love lost, love I would never find again, love I don’t think I’m going to have the opportunity to re-discover before my time is up.

I’m not finished talking about Love and Sex but I think this is too big a topic to be discussed in only one page so this story will continue with the introduction of Jorge into my life, my little Chilean power house next time.