Daniel
Storer
BEDTIME STORERS
A HOMO SCORNED
This is my fifth column and I reckon that makes me something
of a PN long term survivor; entitled to a press card of some kind to use and
abuse to get moved to the front of queues in McDonalds and the like. To mark
my journalistic longevity I had prepared a light-hearted love-positive piece;
a little joke here, a wry observation there. But thanks to one little word
- one sodding little word - I had to rewrite it completely.
Relationships: what are they and when do they become official? When can you
call someone your boyfriend or girlfriend and what’s the big deal? It
was so much easier when I was in my ’20s. You met someone in a club
and did it on the night. If it wasn’t for you, they became a one night
stand. If it went well, you ended up going out for one month or even an eternity.
Easy - or so I thought. It’s only a name but the word ‘boyfriend’
these days seems to send a chill fear into the some people’s hearts.
I’m in a crowded nightclub, dry ice and pumping music; lots of attractive
people but no-one who stirs my loins. Then, in the blink of an eye, there
he is: someone who makes my heart flutter and who appears interested too.
I play it cool, instinctively knowing what to do to get him back to mine.
Of course, there is the kissing and stuff to get out the way first and knowing
all the time I will have to tell him about the ‘Thing’.
I mentally prepare, but the moment just doesn’t seem right. So I end
up doing nothing. Next morning I think: “I’ve blown it”.
I didn’t get to tell him why I couldn’t go there. I expect him
to leave without a word thinking I am frigid.
And then he says: “So can I see you again?” I can’t believe
my luck. This person didn’t get a fumble and they want to see me again.
“Hell yes!” But I still need to be honest and get it off my chest.
So we meet again, and again. It’s the third date and in my world the
courting rules are ‘three strikes and out’. So I lay it on the
line: “One more thing. I am HIV positive...”
He’s quiet for a few minutes that seem like a lifetime. Then he says:
“It doesn’t make any difference. At the end of the day everyone
takes responsibility for themselves it’s not a problem.” Acceptance!
This person is perfect... or is he? I meet his friends and they like me. He
meets my friends and they like him. So after four weeks of dinner, theatre,
clubbing, staying over at his place, him staying over at mine; I start thinking
this is the beginning of some sort of relationship; not a serious one perhaps,
but something.
But then I said that bloody word and suddenly it was over. Mention ‘HIV’
and he doesn’t bat an eyelid; mention ‘boyfriend’ and he
heads for the hills. It’s just a word. Why is anyone scared of a word?
After all, most of us have been called much worse. Is he irrational for running
scared of a word? Or am I irrational for assuming there was something going
on? Maybe it was something else entirely.
So as you can see I am in a difficult place right now and my happy ramblings
have been consigned to the paper bin and replaced by the rantings of a spurned
lover. Worse still, to find true love, I will have to go through all the above
again. Is it really worth it? I think so. Meanwhile, hell hath no fury like
a homo scorned. So if you see me in a club near you, my advice is act quickly,
and run as fast as you can in the other direction.
dannydoodle74@hotmail.com
